One Thing I Need To Start Living By Is “become The Thing That You Want” If I Want Friends Who Throw

kim mingyu’s (unhelpful) guide to losing your virginity

❝ you’re telling me that you, Miss Dick Repellent, had sex with Captain Chastity By Choice over here. ❞

PAIRING ▸ kim mingyu x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ smut, fluff, humor, college au, best friends to lovers au, friends with benefits au

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, alcohol consumption, rated m for mingyu, slow burn, he fell first but she fell harder but then he tripped and ate shit, probably the most self-indulgent thing i’ve written, mingyu and mc are both virgins, sexual content, sexual tension, protected and unprotected sex (i would not advise doing the latter), lots of teasing and banter, oral (f. and m. receiving), fingering, wall sex, couch sex, public sex, mingyu discovers what pasties are, soonyoung orders 20 connect fours, they are avid enjoyers of the barbie movies

SUMMARY ▸ after accidentally telling your friends that kim mingyu took your virginity (he didn’t), you’re shocked when he proposes to relieve you of the fabled v-card for good (he does).

PLAYLIST ▸ perfect by one direction • spell by niki • fatal flaw by ellise • give me a kiss by lolo zouaï • step? by bibi

WORD COUNT ▸ 31,273 words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ someone (fia) once told me i write too many college aus. i said yeah ur right. and i’m gonna do it again

“BIRDS AND BEES CANNOT PHYSICALLY FUCK.”

You sounded more distressed than informative while you were trying to reason with your longtime best friend, Kim Mingyu. He, on the other hand, appeared visibly worked up over this childish level of argument you two were having.

“It is a metaphor,” he said. “Everyone knows birds and bees aren’t screwing each other up in the trees.”

You still couldn’t wrap your head around it. Hours ago, you had fucked yourself over after Kwon Soonyoung had casually brought up the topic of body counts. After everyone in your friend group went around listing theirs (Soonyoung: 3; Jungwoo: 3; Minghao: 2; Vernon: 5), you accidentally blurted out that your body count actually existed—one, to be exact.

This was a problem because, to everyone’s prior knowledge, you were a virgin.

Keep reading

『 good influence 』

✧ kwon soonyoung x f!reader ✧ summary: slowly soonyoung begins to influence you into making some questionable decisions ✧ wc is approx 3.4k ✧ warnings: mdni. dom!hosh, top!hosh; sub!reader, bottom!reader. exhibitionism, perversion. dracyphilia. sex in public spaces. name calling (slut), praise (good girl). ✧ notes: this isn't a full-fledged fic as so much as a collection of bits. inspired by this ask. do not leave requests, as my requests are closed.

tag list: @coffeestay @tinkerbell460 @hyneyedfiz @wonuhour @sweet-like-caramel @immabecreepin

it starts with a too-small pastel pink skirt.

you're playing with the edges of it, turning in the mirror. it covers your front just fine, but when you turn to look at your ass you can see your striped underwear and how it clings to your ass cheeks.

you frown. you had liked the skirt a few years ago, had worn it religiously. it twirled prettily, sat high enough for you to be comfortable. but during the span of a winter you had forgotten about it, and it wasn't until you decided to go through your wardrobe before moving into your boyfriend's apartment that you had discovered it again.

soonyoung walks into the room, eyes on his phone. you turn one last time in the mirror, catching his attention. you watch, through the mirror, as he halts in his tracks. his dark eyes widen and his mouth drops a little, and soonyoung walks to you as if he had an invisible piece of rope tugging him along.

"it's too small," you explain, trying to tug the skirt down to cover your ass.

"yeah," he says, and then his hands are over yours. soonyoung pushes your hands aside and cups your ass, squeezing and kneading. he slips two of his fingers underneath your underwear, following the curve of your ass cheek to your cunt. "fuck, it's so perfect."

you're half-ashamed at how quickly you get wet. but your body responds to soonyoung's wandering hands nearly immediately, a tickling sensation traveling to your cunt and wetness leaking from it.

"fucking perfect," soonyoung hisses. and then he's pressing your face into the bed, your ass hanging over the edge. he doesn't pull your panties all the way down, just to your knees. he doesn't push aside your skirt; instead he fucks his fingers into your cunt with his other hand grabbing at the fabric of your panties and your flesh, nails scraping along your skin.

when he fucks into you -- his cock fat, stretching you farther than his fingers did -- he keeps the skirt down. he's frantic with it, his mouth a motor running a thousand miles a minute, spewing the dirtiest of things.

"fucking begging for it," he mumbles, pressing you down onto the bed while he slams his dick into you. you're whining into the blankets, voice pitching higher and higher until you're practically sobbing. but it's hard to hear your cries over the sound of his thighs slapping yours, his cock drilling into your cunt and making the wet noises of your pussy echo in your ears.

"fucking begging," he hisses, "standing in this fucking skirt. begging for my cock to ruin you, begging for my dick -- weren't you, baby? begging for me to fuck you raw."

you sobbed into the blanket, and soonyoung pulls out. he takes his cock into his hand and thrusts into it a handful of times before he's cumming over your skirt and ass. soonyoung pulls your panties up and covers your cunt once more, and at this point you're fucking sobbing, begging for relief.

"don't worry baby," he mumbles, "i'll give you want you want."

soonyoung brings his hand down on your covered cunt, striking it. you're sobbing, and he's spanking your raw pussy. after another slap he begins to rub at your poor clit through your underwear, the fabric a barrier between his hand and your clit.

when you cum you're screaming into the bed, tears and drool drenching both your face and the bed.

you think that's the end of it.

it's not the end of it.

nearly a week later soonyoung sheepishly approaches you. he's not looking at you and his ears are quickly taking on a pink hue. you wait, plopping a grape into your mouth, for him to speak. he doesn't.

