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celestie0 · 2 months

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.9 words you've been wanting to hear

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)

ᰔ chapter. 9/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 15.6k (WHY DO THEY KEEP GETTING LONGER)

a/n. HELLO MY DEAR KICKOFF READERS IVE MISSED YOU ALL SO MUCH i am soooo sorry for the wait on this one. this chapter felt very vulnerable to write for some reason lmfao, but i really hope it was worth the wait :''') see you at the bottom!! if there are typos or some things don't make sense i'm so sorry i literally gave up on proofreading this i just ended up raw-doggin it and then posting it

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 :: ch7 :: ch8 :: ch9 :: ch10 (pending)

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

an additional author's note. hellooo ellie here. there are some additional warnings/tags for this chapter, i added them to the tags above, so if you know you have any sort of triggers, please refer to them before reading! but if you don't have any and don't want to be spoiled ab anything then you can keep reading lol. thank youu <33

The restaurant address that Kai sent you was just a ten minute taxi ride away, save for the five minutes you spent trying to evasively maneuver through the hotel lobby in order to avoid running into people you’re not too keen on seeing right now, a list that stacks up to just one person at this moment.

It’s a Korean barbecue place, it’s been ages since you’ve been to one, probably since they’re way too expensive for any sort of outing you could afford these days, but the crisp sizzling sounds of the grills and the savory air has your mouth watering in a way that makes you indifferent to the cost. Anything to get this churning feeling out of your stomach.

It’s instantly brought to your attention that Hana’s tipsy off of Soju because she’s slid out of the booth the second you emerge to the tablestide, and she’s onto her feet to pull you into a hug. You hug her back.

“I’m ssssoooooooo glad you’re—hic—here,” she says, voice sounding loud near your ear, but her embrace is surprisingly calming to you.

Her face appears flushed when you pull away, and you give her a smile and a kind hold of her elbow. “I’m happy to be here, sorry for coming late, I just decided I wanted to have dinner with you all.”

Minato is pulling on Hana’s arm to get her to sit down, which she finally agrees to, and you glance to the left side of the table where Kai sat, meticulously turning over pieces of meat on the grill. His eyes are on you, and the seat next to him is empty.

“You look nice,” he says, eyes falling to your lap under the table once you’ve taken a seat next to him.

Your eyes fall to your lap as well. “Oh. Thanks. I wasn’t really trying to look any sort of way, though.” Just faded jeans with a few rips & holes you made yourself, way back in high school when that sort of thing was trendy.

“I know,” he says, smirk heard perfectly through his words, “I like that.”

You ignore him, a fleeting thought passing through your head of how annoyingly forward men are to women they’ve met within a day, just something you’ve noticed recently, and then you’re accepting the glass of Soju that Minato’s poured for you. Quick to tip it back, you feel a burn on your tongue that’s just enough to distract.

“Today’s game was pretty interesting,” Minato speaks up, picking up a few pieces off the grill with his chop sticks and placing them on Hana’s plate first before taking some for himself. You find the gesture sweet. “The first half was intense.”

Hana nods enthusiastically, elbows rested on the tabletop as she waves her hands around in the air. “Uh huh, uh huh, the boys kicked the ball like whoosh. Goes all over the place! Can’t get a—hic—can’t get a single shot. No, I mean me, I can’t get a camera shot. Not them, they can get the shots of goals. The goals of shots? Huh.”

“Alright, you’ve had enough,” Minato grumbles as he drags the glass of Soju that she was nursing away from her.

Kai lets out a laugh beside you, his knee bumping against yours under the table. “I’ve watched so many of these soccer games for this job, and I’ve still got no damn clue what the rules are.”

You blink down at your empty plate for a second before grabbing the silver chopsticks laid neatly on your napkin, and taking some food from the center of the table. “Really? I’ve only been to a couple, and I feel like I get the gist of it.” Maybe it’s because you had a personal interest, though.

Kai lets out a low whistle next to you. “Okay, you’re a smartass then.”

You give him a sidewards glance. “Maybe you’re just dumb?”

Your own words startle you a bit. Minato lets a laugh out, but under his breath, while Hana does absolutely nothing to conceal hers. Kai’s eyes just widen. You bite down on a carrot stick.

“Hey, hey, hey, y/n,” Hana chirps, tapping at your wrist, “do you know any of the soccer players? Utahime said you doooo.”

You swallow slowly to buy yourself time, but give a preliminary shake of your head before answering, “no, not really.” You catch a whiff of the cologne on your wrist when you lift your glass to your lips.

“Oh,” she sulks her shoulders and then sinks down into the booth again, her head falling onto Minato’s shoulder. The man stiffens a bit and then there’s a content smile playing at his lips. A hint of a smile develops on your face too at the sight when you put two and two together. What an adorable little crush. It makes you feel sick.

Kai pours you some more Soju the second you drink down the last of it in your glass, and you nod to him as a thanks. “Pretty sure most of my photos from the first half are fucked,” he says, dragging the opening of the bottle against the rim of your glass before pulling it away, “didn’t realize until way later that my aperture was way off.”

You bring the glass to your lips, inhaling before taking a sip. You’re about to speak up about that when Minato beats you to it.

“Are you serious?” he asks, disappointed, like they’re suddenly talking business now. “I better see some good shots. Your side was where most of the action took place. Like that through-pass, tight behind the defensive line, from Nanami Kento to Gojo Satoru before he sunk it a couple mins before the half ended.”

You choke a little on your Soju at the mention of Gojo’s name, and then all three of them are looking at you. You wave a hand in front of your face. “Sorry.”

Kai grumbles something under his breath and then stuffs a piece of pork belly into his mouth. “Yeah, whatever, man. I’m pretty sure I got some good ones. Don’t worry.”

Dinner goes on like that, where you count the number of times Kai thinks that someone saying something funny across the table is an excuse to press his thigh against yours, but at least the cute way that Hana and Minato seem to inch closer to one another all night is enough to put you at some sort of bitter ease. But that unsettling feeling in your stomach from a couple of hours ago still lingers.

The four of you stand outside the restaurant, heels rocking back and forth in the cold as you all take up the last chance to debrief the day, and then Minato’s glancing at his watch.

“Alright, it’s probably time to head back. We can all share a ride to the hotel, it’s cheaper that way,” Minato says. Hana’s clinging to his sleeve.

“Oh, uh, I was going to stay here. There’s a cool camera shop around the corner. I was gonna check it out,” Kai says, pointing over his shoulder before glancing at you. “Wanna come? I saw they’ve got used film cameras.”

You twiddle with the hotel key card in your pocket. It’s cheap plastic, could break easily with just the right amount of pressure. Like your resolve right now. “Sure.”

He smiles at you.

“Alright, well I need to get this one back to her room,” Minato says with a sigh, pointing to Hana, “so I’ll see you all at the next game?”

You and Kai nod at him and then watch as he walks away with Hana on his arm towards the curb, pulling his phone out to call for a ride.

“Where’s this camera shop at?” you ask Kai once the silence between the two of you stretches out a little too long.

“It really is just around the corner,” he says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He starts walking down the row of miscellaneous shops and establishments under dim street lighting, and you follow after him before the two of you circle to the adjacent end. A tiny shop in the distance catches your eye. The LED sign above the storefront was blinking sporadically, and read 17th St Camera & Rentals, except half the letters were extinct of any light. Next to it was a 24/7 liquor store.

It’s only when you walk right up to it that you realize the sign dangling behind the glass door that says closed.

“Oh. Bummer,” Kai comments in a flat tone. “I swear it was open before I got to the restaurant.”

You sigh, pulling your phone out to glance at the time. “Yeah, at 8pm? It’s past 10 now.”

He looks at you and taps the camera case still hung at his neck. “That’s fine. I’ve still got a camera to show you, anyways.”

You blink your eyes at him, suddenly feeling a bit exhausted and then glance over your shoulder at the curb of the street to see if Minato & Hana were still there waiting for a ride. You don’t see them anymore.

A distraction. Wasn’t that what you wanted?

“Yeah, show me.”

Kai seems to know the area better than you, since he walks down the haphazardly lain sheets of concrete across the ground with more confidence than a tourist would. The thought occurs to you that maybe the newsletter photographers have eaten here before during their time in Kyoto.

“What made you start working with the newsletter?” you ask, glancing at him as the two of you walk down further, into what seems like a neighborhood.

He shrugs. “First job I could find out of college. I had a lot of freelance experience, so I’m assuming that’s why they hired me.” He nudges your arm with his elbow. “What about you?”

“I’ve known Utahime for a while. She was impressed with my work.”

“Ahh, connections,” he muses, “smart. That’ll get you far as an artist.”

He suddenly stops walking and peers off to the right, into a darkness that you can’t really make anything out of until you’ve spent a few seconds staring too. He walks in that direction, the loud echoing stomps of his boots on concrete no longer audible once he crosses the threshold onto grass, and you follow behind to what seems like a deserted children’s park. You wish there were more trees in the city. There are a lot here in the countryside, and it makes you homesick for something you’re not even sure of.

A gust of wind brushes through, rattling the set of swings hung on rusty chains. The wood chips underneath your feet feel stale, with no snap to them at all as you follow Kai through the playhouses set up in connected fashion. There are two picnic benches, one looks like it’s been freshly painted with faux effort to improve its image in the line of sight of the street, while the other has red paint peeled back to reveal bronze underneath the moonlight, neglected and tucked behind a few trees. The latter is what he chooses.

He slides into the bench, and he shakes his head when he sees you try to take a seat on the other side before patting at the seat beside him. “It’d be easier for you to take a look at my side.”

He has a point, so you sit next to him instead. Although at this point in the night, you were feigning interest. He zips his camera bag open and you take a better look at the lens. There’s no way it was as cheap as he told you it was.

“There’s no way this was as cheap as you told me it was,” you say.

He laughs, pulling the camera out and handing it to you. “Yeah, maybe the guy cut me a deal since I’ve bought from him before.”

You’re smart enough to put the strap around your neck, even though you’re only holding it a few inches above the table, because a camera like this deserves the care and respect. The material is minimalist and sleek, and it’s heavy in your hands. You click the shutter button, screen coming to life with a few mechanic chirps. “Woah. Is it LCD or OLED?”

“LCD.”

“That’s nice,” you say, “paying for the OLED just seems silly to me.”

“I concur, Canon. Color accuracy is king.”

He shuffles to pull something out of his pocket while you continue to inspect the camera in your hands, and you see him fidget with said thing over the table in the corner of your eye. The flick of something and the light of something makes you turn your head to face him, and he’s pinching the end of a joint to his mouth, lighting the other end.

He gives you a glance when you stare for too long, inhaling from it before pulling it from his mouth. “What?” You can see the smoke leave his mouth in the chill of the air.

“Is that why you chose the secluded bench?”

“I did? Didn’t even notice.”

You blink at him, and he places his elbow on the table to lean closer to you.

“Do you mind it?” he asks.

“No, not really.”

“Wanna smoke with me?” Two fingers pinching the origin of smoke tilt towards you. “This is my good weed, though, so, I charge by the drag.”

“That’s ridiculous, and no thanks. It doesn’t suit me.”

He lets out a laugh, releasing whatever tension he was building in your space, and the smell of weed is nauseating, but at least it's a new sensation to you.

“You’ve gotta be the only film major on the planet that doesn’t smoke weed. How do you manage?” he asks, the orange flicker of his joint being the only color you can distinctly see under the similarly flickering street lights.

Your finger traces the rim of the camera lens and is careful to not smudge the glass. “I think I manage just fine.”

“Yeah. With delusion,” he says, coughing, scattering smoke into the air this time instead of a clean blow.

You turn a bit in your seat to face him more, placing the camera down. “You’re extremely blunt.”

His eyebrow raises in amusement and you close your eyes with annoyance at the pun. You brush it off.

“I mean, seriously, I get you’re probably just looking out for me, I guess. I appreciate that. But do you really think my dreams of becoming a filmmaker are that far-fetched?” you ask. There’s a crack to your voice at the end that you didn’t like.

He sighs, setting his wrist down on the table. There’s a long pause where he thinks about what to say. Probably the most you’ve seen him consider what words leave his mouth next. “I was in the same shoes as you, y/n. A couple years ago. I, too, had big dreams of making movies. I was going to apply to film grad school as well, although you’re shooting higher than I was at the time. There’s no way I would’ve gotten into UTokyo’s.” He tilts his head to the side a few times while looking straight off ahead. “I sent scripts in everywhere. To every fucking production company, creative agency, you name it. Never got a callback, not even once. While all my fellow grads were landing decent, respectable jobs.” He brings the joint to his mouth again, but he doesn’t inhale, just bitterly bites it. “I could’ve went on like that, but,” his brow furrows, “I’ve seen my peers torture themselves for years for those dreams of theirs. I swore I wouldn’t be one of them. Because they’re all delusional fucks.” He finally glances at you. “Are you one, too?”

Your shoulders drop a little and your lips purse. “I don’t know yet. It’s too early to say.”

“It’s never too early to say, if the outcome is all the same,” he tells you.

You consider his words for a moment. It’s the easy way out. You should consider yourself lucky. Everyone wants a reason, a sign, to turn away from the one thing they’re scared to think about. And here he was, giving that to you on a silver platter.

But if what you wanted was really all that fragile, then it means there’s nothing to show for any of it. For all the effort it took you to get here, and all the effort you’re still willing to give.

“I’ll keep going until I fail,” you say, “or until I succeed.” It’s not really something you say for him, but for yourself.

He juts his bottom lip out and raises his eyebrows, slowly nodding his head, like he’s impressed by you. But his posture remains lax. “I mean, you’re working this job. You’ve got some sort of plan, at least. It’s not like I’m your parent to tell you what to do and what not to do.” He finally takes another drag, eyebrows pinching together at the same time his fingers pinch close to the burn of his joint to pull it away. “What’s that one saying? You can take a horse to the water, but you can’t make it drink.”

“Wow. You don’t sound a day older than sixty-five.”

He smirks at you. “You’ve got a lot of attitude, Canon. Where does it come from?”

You sink a little in your seat, turning away from him to look down at your hands that were still messing with the features of his camera. “My annoying feelings lately.”

“Feelings about what?”

You consider telling the truth. But you don’t. “My car is in repair and I’m not sure I can afford to pay for the bill, since things keep coming up with it.” It was the thing at the top of your mind at the moment though, for some reason, so partially truthful.

He laughs. “Yeah, cars have a way of doing that when you’re finally getting caught up on bills.”

“At what point does spontaneously picking up random, obscure jobs go from omg I’m so excited to have this opportunity to I just need the money?” you ask.

“You mean you’re not already at that point yet?” he says with a scoff. “Soon, then.”

You sigh.

“Y’know I used to work at this lousy cinema a few miles away from Central,” he tells you, hand tapping the table with a rhythm that makes no sense. “Busted my ass working minimum wage on night shifts because I thought I’d catch a big break in conversation with a director, as if Martin Fucking Scorcese would choose to host his opening night at a random Edwards in Tokyo.” His tapping on the table stops. “Tell me that isn’t pathetic as hell.”

“That’s pathetic as hell.”

“The things you’ll do for money,” he says with a sigh. He sounds detached, like it’s really just a message for you.

You lick your lips, skin feeling dry from the wind that occasionally brushes by, and when you glance at Kai again, there’s a grit to his jaw.

“Should’ve been born as one of those damn college athletes,” he grumbles, sucking in fast through the joint that was close to withering away. “Those fuckers don’t pay tuition.”

The harsh colors of the soccer team’s color-coded practice schedule on your phone are visible when you blink, as well as the exhaustion under Gojo’s eyes in the warm lighting of the hotel lobby earlier tonight. “They work hard.”

He looks at you. “I work hard, too.”

Your shoulders tense. “I’m sure.”

“You work hard as well.” Just to include you.

“Yeah.”

“I mean, you can’t tell me that it’s fair.”

Your mind wanders to some of the people you’ve met on that team, who have been nice to you. You think of Gojo, and the memory of him makes you wish you were with him right now. Despite everything.

“I guess it’s not fair,” is all you say, a tactic to diffuse the conversation, one that you’ve had to use twice with him today. The sound of the swing chains clinking together from the wind in the distance runs a chill down your spine.

You feel heavy in your chest, and you glance at the joint pinched in between Kai’s fingers. He’s not keeping an eye on it, so it’s easy to steal, and you bring it to your lips before sucking in. You instantly let out a few coughs. He’s looking at you with surprise. And you’re still in desperate need of that distraction you’ve been craving.

“How long does it take for it to kick in?” you ask, coughing again and pressing a hand to your chest.

“Super long when you can barely stomach a single drag.”

You try again. He watches you. You swear you feel a buzz this time, and you hand the joint back to him. You feel like you’re having an out-of-body experience.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Good,” you tell him, “really good.”

“That’s gotta be placebo, Canon.”

“No, really,” you sigh it. Even if it was, maybe your mind was just blessing you with a single moment of reprieve. “I feel…really good,” you say with your head in a haze. “Best I’ve…” you don’t know why you have to blink back tears, “best I’ve felt this whole week.”

Kai’s silent next to you. You look over at him, and he’s got a scrutinizing expression on his face. His eyes are glazed. “You seeing anyone right now, Canon?”

It’s the savory question you know has been on the tip of his tongue. Ignorantly asked, as if you would’ve been sitting here with him right now in the dead of night if the answer was yes.

“No.”

He’s leaning towards you, and you’re dazed and also sleepy. His face is close now, there’s an urge to giggle, which means there’s no way this is all just placebo, and when his lips dip towards yours, you’re conscious enough to push him away by a weakly fisted hand pressed to his collarbone.

“Oh. I. Um,” you stutter.

“What?” he asks, eyebrow raised, still close to you.

“No. No thanks.” Because it felt wrong.

He fully pulls away from you, and runs a hand through his hair, a deep sigh leaving him. “Alright.”

You’re breathing faster now, surroundings feeling vague, like you’re in sweltering heat but the air only bites cold.

You stand up suddenly. “I…I want to go back.”

“Go back where?”

“To the hotel. To my room.” You pause. “I mean, by myself. Not with you. We can share a ride, though.”

He stands up too, hands reaching for you, gripping the straps of his camera still hung around your neck and he pulls it off to place it back into the case. You feel like you’ve lost favor with him somehow. “Okay. Sure.”

“But not with you.” You felt the need to clarify again.

“I get it, Canon. It’s fine.”

—

“Maybe you just need to fuck him aggressively without mercy.”

“I beg your finest pardon?”

You’re sitting in a booth inside this streetside KFC with Mina sitting across the table, waving a fry around in the air, and with Nobara next to you as she tries to open a packet of ketchup with her teeth. The hangout the three of you have been hyping up all week, just to be sat in the same place you always go to. You were about to take a bite out of your sandwich, but you set it back down on your tray.

Mina points the fry at you and shrugs. “I’m saying. Maybe you’re having such a hard time getting over Gojo because you got so close to fucking him in that bathroom, but you didn’t, and now you’re in, like, this constant state of edging.” She bites down on the fry. “The clit knows what the heart doesn’t.”

“Your theories never fail to amaze me,” you mumble, sinking further into the booth.

“Perhaps it’ll take the edge off.” Mina sucks through the straw of her Diet coke. Nobara finally succeeds in opening her packet of ketchup.

“I doubt it. Besides, I technically already gave him an invitation to,” you say, fingers rubbing at your eye with a swipe as you wince from the memory, “and he rejected me, so, still swimming in the self hatred from that one.”

Mina hums. “There’s no way he’s not foaming at the mouth for it, y/n. Men never let a meal they were craving go unfinished,” she states, dramatically stabbing a chicken nugget with a fork.

“What kind of pigs do you guys associate yourselves with?” Nobara asks. She’s a lesbian, by the way.

“I raise another question. Why are we talking about this in a public restaurant?” you offer.

“Listen, babes,” Mina continues, like your words fall on deaf ears because she’s got some point to make, “it’ll either poof. Make your feelings go away like the drop of a hat because you find out he’s a bad lay. Or it’ll be so good that you realize you’re never getting over him and you’ll be thinking of his dick instead of your husband’s on your wedding night.”

“We’re. In. A. Public. Restaurant.”

Mina steals a biscuit from your tray. “If it ends up being the first outcome, then the whole thing was my idea. If it’s the second…then just know that Nobara has steered you wrong.”

“Why the hell do you have to drag me into this?” Nobara asks.

You’re about to take a bite from your sandwich again when you’re interrupted by the buzzing of your phone in your purse. You pull it out and glance at the caller ID, then let out a sigh.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” you mumble, slipping out of the booth and towards the restaurant’s exit, pushing the tense door open with a gust of fresh air brushed through you.

“Hello?” It’s the car repair man. “Really? I thought you said it was fixed.” Apparently something else came up. “Okay…how much longer will it be in repair?” Much longer than you had thought. “And how much will it cost?” Much more expensive than you had thought. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, really, I feel as though every time I’m on the line with you all, I have to wait longer to get my car back, and the bill just racks up higher.” They’re trying their best. “I know. Is it necessary to fix in order to drive, though?” State laws require it. “Okay…thanks for the update.” And then you hang up without another word, and with all the frustration in the world.

You head back inside and grumble about your car woes to Mina and Nobara, who try their best to respond with interest.

“Why can’t your insurance cover it?” Mina asks.

“Apparently they can’t claim it’s because of those rocks I drove over,” you sigh, “since it looks like it’s been a problem for longer than that.”

“Can you afford it?” Nobara asks.

“Not really,” you say. “I’ll just have to postpone having my car for a bit.”

You sigh with a glance out the window of this fine dining establishment, into the blue skies just beyond, head drowning out the voices of Mina and Nobara as they continue to grill you about all sorts of questions that you don’t have the energy to answer right now. You had another student loan payment to make once you got home today, and just the thought of it makes your heart drop a little. And you realize you just can’t afford to be picky about your financial situation anymore.

—

“Thanks for helping me out with this,” you say, footsteps over familiar grassy hills as you head towards the UTokyo’s practice field, your digital Canon EOS hanging from your neck.

“Sure,” Kai says as he keeps pace next to you, “why the sudden mission, though?”

You’re gazing off straight ahead, a nervous pit in your stomach since it’s been a while since you’ve walked across this landscape towards the field.

“I just feel like I need to diversify my income somehow,” you sigh, the buzzwords leaving a bitter taste in your mouth as you say them but it was the reality of your situation, “to make ends meet. When you mentioned freelance work during our conversation last week, it made me think it’s time for me to pick that up too.”

Kai hums. “Yeah, it’s a good plan. I’ll try to show you what I know.”

Once you’ve made it to the top of that hill, the one that oversees the field, your eyes instantly scan the field for familiar silhouettes, and your breath catches in your throat when you spot Gojo passively kicking a ball back and forth between one of his teammates for warm-ups.

It’s the second time you’ve seen him since that argument the two of you had in the hotel lobby, the first being at the post-game conference in which you did everything in your power to swiftly avoid him, and you plan on keeping that up. There’s also an urge to run away, but you’re starting to realize that’s not much of an option anymore.

“Honestly, you don’t really need to worry too much about shutter speed with freelance like you do for shooting sports,” Kai is mumbling next to you as he messes with the settings on his camera, the two of you making your way down the hill towards the field, and you’re not really listening because your eyes are on Gojo, who’s yelling something across the field to his teammates with a look of concentration on his face.

“Uh huh, I see,” you say. You see Kai glance at you in his periphery.

“You again!” you hear a familiar harsh voice call out, and you turn on your heel to face Coach Yaga who’s standing a few feet away in his custom UTokyo tracksuit with his arms crossed against his chest. “Why are you on my field?”

You hold your breath for a second. “Hi, Coach Yaga, so sorry, but I’m just here to take some more photos.”

He lets out one of his hmphs, unrelenting. “You’re a distraction. Get off my field.”

“D-Distraction?”

“Coach!” Suddenly, Geto’s in your line of sight as he emerges with a light jog up to your side. “You should really be nicer to our photographers, they give us a lot of publicity for our games. And publicity means funding.”

Coach Yaga narrows his eyes. “I need all my players focused right now. Even during practice.” He gives you a disapproving glance and you’re still confused, but also weirdly angered.

“Excuse me, Coach Yaga, but last time I checked, this field is technically open for all students. And I’m a student,” you say to him, crossing your arms across your chest now. “So, I can be here if I want.”

You have no idea if that’s true at all, but sometimes you’ve just gotta fake it ‘til you make it.

Coach Yaga grumbles something and then waves his hands in the air. “Fine! I’ve no bandwidth to argue about this anymore! Just don’t distract my players.”

You’re shocked that it worked, and Geto nudges you with an elbow to correct your expression so that Coach Yaga doesn’t catch on to the bullshit you just spewed.

“Are you here to take some photos?” Geto asks, facing you. He’s got his hands on his hips, breathing slightly fast, some of his hair falling onto his forehead.

“Yeah, I am, just for practice though. I’m here with—” you glance at Kai, who’s standing with his fists shoved into his pockets, “Kai. He’s also with the newsletter.”

There’s a moment where Geto studies the two of you for a second before speaking. “I know,” he says, extending his hand out for Kai to shake, which he does, “I think I’ve seen you around. Not sure if we’ve formally met, but it’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, likewise.” Kai’s hand is then shoved back into his pocket.

You feel awkward suddenly, and then quickly say something to Geto about how he should probably get back to practice, which he agrees to, and then you’re standing at the chalk sideline with Kai as he shows you the ins and outs about digital photography.

“Have you tried shooting in burst mode?” he asks, switching the feature on your camera and then handing it back to you. You sling the strap around your neck.

“Hm…” you start, pointing your camera across the expanse of the field to multiple areas. The trees off into the distance, the goal posts, Coach Yaga’s yapping Pomeranian. “Not really…” The grass beneath your feet, the sky above your head, and then blurrily focused before settling on Gojo who stood in the distance straight ahead.

You see through your viewfinder that he’s caught sight of you too, a look of surprise on his face seen only by the level of zoom, and you glance up from the screen to make eye contact with him in reality. He’s fully staring at you, and you can barely see the way his expression relaxes from that one of athletic concentration to something wistful and strange that you’ve had a hard time reading lately.

“Canon? Are you even listening?”

“Huh?” you snap out of it and look at Kai. “Sorry. Could you repeat that?” You quickly glance toward Gojo again, and his line of sight points towards Kai now.

“I was asking if you’ve tried panning before,” he says, reaching for your camera, pulling it towards him, but the strap around your neck means you’re pulled closer to him too.

“Satoru!” Coach Yaga yells in the distance. “Eyes on the ball!”