"soonie?" you say, raising your brows at him. "what's up?"

he opens his mouth. shuts it. then he takes out his phone and quickly types before sliding it across the island counter and to you.

can i ask a favor

you nod. he takes back the phone, deletes, retypes. slides the phone back across the counter.

can u wear that skirt and climb the stairs from the 3rd floor to 4th and let me take pictures

you blink, furrowing your brows. you look back up at your boyfriend. his entire face is turning pink, and he's turned his shoulder to you. he refuses to look at you.

you check the time. it's evening, past the time when the apartment building buzzes with people returning from work and kids returning from school. the sun has begun to set, and it casts golden light into your apartment from where it faces the west.

the skirt hadn't been thrown away. the day after soonyoung fucked you against the edge of the bed you had finally managed to throw it into the wash as it was stained with his cum and your own juices and, even though you had the intention of donating it, you just couldn't donate it with your boyfriend's cum dried onto it.

then it had gotten mixed into the laundry again and you forgot about it.

"i don't know where it is," you say, grabbing another grape.

soonyoung turns his face from you completely. he reaches into his hoodie pocket and withdraws light pink fabric.

not just any light pink fabric, but the too-short skirt.

"didn't want you to donate it," he mumbles, twisting it in his hands.

you're horrified and embarrassed and horribly, ridiculously turned-on. "give it here," you say.

soonyoung moves to you. you grab the fabric from his hands, taking it in. it's wrinkled from where he's played with it.

"i'll need to iron it," you murmur, "for it to look nice in pictures."

soonyoung brightens, his shoulders dropping in relief. "really?"

grinning, you grab a grape. he opens his mouth obediently when you raise it to his lips, and then your fingers are skimming along his mouth as you press it in.

you want to change your panties to something more clean, but soonyoung stops you. "it'll be better if they're ones you've worn for a bit," he sheepishly says.

for a moment you're confused. but then you realize what he's insinuating and you feel heat rush to your face.

maybe, you think as you pull on the skirt, your boyfriend wasn't as innocent as you thought.

the two of you go to the stairwell. you wait for a moment, trying to listen and see if there's anyone coming up or going down. soonyoung fumbles with his phone, pulling up his camera.

"i'll go a few before you," you say. and then you begin up the set of stairs. he takes a few pictures of your bare thighs and how the fabric shows off the edges of your panties and the soft curve of your cheeks.

"what about a video?" soonyoung questions once you get to the top.

and so you go back down. you begin to retrace your steps, soonyoung taping the way your skirt bounces against your ass, when there's the sound of the stairwell door opening.

you turn to him, eyes wide with panic.

soonyoung climbs the stairs in swift steps, crowding you against the wall. he covers your side, one hand against the wall behind you and allowing him to partly cover your backside.

it's a young woman. she takes in how close soonyoung is to you, how you refuse to look at her. and then she averts her eyes and hurries down the stairs, ponytail bouncing as she practically sprints.

you burst into your apartment moments later, spinning on soonyoung as soon as the door is shut. "we're not doing that again."

"okay," he says.

but he's a liar.

he grows bolder in the days that past the incident. you've caught him with his dick in hand, the video of you climbing the stairwell replaying in a loop multiple times. you feel like a deer caught in the headlights each and every time soonyoung catches you, and soon enough the ache between your thighs is nearly constant from his harsh fucking.

someone at work comments on it, how you seem more relaxed than usual. you can't look at them and sputter about a new tea your boyfriend got you.

but as embarrassed as you are you don't bring it up to him. not when you begin shutting doors behind you in hopes of, whenever you open them again, he'll be on the other side with his fat dick in hand, eyes trained on his phone and your skirt-covered ass filling the screen.

but he becomes bolder, and this -- his perversion -- begins to leak into your life outside of your shared apartment.

it's a small thing at first.

"i can't believe minghao just left," mingyu huffs. there's not enough room in joshua's car for all of you.

you shrug, pulling your blanket close around your torso. it's not cold, not enough for a heavy jacket, but it's chilly enough to where the autumn air bites. "he did say he wasn't going to stay the whole game."

"he was my ride," mingyu pouts.

"then you should've been paying attention to his texts," joshua snaps, tired of mingyu's complaining. "unless someone wants to pay for a lyft someone is going to have to sit on a lap."

soonyoung is ridiculously happy to have an excuse for you to sit on his lap. you throw your blanket over your legs, feet knocking against his and chan's, who sat in the middle.

the car is barely moving before soonyoung's fingers are on your thighs.

the radio doesn't cover chan and mingyu's bickering, or hansol picking chan's side, but it does cover your soft gasp as soonyoung's fingers dip further, the tips of them brushing against the inner seam of your jeans.

"just making sure you're not going anywhere," he says, nose pressing against your neck. you nod, believing him for a minute.

and then his fingers, concealed by your thick blanket, dip to your cunt. it's covered by your panties and jeans but you can feel his fingers all the same. his fingers brush against your clit, but due to the fabric between his fingers and your clit all you can feel are tingles that have you yearning to buck up into his hands.

but you don't.

instead you step on his foot, heel pressing down on his toes. soonyoung hisses, softly, and then he's full heartedly fucking his fingers into your cunt.

there's layers between his fingers between your cunt but you can feel them, can feel the drag of them against your pussy and how he aims at your clit. it's not enough to bring an orgasm, not enough to do anything other than wind you up, but it makes you so stimulated that every point of contact between you and soonyoung seems magnified.

after, once you bid joshua and the rest of your friends goodnight and are in the elevator, you whirl on soonyoung. he's smirking, softly, satisfied.

"you're ridiculous," you hiss, eyes narrowed at him.

"you didn't stop me," he says, still grinning. "what a good girl you are. letting me use you like that."

and he's right.

it's midnight and you and soonyoung are halfway to your destination. you've pulled over, in desperate need of caffeine to stay awake. soonyoung says something about candy and you nod, stumbling towards the bathroom.

there's only one toilet in it and you wait for the woman before you to exit. you do your business and when you open the door soonyoung is there. you can barely form a word before he's crowding you back into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

"soonyoung? what are you doing --"

he's pressing you against the counter. soonyoung shoves down your sweats to your ankles and helps you jump onto the counter. "gotta wake you up, baby," he says, mouth pressing harsh, quick kisses to yours.