“Just got to set your camera to manual mode first,” Kai mutters, confusion in his voice. “Where the fuck is it?” He’s turning your camera in his hands, which only has you stumbling with another small step towards him, your chest pressed flush to his arm, and he looks down at you for a brief second with a smirk on his face.

You hear the sound of a ball being kicked on the field, followed by the shout of one of the players.

“Ah, here, found it,” Kai says, handing your camera back to you, and just as you’re about to say thanks and you hold your camera up, you’re hit straight in the face by a flying object and fall backwards onto the grass with a painful thud.

What the fuck?

Where are you?

Who are you?

Okay, that’s dramatic, it wasn’t that bad.

There’s shouting in the distance as you hold your head with a groan, eyes shut tight with images of your life flashing behind your eyelids, and when you open your eyes again from where you’re sat up on the grass, you’re surrounded by soccer players.

Gojo’s suddenly in your line of sight, knelt down beside you and he’s holding your shoulders, trying to get you to look at him but you’re still blinking away the stars you’re seeing. “Fuck, y/n, are you okay?” he asks, and you register the concern on his face.

“Dude,” one of his teammates kicks the heel of his cleat, “where the fuck were you looking? It was clear as day I was tryna pass to you.”

Gojo grumbles something to him, his brow furrowed, and he’s lowering his head to try to make eye-level contact with you but you’re still holding your head with a wince.

“Oh shit,” Kai comments, “she’s bleeding.”

You pull your hand from your face to glance down at the wetness that you feel, and bright red color stains the tips of your fingers.

The next thing you register is Gojo picking you up off the hard grassy ground into his arms, and starts carrying you away down the field.

“W-What the hell are you doing?” you ask, his pacing across the grass is fast and you have to wrap your arms around his neck to keep from getting dizzy.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says, voice strained in his throat, and you’ve never seen him look so worried before.

“The hospital?! Please don’t, I don’t have health insurance right now.” His face is so close and you’re distracted from the pain of your headache.

“You’re bleeding on the face, I’m taking you whether you like it or not,” he grumbles.

You dig your nails into his shoulder through the nylon of his shirt, and he hisses from the pain before stopping in his tracks. “I don’t need to go to the hospital, Satoru, I just need a fucking bandaid.”

“You could have a concussion.”

“A concussion?!” You kick your feet for him to let you down but his grip on you only tightens. “You’re being ridiculous. Let me go, or I’ll bite you.”

He scoffs at that and continues walking forward. “You’re gonna bite me? That’s the most threatening thing you could come up with?”

“I’m being so dead serious, Gojo Satoru. No hospital.”

He grumbles something under his breath at your use of his full government name, and then says “fine” but he’s still walking down the grass until his cleats begin to tap on concrete, and then on what sounds like tile as he carries you into a building a few yards from the field.

He seats you on a cold counter, your hand gripping the faucet of a sink, and you finally take a comprehensive look at your surroundings. light blue, faint scent of chlorine in the air

“Is this…a locker room? The men's locker room?”

He sighs, bending his knees a bit to look at your face closely. You flinch when his hand reaches out, and he pauses, but you relax slightly and then he rubs his thumb over your cheek. You feel the smear of a droplet of blood. “Yes. I need running water.” He turns the faucet of the sink on to run his thumb under.

“For what?” you ask. His thumb is running over your cheek again.

“To take care of this cut.” He disappears behind a tile wall for a moment. You can hear metal clanking, probably of a locker opening and closing, and he re-emerges with a first-aid kit.

You slide your butt across the counter to the edge, about to hop off and make a run for it when he grabs your hips and puts you back into place. “Don’t even think about it,” he grumbles. He leans forward, grips you strongly, and you see that he’s still breathing heavily from practice, strands of hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and you can practically taste the salt on his neck.

You press your shin to the front of his thigh, desperate to put some space between the two of you. “I don’t wanna be in here. Men are scary.”

“Well I can’t take you into the women’s locker room,” he says, ripping the packet of an antiseptic wipe open with his teeth, “I’d get registered as a sex offender.”

You attempt at an escape again, and he’s quick to get his hands on you to stop it.

“Quit manhandling me, or I’ll scream,” you threaten through gritted teeth, because you’re still mad at him. For everything.

“Go ahead,” he says, using his knee to spread your legs apart, then finds a place to stand between your thighs to get closer to you. “I’ve got a lot of ways I could shut you up.”

You blink at him, breath catching in your throat, and the expression on his face tells you he’s not interested in dealing with your stubbornness anymore.

“Just hold still,” he grumbles, placing the packet down on your thigh and then stepping off to the side to wash his hands under the sink.

“What exactly happened?” you ask, watching him dry his hands off with a few paper towels. One moment, Kai was trying to explain good digital photography to you, and the next you were dizzy from being knocked back onto the ground.

“You got hit by a soccer ball.”

“I know, but how?” You remember your camera hit your face from the impact too, and now you’re worried about it.

“I…wasn’t paying attention when my teammate passed it,” he admits with a sigh, finding his place in front of you again, the knuckles of his clean hand brushing across your cheek, caressing. Your expression softens slightly. He uses a hand spread across the small of your back to push you forward to him, then he gently passes the wipe over your wound.

“Oh okay so, you failed to protect me from a flying soccer ball.”

He pulls his hand from you to read the lettering on the back of the packet. “I’m patching you up now, aren’t I?” he says, annoyed. “…oh fuck, I was supposed to go in with water first.”

“So glad to be in such good hands right now.”

He gives you a pointed look, but you ignore it and turn your torso to see your reflection in the mirror for the first time. You had a small wound on your cheek, right over the bone, with some bleeding and it’s wider than it is deep. But when you look at Gojo again, who’s putting some ointment onto a Q-tip now, the look of guilt and worry on his face makes you feel satisfied for some reason, and you wanted to make it worse.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, brow furrowed, applying the cold gel to your cheek.

“Mhm. A lot.” Not really, no.

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” he sighs, head dipping towards you slightly to get a better look, “can you feel this?”

“Ahh, yeah. Ouch. So much.” Barely.

His other hand is placed flat on the counter next to where you’re sitting, and you allow it when his thumb starts to run soothing circles over your hip.

“Hmm…” you start, wide eyes looking up at him as he seems to lean closer and closer to you with every word that leaves your lips, “I really wonder if it’ll leave a scar.”

He looks tortured. His hand that was maneuvering the Q-tip in his hands drops to the counter now, and he brings his other one to your face, cupping your cheek. His eyes dart from the wound, thumb pressing at the plush of your cheek, and this time, it hurts a little so you wince. His expression is tense, some sort of inner turmoil you could read across his forehead, and then his jaw hardens.

“Who was that guy you were talking to earlier?”

You blink a few, then tilt your head slightly. You feel like you’re on a game show, where there’s four options and only one right answer. New boytoy, gay best friend, fuck buddy, or— “He’s my coworker.”

“That’s it?”

“Mhm.”

“Has he tried anything funny with you?”

You almost roll your eyes. “No, dad, he hasn’t.”

“Woah. Say that again but make it daddy.”

“Hey just a quick question for you. Where do you get the audacity?”

His bent index finger finds a place under your chin, tilting your head up so you’re forced to look at him. “It’s your fault, really. I can’t help it sometimes,” he says, voice lower now. You’re squirming a little, wanting to push him away but his lips get close to your cheek, brushing near your wound, like he wants to make it all better somehow. “I really am sorry,” he whispers, near your ear. There’s a whimper you have to stifle in your throat. He pulls aways just enough to where he can look into your eyes. “A cut…” he starts, thumb now passing over your bottom lip, “on your pretty face.” He sighs. You shouldn’t, but when he prods, you tuck his thumb under your front teeth and your tongue presses slightly against the padded skin of it. He looks like he’s being driven to insanity, and his other hand has no shame at all in pulling you towards him, to seat you at the edge of the counter, and you miss the texture of his thumb on your tongue when he pulls it from your mouth. But it’s so he can dip his head down to kiss you instead.

Of course the sensation of his lips on yours only lasts for a second, because the universe really fucking hates (or loves?) you, so the loud clanking of a metal water bottle against tile interrupts with harsh reverberation throughout the locker room walls, and he pulls away from you when you jump at the sound.

You both turn your heads towards the origin, located at the curved end of the entryway hall, and one of Gojo’s teammates is standing there with his duffle bag slung around his neck and hanging heavily to his thigh, his water bottle clutched in his hand. He blinks at the two of you.

Oh. It’s the one you kissed at that party a few weeks ago.

“What—…Why is there a—” his teammate starts, panicked, turning his head to double check the sign on the locker room wall as if he’s hallucinating, and when his eyes land on you again, they widen with recognition. His gaze shifts, and his chin tips down at the sight of Gojo’s irritated side eye from where he was still all up in your personal space. “…you know what. Nevermind.”

His teammate’s eyes are on you again, and you give him a shy little wave, just a fluttering of your fingers in the air paired with a small smile, legs swinging back and forth under the counter. He lets out an amused scoff from the entryway, lifting his hand to return the gesture, some cheeky grin on his face as he then scratches the back of his head before turning on his heel to leave the locker room, out of sight. You let out a sigh, hand dropping to your lap, and you don’t need to look at Gojo to tell that he’s staring at you with disbelief.

“What the fuck was that—”

“You,” you interrupt him, finger jabbing at the center of his chest, “have seriously got a lot of fucking nerve,” you hop off the counter, “to not only allow a soccer ball to sock me in the face,” he’s taking a step back with every harsh jab of your finger, “but to also hold me hostage in a mens’ locker room,” his back is pressed up against cold tile wall now while he just looks down at you with wide eyes and something akin to fear, “and then, oh my god, the audacity to kiss me?”

“I—”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” you yell, which shuts him up. “You really are just a fucking player.”

He’s stiff, not wanting to catch a punishment from you right now.

“But it doesn’t matter,” you grumble, still drilling your finger into his ribcage with the intent to cause pain. You didn’t need to be this close, but his body is warm, probably due to the blood pumping from practice, and it feels nice to be pressed up against. “Because I don’t have feelings for you anymore, so just fucking get over yourself.” It was a lie if you’ve ever told one, but you wanted to believe it so much that it could come off as the truth.

His eyes narrow down at you, eyebrows flattening. “You don’t have feelings for me anymore?”

“No, I don’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

You roll your eyes. “Why? Because you want me to keep suffering?”

He grabs your hips, then makes a motion that is evident of his desire to pull you flush to him, but he stops himself. There’s a moment where he just takes a few deep breaths and looks at you with a hardened expression, then a split second where his eyes fall to that little cut on your cheek, and every single feature of his face softens, and then he lets you go.

You take a small step back, breathing heavily of your own, and you feel the ghost sensation of his fingertips wrapped around your hips. It makes you feel dizzy, and your thoughts are a mess.

He sighs. “Sorry. For the soccer ball, and this locker room. But I’m not really sorry for kissing you, and if that makes me a jerk, then so be it.”

Your heart is beating fast. “You are a jerk, Satoru,” you say. He doesn’t like you, he doesn’t want you. A mantra played over and over in your head that you’ve started to hear it at night. “A real fucking jerk.” And you leave him standing there in a way that feels like the hundredth time.

—

2:34pm kaito (work): yo

2:34pm kaito (work): i had my guy look at your camera

2:35pm kaito (work): it’s pretty fucked up

2:37pm you: :( oh okay isee. does he have an estimate for the fix? the lens is okay though right?

2:39pm kaito (work): yeah lens is fine, you should really count your blessings on that.

2:40pm kaito (work): but nah, fix would be around the same as the cost of it, so you’re better off getting a new one

2:42pm you: i don’t have thousands of yen laying around unfortunately. my car bill has sucked me dry

2:44pm kaito (work): well let me check with him. maybe he can hook you up with a good deal on a used one

2:45pm kaito (work): i got a 50% off on one of my canon cameras i bought from him a few years back. maybe he’s still got some like that

2:46pm you: yes could you check with him please? thanks so much, really

2:48pm kaito (work): sure. although i think the guy that kicked the ball to your face should be paying for your camera replacement

2:51pm you: they were just practicing. it’s their field

2:56pm kaito (work): alright. btw, you free tonight?

You blink at your phone screen from where you were sprawled across your bed. Before you have a chance to type out a response, your phone lights up with a phone call from kaito (work). You accept the call.

“Oh, hi,” you say.

“Hey, are you free tonight?”

“Oh uhh, I was just about to check my schedule.” You shake your head at your inability to come up with an excuse on the spot.

“Okay,” he says on the other line. You hear the sounds of cars honking in the distance. “Well let me know. I just left my camera guy’s shop, and he was telling me about how one of his friends does visuals for a short-film director, and that the director is looking for an assistant.” Kai grumbles something about someone he walked past being rude. “I think the director’s agency is Verve Films, so.”

You sit up in bed, eyes wide at the mention of the name. “Oh, oh wow. That’s insane.”

“Yup,” he says, “anyways, apparently the director is busy as fuck, so he left the hiring process up to my camera guy’s friend. I told him I knew someone that might be interested. Are you?”

You take a deep breath in and out. “Yeah, I am. Most of my experience on my resume lines up with short-film, so I’d be able to—”

“Alright great,” he interrupts, “so we can hold the interview tonight.”

“We?” you ask.

“Well yeah, me, my camera guy, the hiring guy. Maybe go for drinks or something.”

Your brow furrows. “That hardly sounds like an interview.”

Kai sighs. “Well, it’s not an interview for a desk job or something. It’s more of like—well, like building connections. I know you know all about that, since Utahime got you the newsletter job.”

Well, yes. She put a word in for you, which helped get the interview, but you still went against qualified applicants. “I guess.”

“It’ll be like that. Most opportunities you’ll get if you still want to pursue filmmaking are going to be like that,” he tells you, “if it feels informal, it means you’re doing it right. You might not think so now because you’re still in school, where they practically serve opportunities to students on platters, but it’s going to be different in the real world.”

You lay your head back onto the pillow, feeling like you’re receiving a lecture you didn’t ask for, and your first instinct is to pretend that you know better than he does. But when you think about all the stress recently, all of the not knowing, and the unsure, you question if you should start leaning into the advice of the people around you, and start to accept this career path for what it’s known to be. Unruly, unconventional, and a lot of times, unfair.

“I see. Well, can I think about it? Tonight is too soon, I’d need time to research the director, put a portfolio together, and also do some interview prep,” you say, pulling your phone from your ear to glance at the time.

“Well, tonight’s the only night that works since their team’s shooting abroad for the weekend and they leave tomorrow morning,” he says.

You purse your lips together.

“But also,” Kai says, “it’s the nice thing to do, y’know, since my camera guy is taking the time to look at your camera for free, you could at least help his friend out. By the way, he just texted me, he does have some used Canons available at discount.”

You close your eyes for a second, just trying to process this conversation right now. Kai was speaking too fast, hardly enough time for you to even think.

“So do you want to do the interview tonight?”

“Yes, sure. Okay. Just— just send me the details. I’ll be there,” you say.

“Alright cool, will do.”

You say bye, and then he hangs up.

A few hours pass by, where you spend some time putting together a flash drive of a couple of your best short films you’ve worked on in the past with other directors, as well as a portfolio of some recently developed film photography. The last thing to do was grab your emergency stash of print outs of your resume, and then you stuff it all into a folder before glancing at the mirror to take in your reflection. It felt extremely weird to show up to a job interview in something as casual as what you were wearing right now, but Kai insisted to not wear anything business. But at least you opted for jeans that don’t have any DIY holes in them.

Your face is glued to the navigation on your phone screen the second you get out of the taxi, and you walk down the bustling nightlife streets of Tokyo to get to this bar that Kai sent you the address of. But just as you’re about to turn the corner to your destination down the bar strip, you bump into someone’s chest due to lack of paying any proper attention.

“Ah— I’m so sorry,” you say, your grip on your phone tightening when you realize it was about to get knocked out of your hand, and then you look up to see a familiar face.

“Oh!” Geto exclaims from where he’s standing right in front of you, “You’re everywhere, y/n. What are you doing here?”

You open your mouth to speak, hesitate for a second, and then continue. “I’m here to…get drinks with some of my friends.”

He gives you a smile. “That’s nice. I am too.” He points over his shoulder to behind him. “Nanami got into his MBA program earlier this week, so, Satoru, Choso and I are buying him a few rounds. Or possibly a million. The plan is to incapacitate him as punishment for giving up on playing in the national league with us.”

You humor him with a laugh. “That’s sweet. Or not? Well anyway, tell him I said congrats.” Your heart starts to beat a little faster, because from the direction Geto came from, it meant Gojo was likely just around the corner somewhere. “Where are you heading to now?”

“We’re bar hopping, and I think I forgot my phone at the last one we went to over there,” he says, pointing across the street. “So I’m going to go look for it.”

“Oh alright,” you say. “Good luck with that. I’m going to go find my, uh, my friends.”

Geto tilts his head at you and had a slightly more serious expression on his face, glancing at the folder in your hands. “Thanks. And stay safe.”

You nod at him and then walk past him to round the corner onto the street that had groups of people loitering in front of restaurants, bars and all sorts of establishments as they wait in the cold to get inside or be seated. You recognize the name on one of the signs hanging as the one Kai sent you in his message, and when you’re a few feet away from it, you spot Kai. He’s wearing his typical street photographer wear, with a red flannel over a gray shirt and pants that are possibly a size too big for him, but that’s likely the style he was going for. He’s standing with two other people.

“Hey,” you greet Kai first, who has a pleasant look on his expression before he greets you back and gestures to the two people he was with.

“Yo, this is Junichi, my camera guy,” he says. “Don’t bother shaking his hand, he’s a germaphobe. Gotta keep ‘em clean for the electronics.”

“Oh,” you say. Junichi is a big man, broad shoulders and thick muscles. His neck is almost as thick as his bicep, and he has no hair on his head. His arms are crossed. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for taking a look at my camera.”

He nods at you in acknowledgment. “Sure thing. Pretty Boy here says you want to buy one of my used Canons. I don’t refurbish them, so you’d better know how.”

Kai sighs, nudging Junichi a little with a fist. “Relax, dude, we can talk about that later. Also, stop calling me that.”

Your eyes flicker to the right, where another man stood, who you assume was Junichi’s friend and this Verve Films director’s visual effects specialist. He’s similar in stature to Kai, with that casual artist look, and he has a scuffle of facial hair littering his jaw in less of an intentional fashion but rather a five-o-clock shadow fashion. You vaguely register the scent of weed, familiar to the one that lingers in the photo lab on campus after class hours. He reaches his hand out to you first.

“Hi, I’m Ren. I work in visual effects for director Akira Ko at Verve.”

Your eyes widen as you shake his hand. “That’s amazing. I’ve studied a lot of his contemporary works, I’d love to learn more about his process.”

Ren lets a fast exhale out through his nose. “Yeah, you’ll learn a lot under him.” He pauses to shove his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Most of his assistants always do.”

“We’ve been waiting for too damn long,” Kai interjects before you could ask any questions about the assistant position, and he glances at his watch, “and there’s still a lot of people ahead of us.”

You glance around to the small groups of people gathered in front of this bar on a lively Friday night, eyes jumping from one area to the next, until a familiar silhouette catches your eye.

You see Gojo standing with Nanami and Choso a few strides away, near the lamppost. He’s mostly turned away from you, Nanami nudging his arm annoyed at something he said, and the sound of his laughter in the air makes your heart feel like it’s at stray. Like that was where you were supposed to be right now, not here.

You watch him from the distance as he sighs, shrugging his shoulders up and down slightly before crossing his arms when Choso gestures towards the entrance of the bar, and so he looks in that direction too. He’s frowning slightly and he brushes some of the hair fallen over his forehead away from his eyes, in that boyish way that makes your heart skip a beat, and you know he’s just doing it to see a little bit better, but it makes you want to cry.

Geto walks up to them and rejoins their little circle, and holds his phone up in the air, and then there’s the melody of their voices bouncing off one another’s again. Geto rests his elbow up onto Gojo’s shoulder, leaning in a bit closer to tell him something, and when Gojo hears it, you see his entire body tense before his wide eyes are searching his surroundings, until those eyes land on you.

Your breath catches, and you hold his eye contact for only a moment before you look away, because it almost felt like too much to bear.

“What’s that folder in your hand?” Ren asks you, and you turn completely to face him so you can’t see Gojo in your periphery at all anymore.

“I just brought some of my work, for your—er, I guess Mr. Ko’s—reference if he’d like to see it after today’s…interview,” you say. “There’s a flashdrive, too.”

Ren has an amused look on his face and he shoves Kai’s shoulder with his palm. “Dude, you didn’t tell her?”

Kai shakes his head. “Tell her what?”

“Ohh, I see how it is,” Ren muses.

“What?” Kai asks, starting to sound annoyed.

Ren tips his chin up slightly to study Kai’s face, and then his look of amusement dissipates into one of understanding. “Nothing.”

“Tell me what?” you prod.

“Just that you didn’t really need to bring all of that with you,” he says. “Sorry for the trouble.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine, but if you could still give it to him—”

“I’m surprised Kai suggested someone when I asked if he knew anyone,” Junichi jumps in, “I’m used to him grumbling on and on about how shit the work is in filmmaking. Would’ve thought he’d convinced you to look the other way by now.”

You blink at the gruff man, then look at Kai, and he’s just staring down at the dirt of his shoes. “Well, we had a conversation about it. But I’m pretty set on what I want to do,” you say.

Kai lets out a scoff. “Yeah, I don’t really know how else to warn you about the shit show you’re in for, but if you want to be in debt to grad school for the next couple decades of your life, then it’s up to you.”

“Hey, jackass, try to be a bit nicer,” Ren speaks up. “She’s got some goals. Big fuckin’ deal.” He turns to you. “Although, he’s got a point sweetheart, school’s not going to get you anywhere in this industry.”

You frown. “A lot of directors I look up to went through graduate schooling. Most, I would say. I don’t understand where this rhetoric is coming from.”

“It’s coming from real people with real experience,” Ren says, and you dislike the way he takes a step closer to you to reiterate his point, “honestly, you should save yourself some time and give up on applying. It’s not worth it.”

“I’ve already put my application together,” you say, brow furrowing slightly, “I’ve asked professors for my references, spent the past four years working on my profile—”

“But working under a director, I mean really getting to work under one, beats all of that. Which is why you’re here, right?” Ren asks, but it’s not curious, it’s testing.

You feel a sheen of sweat build at your forehead, even in this cold, and you clench your hand into a fist once, twice, thrice. You’re breathing fast, and the three sets of eyes that are staring so scrutinizingly into your soul right now have you faltering, like if they took another step forward, tried to intrude what you thought you knew one more time, you’d fall backwards over the cliff.

Suddenly, a hand wraps around your upper arm, and when you turn your head to the left, you see Gojo standing there.

“Hey,” he says to you, sparing one single sidewards glare towards Kai, who immediately averts the eye contact, before Gojo’s eyes are on you again, “can I talk to you for a second?”

You look at the three men in your circle, who suddenly adopt skittish body postures, and Gojo doesn’t really wait longer than a few seconds before he’s pulling you away from them over towards the edge of the curb towards the street.

“What?” you ask once he lets go of your arm.

“What are you doing here with those guys?” he asks.

“I’m—…why does it matter to you?” you ask.

“It matters to me because of the fucking absurd conversation I just overheard,” he says, “now answer me.”

His tone annoys you, and you cross your arms. “Are you eavesdropping?”

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he says, taking a step forward to you, “who are those guys, and why are you here with them?”

You blink at him, furrowed brows relaxing slightly as you drop your crossed arms to your side, and you stare straight ahead at the blankness of the white t-shirt he’s wearing, as your mind runs blank to his question. Why were you here with them? Was it because you had no other plans? Was it because the opportunity sounded too good to be true, and you just had to see for yourself? Was it because you’ve been unable to sleep at night from all the stress, the financial worries, the rejection, and you just want to finally feel like you’ve done one good thing for yourself? To feel like you’re at least making one step in the right direction, no matter the cost?

“I’m here for a job interview,” you say to him. Your tone is flat, and you feel numb.

“A job interview?” he asks, with just about as much incredulity you would’ve expected to hear from him at that answer, “At a bar? How does that make any sense?”

“It…” you start, “sounded fine.”

“It sounds shady as fuck.”

“This doesn’t concern you, okay? I’m—…I’m just trying to make my goals work for me, Satoru, and I really don’t expect you to understand.”

“Why wouldn’t I understand?” he asks. There’s confusion in his voice, and maybe even a little bit of hurt.

“Because you can’t even understand how unfair and painful it is for me that you keep—” you have to purse your lips together briefly to fight back the knot in your throat, “…that you keep interfering with my life everywhere I go.”

His expression softens, and he silently stands in front of you for a moment. His eyes dart across your face, and then he reaches out to grab your hand. “Listen, if you still want to get drinks tonight, then just get drinks with us. But don’t hang out with those guys. They’re bad news, especially the dude with the flannel, and I don’t think you’re in a good place right now to see that.”

Your eyes see white fury at that, and you all but snap. Because the irony of this whole situation, is that you’re not in a good place right now because of him. Because of all the pain that he’s put you through, for promising to stay away but then always being near, for saying he doesn’t want you but then acting like he does.

“You know what I think, Satoru?” you ask through gritted teeth, yanking your hand from his grasp.

He’s looking at you, studying. “What?”

You take a step forward, threateningly, and he takes a step back so that he steps off the curb and onto the road, and you’re at eye-level with him now. “I think that you’re jealous,” you say, eyes glaring daggers into his.

He blinks at you, almost dumbfounded for a moment before he says “what?”

“You’re just fucking jealous that I seem to be moving on after you rejected me, because for some weird reason, you think it’s okay to not want me, and yet not want me to be with anyone else,” you say, practically hissing the words. “You don’t like seeing me with any guys other than you? You don’t want to believe me when I say that I’m over you? You’re not sorry for kissing me? Even after knowing,” you take a pause to breathe, because you feel like you can’t, “even after knowing that I like you,” eyes blinking fast because you don’t want him to see you cry right now, “you know that I like you so fucking much, and that it’s hurtful, and that it’s wrong— and even after all of that, you act the same, and still won’t promise me any commitment of your own.”

He’s looking at you with an expression you can’t read, but you’ve lost all interest in trying to understand it anymore.

“You don’t want me hanging out with them?” you repeat after him, “I’m not listening to that. Because it’s possessive. And it’s wrong.”

At the mention of them, Gojo clenches his jaw. “That has nothing to do with you and me, right now. What they’re trying to convince you of doesn’t make any sense, and it won’t help you achieve your dreams either, y/n.”

“You don’t know anything about my dreams, Satoru,” you say, just to hurt him. But you think about the sincere expression on his face the first time you met him when you told him that you wanted his help with your assignment. You think about the playful nudge of his elbow that night he stayed with you on the curb, and told you that you just had to try to put yourself out there, because you couldn’t accomplish anything without facing your fears. You think about how he’s always the first to like every single one of the slideshows you post of your pictures on Instagram. You think about the adoration in his eyes, reflected off the moonlight through the hotel window, when you told him about a little cottage on the countryside, one you’ve always wanted, and those eyes told you that he was really rooting for you. “You don’t know. Because you—” there’s an echo of words in your head. Someone else’s words, not yours, “Because you’re a college athlete. And—” you let out an exhale, “and you don’t pay tuition.”

His brow furrows. There’s a beat of silence as his confusion settles in. “What?”

“You were born blessed with talent, and you’re popular, and people adore you, and you don’t have to worry about internships, or jumping from job to job just to make something of yourself,” you say, picturing your life in your head along with all the strife, “or about all of the sinking debt, and the worry, and the— and the car repair bills,” you say, almost with a scoff, eyes sheening with tears, like you’re losing your mind, “all of the fucking car repair bills.” Your chest is heaving as you shake your head. “Because you’re set for life as long as you kick a fucking ball.”

His lips purse together, like he can tell there’s more on your tongue to say, more hurtful words, and he wants to hear you say them. And so you do.

“You’ve never had to suffer or worry about a single thing in your life. So don’t pretend like you understand what I’m trying to do here tonight,” you say, inflection signing off on the end, to tell him that you’re done.

He stands in front of you, practically motionless except for the slow movement of his chest as he breathes. His expression, tense and hurt, softens slowly, and you see him digging his nails into the skin of his palms through fidgeting clenched fists at his sides. And then he relaxes them, too.

“Does that make you feel better?” he asks.

His question confuses you, and for some reason, regret washes over you. “What?”

“Does thinking of me that way—…does it make you feel better about all of this? Between us?”

You’re breathing fast, eyebrows pinching upwards to look at him, and the defeated expression on his face makes your heart ache. He’s waiting for an answer, and so you give him one. “Yes.”

He glances down at the ground for a moment, then at your collarbone, before meeting your gaze again. “I’m sorry. For everything. And I—” the words catch in his throat briefly, “I’ll try to leave you alone tonight.”

His use of the word try doesn’t escape you, but you give him a furtive nod, and he studies your face for a few moments before he steps back up onto the curb and walks past you. You watch him walk all the way, no longer with that confidence or conviction you’re so used to seeing in him, as he steps back into his circle, to Geto’s side. Geto gives a small glance over his shoulder to look at you with discerning eyes before looking at Gojo again, and then he’s turned away from you.

Heavy feet drag you back to Kai, Ren, and Junichi, and you feel feverish. They mention something about the table being ready, and you nod. The bar is rustic, with more tables than barspace, and the four of you are seated and then presented with a small food menu. You’re seated next to Kai, Ren is right across from you, and Junichi is to his right. You watch a waitress usher Nanami, Choso, Geto and Gojo to one of the tables as well, two away from yours, and you forcefully blur your vision so you don’t have to catch sight of the expression on Gojo’s face.

“So,” Ren speaks up as his eyes peruse the food menu and Junichi waves the waitress over to order a round of sake, “tell me more about your experience, sweetheart.”

You blink at him, eyes feeling heavy, heart feeling heavy. “I’d prefer it if you called me by my name.”

Ren lets out a coo, and you briefly glance at Kai who’s shaking his head with a sigh. “My bad, y/n. Your experience?”

Your hands play with the folder sitting in your lap. “I started writing screenplays for small-scale directors when I was a freshman, and was greenlit on a couple into my sophomore year. One of the films I worked on, I had directing credits for, and it was nominated for best screenplay at Etoile Film Festival the year following.”

Ren swallows slightly, shifting in his chair and pushing his shoulders back, like he’s trying to establish himself now. Kai is clenching a fist on the surface of the table.

Ren clears his throat before speaking again. “Wow, okay, so you’ve actually got some serious shit going on.” His voice is a faux octave deeper. “What do you know about being a good assistant? Ever worked in customer service? Secretary?”

“Oh, I mean I have worked in customer service, but I wasn’t done sharing about my experience—” you try to say but Junichi cuts you off.

“First round’s on me,” he declares, “for bringing her out here.” He tips his chin to you and then sends Kai a glance.

A waitress brings by a bottle of sake, and Junichi begins pouring drinks into the glasses, then slides them across the table. Kai gives Ren a pointed look.

“Don’t get too wasted,” Kai says to him as he brings his glass to his lips, “you start running that mouth of yours a little too much when you do.”

Ren grins at him and immediately knocks down the glass Junichi barely finished pouring from him in one go, and the gruff man beside him is grumbling. “Whatever you say.”

Something had been bothering you since you came here. “Wait,” you say, pointing between Kai and Ren, “do you two know each other already? Because,” you turn to look at Kai, “on the phone earlier, you sounded like you didn’t.”

Kai’s eyebrows raise in surprise, as though he’s discovered you have some skill for foresight. You glance at Ren, and he gives Kai a puzzled look.

“Uh, yeah. I’ve known Kai for years,” he says, “we go way back. We went to highschool together.”

Kai shifts a little in his chair. “Sorry. Probably forgot to mention it.”

You glance down at the glass of sake in front of you, and the way it twinkles under the lighting of the bar. You slowly bring it to your mouth, taking a small sip, and the way it coats your tongue is less than pleasing.

“Can you tell me more about the assistant position?” you ask Ren, who’s emptied out the bottle of sake and waving someone over to order more. He already has a slightly flush to his face.

“Yeah, yeah, will do,” he says, “but first, let me tell you about what I do in visuals.”

Another round of sake is dropped by, and then another, followed by another, as Ren continues to ramble on and on about what he does for work, and how it’s entirely integral to the final piece of the film, although you’ve never really had a terrible level of appreciation for visual effects in short-film craft, since it’s hardly much work. But you wouldn’t say that, you just continue to nurse your one glass of sake as the three men surrounding you knock back more and more, and there’s slurs to their speeches now.

“Sooo, I’m so sorry, sweetheart—I mean y/n, for cuttin’ you off earlier,” he says, “but what was that experience you wanted to talk to me about?” Ren asks from across the table, and his eyes are all traveling over you.

“I…” you start, “well, I started to work with one of my professors last year, she’s a two-time Cannes Film Festival winner, and she let me under her wing for one of her projects last year.”

“Who is she? Oh wait, nevermind, probably wouldn’t have heard of her anyways,” Ren says, but when you fail to laugh, he waves his hand in the air. “Joking, joking. What’s her name?”

“Naoko. Naoko Ogigami.”

“Oh shit. I have heard of her,” Ren says, followed by a shallow hiccup. Junichi shrugs his shoulders, and when you look at Kai, he’s nodding slowly and toying with the rim of his glass with a finger.

“Yes. Well, anyways—” you start up again, before Kai sets his glass of sake down particularly loud.

“This is all bullshit. Really. I told you, filmmaking is a waste of time. Just focus on your photography, and your freelance or whatnot,” Kai says, grit to his jaw, face looking red with possibly something other than just a tipsiness.

Ren lets out a laugh. “Fuckin’ Kai. What a pessimist. Don’t listen to him, sweetheart,” he says, slurred, and you furrow your brow at him with a glare, “sorry. Don’t listen to him. Trust me, you’ll learn a lot under Mr. Ko. He’s a suuuper nice guy.”

“What’s the compensation?” you ask. It’s a brazen question, one you’d never ask so soon in a formal interview process, but this table was hardly anything formal.

“Real good. Mmm I think like…5200 yen an hour, and then also, you get your foot in the door.”

“Oh,” you sit up a little in your chair. It was higher than most entry-level anything for undergraduates or even new grads.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he drawls when he sees you’re more interested. “Good stuff. Kai used to pick these kinds of jobs up, too, back in his college days. I remember. Although, he’s hardly Mr. Ko’s type, so I doubt he’d be any good for this one.”

Your head snaps to Ren again at his words, face tensing.

“Tell her about what a job like this—hic—entails,” Ren says as he extends his glass out for Junichi to pour him another.

Kai glances at Ren once, and you watch him grind his teeth for a moment, and then there’s a hint of a smirk on his face.

“Oh. Y’know, clerical work. Stuff like printing scripts out,” Kai starts, Junichi filling up his glass and then he raises it into the air to watch the liquid swish around, “grabbing him coffee. Making sure his trailer is stocked.”

“Blowing him in said trailer,” Ren says. It’s something quiet, under his breath with a small laugh, where you could barely hear it across the table. But you heard it nonetheless. And your heart sinks to the core of the earth.

“Excuse me?” you say. The benefit of doubt sitting on your shoulder, watching in disbelief as well.

“He’s joking,” Kai says, quickly, “runnin’ his mouth.”

“Oh fuck off, Kai,” Ren says, throwing his hands up in the air, “don’t act like that’s not why you brought her here.”

Your head slowly turns to Kai, who can’t meet your gaze. Your eyes flicker to Junichi, who looks amused.

Ren leans over the table, elbows resting on top, to look you straight in the eyes. He’s got a sleazy smile, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath, and he dips his tone down low enough to where you can hardly hear it over the sounds surrounding you in the bar. “That’s how you’ll make it in this industry, sweetheart. Whether you like it or not, you’ll be working under those directors until you make it.”

You stand up so fast that your chair falls behind you, hand raised in the air, and you swiftly slap the man across from you so hard across the cheek that it leaves his skin even more red than the flush from before, and your palm is stinging.

There’s gasps all around the bar, hushed voices, eyes on you, but you don’t care. There’s not a single thing in the world you care more about right now than the anger swelled in your chest.

Ren holds his cheek, surprised, blinking like a pathetic animal. He almost looks like he’s about to cry, and you let out a scoff at the sight.

You turn to face Kai, whose eyes are wide and he’s staring up at you. Your fists are clenched at your side.

“Is this why you brought me here tonight?” you ask. Your voice is trembling, anxiety at the wake, the white anger spotting your vision. But there’s also pain. So much pain, and you’re just so fed up with all of it. “Because your belittling, condescending words weren’t enough to tear my hopes apart, so you had to humiliate me in front of your friends instead?”

Kai holds his hand up. “Woah, Canon, relax. He was just joking—…” Kai glances at Ren, who’s still holding his cheek and biting down on his lip, and then his gaze hardens. “Y’know what? It’s about fucking time you get this wake-up call, y/n. I’ve been trying to do the nice thing to steer you in the right direction, and the least you could—”

“Steer me in the right fucking direction?!” you’re yelling now, registering the way your voice echoes in the bar. “You know what I think this is all about, Kai?” You grit your teeth, “You’re a sick, stupid, sexist fuck who didn’t have the balls to go after what he wanted. So miserably pathetic that you’ve got no other fucking business than to pull people down to your level.”

Kai pinches his eyebrows together, hand on the table clenching into a fist.

You lean down closer, an exasperated scoff leaving your lips. “Why don’t you go be his assistant instead? Since I’m sure you’re good at taking it up the ass.”

Kai’s eyes twitch, “you fucking—”

You grab his glass off the table and throw the alcohol into his face, eliciting another round of noises around the bar, and his mouth falls agape in shock before he gets up out of his chair, hand reaching out to grab for you. You close your eyes shut with a flinch to expect pain. Any sort of pain. But you don’t feel anything at all.

When you open your eyes, you see Gojo standing to your left, veins of his arm tense with the tight grip he has on Kai’s forearm, and you can see he’s practically shaking with rage. He steps in front of you, guarding, and you can’t see the expression on his face, but the fear in Kai’s eyes is enough to say it all.

“That’s enough,” he says, the clench of his jaw evident through the strain in his voice, “try to put your hands on her again, and I’ll split your fucking face in half.”

You can see Kai’s breathing pick up from where you’re peering over Gojo’s shoulder, and then Gojo shoves him backwards right as Choso kicks the fallen chair to his feet so he trips over it backwards then hits the ground with a loud and indignant thud.

Gojo’s hovering over Kai, his hands shoved in his pockets as he glares down at him, while Geto and Nanami put space between you and the other two men at your table. You feel a searing flush to your cheeks. You’re breathing fast, the peering eyes all around you are scrutinizing, looking at you with surprise, confusion, shock, and pity. Your mind is racing, and you wonder what your parents would think of all this. What your friends would think of all of this. What the people who support you would think of the fucked up situation you’ve found yourself in, and the humiliation courses so deep through your veins that you just want to run away and hide. The ground could swallow you whole right now, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

You take one step back, then another, before you turn on your heel to rush out the door into the night, and you barely register that it’s raining. You can feel your heart thumping fast in your chest and in your head, that familiar knot in your throat twisting tight as you walk fast down the street and ignore Gojo’s call of your name from behind you.

You don’t want to see anyone right now. You don’t want to be seen by anyone right now. Especially Gojo, of all people, because he was right about everything, and the fact that you had shut him down about it, and the way that you had shut him down about it makes your head numb and your breathing pick up fast.

“y/n,” you hear him call out from behind you, his pace is getting faster and so you’re resorting to longer strides as well, puddles of water splashing under your feet with every step, “just wait—”

“I’m seriously,” you start, and the tears begin to fall, “I’m seriously so, so, so, so, so fucking embarassed right now,” you gasp out the words with no air left in your lungs to breathe as you continue to run away from him, “so please, just leave me alone.”

You can picture it all in your head. Something like I told you so from his lips, because after what you’ve been put through tonight, you just want to assume the worst in people.

But just as you round the corner into an alley, feeling lost with the sight of a dead end, you feel a hand wrap around your arm and then you’re being pulled into an embrace.

Your eyes are blinking with tears streaming, your face buried in a chest that is warm, with a heart beating so fast that it’s keeping time with your own, and the fragrance that surrounds you is so painfully him that it makes you sob even more.

Strong arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, and Gojo rests his chin at the top of your head. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, and you can feel the rumble of his voice, “I just needed to stop you from running.”

Your arms are weakly raised, an outline over his torso but not yet grabbing on, until you hesitantly do. And when you hold onto him, it’s so tight and strong, and you realize that after everything between the two of you, it’s the first time you’ve been wrapped in his arms.

“I feel so stupid,” you start, already hating the words because you want to be stronger right now, but you can’t.

“You’re not stupid,” he quickly corrects you, “those guys are fucking insecure losers. You’re just trying your best. You always have, for as long as I’ve known you, and it’s something you should be proud of yourself for.”

You don’t know what to say to him, you just cling to the damp fabric of his shirt in the rain.

“Things are going to work out for you, no matter what, because I know you’ve got what it takes and you’re willing to work hard for it,” he says, his chin nuzzling so you’re tucked into him even further, “and if things don’t work out, that’s okay, you’re strong and you’ll always get back up. And I want to be there to help you through everything.”

You pull your face from his chest to stare up at him, droplets of rain falling to your face and making you flinch occasionally. “I’m confused.”

His hand comes up to cup your face, swiping at a tear on your cheek, or maybe it was rain. “I thought that—” he starts, his thumb briefly running over the small cut still healing on your cheek, his brow furrowing, “I thought that I’d be okay with watching your life from afar, through cropped pictures on a screen,” he says, a chill running through you, “but I can’t. It’s killing me. And I’m really sorry that it took me this long to tell you this, but I like you so much and I really want to be with you.”

Your eyes widen at his words, and you don’t know how to feel. You push your face into his chest again. His thumb runs circles at your side through the dampness of your shirt.

“There are a lot of reasons I didn’t feel like I could date you, or show up for you,” he says, “but the pain of not getting to be with you, of not getting to hold you, and just share my life with you is way worse than whatever reasons I kept trying to convince myself of.”

You nod slowly, because there was a part of you deep inside that knew that all along.

His grip on you relaxes slightly and you take that as a request from him for you to look up at him, so you do. “I know I’ve put you through a lot of pain, and I’m really not a perfect person, but if there’s room in your heart to forgive me, I promise you that I’ll do everything I can to make you feel happy and cared for.”

Your eyes study his face for sincerity. They’re words you’ve been wanting to hear, words you could’ve pictured in your head, but the adoration in his eyes makes you realize you never could’ve imagined the true sweetness of those words when they’re said from him.

You press your cheek to his chest again. You’re not crying anymore. “I’m sorry for what I said to you earlier. About kicking a soccer ball, and having it easy,” you bite down on your lip, because now there’s tears in your eyes again, “I didn’t mean it.” You sniffle a little, “I know you work hard. And it was a really mean thing to say.”

He sighs, holding you flush to himself. His cheek presses against the top of your head. “That’s okay, you don’t have to apologize for that.”

“But I do.”

There was no grudge at all. There was nothing withdrawn from you, nothing taken away as punishment. He just held onto you, exactly as you are, and you felt so safe in every second you spent in his arms.

You look up at him again. His hair is damp, strands clinging to his face in all the places they usually fall over, droplets of rain falling from his fringe onto your face and he does everything he can to wipe them away. “It’s too late,” you tell him, and he immediately knows what you’re referring to.

He just holds you closer. “I know.”

“I don’t have feelings for you anymore,” you say through a sniffle.

He knows you’re lying, and that you say it just out of spite, but he holds your head to his chest. “I know.”

“You’ll have to beg and grovel, and even then, I might not like you ever again,” you say, gripping so tightly onto his shirt for purchase, your voice sounding muffled as you breathe in the scent of him. “That’s your punishment.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. A firm press of his lips, lasting as he takes a few deep breaths. And then he kisses the same spot again, staying still in that position as he repeats himself.

“I know.”

a/n. phewww thank you for reading, i swear, this chapter felt like a goddamn war to write. my emotions were all over the damn place, i think cause i wrote from a place of bitter experience lol. i dedicate this chap to my lovely friend she’s a film major (she inspired me to create this story) and i srs wouldn’t be able to write kickoff without her 😭💕 dear M♥︎, i thought of you sm while writing this chapter, i can only hope i’ve captured even the slightest bit of the understanding i will always aim to have of you, and that you feel seen. i’m incredibly proud of you, always rooting for you, so often thinking of you, and terribly missing you so much rn (plsssssss visit meee😩💔 ) dedicated w sm love 💕 -bitchasshoe this chapter is also dedicated to anyone who’s going through a hard times n maybe just trying to figure themselves out :”) i am so proud of you, you should be so proud of yourself, there’s still so much to live and learn, and i hope the universe blesses you w everything you’ve ever wanted!! big thank u to my lovely m00t @quinnyundertow she pulled me out of my writers block for this chapter and also beta read a lot of it for me there’s only three chapters left for kickoff (i’m gonna cry just thinking ab it :”)) which doesnt sound like a lot but there’s still a lot i’ve got planned 😭 i’m just noticing that i very poorly planned the second half of this series. chapters 1-6 combined have less words than chapters 7-9 combined 😅✨ sooooo i may increase the chapters from 12 to 14 by splitting them up to make it easier on me, or just stick to the plan and come out with long chapters like the last two. idk. i’ll figure it out. thank u to everyone for reading i love you all dearly 😭💕 i’ll see you in the next one!!

➸ you're all caught up!

➸ wrote some kickoff headcanons here

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @therealestpussyeater @lost-resonance @hojoslutoru @foulprincesscycle @luniunia @alekssashka7 @bsdicinindirdim @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @btszn @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @drthymby @ninitoru @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @horisdope @sykostyles @aquaberrydolphin @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @purplehallow11 @mwtsxri @ritsatoru @bxddiebloss @chwesuh-imnida @mo0nforme @viware @still-fking-single @megumisthirdog @gintokhi @karvokr @cierocanteat @imjustaweirdnerd @ronniebird @bloopsstuff @mwtsxri @witchbybirth @tetsuski @fffinskye @gh0ulkz @beabadobeee @mandysfanfics @erencvlt @laviefantasie @sukunamylovexoxo @girlkissersco @itzjuliana @yell0wdreams @1dimas7 @strayedjeno @mo0nforme @yungbloode @sullybrothersmate @oaooaoaoaoa @swagangelllamawolf @banenemilk @inniesblog

(hope i didn't miss anyone thank u all sm!!)

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astonmartinii · 9 months

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ultimate wing man | daniel ricciardo social media au

pairing: daniel ricciardo x horner!reader y/n is notoriously single, and her dad decides to take it into his own hands.

masterlist

if you want to leave a tip x

yourusername

liked by christianhorner, danielricciardo and 603,561 others

yourusername: galentines was a must this year

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user1: this girl cute and rich how come no man has come in for her?

yourusername: i ask myself that everyday tbf i am a catch 🎣

user2: i need to be her friend asap

christianhorner: looking lovely darling as usual

yourusername: thank you papa

yourbff1: thank you for the champagne father horner

yourbff2: thank you for driving to london to pick us up at 2am father horner

yourbff3: sorry for throwing up in the porsche father horner

christianhorner: no worries girls, all will be forgiven if you convince y/n to go on the date i set up for her

yourusername: will you stopppppppp i just got out of a relationship ur not gonna be grandpa for a good fucking while

christianhorner: you can be the one to tell your mum that

yourusername: please your ego can't take being called grandpa

user4: so what i'm hearing is i need to be friends with y/n to get my nights out paid for by christian horner

user5: i know yall hate christian but his relationships with his kids kinda make me like him

user6: no i agree with you, it's super cute and you can't handle that he's just good at his job

maxverstappen1: oh i see, @danielricciardo why didn't we get our tabs covered?

danielricciardo: clearly aren't loved as much here :(

yourusername: i mean i'm his literal flesh and blood

maxverstappen1: but we make him money ???

yourusername: and i spend it?

danielricciardo: so we're funding the galentines benders?

yourusername: eh probably, i do have a job but i'd rather spend other people's money lol

user7: she's so real

user8: she is my professor of girl maths

christianhorner

liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername and 408,943 others

tagged: yourusername, maxverstappen1, danielricciardo

christianhorner: had to get the grill out for this bank holiday weekend with the family

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user10: christian referring to max and dan as family sergio i am so sorry

user11: the state of the seasoning makes me think that sergio dodged a bullet

yourusername: thank you papa but disappointed not to see you wearing the apron i got you for christmas

christianhorner: i'm sorry y/n but i'm not going to wear a "this chef wants to fuck toto wolff" apron at a family event

yourusername: shame, you wear daniel's merch all the time

danielricciardo: awwww christian i'm blushing

user12: i'm sorry christian horner owns a "this chef wants to fuck toto wolff" apron and we haven't seen it

user13: y/n horner you are a national treasure for real

maxverstappen1: woah who are those sexy guys in the last picture?

yourusername: the way i can't escape yall even at family events

maxverstappen1: not our fault ur dad loves us

danielricciardo: though there are definite perks

christianhorner: my cooking skills?

danielricciardo: sure...

user14: christian's obsession with daniel needs to be studied

yourusername: i think it's just a horner thing tbf

user15: HUH?

user16: i mean who isn't obsessed with daniel

liked by yourusername

user17: to be honest i would love for y/n and daniel to be a thing i am TIRED of constantly reading about how her latest bf has cheated on her

user18: for real that girl is in the trenches all the time she needs a good guy

yourusername

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yourusername: not really the dress for a pasta dinner but look at the material

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user22: miss ma'am i thought we were a no on the dating thing for a while

yourusername: i'm dumb i know but i have a good feeling about this one !!

user23: i think i've seen this film before

yourusername: have some faith my dad picked him so it's not my terrible taste

maxverstappen1: wait so you actually went on the date your dad set up for you?

yourusername: uh yeah when you have taste this bad you need intervention

maxverstappen1: you said it not me

yourusername: you said nothing every time i brought them to the garage

maxverstappen1: not to your face lol i was trying to be nice in front of your dad

yourusername: hmmmmmm well part of me thinks you guys won't have any complaints about this one

user23: i hate that i am so invested in this

alexalbon: so the date happened and lily and i still haven't gotten the debrief yet? i see how it is.

yourusername: bro i just got home and sat down give me some time

alexalbon: let me put the kettle on and then call us

yourusername: i can't promise i can tell you who it was just yet

lilymunhe: you're such a tease !!!

yourusername: gentleman don't kiss and tell

user24: walk with me: christian set this date up, christian loves daniel, daniel and the guy in the picture both have tattoos, daniel usually comments on all of y/n's posts but is silent on this one

user25: get a life (i believe you 100%).

danielricciardo

liked by christianhorner, yourusername and 1,209,667 others

tagged: yourusername

danielricciardo: enchante

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user26: WHAT IS GOING ON IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS

user27: daniel really said fuck y/n's soft launch

maxverstappen1: YES the garage owe me $50

yourusername: you bet on who my date was?

maxverstappen1: well i bet even though it was the most obvious thing in the world who your dad would choose

yourusername: my dad has good taste?

user28: it's annoying me how cute this is

user29: i need it to be me next time

yourbff1: father horner can you matchmake for me next please, anyone on the grid will work

christianhorner: my days of being cupid are over unfortunately, pulling this off was way too stressful

user30: you telling me horner gets more stressed over setting his daughter up rather than whole ass races

yourusername: you're lucky you're sexy i had the whole soft launch planned out

danielricciardo: my sexiness has gotten me out of a lot in life

yourusername: it won't get you out of this family dinner though

danielricciardo: oh please your dad is only having dinner so he can see me

yourusername: unfortunately true, at least i love you as well now

danielricciardo: you always did, don't lie

yourusername: yeah but i don't want to inflate your ego any more

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername and 803,459 others

tagged: yourusername, danielricciardo

maxverstappen1: someone save me from the constant torture of third wheeling

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user32: max is such a mood, i too become suicidal around any happy couple

yourusername: i don't remember you complaining when we literally made you dinner and hung out with you all night because you were "bored and lonely and wanted to annoy us"

maxverstappen1: *annoy my favourites

danielricciardo: we're well aware we're your favourites, we're the only ones who will tolerate you

maxverstappen1: well when you put it like that it makes me sad

yourusername: nooooo maxy we love you

user33: max using a meme of himself is peak max verstappen behaviour i can't lie

landonorris: wait so where was my invitation?

yourusername: this wasn't an invite only event it was me and daniel trying to have an evening in

maxverstappen1: but i thought you liked that i bought jimmy and sassy :(

yourusername: I LOVE THEM PLEASE HELP ME CONVINCE DANIEL TO GET A CAT

danielricciardo: i love you so much but we can barely feed ourselves and max so maybe we shouldn't be in charge of another living creature

yourusername: can we at least cat sit :(

danielricciardo: of course honey

user34: oh to be drinking wine on the couch with my boy friend daniel ricciardo

yourusername

liked by christianhorner, charles_leclerc and 780,563 others

tagged: danielricciardo

yourusername: thank you dad, you picked a good one x

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user35: i'm so jealous rn don't hit me up

danielricciardo: i think you picked THE ONE

yourusername: he's never going to shut up about this but i'll deal with it to be with you

danielricciardo: i'm blushing y/n

yourusername: i can make you do a lot more than blush

maxverstappen1: CHILDREN PRESENT

user36: this shit is like a straight up fairytale, christian should actually go into professional matchmaking

user37: girl yeah this match was made in heaven but we all know it's because christian LOVES daniel as well

user38: he's been gagging for daniel to be his son in law since like 2014

landonorris: thank god this happened, this man was PINING for so fucking long

danielricciardo: okay like no need to blast me

yourusername: omg you pined too, suddenly i'm not as much of a loser as i once thought

danielricciardo: you were never a loser babe

landonorris: maybe you were if you had a crush on him in 2014

danielricciardo: LANDO I WAS A CATCH IN 2014

yourusername: you've always been a catch babe don't worry

christianhorner: i know what i'm doing, i'm glad you're finally happy

yourusername: thank you dad xx

danielricciardo: thank you soon to be dad xx

user39: WHAT

danielricciardo

liked by christianhorner, maxverstappen1 and 1,304,766 others

tagged: yourusername

danielricciardo: i drove in your dad's wedding, but it'll be ours next

view all comments

user39: i think i heard christian's screams of joy all the way from the other side of the world

christianhorner: so happy for you two

danielricciardo: thank you so much for having faith in me

christianhorner: i know you'll treat her well and i know she'll treat you well, i'm excited to have you in the family

yourusername: awwww dad you're such a sap

maxverstappen1: do i need to marry into the family to still be invited to horner events?

christianhorner: no you're still invited max

yourusername: dad's golden boys will always have invites so you're safe max - bring seb to the next one too

user40: not all of the golden boys having championships other than daniel

danielricciardo: still ended up with the best prize in the end

yourusername: DANNY oh wow....

danielricciardo: not wrong though, i have no regrets because it all led to you

landonorris: @christianhorner i am painfully single please help

christianhorner: i'm not a miracle worker

yourusername: horners take no prisoners

note: pls enjoy this lil one, i did this as a palate cleanser before i get to p3 of into the arms of another and all the dragging that's about to come

#f1 #f1 x you #f1 instagram au #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #daniel ricciardo instagram au #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo

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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 4 months

Text

When in L.A

Summary: while on a walk with your boyfriend, the both of you experience a horrible interaction with one of Jacob’s supposed fans.