"gotta be a good girl and be quiet," he mumbles. soonyoung shoves his hand against your panties, fingers quickly finding your clit. he works furiously, fingers building an orgasm far more expertly than anyone else ever could. soonyoung's mouth muffles any noise from yours and his words are mumbled against your mouth.

but that doesn't stop him from talking.

"what a dirty girl," he says, "letting me fuck you in this bathroom. like a fucking slut -- is that what you are, baby? you my slut?"

you whine, his mouth moving to your jaw. he sucks a mark into your skin. "soonie --"

"say it," he commands, eyes sharp like a tiger's. "be a good girl and say it, baby."

you frown, eyes begging. but then you oblige, and he's dropping to his knees. soonyoung presses his tongue against the fabric of your panties and it's only a handful of seconds later before your cumming, biting down on your lip to stop yourself from moaning.

"sorry," soonyoung says as the two of you leave the bathroom. there's an older woman waiting. "my girl started her period and needed some help."

your eyes are tinged red from tears, and perhaps it's because of how pathetic you look the woman believes him. she gives you a look of sympathy and then moves into the bathroom.

"what a good girl," soonyoung murmurs as you leave the gas station. "such a good girl for me."

"i want you to do something for me," soonyoung says.

you look over at him from the driver's seat. it's so nice out that despite having to wait for your friends to show up you've rolled down the windows and turned off the car, content to wait with the sun and breeze.

soonyoung is looking at you directly. he's confident, eyes twinkling and a smile playing on his lips.

he reaches out, laying a hand on your bare thigh. he had gotten you a pretty sundress, he had said, just for this picnic with your friends.

soonyoung's hand smooths up your thigh. his fingers slide underneath your dress. "i want you to be good and take your panties off for me."

your eyes widen, and your hand slaps down on his. "soonyoung," you hiss. "we're in public. at a park!"

he smirks, leaning over the center console. "be a good girl," he chastises you. "come on, be a good girl for soonie."

you hesitate for a second more. you check outside of the car before you hook your fingers into your panties, pulling them down your legs.

"good girl," soonyoung coos at you. he grabs your panties and shoves them into his pocket.

you're so self conscious. you refuse to move from the picnic blanket, saying you don't feel well. soonyoung watches you with a grin, and, when no one is looking, takes your panties from his pocket and lifts it to his nose, smelling them. you're terrified. every breeze has you pressing your hands against the skirt of your dress, making sure it keeps down. you freeze whenever one of your friends gets too close, worried they'll somehow catch on.

you're scared, but your cunt is wet and throbbing with need.

once your friend date is over, soonyoung is pushing you into the backseat of the car. he fucks you quick, pushing the skirt of your dress up around your middle. each drag of his dick has you moaning, arching up into him.

"desperate little slut," he says, withdrawing from your pussy. he waits. "so worried about our friends seeing your little cunt and yet letting me fuck you in the car."

"please," you beg, and then he's fucking into you in one swift movement, drawing a loud moan that almost seemed like a scream from your lips.

the worst of it comes during a thunder storm.

jeonghan and you frowned over the weather app while seokmin and soonyoung continued to mess around, spewing nonsense about childhood cartoons and villains. it was raining badly, too badly for you to dare to try and make the drive back across the city to your apartment.

a bed is made for soonyoung on the living room carpet and you on the couch. it isn't until midnight that seokmin and jeonghan both retire to their rooms, seokmin impishly pressing a kiss to your temple before scattering.

you go about preparing for bed. you pull on one of seungcheol's shirts -- how it got there, you didn't know -- before stretching out on the couch, sinking into the sheet that covered the couch's leather and still smelled fresh.

soonyoung leans to give you a goodnight kiss. you hum, letting your eyes fall shut and meeting each press of his lips eagerly.

he pulls away for a moment, staring down at you. you don't quite have the time to question him before soonyoung is on the couch, pressing you against the seats.

soonyoung's mouth devours you. his tongue shoves into your mouth with every kiss, kissing you as messily as he knew how. your hands go to his shirt, tugging.

"gonna fuck you," he says, voice low. soonyoung pulls off of you just enough to reach for his shirt and throw it to the ground. "gonna fuck you on jeonghan's couch."

he throws your sweatpants to the floor, pressing his face to your panties. soonyoung breathes in against your underwear, inhaling the smell of your pussy and your day-old underwear. "smells so fucking good," he groans, and then he's licking a broad stripe up your cunt.

it's horrible, you know, that you muffle your moan with your hand and lift your hips up to his mouth instead of stopping him.

soonyoung sucks kisses over your clit and through your panties, arms hooking around your thighs. you can feel his biceps strain as you shift in his hold, soonyoung intent on keeping you still.

he drenches your panties with his tongue, laving against them as if there wasn't a fabric barrier between his mouth and cunt. you don't trust yourself to move your hand from your mouth, and your free hand goes to his dark hair and twists.

he slips one hand into your panties while he licks at you and after a moment of fierce rubbing against the sides of your clit you're orgasming, biting down on your wrist to stop yourself from moaning.

soonyoung moves you to the floor to fuck you. he raises your ass into the air and pushes your head into the pillow. his fingers press harsh marks into your hips as he drills his fat cock into you, forcing your walls to make way for his dick.

"good fucking girl," he hisses, dick striking against your gummy core, "fucking good slut, letting me fuck you. so fucking soaked for me, fucking -- you like this, baby? like me fucking you on our best friend's floor?"

you sob into the pillow, his dick dragging against your walls and hitting deep within you. you swear you can feel his dick in your throat, swear he's splitting you in half.

"what a slut," soonyoung says. "my little slut with a tight little cunt, fucking all wet 'n warm for me."

his nails press into your skin and he's cumming, his spunk filling your cunt. soonyoung is still cumming when the sound of a door opening fills your ears, and then he's forcing you flat against the floor and throwing the blanket over you two.

he's pressed against your back, dick buried deep within you still. you can feel his cum inside of you, can feel it on your cunt from where it had leaked during soonyoung's scramble. you can feel his balls against your ass, can feel his hot body against yours.

can feel the harsh thundering of your heart as your friend leaves the bathroom and moves to the living room, checking in on you two. he lingers for a moment, and you're so fucking aware of your breathing that you can barely hear when he moves back to his room.

soonyoung waits a few minutes. and then he's laughing softly into your ear. he slips his limp dick from your cunt only to replace it with his fingers. "not done with you," he says, pressing his smile against your clothed shoulder. "not done with you yet, baby."

it's so fucking messy down there. his cum leaks from your cunt with every thrust of his fingers, and you have to press your cries into the pillow.

in the morning you wake to soonyoung dressing you. he pulls your panties and sweatpants on, ignoring the mess that still stained your thighs. he pulls the sheets and blankets off of the couch and helps you onto it, tucking you back in with a blanket after checking to make sure there's no stains.

you hurt. hurt from laying on the floor, hurt from his rough fucking. your cunt aches and you can't help but take pleasure in every tingle of pain that shoots from it when you shift.

seokmin wakes and exits his room to soonyoung throwing the stained sheets and blankets into the washer. he's surprised, but he says something about how much of a good influence you've had on soonyoung.

he can't see the grin soonyoung throws you from over seokmin's shoulder.

hi hi ^ would love to hear some of your ideas on a cuddly sunday morning with jun ! <3

i’m sorry this took so long and is so short omg i can’t believe i asked for reqs and then never got around to it 😭 i really hope you enjoy this though it’s my first time writing for seventeen as i am a baby carat 🙏🏽 thank you so much for your req :))))) 🩷🩷🩷🩷

“i don’t understand why you feel the need to have an alarm on a sunday morning.”

your boyfriend was trying his absolute hardest to become one with you, his face buried so deeply into your shoulder every breathe he took made your hairs stand up. your hands come up in a soothing motion caressing his hair as a giggle bubbles up in you.

“junnie, you said i should put an alarm on so that we won’t spend our entire sunday in this bed like last week, this was your idea!” you say.

your hands move from his hair down onto his shoulders softly massaging them just the way he liked it. jun groans and tries to press his face even further into your shoulder, his leg moving to lay over yours and effectively trapping you in his hold.

“never listen to me again.” he pouts and wraps his arms even tighter around your waist, playing with the waistband of your pajama shorts. “i want to stay like this forever.”

you snort and continue massaging his shoulders. “and by this you mean practically suffocating me?” you say and he nods his head rapidly pressing soft loving kisses on your shoulder.

“you have no idea angel, i want to literally crawl into your skin.” he says and finally pushes his head up from his former position in your shoulder.

“i love you so much and being close to you is never close enough.” he confesses pressing soft kisses all over your face. you laugh, and the love you feel for him in that moment is so immense and intense and you can’t help but pull away and stare at him.

the sun that is peeking through the blinds paints him in such an angelic light and you thank the stars for letting you both exist at the same time and together.

“i love you too baby, so much. so so so so so much.” you say and you smile and he smiles and you hope that you can spend you can spend every single sunday morning with junhui like this for the rest of your lives.

HOW TO FAKE DATE A DOCTOR — SATORU GOJO

pairing — doctor!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary — for six months, you've watched dr. satoru gojo order the sweetest coffee on your menu every morning at exactly 7:15 AM. for six months, you've convinced yourself his intense stares must mean he's spotted something medically concerning about you—maybe a suspicious mole or concerning symptom. but when a desperate white lie about a fake boyfriend results in him volunteering to play the part at your family's christmas dinner, what begins as a simple pretend relationship might just turn into something real.

word count — 9 k

genre/tags — coffee shop AU, holiday romance, fake dating, friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, fluff, idiots in love, reader is a med student and barista, gojo is a cardiologist, age difference (reader is 25/gojo early 30s)

warnings — 16+ ONLY. contains suggestive sexual content, non-graphic medical talk

author's note — hey lovelies, welcome to my first attempt at a holiday romance. this was meant to be a short drabble but somehow turned into this 9 k words of pure fluff and pining. it's my little christmas gift to you all hehe. whether you're celebrating with family, working holiday shifts, or just enjoying a quiet day, hope this makes you smile. thank you for reading, and merry christmas !! <3 (credit/art)

masterlist + support my writing

You first noticed him six months ago.

It wasn't just because he was strikingly handsome, with hair the color of fresh snow and the bluest eyes you'd ever seen, though that certainly didn't hurt. It wasn't even because of his white coat and the stethoscope casually draped around his neck, marking him as one of the doctors from the nearby hospital.

No, what caught your attention was the way he looked at you.

Every morning, like clockwork, the bell above the door would chime at precisely 7:15 AM, and Dr. Satoru Gojo would walk into your café. He'd order the sweetest drink on your menu (always with extra whipped cream), and while you prepared it, his eyes would follow your every movement.

It wasn't creepy or uncomfortable. And it definitely wasn't flirting — at least, you didn't think it was. Perhaps he saw something, a suspicious mole you'd never noticed, and now he was trying to figure out how to tell the coffee girl she’s dying without ruining her morning rush. 

That had to be it.

You’d catch his gaze lingering when he thought you weren't looking. Sometimes, he'd tilt his head slightly, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. It made you wonder what he was thinking. Was he judging your latte art? Probably. You were still working on that.

But when you turned around to give him his iced vanilla latte with extra whipped cream and three shots of caramel (it never varied, not once in six months), he'd break his smile to you, his gaze softening for a second, and then his fingers would brush against yours as you handed him the paper cup.

He always thanked you with “Much appreciated”. It made your heart skip a beat, if you'd be honest. Not that you read all too much into it of course. And so for six months, this had been your routine. 

5:30 AM: Arrive at the café.

6:00 AM: Open up, prep for the day. 

7:13 AM: Start making his drink because you knew he'd walk in exactly two minutes later. 

7:15 AM: Heart fluttering slightly as your hand brushed his as you gave him his order.

10:00 AM: Shift end. 

10:30 AM: Rush to classes.

Some mornings, he’d arrive in wrinkled scrubs, the faint scent of antiseptic clinging to him. Other days, it was a tailored dress shirt, sometimes with a matching tie. But the routine never changed.