Warnings: r is referred to being Australian but ofc you can change it :)

Wc: 574

A/n: decided to post a fic before i officially start school again tomorrow 🥹

enews

Liked by jacobelordiupdates, elordifan, and 3,098,261 others

Jacob spotted with his girlfriend y/n out in LA today!! The Aussie couple were playing around with their dogs while Jacob took a few photos of her :)

view all comments

user1: oh to be her 😫

user2: she’s so so pretty and seems so sweet ahh

user3: I wonder how they met lol

↘️ user4: pretty sure they knew each other since they were at school in Australia 😂

user5: did not know she was Australian? Omg what?

user6: when is it my turn 🥲

user7: thought he’d be dating someone famous but oop

↘️ user8: didn’t know celebrities had to only date other celebrities?

You and Jacob amble through the streets of Hollywood hills, the chill energy of the neighbourhood surrounding you as you take your dogs Layla and Freddie for a walk.

You’ve been friends since high school back in Australia and only started dating around 2 years ago when you visited LA and caught up with Jacob. And it was only a couple months ago you moved across the world to be with your boyfriend.

You weren’t foreign to the recognition Jacob garners, fans occasionally approach for a quick chat or photo, and for the most part, it’s a positive experience for the both of you.

A young woman, probably in her early 20s, spots Jacob from afar, her eyes widening with recognition. She hurries over, her excitement palpable. The two of you stop as he comes up, “Hi Jacob!” She excitedly greets, her phone ready for a selfie.

Jacob flashes his signature smile, “Hey, how’s it going?” The fan smiles widely, her full attention on your boyfriend as you stand to the side, “Great! Can I take a photo with you please?” She asks, “Yeah, sure.”

The fan, seemingly disregarding your presence, abruptly hands you her phone. “Take the photo for me,” she demands, her tone leaving no room for refusal. Caught off guard by her directness, you manage a surprised “Uh, sure.”

Even you could tell Jacob was caught off guard by her rude behaviour, his eyebrows slightly knitted. You reluctantly take the phone and frame the photo as the woman poses with Jacob, her hand around his waist as he respectfully hovers his hand on her back.

She glances at you with a dismissive look, as if you’re merely an accessory to the moment. “Make sure it’s good,” she commands, refocusing on Jacob as he visibly becomes agitated.

Despite the awkwardness, you snap the photo with a forced smile. The fan snatches her phone without a word of thanks and strides away, disappearing from view.

Jacob, sensing your discomfort, lets out a sigh. “She seemed nice” His voice laced with sarcasm as you chuckle. “They’re not usually like that, trust me.” He remarks, irritation evident in his voice.

Jacob puts a reassuring arm around your shoulders, “Don’t let it get to you. I didn’t even really smile in the photo,” He says with a cheeky grin as you couldn’t help but laugh.

Later that day, Jacob takes to his instagram page that he mostly posted work related things, and shared a photo of the two of you with your dogs, along with a thoughtful caption.

jacobelordi

Liked by yourusername, alexademie, sadiesoverall, jacobelordiupdates, and 8,038,297 others

Hey everyone! I don’t usually post things like this but it needs to be said. I love meeting you all in public, and I’m always grateful for your support. However, let’s remember to be respectful to everyone, including the people I’m with. Shoving phones in someone’s hand, demanding for them to take a photo and being rude isn’t cool. Let’s keep it a positive experience. Much love to you all!! ❤️

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yourusername: 🐶💗

↘️ jacobelordi: love you!

↘️ user1: awe 😭

rachelzegler: so glad you’re bringing this up!!

alexademie: PREACH 🙌

user2: I seriously don’t understand people who call themselves “fans” and do disrespectful shit like this

user3: Is this about the incident that happened today??

↘️ user4: yup. It’s all over Twitter and tiktok rn

↘️ user5: the “fan” is getting slandered so hard rn

user6: wait I’m so confused. What happened?

↘️ user7: basically a “fan” came up to Jacob and Y/n and demanded y/n to take the photo for them and she was just overall rude

user8: so funny how Jacob isn’t even smiling in the photo 😭

↘️ user9: HAHAHAHHA I WANNA SEE THIS PIC

↘️ user10: it’s on TikTok!!

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starillusion13 · 2 months

Text

Yes, Noona?

Request: "Hyuck as bf with a noona!! but he's dom in bed and a sunshine in front of others hahaha"

Pairing: bf!Haechan x f!reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut, romance

W.C: 1.5k

Warnings: Explicit themes, DOM!Hyuck, sub!reader, Noona gf and younger bf, nipple play, kissing, crying, begging(not literally), Hyuck being sarcastic as usual and Mark as third wheel lol.

Networks: @cultofdionysusnet @k-vanity

Note: please I want to thanks to people for reading and reblogging. Reviews are always appreciated. Enjoy a little fic on my Hyuck.

MINORS DONT INTERACT UNDER THE CUE! 🔞

His Noona.

You have been always referred as his noona. He has always been a nerdy and bright student all his life and you are always standing proudly beside him with a bright smile on your face for his success. Well whatever he achieves, his first intention is to go to a bakery shop to buy a cake and then your favorite flowers and hurriedly make a run to your apartment to give you the news and celebrate.

You have adored him, well also admired him a lot since then. His bestfriend or his only hyung, Mark Lee who was your classmate made it possible to you to meet him first time. one day when you were hanging out with in Mark's house. Haechan also came who bought some snacks and when he entered the door, his eyes locked with yours.

First he was so awkward and smiling at you timidly but the moment you smiled, as if something inside him shifted.

"You are so pretty, Noona." He sat beside you and leaned back into the sofa. When you felt his presence beside you and his compliment made you smile, you turned towards him, his eyes were already on you.

"Aw...Hyuck, thank you. I'm glad to get such a compliment from my little one."

He smirked at you and you already know that something stupid was going to spit out his mouth. Before he could speak a single word, you pushed a slice of pizza into his mouth.

He grumbled at your action while chewing it and you laughed at him loudly.

The thing you didn't notice was that his lustrous eyes with a little smile in the corner of his lips were staring at you.

He is a bright sunlight in the trio of you, him and Mark. The younger one is sometimes so cocky and sarcastic that he won't let anything to get slide without making a stupid remark.

You have babied him a lot. You always look after him like he was your little brother and when you gradually became his bestfriend. You both were like inseparable ones. You also got to know about his clingy side. Him whining for your attention all the times and then when you push him away jokingly, he would give you a hurt look.

Sometimes you are really surprised with his sudden change in mood.

"Don't tell me you are sulking because I didn't take you to the cafe." You raised your brows at him from across the room.

As soon as he nodded, your eyes went wide.

"Mark was busy yesterday and when I thought to go to your place, you were not there."

"You know my place?"

"Yeah. I have once followed Mark." He stayed proudly, leaving you in disbelief.

"Don't say anything more. You are creeping me out."

He laughed when you cupped your cheek and turned towards the laptop.

Even if he is making up the fact that he got to know your address being a stalker behind Mark. He is actually more than that. To your oblivion he has been all around you for a while. He knows everything about you, things which you yourself is unaware of.

As the days went on, you both grew closer together and Mark got to get a hold of the tensions between you both. He is always being aware of Haechan's feelings towards older girls and he was quite shock when you two get along with each other and started being best friends.

He didn't know about you and seeing you were so friendly with younger guy surprised him but when one day you both confessed to each other and of course keeping the older one as third wheeling in between. He was sure that both of your life was going to take a turn.

Even though Haechan is younger but you can still feel his possessiveness and dominance over you. You didn't mind the sudden change of his moods and you used to shrug it off as a way of ignoring but this sparked an intense energy in him.

"You didn't tell me that you are going to attend the party. I could have come along with you. Or are you just keeping something secret?"

You frowned at the thought, "what secret? And it's just a reunion party with my friends. What to tell you about it, nothing."

"Y/n." After you both have started dating, he calls you by your name but still he uses the word Noona very often but hearing your name in this sudden tone made you gulp. "Is Renjun coming to the party?"

And you know why. You nodded slowly when he suddenly smirked and cockily walked away.

His actions and other activities were still similar from his teenage days and let's add his possessive tendencies over his girlfriend and that's you.

If he is laughing with his friends group, of course he is the mood maker of the group and the one to annoy everyone with his sassy little comments. But a single remark about you will snap him out. He won't show it in front, maybe he will.

One day he grabbed Renjun's collar when he addressed that you could be his girlfriend instead and it would have been better. He snickered when he saw the reaction on Haechan's face.

Apart from the bubbly Haechan, the sunshine. There's something else to notice about him that is his other side, Hyuck.

Just the opposite to his appearance in public.

Even though he looks like a lovely guy when hanging out with you or spending time with you in the living room. You can't really match the two persons —- Haechan in public and Hyuck behind the closed doors of bedroom.

"Haechan—"

"It's Hyuck...noona." He chuckled when he hovered on top of you. Your throat already being rough with earlier activities and hearing him calling you Noona made you clench around nothing.

He was enjoying the sight of you being so impatient and your hooded eyes staring at him, literally begging at him.

"Aw...Noona...won't you scold me?" He flicked a nipple making you moan and squirm under his hold. You shook your head as your hands were already tied to the headboard.

"Use your words." He leaned forwards and whispered in your ears, "Noona..." he breathed out the word, goosebumps spread over your body and you whined for him.

His breaths hitting against your heated and over sensitive skin and getting bruised by his attacks with hickeys and kisses.

You previously like earlier days in the relationship were a lot nervous about him in sexual activities. Even if you are the older one but you can't take control over him because you are so shy about having the intimacy with him. But, don't worry because the menace was waiting for this exact opportunity to get hold of and finally he got it when he got to know that his only Noona who is daring to everything is nothing but a shy and sub to him.

"Hyuck...please I can't." Tears slid down from side of your eyes and he kissed the tearline before putting his attention on the breasts. Your body arch into his warm and torturous mouth but filling you up with the pleasures.

"Have patience, Noona...don't wanna get punished, right?" He snuggled his face down into your chest.

You shook your head roughly and soon you felt him teasing your entrance but he quickly pushed down your hip still to the bed and laughed at your whines.

You cried with the unbearable pleasure and his laughter filled the room.

"Please..." you mumbled something after it but his rough kiss muffled the words into his mouth. The intense yet a sweet kiss filled with passion, love and longing made you yearning for more when he broke it apart, saliva lining both your lips.

When you will be distracted, he would take it as the chance to finally enter you and push himself inside of yours into every corner, stretching every inch of your skin until you are begging and crying for him to stop.

It makes you wonder sometimes how he is the younger one and you the older one.

"No more Haechan please...please..."

"Yes, Noona?"

He will act as if he can't hear you but oops he is not having any intention to stop when he got the taste of you and feeling so good when you are tightly wrapped around him.

And he will repeatedly call you 'Noona' to make you come for the nth time that night.

>>>> <<<<

I hope you liked it.

>>>> <<<<

Taglist: @mymoodwriting @justhere4kpop @anyamaris @yeoobin @icchyi @jwnghyuns @piratequeen-queenofgames @dinonuguaegi @oreharuuu @hwanring @sanwifesstuff @kiwiisnthereoops @kiwiraccoon @hyuukah @kazscara @aceofspadesbiofalltrades @nvdhrzn [open!]

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poeticallyspiteful · 10 months

Note

hiii! could you please write a regulus black x potter! reader? maybe something like reg and reader secretly going out and getting discovered by James?

thank you!! have an amazing day 💗💗

his muse (pt. one)

regulus black x reader

fluff / angst

cw: unedited as always 😌, a sex joke but it’s a titanic reference lol, marauders being overprotective, kissing, cuddling, someone may threaten to pull out someone’s teeth and put them on a necklace (it seemed like a very regulus threat), artist!regulus because 🥰

summary: you’re the honorary little sister of the infamous marauders; what happens when they catch you with a certain someone?

notes: hey love, thank you so much for the request!! just so you know, i don’t like to write readers to be related to another character, because i want my readers be able to relate to the ‘reader character’ without altering their preferred fancast for another one based on things like race or ethnicity. that is totally on me for not putting that in my request post and i will do that asap, but i hope you enjoy this anyway <33

more notes: i did get just a tad bit carried away and decided to divide this request into two parts, just to make it less overwhelming for me and y’all as well. anyways, enjoy <333

“oh reggie, paint me like one of your french girls,” you giggled, draping yourself dramatically across regulus’ pristine sheets.

he looked up from his sketchbook, brow furrowed in a way that made you want to kiss him until you both passed out from lack of oxygen.

god, you loved him.

“what?” he asked.

“nothing.”

evan and barty had both left the slytherin dorms, off to some place or another, giving you the perfect opportunity for some alone time with your lovely boyfriend. you’ve made sure to do this at least once a week since you started dating in your fourth year. now that you’ve reached sixth year, the tradition had only grown more cherished; precious were the moments spent with someone you’d been otherwise forbidden to see.

“he’s dangerous, (y/n),” sirius insisted, only just finished with his dramatic act of fake vomiting. you had made the grave mistake of assuming your friend would have a normal reaction upon hearing who had asked you to the yule ball.

“a slytherin, (y/n), how could you?” james moaned, collapsing onto the auto-man like he was faint in the heart. “you have been my little sister all my life—”

“you met me when you were twelve and we are not related,” you corrected.

james feigned offense. “how dare you question our bond? blood does not matter! we are family and that is that, young lady.”

“leave her alone, the both of you,” remus laughed, throwing an arm over your shoulder and pulling you to his chest. “our little girl had to grow up someday.”

sirius looked appalled. “not with my bastard, slimy, death eater of a brother—”

“he’s not a death eater, we’re fourteen!” you exclaimed, pouting dramatically at the older boy. “just one dance, i promise padfoot, if it’s that weird to you, i’ll never see him again.”

you lied.

sunlight peaked in through the curtains, the golden rays hitting regulus in such a way that made him look angelic. so focused on his sketchbook, glancing up every few moments to gaze at you like you were something to be revered.

you sat up in his bed, fiddling with the hem of his sweater that lay around your mid thighs; though you loved to, you rarely got the opportunity to wear reggie’s clothes, given sirius would recognize them in an instant. so, you took advantage of these moments whenever they came your way.

you loved wrapping yourself in the soft, strong, warm smell of him: minty cologne, sea salt, and pine trees. the scent was practically woven in the fabric, making everything feel so much softer, so much more him.

you did have a couple shirts and sweaters you’d stolen over the years, but they remained in your dorm at all times.

well, mostly.

it was a moment of stupidity. a dreary saturday morning, a hogsmeade trip, and you had slept in. naturally, you had to rush out of your dorm to get to breakfast in time; but, you didn’t need to change, did you?

why not wear the sweater you had slept in and save yourself a little time?

so, after changing into more appropriate pants, you made your way down the breakfast and sat in your regular spot; in between remus and james, and smack dab across from sirius.

he noticed his brothers favorite sweater the second you sat down.

“what’s that?”

you’d barely sat down by the time sirius spoke and continued making your morning coffee as the group grew silent around you. finally looking up, you glanced between your friends in confusion.

“what’s what?”

you lifted your sleeve to rub your nose, breathing in quickly through your stuffed up sinuses; stupid fall allergies.

you froze as the familiar sent cooled your insides, eyes darting over to the slytherin table across the great hall.

oh.

that’s ‘what’s what’.

“who’s jumper is that, (y/n)?” james asked, arm draping over your shoulders to tug the sleeve on the other side. “doesn’t look like one of mine—”

“or mine,” sirius chimed.

“or mine,” peter chirped, though you hardly stole borrowed his sweaters anyways (too scratchy).

“it’s mine!”

you were surprised to hear remus’ leap to your defense, as you knew damn well the sweater wrapped around you wasn’t his— still, you weren’t about to question it.

“mhm,” you hummed, taking a sip of your coffee, hoping the boys didn’t notice your shaking hands. “i don’t know what all that third degree was about, but i stole this from moony a month ago.”

“what’re you thinking about, lovely?”

regulus was suddenly just inches away from you, sketchbook tossed to the side, instead opting to look at his muse more close up.

“nothing,” you mumbled, smiling as he dipped down to kiss your collarbone, working his way up to your lips with featherlight kisses that made you wish you could stay with him forever.

though at this point, everything he did made you wish you could stay with him forever.

“you’re beautiful,” he whispered, eyes scanning every curve and point of your face like a work of art; his work of art, his muse.

he’ll never get tired of that word.

you breathed in deeply, the smell of him practically making you glow like some sort of protection charm; you’d never felt safer than you did with regulus near. you felt untouchable with him, like nothing could ever hurt you.

“what are you doing here?”

lovely.

a grating voice to disrupt your already terrible day.

“hey,” severus called. “i’m talking to you.”

you spun around, glaring at the greasy haired boy across from you with as much contempt at you could muster. “piss off, severus!” you shouted; you’d never bit back like this before, but the shocked look on his face was worth it. “really, cornering a younger student in an empty hallway? pretty cowardly, don’t you think?”

before you could debate the consequences of your actions, severus’ hand was gripping your cloaks and you were shoved up against the wall.

“you filthy little—”

just as quick as snapes hands were on you, they’d been torn off, and you scrunched to the ground. regulus shoved him up to the wall opposite you.

“defending your little mudblood, huh?”

“shut your filthy mouth about her or i swear on merlins grave, i will rip every single one of your teeth out and put them on a necklace like a string of fucking pearls,” regulus bit, baring his teeth like an emphasis to the threat. “you got that?”

that night, you ended up in a very similar position to where you were in now; wrapped up in your lovely boyfriends sweater, curled in his arms, and having sweet nothings whispered in your ear.

“y’know, i mean it when i say you are beautiful,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to your temple as he spoke, breath fanning over your face. it tickled, but you didn’t care; you just wanted to hear his voice. “breathtakingly gorgeous, inside and out.”

“really?” you teased, nuzzling your nose further into his chest, arms wrapped around his torso.

“really,” he laughed. “i could stay like this forever.”

you pouted, pulling yourself half on top of him. “but my daft friends just have to get in the way, don’t they?”

you hear a gasp from the doorway.

“did you just call us daft?”

#regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black x y/n #regulus black x you #marauders x reader #marauders #marauders x platonic!reader #harry potter #regulus black imagine #request #regulus black request

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crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington · 4 months

Note

yooooo!!! you’re my favorite ethan winters artist i just wanna say that first and foremost, thank you for the wholesome content of my comfort character and father figure 🥹🫶

i’m really curious bc i feel like i see a lot of people against mithan (not me personally, i’m p neutral on them!) but i’m curious to know all your thoughts on them! thoughts on their canon relationship, their fanon portrayal, the backlash against them/mia accusations, and your headcanons? i’m just really interested!!! hopefully that’s not weird :”)

have a good day!! sparkle on!!! ✨💖

i heart mithan... i think that they can be so cute...

i personally hc them t4t and i like to think that the dated in highschool before they both had fully transitioned

mia likes to bake and ethan likes to scrap book and he always likes to take pictures of mias cakes/ baked goods and has a album for them 😭

i am a multishipper so i draw a lot of ethan ships so my girl is left out sometimes and im sorry mia 😔

i actually really like their relationship, its a really complex dynamic that i like to talk about with my friends

i think the issue is that when talking about mithan or mia in general, theres just SO MUCH misinformation that its honestly a pain the butt to talk about

people still think that she was responsible for the creation of eveline, people still think that she experimented on eveline, people still use examples of her attacking ethan as if she did it on her own will instead of being mind controlled

in reality she was just someone who oversaw the transportation of evie. im not excusing her or anything because obviously she knew what she was doing, but people really try to accuse her of doing something she didnt and it bothers me alot lol

the problem with the fandom is that people either try to water her down to girlboss who did nothing wrong and fail to acknowledge the complexity/ moral grayness of her character and the other side is misogynists 😭😭😭😭

its hard to talk about her without people either going "stop trying to villainize her and make her look bad!" or people ACTUALLY villainizing her and acting like heisenberg would have treated him better 😭😭

mithan is such a sad relationship because they loved each other so much and that ended up being the reason their relationship fell apart (sort of... its not like the broke up... ethan kinda just straight up died)

i get a lot a trouble for saying this, but mia is a selfish person.

its not a bad thing! well i mean it is but it doesnt make her some evil witch who is somehow worse than the guy how made a werewolf american ninja warrior. its just a major character flaw she has! which is good! mia being a flawed person who makes mistakes and morally gray decisions make her a more interesting person!

she is selfish in the way that she wants to keep her family with her no matter the cost. even if it means lying to ethan about her job so that he wont think different of her. here is a interrogation from the re7 DLC, which is easy to miss!

she isnt necessarily trying to apologize for the things she has done, she is more of a, "u wont need to forgive me in the first place if we just forget it all and move on"

she doesn't try to redeem herself for what she has done, she tries to move on and return to the normal life that she wants so bad. which is fine! everyone copes a different way and she has to right to move on from her trauma. the problem that lies in this is that she has a shared trauma with ethan who still has no idea what went on in dulvey and still effects him till the present (he is mold! this is a important thing to know! most people would want to know if they were a walking corpse)

she played a direct part in what happened in dulvey, and im not referring to the email, she did not send that. she never wanted ethan to come in the first place. she tried her best to send a video to him, begging him to forget about her because she wanted to protect him, BUT it didnt send.

he got involved because she was involved. its honestly a series of really really unfortunate events.

THOUGH! she did know what she was getting into. im tired of seeing the narrative that mia was innocent and didnt know what was going on or was simply a bystander. she knew what she was doing, she knew eveline was a bioweapon, she knew eveline was a child. she used a MACHINE GUN! she knows how to use weapons and was obviously trained for it.

she tried her best to keep everybody out of the mess, ex: warning the bakers not to take them in, warning ethan not to find her, sacrificing herself for ethan in the later half of re7

but again, those are the consequences of HER actions

her consequences just happen to get really big and end up hitting ethan on the head like a metal sheet 😭

their relationship is really so interesting, it makes me really sad to think about sometimes 😭they both went through something that nobody else would ever understand, in the end they really only have each other. they get moved to an entire different country and the dulvey incident gets covered up with a "gas leak"

its really tragic because their marriage definitely had some flaws and bumps. and i know im repeating myself but its because people always take this in the worst way possible but just because i say their relationship was rocky doesnt mean im saying they dont love each other!!! thats the entire basis of mias character!! saying she doesnt love ethan would destroy her entire character!

you can see in the re8 DLC how fondly ethan talks about mia! he loves her so much, though im not sure if his comments in the DLC are him narrating current (post re8) or his thoughts before everything went down and he died (pre re8)

everything mia did was because she LOVED ethan. she would never do anything to intentionally hurt him, she is not a cruel person. she hides the truth of her job from ethan pre re7 because she loves him and doesnt want her job to drive them apart. she CONTINUES to refuse to tell ethan the truth post re7 because she wants to move on a live a happy normal life with him and knows something like her being directly associated with the connections would probably cause (more) problems. she refuses to tell ethan that he is mold because again, hard to live a happy marriage with your husband after you tell him hes a bioweapon.

obviously i dont think it was right that she did this, thats what makes her selfish! she did it for herself! she did it for her family! she thought it would work out, she thought that they could move on and be happy together.

the issue is that ethan didnt want to forget. he wanted to know what happened, he wanted to know the part mia played, he wanted answers! which is reasonable! he knows to some extent that mia was partially responsible for his involvement and he was always suspcious that mia was lying to him about her job which is implied when mia says "you were right, i did lie to you"

she doesnt learn, she doesnt stop lying, her lies get bigger and worse and it sucks yeah but it makes her so interesting!!! she keeps doing stupid things under the idea that this is whats best for her and her family, that if she hides this everything will work out and it will be for the better but its not!

just because telling your husband hes dead and a bioweapon is a hard subject to bring up doesnt mean you DONT bring it up. people shouldnt use that as a reason to excuse mia 😭, its a very bad excuse and honestly highlights how horrible their communication skills were. you cant just not tell your husband that he is actually infected with the mold and not tell him for the tree years between post re7 and pre re8.

im not saying these things to put mia down, or try and villanize her. these are all just actual things her character does! she isnt evil, but she isnt a knight in shining armor either. we need to be able to have talks about complex characters without crying everytime someone points out a flaw. characters have flaws! and mia just happens to have a lot of them!

im not mad at her, i dont dislike her because i think this way of her. shes a fictional character! you can like characters that are morally gray, or villains that drink blood and make corpse soldiers. they are fictional! pointing out the flaws of a character does not mean i dont like them.

i wouldnt call her "the real villain of re8" but i wouldnt treat her like a damsel in distress either. she is a competent person, she knows what shes doing, she has her reasons for doing them. she made bad descions with good intentions behind them! they can coexist and we should let them!

i like mithan! its a complex relationship because they both love each other so much but hurt each other in the process

talking about them is just a pain in the butt because talking about mia is a pain in the butt lol

i really hate how she keeps getting sidelined, its super frustrating to see mia get put in a cage in every game 😭

its even more frustrating that mia straight up just disappears???? in the shadows of rose DLC... like she just stops taking care of rose and theres nothing said about it. no reason or explanation. i dont think mia would ever ditch rosemary because she didnt care about her, but we probably will never know because capcom sucks at writing and they probably forgot the mia ever even existed.

all in all, i think the fandom is really just full of misinformation which make people either think mia is some horrible evil person, or its full of people who think that saying mia messed up is the equivalent of comparing her to wesker lol.

i really love mia, shes a incredibly fun and complex character, its just hard to enjoy her sometimes with the people in the fandom haha.

also ive got no idea what u meant by "the backlash against them/mia accusations" so sorry if i didnt answer that!

thank u for the ask! sorry for the long response!