Same order, same time, the same easy smile that would soften slightly when you remembered his order without him having to say it. Not that it was hard to begin with. 

“Someone’s got a secret admirer,” Maki would say, nudging you with her elbow as Dr. Gojo left. You’d roll your eyes, but a faint blush crept up your neck anyway.

Between customers, you'd try to squeeze in some studying. The early morning shift wasn't exactly ideal, but it paid better, and you needed every cent you could get for your pre-med textbooks. Those things cost more than your rent, it felt like.

Your anatomy textbook usually lay open behind the counter, hidden from customers' view but accessible during slower moments. Sometimes, when the morning rush died down, you'd catch Dr. Gojo's eyes flickering to the pages as you made his latte. His expression would shift slightly, but he never commented on it.

You wondered sometimes if he was judging your highlighting technique (chaotic at best) or your margin notes (mostly question marks). He must have gone through all this years ago, probably with much more grace than your current fumbling through medical terminology.

The café job barely covered your expenses — between tuition, rent, and those damn textbooks — but at least it was flexible with your class schedule. Your manager understood when you needed to switch shifts for exams, and the free coffee helped during all-nighters.

Your coworkers thought you were crazy for taking such early shifts. "No one should be awake at 5:30 AM," they'd say. But they didn't understand the quiet peace of morning prep, the satisfaction of perfect latte art, or the way certain blue eyes would crinkle at the corners when you got his order just right.

It was a small thing, a fleeting smile, a brush of fingertips, but it was enough to make the early mornings, the aching feet, the constant struggle, almost worth it.

Not that you stuck to this schedule just for him. Obviously not. The extra dollar per hour for opening shift was the real motivator. The fact that it coincided with Dr. Gojo's apparent coffee schedule was just... coincidence.

Sometimes, during chaotic study sessions between customers, you'd catch him watching you mouth medical terms to yourself as you steamed milk. His eyes would linger on your textbook, then flick back to your face with that same intense look that made you wonder if he was counting your remaining days or something—or still trying to figure out if that one mole on your cheek was turning malignant.

The morning you had your anatomy midterm, your textbook sat next to the register, full of sticky notes and frantic annotations. You saw him notice it, saw something shift in his expression as he took in the obvious signs of exam stress. That day, he left an extra large tip with a small note that just said "Good luck."

It was probably just pity. He'd been through med school. He knew the hell you were going through. That had to be it. Absolutely. No other explanation.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway, as you added the note into your wallet, shoving it down next to a crumpled grocery list and a faded movie ticket stub, as if burying it under a pile of mundane objects could somehow bury the flutter in your chest.

For six months, this had been your life. Balancing early mornings, late classes, endless studying, and the mystery of a doctor who looked at you like you were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.

So when he finally broke pattern that random rainy monday morning, it wasn't with some dramatic revelation about your health you’d imagined. Instead, he tilted his head slightly while waiting for his usual and said, "You changed your hair."

You nearly dropped the caramel syrup. After six months of intense stares and loaded silences, after convincing yourself he was cataloging your symptoms or contemplating your mortality, he was commenting on your hair?

"Oh." Your hand instinctively went to the ends you'd trimmed over the weekend. "Yeah, just a few inches."

"It suits you." He said it so casually, like he hadn't just shattered half a year of mysterious doctor mystique with three words. Then, with that same matter-of-fact tone, "The pathophysiology textbook you were reading last week—Robbins, right? It’s really good. Especially the part about metaplasia. Interesting stuff."

And just like that, the spell was broken. No terminal diagnosis. No earth-shattering revelations. Just a doctor who apparently noticed haircuts and had opinions about medical textbooks. 

The sudden normalcy of it all was almost jarring. For months, you’d been half-convinced he was silently cataloging your every freckle, every mole, every perceived imperfection, convinced he was about to deliver some devastating news. Now? He was talking about metaplasia. It was almot—anticlimactic. 

And, if you were being honest, a little embarrassing. All those covert checks in the reflection of the espresso machine, all those frantic Google searches for “atypical nevi”—for this?

You almost wanted to laugh.

After that day, your morning routine shifted slightly. He still came in at exactly 7:15, still ordered the same diabetis-inducing latte, still watched you work with those intense blue eyes the color of glacial ice. But now he'd occasionally comment on your study materials, or mention an interesting case that related to whatever chapter you were currently highlighting.

"Cardiac arrhythmias today?" he'd ask, spotting your textbook. "Had a case of atrial fibrillation yesterday. The patient presented with…" He’d then launch into a quick explanation, sketching a diagram on a napkin that somehow made more sense than three hours of lecture on the same topic.

Your coworkers were almost disappointed by this development. "That's it?" Maki had said when you told her. "Six months of smoldering looks and he just... helps you study?"

But somehow, it felt right. The mysterious doctor with pretty eyes turned out to be just a man who noticed details and perhaps had a soft spot for struggling med students. 

He still made your heart do that stupid flutter thing when his fingers brushed yours during the handoff, but now you had a perfectly logical explanation for that of course—the vagus nerve or some other equally fascinating cardiovascular phenomenon he'd just explained.

That had to be it.

Some mornings, when the café was quiet and you were stumped by a concept, he'd even linger a few minutes after getting his order. He’d lean against the counter, close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne, gesturing with his cup while breaking down complex medical theories into digestible pieces, somehow making autoimmune disorders sound as simple as iced latte recipes. 

"You'll make a good doctor," he said one morning, completely out of nowhere and your cheeks flushed a deep crimson.

Your relationship—if you could even call it that—settled into something comfortably in-between. More than customer and barista, less than friends, but with a rhythm all its own. He'd quiz you while you made his usual, turning morning coffee runs into study sessions.

"Name three complications of chronic hypertension," he'd say while you pumped caramel into his cup.

"Increased risk of heart attack, stroke, and kidney disease," you'd reply, adding the extra shot of espresso he never actually ordered but always appreciated.

"Good. Now tell me about secondary causes."

One random Tuesday morning, however, the bell didn't chime at 7:15. You glanced at the clock, then back at the door. 