#mia winters #resident evil #ethan winters #mithan

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cheolhub · 1 year

Text

YOU GET ME SO HIGH — VERNON CHWE ࿐

summary. smoking with your best friend (who you totally don’t have a crush on) is super fun till all you can think about is him… well, doing him, to be more specific.

wc. 6.2k

warnings. recreational marijuana use!!, dubcon (kinda? sex while high), bf2l + idiots to lovers, kinda fluffy!! weed is referred to as ‘green crack’ several times lol, fingering, hehe big d!ck!vernon, mentions of masturbation, unprotected sex, pet names (baby), brief tit worship, naked confessions, vernon is kinda shy, jealous, nervous & rlly likes boobs and reader is v needy lol <3— MINORS DNI 18+

note. havent seen anyone write for vernon in like 3 years so here’s my lowkey cringey, poorly-written, self-indulgent fic that i was supposed to post for his birthday 2 months ago ++ guest appearance from weed dealer!cheol bc yeah :3

if you had told vernon that his best friend was someone he’d met in a biology lab–one that he was accidentally put into his freshmen year– he’d say you were a liar. nonetheless, it’s true– you’re his best friend and you have been for years now. in your fourth and final year of university, you still sit on the balcony of your apartment with him like you have every other day for the past three.

“happy birthday, vernon,” you smile cheekily, passing him a snack-size ziplock baggie. “i got you an eighth since you’re always begging to smoke my shit.”

he laughs and gives you a lazy smile, “Y/N, my birthday was over two months ago… plus, you know you didn’t have to get me anything.”

you scoff, rolling your eyes, “hansol vernon chwe, you are my best friend, of course i had to. and… i was waiting for a few of my checks to hit, that's why it’s a belated birthday gift.” you take his hand, placing the bag into it. “now take it and don’t smoke it all in a day, got it?”

he nods, eyes softening, “thank you,” he says. “must’ve cost your broke ass a fortune, though, so next time– don’t get me anything.”

you giggle at the joke that’s actually, not really a joke. “i really don’t think you have any room to speak– who here has a real job?”

he rolls his eyes, “my job is real, thank you very much.”

you chuckle, shaking your head. “reselling limited edition vinyls for seven times what you bought them for isn’t a job, vernon, that’s called being a dick.” you tell him. “and actually, the prices weren’t too bad. cheol gave me a discount.”

vernon almost visibly clenches at the name of your awfully-sweet dealer. though he can attest, cheol is only ever sweet to you. every time he’s bought from your favorite supplier, he’s been a total asshole and upcharges him for no reason which is one of the basis’ why he’s always smoking your stuff. you always tell him it’s karma for selling records at such a high price, but vernon begs to differ. he knows that cheol just doesn’t like him and he has a gut feeling that it’s because of you.

“oh yeah? how’d you get him to do that?” he asks, but he’s pretty sure he knows the answer. the answer being cheol has a thing for you.

you bite your lip, looking over your apartment balcony. “mmm, he showed up here while i was… you know…playing around…and…”

vernon knows you well enough to finish your sentence for you. “masturbating?”

“vernon, be modest!” you whine, hiding your face in your hands. “you knew, you didn’t have to say it!”

he chuckles, “it’s normal, Y/N, we all do it. no need to be embarrassed over it.”

it’s true. everyone does it. but not everyone masturbates thinking about their best friend. he thinks that might just be him.

“yeah, but you’ve probably never done it thinking you’d be finished before your hot drug dealer shows up at your apartment.” you blush. vernon doesn’t say anything for a while and you’re afraid you’ve made him feel uncomfortable (even though he claims you never have). you bite the insides of your cheeks before uttering, “can you pack a joint or something?”

truthfully, vernon doesn’t mean to be so quiet. he’s just trying to imagine you in that state without letting his dick get hard, though it’s proving to be extremely difficult. you probably looked so pretty in cute short shorts and a shirt that you could see your nipples through. or worse, you were wearing a tank top that was snuggly wrapped around your torso where you could see everything. he wants to be a gentleman, wants to be respectful… but, god, your tits are out of this world.

he hums trying to rid the dirty images in his head, taking your box of goods to grab the grinder and paper cones. “finish your story.” he urges.

you look at him, searching for signs of discomfort, but there is only that stoic look he always wore. with a sigh, you continue, “anyway, i was… you know… and he texted me and said he was here– i was a mess–”

he can imagine.

“–and i think he could tell ‘cuz when i got down to his car i was so disheveled and was about to start crying. i literally looked like i got edged or something,” you mumble, twiddling your thumbs out of embarrassment.

you’re painting a picture for vernon and he has to bite back a groan.

it’s not the first time you and vernon had talked about sexual things. there had been several conversations on the topic. he knew almost everything about you except for… you know… what you tasted like and how tight you are– his vivid imagination couldn’t give him all of those pleasures.

“and, vernon, i kid you not, he literally knew. he was all smug and shit,” you groan. “it was kinda humiliating.”

you remember how much wetter you’d gotten the moment you slipped into his car. he was calling you all types of things– all types of pretty pet names–and you’re genuinely surprised it didn’t escalate further because the sexual tension was heavy.

“and then i told him i wanted a quarter– an eighth for me and an eighth for you– and he told me he’d give me a special strain of sativa for half the normal price.”

vernon’s eyes widened, “half the price?”

“that’s what i said!” you exclaim. “pretty sure it’s because he could see my tits… i wasn’t wearing the best outfit …”

of-fucking-course he could see your tits. vernon holds back a groan, seeing as his suspicions about you in a tank top that night was right. instead, he chuckles airly. “now who needs to be modest.”

“stooop, just grind the weed.” you cry.

vernon does as you ask, muttering, “maybe he laced it.”

“cheol wouldn’t, i’m pretty sure he just likes me.” you humbly reply, shooting daggers at your best friend for even suggesting that. “plus the strain was called ‘green crack’ or something like that… it was from the ‘st. patty’s day special.’”

“saint patrick’s day was like 4 weeks ago.”

“well then he was either trying to get rid of it or my tits must’ve made him feel generous.” you joke, giggling a bit at vernon’s poker face.

vernon is hiding it really well, but he’s filled with so much annoyance. your stupid dealer doesn’t deserve to see you like that. hell, vernon doesn’t even think he deserves to see you like that, but, fuck, he wants to. so badly. seeing you all hot and bothered with your tits on full display would be a dream come true.

“would you fuck him for free weed?” he asks all of a sudden, making you blush furiously. he knows now that he doesn’t want to hear your answer when your mouth parts in shock.

“vernon! what kinda girl do you take me for?” you put your hand over your chest as if it’s something you wouldn’t do. you break your facade when he gives you a knowing look, mouth cracking into a grin. “probably, i dunno. he’s kinda scary but i feel like he knows how to please a woman– i can’t say the same about a lot of other men.”

he internally rolls his eyes. cheol doesn’t know you the way he does. vernon could please you, he knows he can.

he switches the subject back to the packed joint in his hands to keep from spiraling. “wanna spark it?”

you shake your head with a hum, “mmh-mmh, belated birthday boy gets the first few hits.”

he smiles, pulling the joint to his lips taking the lighter, igniting it with the pressure of his thumb. he lets the flame burn carefully through the paper, inhaling a large rush of smoke. he holds it in for a bit before he blows it out– away from your face– creating a white, potent-smelling cloud.

you reminisce while watching him. your balcony is like home to you and vernon. contrary to your neighbor's beliefs, smoking isn’t the only thing you do. you laugh and cry and talk for hours about people you hate and people you love. sometimes, you’ll do homework out here and when vernon is bored at his own place, he’ll come over to yours to keep you company. he provides a comforting presence and never-ending encouragement while reminding you to take breaks.

it’s where you told him about your puppy crush on soonyoung from your statistics class and it’s where he told you about how he awkwardly lost his virginity to a girl during orientation week. it’s where the two of you are always together– it’s kinda like your place.

and watching him after all these years, you’ve never really realized how attractive your best friend was. well, that’s a lie. you’ve always thought vernon was likely one of the prettiest men to ever walk the earth, but if you truly admitted that, then you’d have to admit to the other things. things like how kind and considerate he is and how he’s boyfriend potential and how you totally don’t have any type of feelings for him whatsoever. it’s not a crush, you constantly have to remind yourself, it’s admiration for your best friend. there’s a difference.

but those admirable traits are things you can’t think about because he doesn’t see you that way. there’s no reason why you should see him that way if it’s not reciprocated. it only makes sense and prevents brutal rejection from the most perfect man on earth, aka your best friend.

but your not-crush manifests itself sometimes. like when he smiles at you or when he randomly places his headphones over your head and tells you to “listen to this song” or when he spends the night in your bed because he’s too lazy to drive home. it gets harder and harder to hide every day.

he passes the joint to you with an even lazier grin and you take it, parroting his actions. you let the smoke fill your lungs, hold it there, and exhale, shutting your eyes just as he did.

and vernon thinks you look like a goddess. how could you make a simple action seem so attractive?

you take your hits, passing the joint back and forth till it suddenly hits you. all at once, you feel your body start to ache, your tummy flipping in anticipation, your mind fogging over leaving your entirety to buzz. you shift a bit and you feel your cunt dampen causing you to let out a sharp exhale.

“you good?” vernon asks, his deep voice filling your ears.

then you look at him. like… actually look at him. his face is a bit tired, his eyes red from the weed coursing his system, and his hair a bit disheveled from running his hand through it too much (this is why he wears the beanies)-- nevertheless, he looks fucking fantastic.

your usual munchies are replaced with strong, burning sexual desire. just at the sight of your best friend, your pussy is soaking through your panties and your shorts.

“‘sol,” you murmur out the nickname. “do you feel… different?” you ask, eyes fluttering and lips parting.

you’re truly unaware of how seductive you look and how it’s slowly taking years off his life. vernon has been rock hard in his sweats for a solid 15 minutes now. and, yes, he feels extremely different. turned on to say the very least.

“mmm, a little,” more like a lot. “maybe it’s the strain you got,” he mumbles, implying what he had said earlier was true.

it makes sense that cheol provided you with a strain that feels like you’re smoking a fucking aphrodisiac, but you’re starting to wish you were alone so you could at least do something about it.

for a split second, you think you might be fine, then you’re hit with yet another wave of arousal, your core pulsing at the ideas that are incessantly popping into your head. ideas of him taking you right now, sitting on his face, sinking onto his cock– it’s too much.

“vernon,” you say breathily and he freezes, pulling the joint away from his lips. “i… i think…”

you try to think about how to kick him out kindly so you can have some much-needed alone time, but you can’t– you can only think about having alone time with him. alone time that leads to shoving his hand down your pants.

stop, you tell your hazy brain.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” he asks, scooting closer to you.

his scent floods your senses– a mix of weed and his cologne causing sensory overload in your poor brain and aching core.

he’s internally worried that you’re greening out. though it doesn’t happen as much as it did when you first started smoking, there are rare occasions when you take more than you can handle.

“c-can… you do me a favor?”

“‘course, anything.”

“vernon… it… i…need your help.” you whimper, leaning into him. “please…feels like ‘m gonna die.”

you’re being dramatic.

he furrows his brows in confusion, panic becoming apparent on his features. “what hurts, Y/N? how can i help you?”

you take his hand in yours, slowly guiding him to the ache in your body. you gasp when his warm fingers come in contact with your clothed cunt. “here… it hurts here.” you exhale.

vernon has definitely lost it. his hand is between your thighs and your smaller one has moved to tightly wrap around his wrist. you’re a mess– he can feel it. he can feel the warmth radiating from your core, he can feel how you’ve soaked through your panties and how it’s seeped through the thin pair of shorts. he’s holding his breath and he fears he may pass out before getting a chance to touch you like you deserve.

“y-you’re not in your right mind, Y/N,” he whispers, afraid his voice may betray him. “you smoked too–”

“uh-uh, it’s okay– vernon, it’s okay, i want you… please,” you whimper, grip around his wrist tightening as you buck your hips slightly for more friction.

you want him. you… want him.

“but–”

you’re growing frustrated, “if you won’t… then i-i think you should go ‘cuz i need… i need to be alone.”

vernon takes this as an implication that you need to fuck yourself if he won’t fuck you and he’ll be damned if he’s not the one making you see stars.

so, he asks one more time, “Y/N… are you sure?”

“yes… yes, ‘m sure. ‘m so sure, please, ‘sol,” you beg, using the nickname that makes him fold every time.

he doesn’t hold back, putting out the joint in his hand and leaving it in the ashtray. his now-free hand cups your cheek, pulling you in for a kiss. you moan, eagerly allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth as your hands needily fist at his shirt.

despite having smoked, vernon’s lips are soft. softer than the lips of men you’ve kissed before. and he still tastes good even with the pungent lemony flavor lingering on his tongue– overwhelmingly good. it seems that he’s just as eager and turned on as you are, too, nearly devouring you whole. you can’t help but fall in love with the heated, now-sloppy kiss.

and vernon truly feels like he’s died and gone to heaven. he’s not sure if this is even real or if the weed has him hallucinating… it wouldn’t be the first time, but you biting down on his bottom lip has him coming back to earth and lets him know that you’re real. that you are very much real and very much grinding on his fingers desperately.

“vernon,” you pant, pulling him closer by the shirt in your grip. “please, more— feels good, but i need more.” your hazy eyes look into his and you see how they’ve darkened.

“fuck, Y/N,” he groans and his voice has you clenching around nothing. “we need to go inside…”

you’re both sure that this might ruin your relationship, but you decide it’ll be a problem for tomorrow. right now, all either of you can think about is getting off on each other.

that’s why you’re quick to stand on your feet, holding out your hand for him to take. when he stands, grunting, you pull him into your apartment and leave all of your goods on the balcony without a second thought.

you drag him to your room before attacking him with another kiss and pulling at the ends of his shirt. you’re a bit disoriented, swaying and stumbling over your steps, but when your legs hit the bed and you nearly fall, vernon’s quick to catch you by the waist.

“careful,” he murmurs, gently laying you on the plush mattress. you scoot to the head of the bed, laying on your back as you wait for him.

he takes your expectant face as a sign to remove his clothing and he does so quickly, knowing how impatient you are at this very moment. his shirt comes off and then his sweats, leaving him in boxers where his bulge becomes… apparent.

you have to hold your breath at the dizzying sight of his naked torso and the massive tent in his underwear.

you make grabby hands at him, urging him to come take care of you on the bed. he obliges, getting on your bed, hovering over you while his own head spins. he’s truly unsure if this is actually his real life or if he’s having a dream sent from the gods above.

he decides not to wait any longer, taking control of the situation by placing his lips on your heated neck. his lips trail down, leaving sloppy, wet kisses on your skin, reveling in how you desperately whimper for him though he’s barely doing anything.

his hands reach for the hem of your loose top– one that might actually be his– pushing it up and tugging it over your head and arms, leaving your chest bare before him. he groans before diving to your tits, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples, sucking and tugging at the bud hungrily.

you gasp at the sight. you’ve never seen vernon so eager to do anything in the time you’ve known him and now he’s making out with your tits as if it were his last day on earth.

that’s hot, you think to yourself. so hot– you’re so fucking hot right now.

you can’t see it, but you feel his hand come down to your sleep shorts, digging in past the elastic band of both the satin fabric and your cotton undies. his fingers dip into your lips, running them through your soaked folds.

“you’re so wet.” he hisses.

you whine at the contact, apologizing softly, “‘m sorry– can’t help it.”

his fingers find your hole, circling it before easing two of them inside. “don’t apologize, baby. it’s really hot.” he whispers, the pet name slipping past his lips without completely registering.

you clench and moan at the domestic name. “fuck, ‘sol,” you whimper. “a-again… call me that again…”

his face burns, whispering out, “you like when i call you ‘baby?’”

knowing vernon, it was meant to sound like a genuine question, but being in the state you’re in, it sounds so seductive… so enticing that it has your back arching. you nod your head, an even darker blush falling over your already-red cheeks.

you let out a clipped, “yes.” and he just moans, thrusting his fingers in and out faster, digits stretching your tight, gummy walls out to prepare you for his cock.

he wonders how you could be so tight because, holy fuck, you’re squeezing around his fingers like you’re trying to trap them in there.

you whine softly, “vernon, please give me more…”

he definitely just fucking died.

his cock twitches uncontrollably in his boxers, begging to be set free, but he decides to give you another finger instead. vernon knows he’s… a bit on the bigger side, and judging by how you feel right now, there’s absolutely no way he’ll easily fit inside of you. the last thing he wants to do is hurt you.

so he slowly pulls his hand out of your shorts and helps you out of them. he throws them to the side and has you spread open. he huffs at the sight before taking three of his fingers back to your hole. he pushes them in gently, groaning at the tighter fit. your moans are bouncing off the walls and vernon looks up to see your mouth hung open with your head thrown back against your pillow.

he checks on you, throat dry at the sound, sight, and feeling of you. “i-is… are you doing okay?” and when you just whine, he bites the inside of his cheek anxiously. he remembers your fondness for the pet names from a few minutes prior, so he tries again. “baby… does it feel good?”

and he’s not sure what to expect, but when your body jolts and your hand's fist at the sheets, you get even tighter, clenching around his fingers desperately. you really do have an affinity for being called ‘baby.’

your brain is jumbled, intoxicated from the weed and his fat fingers stretching your cunt open. “‘m okay… f-feels so good.” you tell him breathily with a whine bubbling in the back of your throat at the feeling of his fingers pushing further into you. “fuck, vernon– it’s so good.”

and it’s true, you don’t think you’ve ever experienced pleasure this intense before, but you remember your senses are heightened by 10 because of the drug. that ‘green crack’ is insane.

he moans at the confirmation, curling his fingers up and fucking your messy cunt, the palm of his hand bumping against your clit with every thrust. he feels a rush of your honeyed arousal soaking his fingers and he swears he might cum before he can even get his cock in you.

you gasp loudly when you feel his pace quicken, eyes squeezing shut. an array of mewls and high-pitched whines shamelessly slip past your lips. “oh! fuck, i’m close, i’m so close, vernon.” you warn, wet walls clamping around his curled fingers.

he exhales sharply, voice low when he urges you, “cum for me, baby.”

his voice and harsh thrusts are more than enough to throw you over the edge, stomach knots unraveling. you gush all over his big fingers, pussy pulsing as it’s doing its best to push his digits out, but he continues his ministrations to work you through your blinding orgasm.

feeling you cum may have been the best thing life has offered him.

“fuck, that’s it– are you okay? did that feel good?” he asks breathily, pulling out his fingers, a string of arousal connected to your hole following them out. he bites his lip at the sight, keeping a moan bottled up. he wants to taste you so bad… and the cum on his fingers taunt him.

you nod your head, still panting, “w-was so good, y-you’re really good… don’t usually cum that fast…”

“really?”

you shake your head, “t-told you that guys don’t really know what they’re doing most of the time.”

he shakes his head in disapproval, “well… you deserve the best.”

“... like you?” your heart races and the weed from earlier still lingers like a cloud over your brain. you look at him, the soft light from the moon illuminating his flawless skin. your eyes trail down his torso, eyes landing on the big bulge in his boxers again.

he chokes, masking the sound with a nervous chuckle, “me? i-i’m not…no.” your eyes widen, realizing you’ve completely misread him, feeling panic flood your body. you quickly shut your legs, arms coming to cover your bare chest.

he’s quick to notice that you’re starting to spiral, though, so he re-registers what you said and then what he said and his eyes widen, too. his words come out rushed as he attempts to do damage control. “no! not no, as in i don’t see you in that way, but no because you deserve the best and…”

“but… you are the best, ‘sol…” you tell him softly, hugging yourself tighter. “and before you say anything, the weed is wearing off– think you finger-fucked it out of me,” you joke to lighten the mood, but when you see he’s still frozen, you internally cringe at yourself, continuing. “i’m being serious. i’m in my right mind and i’m telling you that you’re the best because you are. you always have been.”

he shudders nervously, “Y/N… don’t.”

you frown at him, turning your head away to look at your window instead, mentally face-palming yourself. “did i make it awkward again?” you ask nervously. you don’t even wait for his response, continuing your anxious ramble. “can you just forget i said anything? and that i made you do this? i…i don’t wanna lose you– i never want to lose you.” you whisper. “you’re my best friend.”

he shakes his head incessantly as if he’s trying to tell you something with the simple action, but you aren’t even looking at him, so he takes a deep, shaky breath. “no, you didn’t make me do anything. i just mean don’t say things like that if you don’t really like me because i…” he trails off and you turn back to look at him, concerned by his sudden halt. “Y/N, i… like you. so much. i have for forever now, but you were always talking about soonyoung or cheol and then there was that whole thing with that pretentious art kid– minghao, i think– i dunno.”

what!?

you look at him incredulously, eyes wide and lips parted in genuine shock, “why didn’t you tell me…?”

he sighed, hands coming to rest on your thighs. “it seemed like i never really had a chance… you’re my best friend, too… and i didn’t want to lose you either.”

you sit up, exclaiming, “but you’ve liked me this entire time and i didn’t even know?!”

he gives you a small grin and a shrug, “what can i say? i’m discreet.”

you scoff, sitting in silence for a few seconds before opening your mouth again. with your voice meek, you say.“i wish you would’ve told me.” you inhale sharply, continuing to hug yourself tightly. “i like you, too, you know… i just didn’t think you liked me back so i tried to not like you– which is really hard, by the way, because you’re annoyingly pretty.”

“sorry, i’ll try to stop being so pretty.”

you playfully slap his bare chest, “i actually hate you so much.”

he jokingly sulks, placing a hand over where you hit him. “aw, baby, you just said you liked me.”

you shudder, body naturally leaning into him as your mind gravitates back to your not-so-innocent thoughts. “i do… and i’d like you a little more if you kept calling me that.”

his breath hitches as you get closer and closer, “yeah?”

“mhm…”

he whispers against your lips, a cheeky smile on his, “you’re such a baby.”

“you’re so mean,” you hum, letting your lips graze his. “am i not your baby?”

he rests his forehead against yours and looks into your eyes for any sign of playfulness. you seem to be serious so he asks, “is that what you want?” he’s nervous you can hear the way his heart is about to pound out of his chest.

“duh… idiot.”

“okay, cool.” he says nonchalantly even though he’s internally freaking out. “you’re my baby.”

your heart skips a beat and your cunt dampens again at the title, “okay, cool.” you parrot casually as if your heart wasn’t about to lurch out of your chest. “you can… kiss me. if you want…”

vernon utters a soft ‘right’ before finally closing the gap between the two of you. his lips mold to yours and you know for a fact that there is no one else on earth you’d want to kiss. his big hand comes to cup your cheek and you melt under the touch, mouth opening for him to slip his tongue into.

naturally, the kiss heats up and before long, you’re whining into his mouth, hand blindly reaching for his clothed cock. he groans the second you find the aching hard-on, nimble hands stroking him through his boxers.

“Y/N,” he pants breathily in between kisses. “are you… sure you wanna… do this?”

you think it’s sweet that he keeps checking on you, and sure, you’re still a bit fuzzy from the after-effects of the ‘green crack’, but you need him to give you what you want. so you nod, breaking from the kiss to lay back in your original position under him.

“please fuck me, baby,” you beg in the most sultry voice you can conjure up. when he stays frozen, you pout. “hansol, please.”

he curses, quickly getting his boxers off and revealing the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen. precum beads at the slit of his flushed tip and prominent veins run through the length. he’s so big, surely enough to have you see stars. you’re starting to feel grateful that he prepped you because his dick would have completely ruined you without it.

“‘s big.” you simply state, bottom lip finding sanctum in between your teeth as you gawk at it.

“you think so?” he gives you a wobbly smile, stomach-churning at the subtle praise. he moves in between your thighs and spreads you out for him. “is it okay?”

you blush, nodding your head, “mhm, don’t worry,” you tell him. “i’ll let you know if i need you to stop.”

he nods, huffing softly, “do you have any condoms?”

you chuckle breathily. “not for your size… but it’s okay, i’m clean and safe. you don’t need one. you can pull out if it makes you feel better.”

his throat runs dry– fuck, fuck, fuck. he’s fucking you raw?! how the hell is he supposed to last hitting it raw?! you were already tight around three of his fingers and he can’t even imagine how you’d feel wrapped around his cock.

he realizes he hasn’t replied in a few seconds when you say his name softly. he sees you growing restless under him and he apologizes and nods again dumbly.

he runs his tip through your folds, moaning when he finds you’re just as wet as you were earlier. he aligns himself with your leaky hole, slowly pushing himself inside of you with a groan to find that you’re still so fucking tight.

you’ve found that, despite vernon’s laid-back and chill personality, he’s quite loud in bed. he’s nothing like you expected and you’re pleasantly surprised.

when his cock slides in between your tight walls, the both of you are instantly a mess, panting and moaning in pleasure. your walls envelop him so snugly that you fear the thick veins that adorn his length will imprint into them.