7:16. 

7:17. 

A knot of unease tightened in your stomach. It was ridiculous, really. Why did you even care? He was just a customer. A regular customer, yes, but still just a customer. It wasn't like you were waiting for him or anything. You were just—used to the routine. That was all. 

But despite your attempts at rationalization, a small, nagging worry began to gnaw at you. Had something happened? Was he okay? You found yourself staring at the door, your hand hovering over the espresso machine, your usual movements faltering slightly. You even messed up a latte, the foam swirling into a sad, lopsided blob instead of the usual pretty rosetta. 

At 7:20, just as you were about to convince yourself he’d just overslept and that you were being completely ridiculous, the bell finally rang. He rushed in, slightly out of breath, his cheeks flushed. "Sorry I'm late," he said, his voice a little rushed. "Crazy morning at the hospital."

He looked like he’d run all the way, which was odd. Why would he run? It’s not like his coffee was that important. Right? And yet, your stupid heart did a little flip at the sight of him, a traitorous swell of warmth blooming in your chest. He made it. He was here.

He stayed extra long that morning. After the rush died down, he listened to you recite your flashcards, correcting your pronunciation of medical terms with a patience that made you wonder if he moonlighted as a professor. It was a strange sort of intimacy, this shared moment of slow study amidst the busy morning rush and the soft hum of the refrigerators. 

And you never wanted that morning to end.

Your coworkers had stopped teasing you about him—mostly—and started asking if he could explain their own health questions instead. Then came the random stormy Wednesday that changed everything.

The morning had started normally enough—he arriving at 7:15 sharp, you already having his sugar latte ready. But the sky had opened up while he was waiting, rain drumming against the café windows. It wasn’t a gentle shower. It was a deluge, the kind that turned streets into rivers in minutes.

"Did you bring an umbrella?" he asked, watching you glance at the downpour.

"No," you sighed, already dreading the soggy walk to campus. "I checked the forecast last night—it said sunny all day." You internally cursed the weather app.

"When does your shift end?"

"Huh? Oh, uhm 10 AM. I have microbiology at 10:30."

His lips twitched into a faint smile and he left without another word. You tried not to feel disappointed—what had you expected? It's not like he could control the weather.

But at 10 AM sharp, as you were pulling your jacket tighter and preparing to make a run for it, you spotted him through the rain-streaked windows. He was standing outside the café in his white coat, holding a large dark blue umbrella. 

Your heart definitely did more than flutter this time.

"Ready?" he asked when you emerged, as if waiting in the pouring rain for some barista was perfectly normal doctor behavior.

"You didn't have to—"

"Can't have my favorite barista catching pneumonia," he said. "Besides, I'm heading that direction anyway." You knew for a fact the hospital was in the opposite direction.

The walk to campus was suddenly—intimate. It was strange being this close to him. You’d seen him every morning for months, but always across the counter, a safe distance separating you. Now, you were walking side-by-side, the scent of his cologne so close it made it hard to focus on anything but his proximity, to say the least.

"So, what are you studying in Microbiology?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"We're covering bacterial pathogenesis this week," you replied, and the conversation drifted naturally to a discussion of how different pathogens could affect various organ systems like it was normal small talk.

As other pedestrians passed, their own umbrellas bobbing and weaving, he’d subtly pull you closer. Each time he did, your breath would catch in your throat, and a fresh wave of warmth would wash over you. You were grateful for his height, because you were certain your cheeks were flushed a deep shade of red.

It was absurd, how flustered you were by such a simple act, but the feeling of his arm occasionally brushing against yours, the shared intimacy of the small space beneath the umbrella, was enough to send your heart racing.

Desperate to focus on something else, you blurted out, "What kind of doctor are you, anyway? I never actually asked."

"Cardiology," he replied simply.

“Cardiology,” you repeated, the word lingering on your tongue. A doctor of the heart. When you reached the medical sciences building, he paused, lowering the umbrella slightly. The rain had begun to ease, but the air still smelled wet and clean.

"Thanks," you said, meeting his gaze. "For the umbrella escort."

"Anytime." That soft smile again, the one that made your heart do a stupid little skip again.

As you watched him walk away, umbrella tilted against the rain, you realized something had shifted. Maybe you weren't quite friends, maybe you weren't quite anything definable, but whatever this was—it felt like the beginning of something. Something more than just sharing an umbrella on rainy days.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

Winter arrived on a random thursday morning, transforming rain into snow and turning your early morning walks to work into arctic expeditions.

It was during one of these frigid mornings, while you were preparing Dr. Gojo's usual order and the steam from the espresso machines fogging up the frost-covered windows, that your phone rang. Your mother's contact photo flashed on the screen.

You answered with your phone pressed between ear and shoulder, still working the machines. "Hi, Mom."

"Sweetheart! I was just planning Christmas dinner. You're bringing someone this year, right? That nice boy from your anatomy class you mentioned?"

You winced, catching Dr. Gojo's raised eyebrow from where he stood at the counter. "Mom—"

"Because Aunt Marie's daughter just got engaged, and you know how she gets—"

"My boyfriend's actually busy with hospital rotations," you blurted out, immediately wanting to punch yourself. "He's, uh, very dedicated to his work."

"Boyfriend? Why didn't you tell me? What's his name? What does he—"

"Sorry, Mom, huge line forming, gotta go!" You hung up, letting your forehead thump against the coffee machine with a groan.

"That sounded stressful," Dr. Gojo commented, amusement clear in his voice.

You looked up to find him watching you with that slight smile that always made you shiver. "Just my mom being... my mom." You resumed making his latte. "She's convinced that at twenty-five, I'm practically a spinster."

"Ah." He tilted his head. "And this fictional boyfriend with hospital rotations?"

Your cheeks heated. "Seemed easier than explaining why I'm still single. Between work, classes, and studying, I barely have time to sleep, let alone date." You handed him his usual. "Plus, now she'll stop trying to set me up with every eligible male she meets through her book club."