“fuck, vernon.” you moan, praying the burn in your pussy melts to pleasure soon so he can fuck you the way you want it. the way you need it. . “your cock.”

he hisses, pushing in past the resistance. “you feel so good, baby, oh my god.” he grunts, head falling back at the way you hug him. “god, i’ve wanted this for so long– wanted you for so long.”

you cry, clenching around his girth because, god, you’ve wanted him, too.

when he finally bottoms out, you both pause to take erratic breaths, positively going feral over each other. he attempts to recollect himself and check up on you again. “are you–”

you don’t even let him finish, nodding your head vigorously. “yes, vernon, just need you to move, please.” you plead. “need you to fuck me– please, need it so fucking bad.”

you’re so needy for him and he knows it’s because of the last bit of weed that looms, but he can’t help but wonder if you’re like this on a normal day. if you’re always begging for a cock to fill you up. not that it would matter– he’d do anything you asked of him. you’re so fucking pretty to him and his brain is constantly yelling at him to cater to every single one of your wishes. the chokehold you have him in is so tight.

tight like your pretty cunt that’s now gracefully swallowing his cock with every thrust of his hips. your room is full of panting, moans, and the lewd squelch of your wet pussy taking him. it sounds better than any song he’s ever heard and, if he’s being completely transparent, he hopes to experience this for the rest of his life.

vernon unexpectedly comes down, craning his neck to latch his mouth around your nipples again, stimulating you there, too. you’re sure the position is a bit straining, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he moans loudly into your chest. his hand plays with the other nipple, switching every minute to give both of them love and attention all while his cock steadily rams in and out of you.

your hands tangle in his hair, smothering his face into your tits while he moans and whines some more into them.

and when he adjusts slightly and his tip hits that spot, the one that makes you crumble in seconds, a sob wracks through your entire body.

“there! shit, baby, right there, please.” you gasp, back arching into him.

vernon asks breathily, removing his face from the comfortable spot on your chest, “there? that’s it?”

and you nod, chest rising and falling at a rapid pace as you feel the pressure build-up at the bottom of your tummy. he continues to hit the spongy spot inside of you, bringing you closer and closer.

his own face is pinched and he can’t stop the soft whines that come out of his mouth. you just feel fucking amazing.

“a-are you close? i’m not gonna last long.” he pants out.

and you weakly sob out a reply of ‘yes,’ hand moving to toy with your swollen clit. the action immediately has the tightrope inside of you coming undone for the second time in the night. you mewl out his name, clamping around him tightly and coating his cock in slick cum.

it’s like a chain reaction that has vernon cursing and pulling his dick out of you. he eagerly fists at his cock, jerking himself off till he releases all over your puffy pussy. he’s moaning softly, prettily calling out your name. his heart pounds rapidly and his entire body twitches at the feeling of release.

his eyes finally open after a few seconds of trying to regulate his breathing. he sees the way your cunt is dressed in white and how you're slowly, but surely, coming down from both of your highs.

“hey,” he whispers.

“hi,” you mumble, eyes fluttering open. your hands reach for him and he can’t help but find you so cute. “c’mere.”

he smiles, leaning down to kiss you again. unlike your past few kisses, it’s soft and innocent. loving. he parts after a minute or so, hand moving to sweep the hair out of your face.

“are you sure you’re alright?” he whispers. “i feel kinda bad…”

“don’t, ‘sol, i wanted it. i’m really happy.” you tell him sincerely. “are you alright?”

he sighs, “i’m really happy, too… i just wish i would’ve taken you out on a date or something before… fucking you.”

you shake your head, “we did it kinda backwards, but, seriously, i’m just happy you’re here… happy that you’re mine.” he blushes, moving to hide his face in your neck while you giggle. “if you wanna, we can go on a date now?”

“where?” he mumbles into your neck.

“7/11– channie’s working so that means free big gulps and rollers… you know, since some of us can’t afford to eat real food because of their ‘job.’”

vernon scoffs, pulling his face out of your neck and giving you a stern look. “dude, it’s a real job–”

you laugh, effectively cutting him off. “okay, scammer– if it’s a real job, why are you always stealing my fucking weed instead of buying your own?”

“because weed is scarce these days and your bitch ass dealer hates me– why should i have to pay $20 for a gram when you only pay $5?” he nearly cries. “and, since we’re on the topic, i don’t like him. he’s too friendly with you.” that’s code for “he obviously wants to fuck you.”

“you’re jealous of cheol!”

he groans, rolling his eyes, a tiny pout appearing on his face, “so what if i am?”

you coo, “aw, baby,” hand coming to cup his blushy cheek. “you don’t have to worry about him,” you relay to him, voice laced with sincerity. “you’re the only one i want.”

he goes a little bug-eyed at your words before clearing his throat and nodding. “good. that’s good.”

you raise an eyebrow, “just good?”

“no… it’s great…” he mumbles cutely. “you’re also the only one i want.”

#vernon smut #hansol smut #vernon x reader #svt smut #seventeen smut

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rivatar · 4 months

Text

Do you still hate me?

MDNI!!🔞

w/c: 2.7k

Pairing: Aged!Up!Neteyam x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Warnings: explicit smut, enemies to lovers, reference of rape, fist fighting, mean Neteyam, dominant Neteyam, cussing, some degrading/dirty talk, porn w plot, I think that’s it??

Summary: enemies to loverssss w Neteyam! Lo’ak is your best friend and it’s caused a rift between you and Neteyam. Hatefulness turns into desire.

A/n: Hey guys! Just wanna let everyone know that I’m only gonna be writing porn w plot lol. So all my character are aged up. I like to have a backstory that builds up the tension, I think it’s so much better but I’m sorry if you think it’s too long or it’s not your thing! Also PLEASE send me ALL your requests and I will do them but please note that I’m only gonna be doing pairings with Jake, Neteyam, and Lo’ak. Enjoy!! 😘

“Hey, wait up!” you call out to Lo’ak. You two were exploring the forest of Pandora, a pastime you’ve both always enjoyed since you were little kids.

“Keep up loser! Not waiting on your skxawng ass!” he yells, not looking back and continuing to run and leap along the terrain.

You and Lo’ak were best friends, platonic soulmates really. Y’all were known for your mischievous behavior and carefreeness, though it’s toned down a lot now at your ages, you being 20 and him being 21. He liked to tease you and call you a baby although he was only older by a few months. Typical Lo’ak behavior.

Growing up you could always count on him for a good time, he was always making you laugh and cutting up with you after your daily schooling and duties were done. The grown ups and your parents would tease you both that you would grow up to be mates. You both thought ‘ewwww’ to that and still do. You loved him very much but not in that way. You were never jealous over each other, you both could talk about your crushes and so forth. There was a sense of respect in your friendship, and being okay that you were just friends and y’all truly didn’t want to ruin that friendship with anything romantic.

Now huffing and puffing and hunching over to catch your breath, you finally caught up to him since y’all were at the edge of the cliff now, right beside a waterfall. It was beautiful.

You stepped to the edge and he playfully tapped you as if pretending to push you off. You get into a play stance and aim to grab his tail. “Skxawng!” you laugh.

“Coming from you?!” he counters. “Hey, mom said she was making teylu tonight, your favorite. Come eat?”

You consider it for a second. Your parents often complained you were at the Sully’s too much, especially when Lo’ak invited you for dinner. And there was also gonna be Neteyam over there… the grumpiest asshole who often tested your patience. But you thought of the mouth-watering teylu and forgot about everything else.

“I guess so. Not because you asked but because I want teylu.” you teased. He just rolled his eyes with a smile and you two headed back to the Sully’s hut.

…

Back at the hut, you and Lo’ak entered in. “Y/n! I’m glad to see you, will you help me finish dinner?” Neytiri asked. She’s always liked you. “Of course!” you smiled.

After you two finished making dinner, she called everyone to come gather to eat in a circle. You took your usual place next to Lo’ak. Then Neteyam walks into the room. He makes eye contact with you and instantly tenses up. He looks away and resumes his broodiness. He was always like this around you. You would catch him laughing and being carefree around others, but it seemed like he absolutely hated you. Like your presence just sickened him. You couldn’t understand why though, all you ever were was nice to him. So now you do hold a grudge against him as all your efforts to be nice have done nothing.

Everyone ate dinner and made small talk about their days. You avoided eye contact with Neteyam of course. “Thank you for dinner mom, it’s delicious.” Neteyam says. “Thank you son but y/n helped me with it, she deserves some appreciation too!” Neytiri chirps.

Neteyam slowed his chewing and looked over at you. “Thank you, y/n” he mumbles. The tension is palpable and the silence is awkward. Everyone knows Neteyam doesn’t take well to you, though they don’t understand why.

After dinner, everyone starts cleaning and doing their own thing as they get ready for bed and settle down. You were looking for Lo’ak and about to cut the corner as you heard him and Neteyam speaking. You freeze and listen closely.

“Why do you always bring her for dinner? You know it’s family time. And plus don’t you ever get tired of being with her all the time?” Neteyam spits.

“Bro, why do you hate her so much? She’s done nothing to you and she’s my friend. Get over yourself,” Lo’ak storms away and before you can move your hiding spot, he runs right into you. You were definitely caught listening and he sees your hurt face. He ushers you away where Neteyam can’t hear or see you and starts trying to calm you. It doesn’t work much and you decide to just head home since you feel so unwanted there. Lo’ak offers to walk you back but you decline and say you want to blow off some steam on your walk by yourself.

…

As you were walking, all these thoughts were going through your head. You were distracted and not paying attention to your surroundings. Then you hear chuckling and low voices. You turn around and see two guys who you recognize but don’t know their names.

“Hey pretty girl, what’re you doing out here so late and all alone?”

The other one approaches you and you try to back up but are backed into a tree. He slides his finger underneath the strap of your top and smiles menacingly at you. “It seems like she wants some attention, huh? Like she’s asking for it..” they chuckle.

Your eyes are wide with fear and adrenaline is coursing through your veins as the realization sets in that you are in serious danger. You regret not letting Lo’ak walk you home.

Then suddenly the one closest to you is stripped away and falls to the ground. It takes you a minute to recognize who it is now punching him ruthlessly and you see that it’s… Neteyam?

The other one tries to get Neteyam off his friend but then he gets sucker punched into the oblivion. You’re just gawking but then finally snap into reality. “Neteyam, stop!!”

He hears your plead and stops. He raised up slowly and is peering down at the guys with their faces bleeding now. “Stay the fuck away from her or next time I’ll kill you both.”

They scatter off and don’t say a word. You’re breathing heavy because a lot just happened. You glance at Neteyam and he holds your gaze as his chest heaves up and down. He turns and starts walking away. Where is he going after what just happened??

“Neteyam, wait!” You run up and grab his arm to turn him to you. His eyes bore into your soul. There’s just a moment of silence as you try to think of the words to say.

“T-thank you for saving me… from those guys” You look down at the ground because you can’t hold his intense eye contact.

He barely nods his head in response and backs away. “You shouldn’t be out here alone this late. Stupid girl. And maybe you should put some more clothes on, you leave nothing to the imagination” He scolds.

Stupid? This was his fault! And commenting on your lack of clothes?? Hell no. “Then next time don’t save me, mighty warrior.” You mocked. “I don’t need you and you don’t impress me like you do everyone else. And you’re not the boss of me”

He just chuckled. “No but if you were mine you would know who was boss.” He towered over you.

Huh? This is outrageous and the most you and Neteyam have ever talked and this is how it goes??

“You’re CRAZY” you shout and push him hard on his chest. “I hate you.” You push him again.

His ears fold back. He can’t hold back anymore.

He grabs both your forearms and pulls you all the way to him and bends down to your ear. “You know what, sevin? I hate you too.” He pulls back and his eyes lock on yours. “I hate how bad I’ve wanted you for so long and you would never even look my way. Too occupied with my brother. I bet you’ve already let him fuck you. I could almost kill him for the fact you’ve always chosen him and not me.” He’s near trembling from a mixture of anger, hurt, and desire.

The truth was he hated seeing you with Lo’ak so much because it was a constant reminder that you weren’t with him. It frustrated him that Lo’ak was the one who got to spend time with you and make you laugh. It should be him, not his baby brother.

His confession has you dizzy, confused and breathless. You couldn’t believe what he just said and questioned if you were in a dream for a second. But no, this was real. Your body was betraying you by being hot all over from his scent in your nose and his breath falling on your skin.

His eyes are searching yours for answer, for anything. You really are just speechless though. He sighs and let’s go of you, ashamed. He goes to walk away and you grab him again to swing him around toward you.

“I’m sorry…” you reach up to hold his cheek with a light touch. “I didn’t know…” your voice cracks a little. “You should’ve told me, you idiot.” You pause for a second, “Lo’ak has not had me. Nobody has.” You confess.

You feel like you’re having an out of body experience but it feels so right. Maybe you were too tired but you honestly felt that Neteyam was being genuine. This realization quickly turned into need.

You go up on your toes to surprise him with a kiss. It’s sweet and warm. You loved the taste of him. You wanted more.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. I have handled this wrong and I am an idiot.”

He swooped back down to press another kiss on you. You open your mouth a little to let his tongue swipe in. The feeling goes straight down to your core that’s gaining more and more slick.

He pulls back and takes a deep breath in. “I smell you, tiyawn. You smell like heaven.” You blush at the fact that your body can’t lie to him. You do want him, want him bad. Even after all his bullshit. But you decided to put your pride aside.

“I need you, Neteyam. Please” you beg. His eyes turn from gentle to dark. Not in the way you’re used to seeing, but dark in a way that was primal. Like a predator watching it’s prey.

“Are you sure?”

You nod yes. He wastes no time and swoops you up bridal style. You look at him with questioning eyes as to where you’re going. “What’s the matter, sevin? Thought I was gonna take you right here for everyone to hear and see?”

…

Once he finds a nice secluded spot with cushiony moss, he lays you down swiftly on it.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” he lowers himself on you and plants sloppy kisses on your neck and collar bone. Your breath quickens.

“You’ve no idea how long you’ve visited me in my dreams” he kisses lower, hand snaking up under your top to reveal your breasts.

“Fuck” he breathes. He squeezes his eyes shut and his head drops down. “I could almost cum at the sight of you”

He latched onto one nipple, gently nibbling on it with his teeth. He takes the other in his finger and starts pulling, pinching, rolling.

“Oh!” You cry out and arch back.

“That’s right, syulang. Gonna make you feel so fucking good”

He starts kissing down your stomach and around your hips as he unties your loincloth and slides it down.

“Fuckkk. You’re soaked, y/n. All for me?”

You nod frantically. He grins and gathers some slick from your aching cunt. It glistens on his fingers as he admires it. He sucks them clean.

“So sweet. So fucking sweet”

He lowers himself down to let his face hover over your sex, pulling your soft, plush thighs on top of his shoulders. He looks up at you through his eyebrows and starts feasting.

Electricity courses through your veins and you feel high. “Neteyammm” you whine pathetically. He continues lapping you up and the sounds are straight up sinful. You didn’t want it to ever end.

“Don’t stop!!” You cry. He just moans and groans on you, sending vibrations through you, hitting the spot.

You feel the high coming, it feels overwhelming and all consuming. You have no control over your body now, he has you completely.

“Gonna cum!! Neteyam!!” You pant and squirm, trying to get out of his hold.

He inserts a finger into your hole, “Cum on my face, pretty girl”. His low voice and words send you over the edge. You see stars and your eyes roll back to your head.

“HOLY FUCK!” You scream. He lets you ride out your orgasm on his fingers and face. He’s now covered in all your juices and licks up as much as he can.

“Shit, y/n. Wanna taste you forever” he groans.

You’re panting trying to catch your breath. Eyes half lidded and looking delirious. He raises up and you shift your gaze down to his tented bulge. “Show me” you point with a weak finger.

He flashes a big grin. “Being bossy are we? Who’d I tell you was the boss around here?”

You roll your eyes and softly chuckle. “Please Neteyam. Don’t tease me.” You wiggle towards him and open wide. You look up at him with siren eyes. The playfulness in him goes away and is replaced with hunger once again. He unties his loincloth and tossed it to the side. You bite your lip in anticipation.

He lines up his cock with your entrance and pushes in. The stretch was so good, as he brushed past all the right places. You looked at him and you both held eye contact, staring into each others souls. As he pushed and pushed you both shared looks of pain and pleasure, mouths agape and eyes fixated on the other. He finally bottomed out as far he could go, you couldn’t believe how full you were. Full of Neteyam, your worst enemy. Or so you had thought.

“Ready tìyawn?”

“Yes!! Go!!” You beg. He pulls out and slams back in.

“Oh, fuck!!” You yell. He starts a pace that has you losing your mind. He lowly groans and occasionally grunts.

“I wonder what your best friend Lo’ak would think about you under me, huh?”

You can only manage to moan in response. You can’t think about anything but your pleasure and Neteyam’s dick stuffed inside you.

He grabs your face and gets nose to nose. “Tell me, will Lo’ak ever get to see you so needy under him like this?” He never stops with his pace, skin steadily slapping and breaths and whines collecting in the air.

“N-no. We’re just friends” you whisper.

“Promise??”

“Yes!!! Please Neteyam!”

“Please what?”

“Make me cum!!”

He growls at your needy plea and fucked out appearance. He speeds up and buries his face in your neck. He’s losing it and feels his own release approaching.

“Shittttt, y/n. You feel so damn good. Please don’t let this be the last time I ever get to be in this pussy” he breathes on you.

You’re so fucked out you can barely form a complete thought but you understand his request. “It’s yours Neteyam! All yours!!”

He moans in appreciation. You feel the coil about to burst and hold onto him tight as he rocks into you ruthlessly.

“Neteyam!!”

“Mmmmmmm” he’s muffled from being in the crook of your neck.

You both cum at the same time, spasming on each other. He releases his load inside you and you take it in greedily while you come down from your climax. He stills and goes limp on you.

“Do you still hate me?” He jokes.

You roll your eyes and swat him playfully. “The bigger question is how are we gonna tell Lo’ak?”

“We’ll worry about that later. For now, sleep.” He kisses your head and you both fall asleep on each other peacefully surrounded by the forest.

#avatar #avatar fanfiction #avatarsmut #neteyam smut #neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x you #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam x female reader smut #loak sully #atwow loak #atwow #avatar the way of water #enemies to lovers #smut

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cephalonheadquarters · 4 months

Text

O.R.C.A. Appreciation 💚💙🐬🖥💙💚👍👍👍

translation of 1st image & rambling under cut

"My Dear O.R.C.A.,

I’m typing this here for you to keep with you in the future. Maybe I’ll add a recording to go along with it.

Anyway, what I wanted to say was thank you. Thank you, O.R.C.A., for all the help. Thank you for being such a hard worker and a good friend. I love you very much.

I hope that you will be able to work when I’m gone. Please keep watching over Alterna. Please help whatever next intelligent lifeform may occupy Earth. I wish we can go home together.

I’ll miss you,

Sumi"

^it's supposed to sort of parallel my neo 3's letters to orca. This is when alterna started getting desperate & sumi had the feeling they wouldn't last any longer so she wanted to make sure orca knew how she felt

It's not that big of a detail but I put "go home together" because someplace in Alterna theres a thing that says "go home together" and it stuck with me 💔

also sumi is short for sumireko .i named her after a touhou lol

And also also i like to think orca's main room or whatever is in Happiness Research Lab near the top of one of the sinking buildings. Idk. I love orca so much💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

Also also also. Space odyssey reference in that second drawing he he he ha

#Help Im so ill about this computer #splatoon #splatoon 3 #splatoon oc #oc: scientist #mr grizz #agent 3 #neo 3 #smallfry #little buddy #happiness research lab #alterna #my art #o.r.c.a.#orcallie #callie cuttlefish

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astridthevalkyrie · 11 months

Text

honeymoon period | jumin han x reader

After Jumin marries you, slowly, his threads start to untangle.

a/n: my first and probably last long jumin fic. this has been in the works for months, literally what i've been stalling on superior for (pre keigo 😭) i hope you all enjoy! i love this man <3

warnings: afab reader with she/her pronouns, some depressing thoughts, smut, oral (m and f receiving), penetrative sex, references to kinks that they both have, references/nightmares about abuse including sexual harassment, insecurity, jumin's comedy lol

word count: 13.2k (only a little less than the last superior chapter that is cray cray)

There is a knock on your door.

It makes you jump. Not that you’re nervous—it’s a hotel and several of your friends and family are here to see you get married, so naturally many of them know where your room is. The room itself is, of course, lavish, a paradise compared to most of your previous lodgings. Honestly, you miss the penthouse.

No, that’s not quite right. You just miss being curled up on the couch, tucked into Jumin’s chest with Elizabeth on your lap, wine on his lips and love in his eyes. You miss him, even though you saw him last this morning. You know he’s in the hotel lobby being forced to get wasted by Luciel, because the hacker in question has sent you dozens of videos of your fiancé. In one of them, when Zen reminds him he’s getting married tomorrow, a goofy smile breaks out on his face as he ducks his head.

Maybe the wedding wasn’t necessary. Maybe you two could have just signed the necessary papers without having to go a full day without seeing each other. How are you supposed to sleep tonight? You could call him, but it wouldn’t be the same.

Sighing, you make your way to the door. If it’s one of your friends trying to convince you to let loose or a family member coming to check up on you, you’re not in the mood.

When you open the door, your fiancé is standing there.

“Jumin!”

All questions on the tip of your tongue disappear when he brings you into his arms, burying his face in your neck with a content sigh. There’s no urgency in it, just a quiet, sudden happiness, like he’s fully aware that in just a few hours he won’t have to worry about you being anywhere but in his arms again.

“Thank you.” His voice breaks the silence, muffled on your skin. “For letting me love you, and for loving me.”

Your eyes well up with tears. What an emotional bride you’re turning out to be. And what a wonderful groom you have, to somehow know exactly what you need even when he’s not completely sober.

Slowly, you wrap your arms around him as well, breathing in the scent of his shampoo as you press a kiss to the top of his head.

“You’re welcome, Jumin.”

///

There has never been a lovelier sight than your smile, and Jumin hopes you know that.

If you don’t, he’ll just have to convince you.

“Hi, sweetheart.” You’re sporting a grin for him—just for him—wearing nothing but one of his shirts with Elizabeth the Third scurrying out from between your feet when she sees him. There’s a pink bottle on the counter. Frosting, he thinks. “I hope you don’t mind, but having a chef cook for us for a month straight has ruined my palate for anything else. I had to cook for myself again before I got spoiled. I can call him to make you dinner if you don’t want to eat what I made, though!”

“Of course not.” The urge to embrace you is unbearable. A month after the wedding, and his first day back at work after the honeymoon, he still can’t seem to keep his hands off. “What did you make? I’ll eat anything.”

He leans down to take Elizabeth the Third in his arms, scratching the back of her head softly. “Alright! I made stew and baked some cupcakes, I hope you like it. But you should probably change first. Slip into something more comfortable.”

“Ironic, considering you and I are wearing the same thing.”

“Well…” You lean over the counter, making a show of ogling him. “If you really want to match, you can leave the shirt on and take off your pants.”

It’s impossible to even try and stop the smile growing on his face. “Would you like that?”

“Come over here and find out, hubby.”

The nickname makes him flush pleasantly, but instead of taking you up on that extremely tempting offer, he simply walks up and presses a kiss to your forehead. You pout, and with the tact of knowing Elizabeth is still in his arms, you tug on his tie and kiss him properly. Jumin’s brain turns off, if only for a few seconds. As long as you kiss him and he kisses you back, the only thing he knows is you, you, you and nothing else.

Now, instead of changing, he’s holding his cat and kissing you in the kitchen. With just a minor breakaway and murmured apology, he’s no longer holding his cat. His hands slide around your back and pull you in, and your hands meet at the base of his neck. You. Only you.

“Ju-min,” you admonish breathlessly, the second he pulls away to trail hurried kisses down your neck. “Dinner first.”

“Mm. I’m not hungry.” Or he is, but not for dinner.

Your hands come to rest on his chest, but you don’t pull away, and Jumin is beyond grateful. He doesn’t want to eat, doesn’t want to sleep or shower or do anything else when he could be showing you just how much he’d missed you at work today.

Slightly pressed into the counter, you place your hands back and jump onto it, and he eagerly steps in between your legs to kiss you again. Your legs wrap around his waist and your hands tangle in his hair—a habit of yours, he’s noticed, to mess his hair up. He doesn’t mind. Not if it makes you happy.

Finally, you pull away and before he can dive back in for yet another kiss, you dip your finger into the bowl next to you and offer it up to him. Without even considering it, he takes your finger in between his lips and licks the gravy off.

It’s only after he registers the taste does Jumin realize how intimate the action is. And of course, he knows that you’re married, that you and he have seen each other absolutely bare and open to one another, that he is literally making out with you in his—in your—in your shared kitchen. He knows that despite everyone thinking that the marriage was rushed and impulsive, this will be a long road, and he plans to stick by you for each and every single step. He knows that tasting something off your finger is hardly the most domestic thing you two will do.

But it doesn’t stop the flurry of butterflies he feels in his stomach. It doesn’t stop him from thinking my wife is letting me taste what she made, because she’s perfect. That’s not to mention how wonderful the taste actually is.

“Good?” you question, with gleaming eyes.

“Incredible.” He takes your hand and dips your finger in the bowl, stealing another taste right after. “More than incredible. The best stew I’ve ever had.”

“I know you’re flattering me.” Leaning forward, you take his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs over his cheeks. Softly, gently, like he’s something fragile that will break if you use any force. “But I’m not complaining. Keep going.”

“Food is always better when a beautiful woman is the one serving it.”

You beam. The butterflies in his stomach do a victory soar.

Jumin Han is in love.

///

Zen has a dream about you. That’s when the problem starts.

He tells it to the group in great detail—it’s not anything romantic or sexual, but Jumin doesn’t see a reason for you to be in his subconscious at all, even if you were just the supposed director for Zen’s dream movie. You’re not any sort of movie director, so the dream is ridiculous at any rate.

It doesn’t stop him from pouncing on you the second you two get back home. You don’t even get to take a seat before he’s pressing you against the door, ensuring it’s locked (the last thing he needs is for one of the security guards to see this and have dreams about you too) and kissing you possessively.

“Jumin—?” There’s a question on the tip of your tongue, but it cuts off into a delicious moan when he starts sucking and biting all the same spots he knows he left hickeys on during your honeymoon.

“Spend the day with me,” he whispers. “Just me, no one else.”

An amused giggle bubbles from your throat. “I was already gonna do that, honeybunny.”

Good. That’s plenty of time for him to mark up your neck (and other places) so that everyone knows you’re his, and other people can stop dreaming of you. Already his mind is filled with wicked thoughts, of how he can make you cry and beg and scream today. From the time you two spent on your honeymoon, he knows you can get quite loud if he puts his mind to it.

The only limit is his imagination.

“Jumin.” Your head tilts back against the door, eyes closed as his tongue soothes a bite mark he just made. “Ah, J-Jumin, are you jealous?”

“No.” He is.

“I know what possessiveness looks like.” You take his hand in yours and press a kiss to each fingertip. “You know that me being in Zen’s dream isn’t something in our or even his control?”

“Of course I know that.” He huffs, impatiently fiddling with the buttons on your shirt. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

He kisses you again, and you hum in understanding, sliding your arms around his neck and pulling him in closer. It’s amazing, no matter how many times he thinks everyone would dismiss him for being ridiculous over something like this, you are always there to prove that at least one person wouldn’t. And you taste. So. Damn. Good.

So why not taste you all over? Jumin hungrily slides his tongue over your teeth, seeking entrance. When your mouth parts for him, he tastes you intimately, swallowing your soft sighs.

“For the record,” you mumble, out of breath, “I only ever dream about you.”

“As do I, darling.” He pulls you closer still, thinking about how good you’ll taste when he has his mouth on your pussy. “As do I.”

///

This need to prove himself to you extends beyond the sexual—you laugh so much when you’re around Luciel and Yoosung. Actual laughter that is so different from the polite smiles and chuckles that are in response to his own words.

He hates it. He hates it so very much. He wants to make you laugh, full blown and unabashed. As much as he likes making you giggle, he wants to make you laugh so hard that there are tears pouring down your cheeks. And his experience has quite readily set him up for the expectation that if he wants something, he will have it.

And now, what he really, really wants is to see his wife lose her in laughter because of him.

That means it’s time to bring out the big guns.

Right now you’re under the covers, reading glasses on as you flip through a book. The book in question is something from his personal library (when he showed it to you, mentioning a scene from Beauty and the Beast, you had promptly told him that he was not a beast, but that you finally understood how the princess felt in that scene).

To an extent, Jumin feels bad when he distracts you from work or requests your attention. But he tries to remind himself that if you didn’t want it, you were more than capable of telling him as much. And your reaction to him crawling on top of you with his arms on either side would certainly not be to put the book aside and pull him down to lay on your chest with a kiss to the crown of his head.

For once in his life, Jumin is certain that he is loved.

“I have a joke,” he tells you matter-of-factly, and your brow raises.

“What is it?”

Taking a deep breath, he raises himself up so he can take a good look at your face.

“Hit Seoul, hit Daejon, hit Daegu, hit Busan, hit it!”

There’s a long pause, and your surprised expression slowly morphs into a giggle, then at his grin, a chortle. Jumin laughs first, and then you do too, throwing your head back. It’s single-handedly the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard in his life.

“W-what—“ You’re wheezing now, shoulders shaking. “What does that even mean?”

“I cast a spell on you. Those who laugh are no ordinary souls, for your information.”

“You are so perfect.” The praise catches him off guard, but your body is still shaking from laughter, and in your eyes he sees something like adoration. “How are you so perfect?”

That is definitely not a word he associates with his humor. His status, money, company, business acumen? Yes, perfect, as they were always meant to be. But the little flips in his stomach tell him that none of those things are what you’re referring to. The look in your eyes—he never sees you look at material objects or money that way. He has only ever seen it aimed towards him, and Jumin realizes with a start that there is no need to compete with Zen or Yoosung or Luciel—because really, there is no competition to begin with.

///

Being a workaholic comes with benefits. Everything always gets done. And he enjoys doing business, so there is no negative side effect…other than the lost time that could be spent with his wife. Typing away on the computer he has set up in his study, Jumin sighs, cracking his neck every half hour or so. He’s been at it for hours, but there’s still more left to do.

A soft knock makes him look up. You peek your head in, blinking sleepily and all wrapped up in a blanket. “Sorry to disturb,” in a whisper that barely reaches his ears, “can I sleep here, honey?”

Jumin beckons you in, looking around dubiously. “I’m sorry, I don’t think there’s any surface here you’d be comfortable on. I don’t want you to have an ache by tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Your eyes keep blinking closed, as though you’re barely staying awake. All your words are hushed, but you still manage to clamber over to his side of the desk, blanket in tow, and fall onto his lap, burying your face in his chest.

With a start, he catches you, holding you close. “What is it, sweetheart? You can’t sleep?”

You shake your head, getting even more comfortable. “The bed’s too cold.”

Something indescribable squeezes his chest. Above everything, the pleasure that you would rather seek warmth from him rather than get another blanket is all-consuming. Without another word, he stands with you in his arms and walks to the bed. The second he steps into the bedroom, your grip on him becomes a little tighter.

He huffs back a small laugh. “I’m not going anywhere. I’d just rather you sleep here.”

Pulling out a second blanket from the closet for good measure, he lays down on the bed with you, throwing both blankets over your bodies before wrapping you up in his arms. You sigh happily, legs mixing with his and face pressing in his chest once more.

“Sorry for distracting you.” Now your voice is barely audible. “Mm…you’re just…so much warmer…”

“Can I ask you a favor?” You hum softly in response. “Please never apologize for demanding my attention. I am yours, that includes my body, my soul, and my time. Should you ever need me to sleep and I am in the office, please call me and I’ll come home immediately. I’ll take the jet home if I have to. That doesn’t just stop at my time either. If there is anything, anything, you would like, then all you have to do is ask me. I’ll buy you anything. The world is at your disposal.”

There’s a pause and Jumin thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but then you break the silence, quietly asking, “Is it okay if I ask you for something, then?”

“Anything.”

Cute but glossy eyes peer up at him, and you blink rapidly. “A kiss?”

Jumin places his hands on your cheeks, catching the stray tear that falls. Then he leans in, and everything is right with the world.

///

Ice Prince.

Jumin has no idea where the title actually came from. He doesn’t see what’s wrong with someone having control of their emotions. Is he expected to cry or rage at every little thing? That’s a genuine question. Maybe he doesn’t show much emotion at all, and he should. He’s open to advice.

It shouldn’t even be on his mind. He’s watching a soap opera, and the most beautiful woman in the world is in his arms. He enjoys watching your reactions more than watching the show itself, whether you’re holding back an aww or wincing. Every so often, you look up and meet his eyes, giving him a sweet smile each and every time before placing your head back on his chest.

Still, he can’t get the article he read earlier out of his head. Has the Ice Prince really settled down? What kind of life does the new Mrs. Han lead? One can only imagine that she does not get many warm moments with Jumin Han. A speedy divorce would not be surprising.

Just the thought makes him tug you in closer, the idea of you leaving never failing to terrify him. He’s gotten better, he doesn’t freak out over you exiting the penthouse or hanging out with friends or working. He’d told himself harshly that he would not drive you away with his overt possessiveness.

But maybe he’s going to drive you away if he can’t learn to show you his emotions and instead continues to be…well, an ice prince, as much as he hates the term.

“Jumin.” You’re pressing a kiss to his throat, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Are you tired, honey? We can go to bed.”

When he looks down, you’re gazing concernedly up at him. He doesn’t feel like a villain when you look upon him like this. And holding you close is not the only privilege he has here. Taking your face in his hands, he kisses you, and you melt in almost immediately. Jumin knows that you’re starting to get sleepy because you don’t make any move to straddle him further.

The man who knows you best—that is what the articles should be about. Doting husband. Family man. Your partner. How could anyone think he was cold or heartless to you?

“Juju,” you mumble softly, not bothering to break the kiss, “we should get to bed.”

Yes, you’re right. However…

“May I ask you a question?” His curiosity and slight anxiousness requires him to make sure. If he’s ever done anything to make you think he’s some kind of robot, he needs to get rid of such behavior immediately.

Your lips quirk like he’s said something funny. “You may.”

“Have I ever seemed…cold to you?” Almost as if to remind you before you answer, he holds your hand, squeezing gently, while the other hand remains on your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin softly. “Since we’ve been together, I mean. Have I ever acted anything like an…” Jumin cringes just saying it out loud. “Ice prince?”

The question seems to take you aback, and you blink a few times. Your eyes—warm, beautiful eyes—first stare at him with a certain confusion, then quickly become infused with a sudden anger.

“Did someone say that about you? Who was it?”

“No one,” he responds, then hastily amends, “there have always been articles calling me that. I just happened to see one today, so it was on my mind.”

Now, you really do straddle him, threading your fingers through his hair. The anger has dulled into a stubborn crossness. With a deep scowl, you kiss his forehead and say, “That is ridiculous. You have been nothing but warm to me, Jumin Han.”

The same warmth you’re talking about spreads across his cheeks, painting them pink, but you’re not done.

“Since when do you care about those articles anyway? They’ve always been inane. Remember when everyone was convinced that you would marry Sarah?” Here you huff, and he hates to admit that he loves seeing you jealous, even if over someone he never even considered getting to know. “And you had to set them straight for them to print anything accurate. Maybe I should give a press statement of my own. Ice Prince my ass.”

“Such language,” Jumin says lowly, already hiding his face in your neck. You’re still peeved, muttering things under your breath as you stroke his hair, angry kisses pressed to his skin in the middle of your rant.

Eventually, you tire yourself out, falling asleep right there on his chest, a common occurrence. He doesn’t mind it one bit, it’s actually really easy to carry you to bed. For some reason, Jumin feels much, much lighter.

///

His wife is a party planner. An event planner, technically, since you’ll take some requests for meetings as well, but it’s mostly parties. He knows that due to your marriage, there’s been an increase in the amount of clients wanting you to plan their events. Even before, you’d said your schedule had always been sporadic, revolving around whatever the current most pressing event was.

Frankly, he shouldn’t be surprised, with how masterfully you pulled off the RFA party.

He’s more than proud of you, of course. He’s now attended quite a few of the events you put together, and it always leaves him impressed. You’ve confided in him about how you’d like to either switch to a company that exclusively does weddings or start your own, and despite your protests, he’s fully prepared to finance such an endeavor when the time comes.

The only issue about your job, and his job as well, is that your schedules can be sporadic. There are days where you can work without even leaving the penthouse, and then there are days where you are running around and don’t return until 2 AM. Jumin can hardly get upset when he’s taunted the clock with his record times at coming home as well.

Can’t get upset at you, that is. Being upset at the situation is perfectly reasonable. He wants to spend time with his wife, dammit. You’re his favorite person in the world, all the things he wants to do involve being with you.

So when he’s the one who’s arriving at 2 in the morning, he deflates to see that you’re fast asleep, a couple documents and your phone in the bed next to you. How many times has he told you he would set up a separate room for you to work in? Each time, you shake your head and say all you need is your phone and laptop, and you can work anywhere. That doesn’t take into account your health, though. The place you relax should not be associated with work, or it leads to a less relaxing sleep cycle. He once read a study about that.

It might be hypocritical, but Jumin misses you. He wants to talk to you so badly it pains him, and not just longing phone calls that always leave him wanting more.

Loosening his tie, he waits for a second before falling hard onto the bed.

Your eyes flutter open immediately, and in your daze you take in your still-dressed husband. With a sleepy smile, you push away all the papers next to you to snuggle into his arms. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you.” One arm secured around your back, he pulls you as close to him as you can. He sees you breathe in his lingering cologne, and it makes him downright giddy that his scent seems to bring you comfort. “Shouldn’t a loving wife be waiting up for her husband?”

You yawn, throwing one leg around him. “Not when the husband returns at an ungodly time and the wife has an early morning site inspection. Did you have dinner?”

“I did. Did you?”

“Mmh. Yeah. I refrigerated some in a container if you wanna take it to work tomorrow.”

This is one of his favorite domestic things you do—and he doesn’t even think you realize how much he appreciates it. If it’s between having something from a five star restaurant or having your cooking, the latter will win each and every time. Sometimes he wants to brag to the whole world, although the most he’ll do is slip how tasty his lunch was today to Assistant Kang (who will almost always respond with a dry, “Glad to hear that, Mr. Han.”).

“I will.” Jumin kisses your lips, smiling when he feels you respond with little effort. “I’ve missed you.”

Your arms snake around his waist as you tuck your head under his chin. Jumin sighs when he feels you kiss his collarbone. “I’ve missed you too.” All he needs is your breath on his skin, or your hands on his face, or your voice filling his ears. It relaxes him instantly. “What’s your schedule like tomorrow?”

“I’ll be in the office all day.” Already he groans, burying his face in your hair in the hopes that it will preemptively soothe the headache sure to form tomorrow. At first he didn’t understand why you insisted on using the same hair conditioner you always did instead of a much more expensive one he could buy for you, but the smell of your hair is so exquisite that now he wholly prefers it (although there is a special kind of tingling in his chest reserved for the moments you smell like him).

“Same. After my inspection, I’m going to be meeting four new clients, and I’m going to guess they all want priority.” You roll your eyes, carding your fingers through his hair. “Tomorrow is also Mr. Wang’s wedding, so I’ll be back late.”

At his wordless whine, you giggle, kissing his cheek. Then after a few seconds of thoughtful silence, a soft hum sounds from your throat.

“I have an idea.”

///

The click of Jaehee’s heels alerts him to her entrance, and Jumin straightens in his chair, accepting the papers that she hands him.

“Thank you. Have you eaten, Assistant Kang?”

Jaehee blinks at him once, then twice, like he’s grown an extra head. Then she slowly nods, the surprised expression melting back into her perfectly professional one once more. “Yes, sir. And you?”

“Not yet. I brought a container my wife packed for me.”

“Honey, I don’t think she really cares to know that.”

“I see. She is a pretty good cook if I recall correctly.”

“Everyone cares,” Jumin insists.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re so sweet, it’s annoying. I want to kiss you all the time.”

“Mr. Han, are you alright? You look a bit out of it—should I call for a doctor?”

“Do it.” He smiles at the papers in his hands. “I won’t stop you.”

“Call…call the doctor?”

“Will you kiss me back, in front of all your employees?”

“Yes. Of course. Whatever you desire.”

“Right away, sir,” Jaehee responds in a sort of strangled voice, and it’s not until he hears the click of her heels again that he remembers she was there. In almost a flash, she leaves his office.

“What did she say?”

Jumin touches the tiny earpiece that’s been on all day, adjusting it only slightly. “I honestly have no idea.”

///

Jumin hates leaving. But he does, well, what is the phrase? Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave? Something along those lines, is what you’ve said to him. He’s not sure it applies here, since he is actually leaving to go abroad for a few days, and already he’s looking forward to his reunion with you, but he didn’t expect that both of you would be so needy for each other the night before the flight.

It starts with a few kisses, a pout on your lips that he thinks he can kiss away if he just tries hard enough. Telling you in hushed whispers that he’ll miss you an unfathomable amount. Your understanding on a pragmatic level, and your clinginess the second you both laid down. Both are appreciated more than he can say.

“What if I want to watch a movie with you?”

Kiss. “Just wait a week for me, my love.”

“What if the bed is too cold and I need you to warm me up?”

Kiss. “One week, I promise. No more than a week.”

“What if aliens invade the penthouse and I have no one to protect me?”

Kiss. “Tell them that your husband is going to kill them…in a week.”

For a few minutes, it goes on like this, with you proposing other scenarios and Jumin doing his best to both reassure you and make you laugh. He lays kiss upon kiss to your lips, and perhaps subconsciously, they become more ravenous, demanding. Seeking more. Seeking your conviction on just how much you will miss him.

“Jumin,” you breathe into his mouth. Jumin, Jumin. He loves how you say his name.

You’re seeking something as well, the warmth that you are so certain will disappear along with him. On one hand, he hates that his princess has to sleep without him at all, especially when she clearly doesn’t want to. And on the other hand, knowing that you’ll be here, missing him so desperately, makes his heart flutter. You’ll miss him. You’ll miss him.

Within moments, you’re on top of him, seated on his lap and unbuttoning the buttons on his shirt. He’s responding in kind, leaving love bites on your neck as he slides your night robe off your shoulders.

“What if I get lonely?” you ask, more demure than you actually are. “What if I need you, and my fingers aren’t enough?”

His hands press into your hips, hard enough to bruise. You mewl at the slight pain, and he manages to hiss, “I never want your fingers to be enough. If you wait for me, princess, I’ll make you cum more times than you can handle when I get back.” Even if just the idea of you sending him a video or even calling him as you touch yourself was incredibly appealing. Maybe next time. This week, he would have you think of nothing but his own fingers, his tongue, his cock.

And what better way to do that than to remind you how they feel?

“I’ll be gone seven days exactly.” Spoken more to your breasts than you, but he does gaze up at you reverently as he kneads them in his hands. “Maybe tonight I can make you cum once for every day I won’t be here. Would you like that?”

He jerks his thigh up against your core before you can answer, so you nod frantically, mouth falling open. “Uh huh!”

And who is Jumin to ever deny you?

///

The trip right before Valentine’s is the worst. It’s all Jumin can do to finish work before running like a madman through several different stores, picking up this and that. He insists on a different bag for each purchase, despite the clerks gently pointing out that he can put a lipstick tube in the same bag as a pair of heels and nothing will happen, but he doesn’t want to. He would like to see you open every item with a new spark of delight in your eyes.

Usually, he would return late at night, always opting to finish the day’s work and catch a flight right after instead of waiting for morning, because this way he would arrive home, gather you up in his arms as you slept soundly, and then bask in your surprise and delight when you woke the next morning.

And this time would have been no different if one of the departments had not messed up, forcing him to wake up on Valentine’s Day still out of the country. After five days’ worth of work forced into two hours, a shopping spree and a quick call with you, he nearly takes the wheel from the pilot himself before Jaehee begs him to just sit and try to enjoy the ride home. The rest of the trip, they are engaged in a glaring contest every time she looks up from the video she is watching on her laptop.

As soon as the door opens, he hears a surprised cry of his name, and then you’re barreling into him—all the bags in Jumin’s hands fall to the floor in favor of catching you and hefting you up in the air for a spin.

“I thought—“ Kiss. “That you—“ Kiss. “Weren’t coming back today!“ Deeper kiss.

“I couldn’t miss my first Valentine’s with you, my love.” The deepest kiss of all.

The two of you only stop because his bodyguards are coming into the room after him, with more bags. Your eyes widen as you take in all of them, and your sharp mind has already pieced together what’s going on. “Is this all for me?”

“Of course.” Jumin knows that the way you’re latching onto him with such a tight grip is a more priceless gift than anything in these bags. “Why don’t you open everything? I wish to see your reaction.”

And so you do. The makeup, the shoes, the clothes, the jewelry, the books, the decor, all of fine quality and all things well thought out with your interests in mind. With every single item, no matter how big or small, you gasp, or squeal, or simply smile ever so widely. And without fail, you kiss him right on the lips each time.

Jumin is dizzy only halfway into the opening process—he must start buying you gifts far more often if this is the reward he gets.

However, you see beyond just his outward appearance, and you place the next bag he hands you aside without so much as a glimpse at it before clambering onto his lap. Hands on his cheeks, your thumbs smooth over where he’s sure eyebags are forming. “My poor Juju,” you whisper, “you look really tired, honey.”

Honey, honey, honey. How joyful he feels when you call him honey. “As always, you see right through me. I can’t hide from you, can I?”

“I never want you to hide from me.” A sweet kiss pressed to his cheek makes his stomach jump, like he’s a teenage boy with a crush. “Let’s lay down, shall we? We can finish opening everything afterwards.”

Jumin concedes, rising hand in hand with you until you’re both on the bed, curled up in each other. “What a terrible Valentine’s this turned out to be. I’m sorry, my love.”

Your arms wrap around his neck, kissing him slow, soft and smooth. “What are you talking about? You’re here where I can hold you, we’re both off work, and you’ve gifted me more than anyone else ever has or will in my life.”

“Good,” he says, satisfied that he’s set a standard that no one else can ever match for you. “But is that…enough?”

“Enough?” Your tone is incredulous. “Jumin, just you being here is more than enough. I love you so, so much, and I—“ You cut yourself off, slightly backing up as though you’re trying not to overwhelm him (a ridiculous notion, he would love nothing more than for you to overwhelm his every sense). “I cannot believe how lucky I am to have married you.”

This time he kisses you, the idea of sleep slipping further and further away because really, why should he close his eyes when he can only see you when they’re open? Why should he rob himself of the privilege to gaze upon your lovely face and listen to your quiet, soothing voice? Why should he do anything else, eat or drink or work or play, when he could simply kiss you for the rest of his life?

“I love you,” he breathes, pulling you closer because you simply can never be close enough. “Happy Valentine’s, my precious wife.”

///

Of course, the first time your schedule allows you to accompany him on a business trip he’s ecstatic. Finally a week without the headache of returning to an empty hotel room, and instead what will feel like more of a vacation, especially once he completes the necessary work and the two of you can spend the rest of the days lazing by the beach.

Because of the honeymoon, Jumin had become well acquainted with your fear of flying, and had arranged your seats in his private jet to be close together. As the jet takes off, he holds your hand in his as you squeeze, eyes shut tightly for the takeoff. Reassuringly, he kisses your hand, rubbing the back of it while his other hand strokes Elizabeth the Third’s head through the carrier she’s in.

“Poor Elizabeth,” you manage to whimper, still looking quite pale even after the takeoff is done, “I hope she doesn’t get airsick.”

“She doesn’t,” Jumin reassures. Elizabeth is used to such flights, unlike you. He’d much rather you focus on your own health right now.

The stewardess for the flight comes through with the cart of food and drinks. “Anything for you, Mr. Han?”

“A glass of wine.”

“Of course, sir. And you, Mrs. Han?”

“Oh, um…” You smile sheepishly up at her. “Would you happen to have apple juice?”

The woman blinks once, then, as though she’s fighting back a laugh, says, “Apple juice, ma’am?”

“Is that a problem?” Jumin cuts in sharply before you can answer, glaring daggers.

“No, no! O-of course I can give you apple juice, ma’am, I didn’t mean to offend—“

“No offense taken.” Even nauseous and teased, you smile kindly, eyes lighting up when you have your drink. If he remembers correctly, he used to drink apple juice when he would get airsick as a child as well.

When the stewardess leaves, you lean over and press an apple-tasting kiss to his lips, and he catches a few drops of the juice in his mouth. It tastes yummy, or maybe it’s just the taste of you that he likes.

Probably the latter. Either way, he’s eager to get this vacation started.

///

“I feel so good that you’re here. Thank you so much for coming. I…never want to let you go.”

…

“I’ve trapped you here, haven’t I?” he asks one night, after he thinks you’ve fallen asleep.

You’re wide awake, though, and he feels your lips on his throat as you whisper, “I’ve never once felt trapped with you, Jumin.”

///

You’re a lightweight, and it’s the most adorable thing Jumin has ever seen. Including cat photos. Including Elizabeth the Third. And you don’t realize just how cute you are, which only makes you cuter.

“Juju,” you whine, when he starts to guide you to bed.

“You have to sleep, my dear.” Almost smugly, he places a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Sleep and allow me to take care of you in the morning.”

The protest you seemed to be ready to fire back morphs into a happy giggle as you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his midsection. “I do like when you take care of me.”

“Likewise.”

For some reason, that sends you into more giggles as you press against him. “You talk so smart like. I love when you use big words.”

Biting back a smile, Jumin raises a brow. “Is likewise a big word?”

“Anything is a big word when you say it.” You kiss him softly, sliding your hands in his hair. You love messing up his hair, almost as much as he loves letting you do it. “You’re so smart. So clever. Your brain is like…” To exaggerate your point, you lean your head away, with his hands on your back to keep steady. “Soooo huge.”

“Not the only thing,” he hums slyly.

“Jumin!” Laughing, you hit his shoulder, only for him to tug you in close, making you squeak. The only downside to how well you two know each other now is that he doesn’t get to see your beautifully embarrassed face, but he still gets some wins when he catches you off guard.

“I’m only kidding, my love.” Watching your lips part for him as he leans in, Jumin kisses you this time, gently sucking your lower lip between his teeth. Let no one say he wasn’t out and open with his oral fixation when it came to you. “I’m honored to know you find me intelligent.”

You beam, nearly blinding him with how brilliant your smile is. “Intelligent, and funny. So, so funny. I love your jokes.” Now you turn your cheek, placing sloppy kisses along his jaw. “And handsome. I have the most handsome husband in the world.”

Jumin, only now realizing the difference between being happy and being giddy and knowing he’s both, can only close his eyes, tilting his head back. “Ironic for you to say, considering no one with your beauty has ever existed before nor will exist again.”

The way your cheeks flush make him realize that he, too, must be quite tipsy. Surely his stomach does not flip so violently just to see how your eyes glow at his praise.

“I love you.” You swallow, and he watches the movement of your throat closely. “Do you know how much?”

He exhales, not having realized he inhaled before. “M-more than is reasonable, I presume.”

“A lot more than is reasonable,” you whisper before kissing him again. This one is different, he can tell. Something more desperate. More wanting. More likely to make him lose his mind.

How does he know? It’s because you’re not just kissing him, you’re also borderline riding the knee he’s slotting between your legs. With a whine, you tug on his collar, as though you want him closer. Need him closer.

Losing his mind is just the beginning.

“Sit on the couch.” The tone with which you beg makes his already hardening cock twitch. “Please, Jumin.”

He obeys—how could he not obey?—and just the sight of you dropping to your knees to unbuckle his pants has him throwing his head back with a lustful groan. How did he get here? How did he get so lucky?

You kiss the head of his cock, and Jumin is gone.

When you start bobbing your head, eagerly sucking with your eyes closed in concentration, it takes every inch of willpower he has ever had to not cum immediately, so that this can last. With every slow caress of your tongue, he can feel himself getting lost in his own base senses, every coherent thought fading away and leaving only an animalistic need.

“Princess,” he moans, fingers in your hair. His words escape him in a slurred, barely coherent manner. “I, ahh, won’t last—shit—”

Coming inside your warm, wet mouth is not in the top five moments he remembers when he thinks of his favorite times with you, because he likes to think he’s classier than that, but regardless, he’s never going to forget this.

///

Growing up, the one trait that he was always told to avoid and to find disdainful in others was laziness. There is nothing worse than a person who is not efficient. People who waste time just doing simple tasks are not worth his time, he was told.

But surely, surely, that does not apply to you. (Or maybe it’s a silly lesson in the first place, another one to add the list he has started to garner since he married you.)