"A creative solution," he said, taking a sip. "Though hospital rotations over Christmas? Sounds like a terrible boyfriend." A playful smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Yeah, well, imaginary men are often disappointing." You started wiping down the counter, needing something to do with your hands. "At least this way I'll have a few weeks of peace before I have to tell her we broke up."

"Sounds like you've done this before," he observed, watching you attack an imaginary coffee stain with perhaps too much force.

"Is it that obvious?" You sighed, abandoning your fake cleaning. "Last year he was studying abroad. The year before that, he was sick. I'm running out of excuses, honestly. Pretty sure my mom's stopped believing me, but she plays along because it's less awkward than admitting we both know I'm lying."

He made a thoughtful sound, then pulled out his prescription pad (why did doctors always carry those around anyway?). You watched, confused, as he scribbled something down and slid it across the counter.

"Here," he said. "My number. Call me during Christmas dinner."

You stared at him. "What?"

"Well, your imaginary boyfriend should at least make an effort, don't you think?" His eyes held that familiar amusement. "I'll tell your mom all about my very important hospital rounds, maybe throw in some medical words. Make it convincing."

You stared at him, mouth slightly agape. Was he… offering to pretend to be your boyfriend? You couldn't quite process what was happening. 

"You know," he said, after you'd probably been quiet for too long, "some of us actually do work hospital rotations over Christmas."

"I know, I just—" You stopped, realizing how her words might have sounded. "Oh god, I didn't mean to imply… I know you probably have to work during the holidays too, I wasn't trying to—"

"Someone has to make sure all those Christmas dinner caused heart attacks are properly treated," he interrupted, that familiar, almost-smirk back on his face, easing the tension in your shoulders. "Though I do get Christmas morning off this year."

You couldn't tell if he was trying to make you feel better about your lie, your accidental insult, or just sharing information. With Dr. Gojo, it was often hard to tell. After a moment of stunned silence, you managed, "Are you… sure?"

"Perfectly.”

"Thank you," you said, finally finding your voice as you picked up the slip of paper. "Really, thank you."

"Anytime," he said, that familiar, soft smile gracing his lips. "Consider it a Christmas gift. From your very dedicated, albeit fictional, boyfriend."

As you watched him leave, coffee in hand and snowflakes catching in his white hair. Even if he was probably going to tease you endlessly about your fictional, workaholic boyfriend for weeks to come, a small, stupid part of you was already looking forward to it.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

The Christmas dinner was a random Friday night.

The table, laden with enough food to feed a small army, was surrounded by the usual suspects and the dinner turned out to be exactly as excruciating as you'd expected. You'd barely made it through the appetizers before the interrogation began.

"So, this boyfriend of yours," Aunt Marie started. "What did you say he does again?"

"He's a doctor," you said into your mashed potatoes.

"A doctor!" your mother brightened. "You never mentioned that part."

Your cousin Sarah leaned forward. "What kind of doctor? Where did he study? How did you meet?"

You were considering faking a sudden illness when your phone buzzed. Dr. Gojo's name lit up your screen with a video call request. You hadn't even suggested a video call—he was truly committing to this.

"Oh, that's him now!" Your mother said, clapping her hands together. "Put him on speaker!"

Before you could protest, you were surrounded by a sea of curious relatives as you answered the call. The screen filled with Dr. Gojo's face, and—oh god—he was actually in scrubs, in what looked like a real operating room.

"Hey, my love," he said as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and the casual nickname hit you like a train, making you forget your own name. You felt your cheeks flush and it didn’t help that he somehow managed to look unfairly handsome even under the surgical lights. "Sorry I couldn't make it. We had an emergency valve replacement come in."

"Are you... actually in surgery right now?" you asked.

"Just finished!" He tilted the phone slightly to show a glimpse of a team of medical staff behind him, all of whom waved. One even gave a thumbs up. "Thought I'd catch you before dessert. Is that your family I see?"

Your entire extended family crammed themselves into frame, cooing and waving at your "doctor boyfriend" who was dedicated enough to call from work.

"Oh my god, he's gorgeous," your cousin said.

"Dr. Gojo," your mother pushed forward, "we're so disappointed you couldn't join us. Though of course, saving lives comes first!"

"Please, call me Satoru," he said, flashing that unfairly attractive smile of his. "And I'm more disappointed than anyone. I was really looking forward to trying your famous apple pie that your daughter keeps telling me about."

Your mother clutched her chest, delighted. You had never once mentioned her apple pie to him. 

"Are those Christmas decorations I see in the OR?" your aunt squinted at the screen.

And indeed, there were actual Christmas lights strung up in the background. Either this hospital was very festive, or he'd gone to ridiculous lengths for this act.

"We try to keep the holiday spirit alive, even here," he said, then suddenly looked off-screen. "Oh, looks like we have another emergency coming in." Dramatic beeping noises increased in the background. "I'm so sorry, but duty calls. It was lovely meeting you all!"

"Such a dedicated young man," your mother sighed after you ended the call.

"So handsome too," Aunt Marie added. "Those eyes!"

You slumped in your chair, caught between mortification and amusement. He really didn't have to go that far—the Christmas lights in the OR? The perfectly timed “emergency”? The entire surgical team playing along? It was almost impressive.

Your phone buzzed with a text: 'How'd I do? The lights were my colleague's idea. They says Merry Christmas, by the way. Your family seems nice.'

Another buzz, a separate message: 'Also, I expect a slice of that famous apple pie at the café tomorrow. After that performance, I think I've earned it.'

You typed back: 'You are absolutely insufferable. That was completely over the top.'

His response came almost instantly: 'Is that any way to talk to your dedicated doctor boyfriend who just saved a life AND charmed your entire family? I'm hurt.'

Despite yourself, you smiled.

Your phone buzzed one more time: 'By the way, your cousin already found my hospital's public contact info and sent a friend request. Should I accept? I feel like a committed boyfriend would.'

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. He was absolutely loving this. 

Way too much.

The next morning, you weren't surprised when he showed up at his usual 7:15, despite it being his day off. What did surprise you was that he was still wearing scrubs. They were rumpled, like he'd been wearing them for a while.