It does not apply when you have to get up early for work and you sadly try cuddling with him in the five minutes you have left to remain in bed. Most days Jumin leaves before you, pressing a kiss to the lips of the princess in bed before heading out. Your parted lips in sleep do such a number on him that he has to make sure not to linger too long.

Days where your job demands you wake with him are no less enjoyable, and perhaps even more so as he gets to witness your clinginess. Jumin tugs you to the bathroom, where you close your eyes and rest your head on his chest as both of you brush your teeth. When you finally make it to the kitchen, he seats you on the chair by the counter and amuses himself by watching your sleepy eyes follow him while he makes a quick breakfast.

“Maybe I could eat ‘n your lap?” you ask cutely, poking at your scrambled eggs with a fork.

“My dear,” Jumin answers, intertwining your fingers to kiss the back of your hand, “I would love nothing more, but you will fall asleep again.”

Not even an argument as you nod with a lazy smile, head falling forward on the counter. “I want to fall asleep again. How do you do this every day?”

“It’s what I’ve always done.” He’s finished with his eggs, so he stands, sweeping your hair aside to lean down and press a kiss to your nape. You squeal, squirming away as he catches you and tugs you to him, watching you immediately give up this play fight and snuggle into his chest to catch a bout of standing shut-eye. “Now come, Driver Kim is waiting to drop us both off.”

You shake your head, clutching onto him stubbornly.

“You can sleep on my lap in the car.”

And he feels inordinately pleased with how fast you move after that.

///

The days that he knows you will be at the penthouse when he returns, there’s always an extra breath in his steps, as if the air itself knows he must return home immediately.

Tonight, for example. He has a whole night planned. The two of you would cook the next thing to try on that list of recipes you printed and excitedly taped up in the kitchen, then after dinner he plans to play some soft music and waltz you around the rather spacious living room, and then both of you could go for a swim in the pool, and the night would end with you dozing off in his arms.

A perfect night. The kind he dreams about, the kind that he never can quite believe are real.

When he opens the door, he doesn’t hear any call of his name nor is he tackled in a hug, which only makes his shoulders deflate slightly. Elizabeth the Third softly mrrows at him from where she’s sitting on the couch. Placing a kiss atop her head, he pokes in to check a few rooms, searching for his wife.

You’re nowhere to be found. The only place left to check is the bedroom. His sweetheart usually doesn’t fall asleep so early, though.

He opens the door, then freezes in his tracks.

With a couple of candles lit up around the room, you sit on the bed, nothing on except the set of lingerie he ordered a few weeks ago at your request, black as the night sky (“because it reminds me of you”). A few pillows support you as you lean back, eyes trained on him. There’s a glass of wine in your hands, and another on the table next to you clearly reserved for him.

You take a small sip, and some drops purposefully miss your lips and slowly drip down your neck, down over the swell of your breasts.

“Care to join me, husband?”

Jumin swallows.

None of his plans end up coming to fruition that night, and he doesn’t mind one bit.

///

(You’ve pointed out how the most random things turn him on—when you wear his clothes, but specifically his striped shirts, when you let him buy something ludicrously expensive for you, when you do simple things to take care of him, when you wait for him at home after work, cat ears—cat ears, cat ears, cat ears!—and the rare moments where he gets to see you pissed off.

But he’d only responded how the things you were into were equally as random—seeing him disheveled after a hard day’s work or a visit to the gym, the way he answered business calls simply by saying Jumin Han speaking, what do you need, and every time you’re naked on his lap while he’s fully clothed.

Shall I remind you how desperate you get, my dear? he growls into your ear. Your cheeks flush, and Jumin reaches for the ribbon in the drawer, even more impatient than you are.)

///

There are other times where Jumin will arrive home and if you aren’t leaping into his arms, kissing him full on the lips as he spins you around or pins you to the wall depending on the mood, you’re sitting on the couch, typing away on your laptop either for your job or for the RFA.

In those moments, he finds himself easily sliding his arms around you and burying his face in your neck, absolutely reveling in the subconscious way you rub his nape and kiss his hair.

Sometimes you both will exchange stories of your day, expanding on something a phone call simply couldn’t cover or something that perhaps you had wanted to say in person to fully soak in the reaction (you seem to particularly enjoy how he insults the difficult clients you tell him about). Other times, there is a serene silence, only broken by Elizabeth the Third’s purring and the clack of your keyboard keys.

You smell so good, all the time. He wonders if he should be capitalizing on the perfume you use so that no one else can buy it. That way this scent would solely be yours, just like he is. Something about that idea blooms a warmth in his chest.

The best part of the night comes when you finish, closing the laptop and setting it aside before wrapping your arms around him. “I love you,” you say, only for his ears, just like how your lips are only for his skin, just like how your scent is only for his nose, just like how Jumin is only here to be yours entirely.

///

In the past, when he’s fallen ill, he’s either ignored it or simply just taken the necessary amount of time to recover. The last time he was pampered like this was as a child by his nannies. And even their doting paled in comparison to yours (but then, didn’t everything, when it came to you).

Because this. This, is heavenly.

Every single ounce of your affection is solely for him. Your soup that you feed him, your fingers stroking his hair, your voice sweetly singing him to sleep. Your lips on his forehead, whispering, “How are you feeling, Juju?”

Granted, because he’s sick, he can’t fully appreciate it without the feeling that his body is turning against him. But it’s worth it, it’s easily worth it.

So, the day that he wakes up with a low temperature, feeling absolutely fine, he still manages to cough pitifully and throw out the word to Jaehee that he simply has to take another day off.

You have a knowing smile on your face, but when he slips his arms around your waist, with his face buried in your neck, you still hold him just as warmly, and Jumin is so, so, so in love with you. Nothing could possibly stand to be better than this. One hand absentmindedly strokes his hair while you type on your phone with the other hand, communicating with someone from work.

Your phone starts to ring; he only shifts minimally to get closer as you answer it. “Hey, what’s up?”

He can hear the person who called—it’s one of your friends. “Hey! Check your messages, I won that ukulele I told you I would win last time.”

The sound of your laugh is so melodious, he’d do anything to get drunk on it. “Win another one for me, I’ll hang it up in my closet.”

“Yeah, right.” Your friend snorts. “I wish you were able to come. It’s been so long since we’ve been here.”

“I know, but Jumin really doesn’t feel well. I couldn’t just leave him at home alone.” As though your friend can see, you plant a kiss on his forehead. “We’ll go another time, definitely.”

“I’ll hold you to it. Alright, I have to go. Give the husband all my love, I hope he feels better.”

“Will do. Bye, have fun!”

With that, you hang up, resuming the scrolling through your phone and the stroking of his hair. Jumin is still, for good reason.

You had meant to go out with your friends today. And due to his not-actually-sick state, you had canceled on them.

Hadn’t he told you to put him second to your own self? But he can’t pin this on you, not when he was the one faking. A terrible feeling begins to rise in his chest, causing him to move away from you and stare at you with a guilty expression.

“Is your neck finally tired of…” You trail off when you look at him, furrowing your brows. “What happened?”

“You were meant to go out today.”

A small frown forms on your face. “Um…we made plans, yeah. But you were sick—“

“I wasn’t,” he confesses, ironically sick to his stomach. “I just wanted to take another day off and spend some time with you.”

“I know that.”

“I—you know?”

The frown on your face is replaced by a tiny smile, as you tug gently to bring him back into your arms. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

“Yes I am.” He pouts, still upset but more calm now that you don’t seem disappointed.

“Honey, the one time I kissed your finger after you got a papercut, you somehow got a papercut on every finger the following week.”

Jumin blushes, but you’re not wrong—he just craves your attention. You simply make everything better.

“More importantly,” and now you pull him into your chest, settling back into the same comfortable position with a kiss on his forehead, “I’m faking just as much as you, because I love it when you do things like this. Why would I complain? I get to spend time with you.”

This is what it feels like, Jumin is certain, to be loved. To be cared for and adored so deeply that it leaves an ache in one’s chest. “The next time,” he murmurs, as your hand finds purchase in his hair once more, “The next time you would like to go out to an amusement park with your friends, please let me know. I can buy it out for the day.” A thoughtful pause. “Or forever.”

Another soft kiss, he’s tempted to keep going, to make more and more outrageous promises just to earn each and every press of your lips to his skin. “My friends will appreciate that. I think the park is already owned by C&R, actually.” You chuckle. “Some fast passes though? I wouldn’t say no.”

Fast passes? He’ll ask you what in the world those are just as soon as he finishes kissing you (something a fake sick person can, thankfully, afford to do).

///

A soft knock on the door.

“Mother?” He makes sure to keep his voice to a polite volume. “I’ve played with all my toys. May I please come out now?”

Silence.

Jumin clears his throat, trying his best not to look behind him, just three steps down. It’s dark down there, and he knows it is not logical to be afraid of the dark, but even the logic does little to quell the growing fear inside him.

“Mother? It…it has been a few hours now.” Fourteen hours, he counted on the tiny clock that ticks a little too loudly in the basement. “May I please be let out? I’m starting to get hungry.”

That’s a lie, but he doesn’t think she’ll know. The truth is he began to get hungry hours ago, and is now close to starving. As if on cue, his stomach growls.

Jumin knocks again, the dread he feels growing with every second. “Please, Mother, I’ll be good. I’ll play with my toys. I’ll be normal. Please let me out.”

None of it makes any sense to him. In all the books he reads, none of the mothers lock their sons up in the basement. But then maybe none of the sons are as strange and abnormal as he is. They didn’t need to be locked up like he did.

Still, even if he deserves this, the loneliness is starting to scare him.

“Please.” Childish tears start to prick at his eyes. “Mother? I don’t want to be here anymore. I’m sorry. I’ll do better, I promise.”

The only response he gets is the silence, beckoning him to come back to the darkness where he belongs. With a trembling lip, he turns to face it once more.

The doorknob jiggles.

He whips his head back, not daring to believe it. Is this punishment finally over?

The first thing he’s going to do after he eats is call Jihyun, ask him if he’d like to go to the park nearby. Anything to go outside, in the light, with other people.

Except, to his horror, when the door finally opens, it’s not his mother standing at the top, but his stepmother.

“No,” Jumin whispers, stumbling back. He misses one step and trips, hands on the cement floor as he stares, terrified, at the woman. “Please, no. Where’s Mother?”

The woman at the top laughs, a sound that seems to make others happy but only serves to suffocate him further. He’ll choose to stay in the darkness for a hundred more hours before going upstairs to see her. “What’s this? Another woman in your life, Jumin? What a lady killer!”

He shakes his head desperately, as though to tell her that there’s no one, there’s no need for her to get possessive.

It doesn’t work.

“I’m your mother, Jumi.” He hates that nickname. “Shouldn’t you spend more time with me? You know I love our time together. I know you love it too.”

No, no, no, no, no. He’s on his feet in an instant, scrambling back away from her as fast as possible. His back hits the shelf, no longer a child but an adult, and yet still equally as pathetic.

“Your father doesn’t even pay attention to me anymore. You’re all I have, Jumi.” Her eyes turn cold. “But it looks like you’ve found someone else, haven’t you? You’ve replaced me so easily.”

Now her gaze is focused somewhere else. Jumin follows it, peers through the darkness, only to see…

You.

Relief floods his chest all at once. You are his solace, to hold close and worship. You are the only person to ever understand him, to love him without hurting him. You have accepted him no matter how much he’s shown you that he doesn’t deserve any of your care. As long as you are by his side, he can face anything.

“Jumin.” Even his name sounds so much nicer coming from you. Everything and everyone else seems to melt away.

He takes one step towards you.

You speak again, but it doesn’t sound the same this time.

“Jumin.” Now that he can see your face properly, you look…angry. “Don’t come any closer.”

Immediately, he stops, and that sharp fear grips his throat, squeezing.

“You’re fucked up, Jumin.”

The words spit out of you like a spear, hitting him right in the center.

It can’t be you talking. You don’t say things like that. You always tell him you love him, that you understand him, that you adore him.

But maybe you’ve just…had enough.

Tears begin to spill from his eyes. You stand before him, his heart in your hands, and you look at him with such disgust that he hopes the darkness in here opens up and swallows him.

“I’m leaving,” you say firmly, “don’t follow me.”

“Please,” he gasps, shakily reaching a hand out. “Please don’t leave me here, my love.”

But you don’t listen. You step up the stairs, grip the door, and with one last look of vitriol, you slam it shut, damning him to the darkness forever.

Jumin wakes with a gasp that’s really a sob, head jerking up and slamming against yours.

“Ah!” You grip your forehead, wincing in pain from your position above him. “Ow ow ow, that hurt!”

Like he’s in auto mode, Jumin sits up, touching your cheek with a terrified expression. “I’m so sorry, my love, let me call the doctor. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” You wince again, rubbing your forehead. “It’ll probably bruise later, but I can deal with it.”

He hurt you. He hurt you.

But you don’t have any of the hate that your dream counterpart did in her eyes. Instead, yours are filled with concern, and you cup his cheeks with such gentleness that he closes his eyes, immediately melting in your hands.

“Were you having a nightmare?” You kiss his forehead. “You were tossing and turning and mumbling in your sleep.”

As much as he wants to bask in your worry for centuries, it doesn’t stop the guilt that threatens to spill. “I apologize for waking you, my love. And for hitting you. I—I was having a nightmare, yes, but I’m alright now.”

“Jumin.”

“If you’d like, I can make some tea for you to help you go back to sleep—“

“Jumin.” Your lips are on his forehead again. “You’re crying, sweetheart.”

So he is. It’s strange he didn’t realize, but there are indeed tears wetting his cheeks. He opens his eyes to meet your gaze, looking at him so sincerely and with such care that this time he actually feels the tears pour down.

“Oh,” you breathe, brows meeting in concern. Your thumbs wipe his tears away diligently, and your lips begin to kiss every spot you wipe. Jumin trembles under your touch, hating himself for being so pathetic in front of you and simultaneously considering crying forever so that you stay here forever too. “What is it, honey? Please tell me how I can help.”

He wants to. But all he can manage to do is grip the back of your shirt in his hands, bury his face in your shoulder, and sob.

Not even for a second do you let him go. He doesn’t know how long he stays in your arms, seconds, minutes or hours. He cries, and cries, and cries, until his eyes feel swollen. and all the while your hand strokes his hair, your lips kiss his cheek, and your voice comes out in soothing whispers.

It’s okay.

I’m right here, I’m here for you.

You have me forever.

We’re going to get through this.

I promise I’ll stay with you as long as you want.

Even though he hasn’t told you what his nightmare was about, you still somehow know exactly what to say.

Even when he finally tires himself out, Jumin can’t stand the thought of not being held by you. He’s never felt this safe, this protected, in his entire life. He continues to grip your shirt tightly, breathing in and out, chest heaving. Any second now, he thinks. Any second now, you’re going to pull away and see how awful he is when he clings to you again, like a child.

You do no such thing. Instead, you lean back against the headboard, gently guiding his head to rest on your chest. It’s not the most comfortable position, but he shifts so that he’s sitting curled into you and pulls you forward gently to place a pillow behind your back. This way, he can hear your heartbeat.

And it’s that steady rhythm that makes his eyes start to droop.

But if he falls asleep again, he risks having another nightmare.

“Sleep,” you murmur, kissing his temple. Jumin’s eyes close on instinct. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The promise knocks him right out.

///

When he wakes, you’ve kept your promise, and you’re in the same unfortunate position, head lulled to the side as you snooze.

An indescribable feeling settles upon him. It’s not just one feeling, in fact, but multiple. Guilt, because he forced you to sleep like this throughout the night. Gratitude, because he’s pretty sure he’s in the arms of an angel sent from above. And most importantly, he feels white hot love, because he has clearly married the only person in this world worth a damn.

And as much as he wants to stay like this, he knows that will surely not bode well for the chiropractor appointment he plans to schedule for you. So Jumin slips out of your embrace gently, taking good care to lay your head down on the pillow. With you picturesque in front of him, he places a kiss on your forehead, whispering, “Thank you.”

“Ju,” you mumble in your sleep. Your hand seems to reach for something, stopping when he intertwines his fingers with yours.

An angel, indeed.

Jumin gets up fully, taking the time to brush his teeth and freshen up before going into the kitchen to whip something up for breakfast. He wasn’t expected at the office until after lunch, so he had time to really make something nice. Chocolate chip pancakes, instead of his usual strawberry.

As he makes the batter, he thinks. Last night was…an anomaly. There should be no reason for him to dream of people that no longer matter anymore. His present is the most important, and his present is, thanks to you, leagues and leagues ahead of his past anyway. He wants to forget it all, forget his mother and stepmother and even Sarah Choi, who, while she hadn’t made an appearance last night, had been in his nightmares more than once, in a bleak alternate reality where he actually married her.

But he knows who he really married. It’s the person whose arms are sneaking around his waist right now. You.

“Morning.” Your voice is exceedingly pleasant, especially when it’s cooed in his ear. “You’re going in late, right?”

“Yes.” He places a kiss on the back of your hand, pressing his lips to each knuckle. “And you, my princess?”

“All from home today, my prince.”

Inwardly, he feels a quick twinge of irritation. “I wish I could spend the whole day with you. I should call out.”

“I’m never going to dissuade you of that.” You kiss him right on the nape of his neck; Jumin shudders. “But it’s up to you.”

“I’ll end up burning these pancakes if you keep distracting me.”

“Maybe that’s what I want.” Your laugh is so pretty, he thinks, and he didn’t think he could describe laughter as pretty before you. “Um, before I get too off topic…don’t you think we should talk, Jumin?”

He knew you weren’t going to simply forget the fact that he had cried himself back to sleep last night. Luckily, before you’d woken, he’d already prepared for such a scenario.

“I apologize for disrupting your sleep. I had a disturbing dream, but it will not happen again.”

For a second, he thinks it’s enough to stop you from asking any further questions, up until he feels your arms slide out from under him. The next thing he knows, you’re turning off the stove before he can start on the next batch of pancakes.

Then, you’re gently turning him so he’s facing you, looking at you right in the eye. Jumin has seen that look before. It’s way too determined for even his stubborn nature, and it always comes out when you’re about to do whatever you want (a rare delight, given your selfless nature, but one he enjoys every time).

Your hands loop around his neck, and you kiss his cheek. Jumin closes his eyes as you speak softly. “Won’t you tell me what’s bothering you, love?”

It’s amazing that you think anything could bother him when you’re this close, calling him that.

“Just a nightmare,” he says softly, but you clearly don’t buy it.

“I have nightmares too, it’s very rare that one of them affects me that much after I wake up.”

“A bad nightmare.”

The other version of you flashes in his head again. You’re fucked up, Jumin. But she’s not you, and even though he thinks for a terrible second that you’re going to shove him away, you pull him in for a hug instead, warm and welcoming and cozy. The scent of your nameless-brand shampoo fills his senses—it makes him desperately want to go back to bed.

“Please,” you breathe on his neck. “That’s what you were saying last night. Please, Mother. Please, no. Please, don’t leave me.”

His hands grip the back of your shirt.

“Please talk to me, Jumin,” you plead. “Please.”

Somehow, he has to keep from crying this time. How pathetic can one man be? But he also has to acquiesce to your request, because you’re you, and he cannot deny you no matter how hard he tries. If you want him bare, you shall have him bare. If you want him destroyed, he will destroy himself in an instant.

“Alright,” he concedes, trembling.

Not wanting the kitchen, where you and him cook together and laugh together (and a couple other things too), to become associated with these tainted memories, he guides you to the couch, hands holding yours. You promptly get into your favorite position, on his lap with your knees on each side. With a sigh, he rests his head on your shoulder, the fabric of your shirt seemingly smoothing out the creases in his forehead.

Your lips on his skin and your whispered words of encouragement give him a courage he wasn’t aware he possessed. Jumin talks.

“You have not met my mother yet. There is…good reason for that. A week before our wedding, she sent me the profile of a woman she wanted me to marry. I refused, of course. But that is the first time she has reached out to me in years.” He clears his throat. “She and I did not have a pleasant relationship. I think some part of me was very disappointing to her, because instead of giving her the true challenge of parenthood I molded to exactly what she wanted me to be. She recognized that I was…abnormal.”

In the span of a few seconds, your eyes have hardened more than he’s ever seen them harden before. This isn’t determined. This isn’t even pissed. This is raw anger.

“Abnormal?” There’s a bite to your words. “Is that her way of saying she was blessed with an intelligent, kind child?”

“You are kind,” Jumin whispers, cupping your chin to press a short kiss to your lips. “As a child, I was perhaps more robotic than I am now. I took to the world of business rather quickly.”

“You were brilliant, Jumin. Were and still are.”

If he kisses you after your every reassurance, the two of you will never leave this couch (not that he necessarily minds that idea). The more disturbing risk is that he will break down in front of you, if he starts elaborating, not to mention when he begins to talk about his stepmother as well.

But that’s a risk that Jumin can now accept. He understands now, that he hasn’t known love before you, and that there will be a great many times he will feel afraid, but he also knows that there is no one in the world he trusts more.

Taking a deep breath, he continues.

///

Jumin is addicted—addicted—to making you cum.

The face you make when you orgasm—eyes shut, mouth open in a silent scream, head thrown back—is the most beautiful thing he’s seen in his life. He considers spending eternity with his head between your legs, recklessly licking you to completion again and again.

The sounds you make—God. They have him rolling his hips against the sheets, so close to finishing just from your taste. It’s an obsession now, one that’s been growing ever since you two were married. A stressful day or a bad meeting or even projects being set back for whatever reason, Jumin can get all that frustration out as long as you allow him to spread your legs and devour you. As long as you squeal on his tongue, make a mess of his face, cum on his lips once or twice or more. He only stops when you beg him to.

He could taste you forever.

But he reconsiders this commitment after he experiences the feeling of you coming on his cock once more.

A choked cry escapes him when he feels your walls clench around him. For a second, he can’t move, too lost in the way your eyes roll back and your nails dig into his skin. It’s the most pleasurable pain he’s ever had the fortune of experiencing.

“Ju-min,” you whine, legs clasping around his waist as he continues to thrust lazily, seeking his own release, “more, please.”

It really is always nice to know that he’s not the only one affected, enthralled and addicted to this madness.

///

Returning home to silence is still better than returning home to the sound of soft crying.

Jumin is on high alert in an instant, not bothering to take his suit or even his shoes off. You’re curled up on the couch, wiping your cheeks aggressively when you catch sight of him.

“J-Jumin, I didn’t hear you come in. Um…” You swallow, dried tears still obvious on your face. “I haven’t made anything, let me call the chef.”

He crosses the rug over to you almost blindly. There’s nothing else in his head, only you—your tears—you’re crying—you’re crying and he wasn’t here. His hands cup your face, wiping another fresh tear that rolls down your cheek as you look up at him, shaking.

“Who did it?” There’s a white-hot anger pulsing inside of him. He never sees you cry. “Tell me who I need to kill.”

A soft gasp escapes you, and you shake your head frantically as he sinks to his knees, taking your hands in his own and pressing reverent kisses to your knuckles. “N-no one did anything—I promise I’m fine, h-honey, please get up—“

Your laptop is set to the side, but the only thing on it is an email draft, giving him no clues at all. The last thing he desires is for you to have to recount that which distresses you, but he wants, needs, to ensure that you never get upset again.

“My love,” he swears, pressing his palms to yours, “please, tell me what happened. Was it something I did? One of the employees in the building?”

You whisper frantically, “No,” but even as you do another fresh wave of tears drip down your face.

Jumin wants to scream, wants to hurt someone, whoever is responsible, but he’s helpless, and so he lets intuition guide him, rising up until he’s next to you on the couch, and he’s pulling you in.

With a firm grip on his suit, you bury your face in his chest, shoulders shaking. In this moment, he recalls the predicament from that night, when the roles were reversed. How you’d simply let him cry, and held him all the while. Is he capable of…can he possibly bring you the same peace you bring him? Could you allow him to comfort you in the same way?

No matter what, he’s going to try. Anything for you.

Placing a kiss to your hair, he tightens his arms around you and murmurs sweet nothings, making sure you hear all of them. Everything from you’re the strongest person i know to i’m here for you, my love, i’ll be with you till the end of time.

“It’s just so much,” you finally hiccup, sniffing, “I’m busy all the time, they dump every project on me, I never get a chance to just take some time for myself and breathe! I’m always on some call, writing some email, visiting some area, I just want it all to stop. And you’re busier than me, and you do it so effortlessly, I can’t imagine how pathetic I must look compared to you.”

“You’re worth a hundred of me.” His voice is fierce, and he meets your eyes with his entire honest conviction. “Nothing about you is pathetic. You…you’re hardworking, you’re talented, you’re brave, and you’re the kindest person I know. I do not deserve you. I’ve never deserved you.”

“Please don’t say that,” you whimper, face still wet. He squeezes you tighter.

“I apologize. This isn’t about me. You need a break, sweetheart. Please, just request a week or at least a day off.”

“Jumin, I can’t—”

“I’ll request off too. Whenever you get a break, I’ll schedule one at the same time, and then I’ll take you wherever you desire, or we can simply spend it in the penthouse, and lay in bed all day. Or I could buy your company,” he half threatens, half jokes.

You let out a weak laugh, sinking into him, but he feels the tension in your shoulders release just slightly. Placing a kiss at the top of your head, he quickly texts for the chef to come by within the next hour, then tosses his phone aside to hold you better, which is when he catches sight of your own phone. On the screen is an image of the chatroom—a screenshot, he realizes, since his own messages are in it and he hasn’t been on the messenger today.

Your gaze follows his, and a slight smile finally forms on your face. “Messages from when we first met. Ah, the day I came to your apartment, I think.”

Oh, no. To put it lightly, those days were not a good time for him (although he’d never say such a thing, because he finds it cruel to say that some of the hardest days of his life included the one where he met the most wonderful woman in the world). Heaven knows what foolish things he’d said, he’s tried to block out most of the times that didn’t include the sight of you in front of him.

“They calm me down,” you admit softly, “the screenshots I have. I’m glad I took them, I have almost a hundred pictures that remind me of all the butterflies I would get when I talked to you. Knowing you’re my husband is the biggest calm of the storm.” Your cheeks are still stained with tears, but in your eyes is a newfound admiration as you and him look at each other, as though you have all the time in the world.

Jumin’s heart seizes.

“I’ll request a week off.” You reach up, a thumb on his cheek. “Thank you, Jumin.”

Surely, he thinks, being needed by you is the best experience of all.

///

“Thank you.” Your voice breaks the silence, muffled on his skin. “For letting me love you, and for loving me.”

Your husband kisses you, impatient as always, and you adore it.

“You’re welcome,” he breathes.

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