"Please tell me you didn't actually work all night just to make that video call more convincing," you said as he approached the counter.

"You know, I am a doctor in real life, right? This isn't just a cover for your mom." He smirked. "But anyway, just finished an actual emergency shift." He glanced at the paper bag you had waiting next to his usual sugary coffee. "Is that… what I think it is?"

"Your well-earned reward for yesterday's Oscar-worthy performance." You handed him both coffee and pie. "Though I still can't believe you got your entire surgical team to play along."

"Bold of you to assume I had to ask." He took a bite of the pie and his eyes widened slightly. "Okay, your mom's reputation is deserved. This is actually amazing."

"Yeah, well, enjoy it while it lasts, because—" You hesitated, took a deep breath, and decided to just rip the bandage off. "She invited you to dinner. Tomorrow."

He paused mid-bite. "Oh?"

"I told her you're probably busy—"

"What time?"

You stared at him. "What?"

"What time is dinner?" He took another bite of pie, looking perfectly casual about the whole thing. "I actually have Sunday evening off, and this pie has convinced me your mom's cooking is worth experiencing in person."

"You can't be serious."

"Why not?" He shrugged. "I've already met them virtually. Might as well complete the experience. Unless you're worried I'll embarrass you?"

"I'm worried you'll be too convincing again," you said. "My mom's already planning our wedding, by the way. She told me this morning that your 'dedication to work' proves you'd be a good husband."

"Well, I'd hate to disappoint a future mother-in-law."

"This isn't funny!"

"It's a little funny." He leaned against the counter, grinning. "Come on, one dinner. I promise to be slightly less charming this time."

"Somehow I doubt that's possible," you said before you could stop yourself.

His smile widened. "Was that a compliment?"

"That was a complaint about your inability to do anything halfway." You busied yourself with wiping down the already clean counter. "But fine. Sunday at seven. Try not to bring Christmas lights this time."

"No promises." He pushed off from the counter, taking his coffee and pie. "Oh, and by the way?"

"Hmm?"

"I accepted your cousin's friend request. She's already invited me to your family's New Year's party."

He was halfway to the door when he paused, turning back with an expression that was softer than his usual teasing smile. "You look pretty today, by the way. The new sweater suits you." 

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. You hadn't even realized he'd noticed you'd changed from your usual work shirt into a cozy sweater for your afternoon classes.

He was out the door before you could stammer out a response, leaving you to wonder what exactly you had gotten yourself into. And why one simple, genuine compliment made your heart race more than all his dramatic boyfriend performances combined.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

Sunday evening found you pacing a worn path in the carpet by your parents' front door, checking your phone every two minutes. 7:15 came and went—apparently his almost unnervingly precise timing only applied to coffee runs. 

You tried to convince yourself it was fine, that doctors had unpredictable schedules, but a nervous flutter had taken up residence in your stomach.

At 7:20, your mom’s worried, "Maybe he got called into surgery?" was interrupted by the doorbell. You took a deep breath, smoothing down your dress, and opened the door.

Standing there was Dr. Gojo—Satoru, you supposed you should call him now—looking slightly disheveled in a way that somehow only emphasized his unfairly attractive features. His white dress shirt, though slightly untucked at the waist, bore the clear signs of a hurried ironing, and he was carrying what looked like an expensive bottle of wine—definitely not the kind you’d find at the corner store.

"I'm so sorry," he said, running a hand through his already slightly tousled white hair. "Emergency consultation ran late, and then traffic was—"

"It's fine," you interrupted, a wave of relief washing over you. He’d actually come. "Really. You didn't have to—"

But the rest of your sentence disappeared into a surprised squeak as he stepped forward, closing the small gap between you. He leaned in and gently pressed a kiss to your cheek, his free hand settling naturally on your waist, just above your hip, as if he’d done it a hundred times before.

"Hi," he whispered against your ear, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "Missed you today at the café."

You stood frozen, brain short-circuiting from the casual intimacy of it all. This wasn't part of the plan. You hadn't discussed... this. The way his hand felt warm through your dress, how his cologne made you slightly dizzy, how natural it felt to have him this close. It was as if your body already knew this was right, even if your mind was still scrambling to catch up.

"I... you..." Words. You needed words. "You're late."

He pulled back just enough to give you that familiar amused look. "And you're blushing."

Before you could even process that observation—or the fact that your heart was currently attempting to beat its way out of your chest—your mother appeared behind you. "Satoru! We're so glad you could make it!"

He smoothly stepped past you to greet your parents, all charm and apologies for his lateness, seamlessly weaving a plausible story about a last-minute emergency consult and unexpected traffic. He shook your father’s hand with just the right amount of respectful firmness and charmed your mother with a compliment about her festive decorations. All while he left you standing in the doorway, slightly dazed, trying to remember how to perform basic human functions like breathing and blinking.

The slight smirk he threw over his shoulder as he joined the others in the living room told you he knew exactly what he'd done.

Insufferable man.

The dinner was simultaneously the longest and shortest evening of your life. Satoru slipped into the role of doting boyfriend with an unsettling ease, weaving medical anecdotes (carefully tailored for a non-medical audience) and charming compliments into the conversation like he'd been rehearsing for weeks. He even managed to compliment Aunt Marie’s notoriously sweet cheesecake without visibly wincing.

He sat close enough that your legs brushed under the table, his hand finding its way to your knee during your mother's third attempt to bring up wedding venues (she was already browsing bridal magazines online, you’d noticed). The casual touch, which should have made you incredibly nervous, instead felt strangely good, like a shared secret between the two of you in the midst of the family chaos.

"And how did you two actually meet?" your aunt asked over dessert.

"She makes the best coffee in the city," Satoru answered smoothly, his thumb drawing absent circles on your thigh beneath the tablecloth. "Though it took me months to work up the courage to say more than my order."

You nearly choked on your wine. He was mixing truth and fiction so seamlessly you almost believed it yourself. 

Every story he told had just enough reality to make you question your own memory. He mentioned how you study between customers, but added details about imaginary conversations. He even talked about your first "date" with such specificity that you found yourself half-believing it had happened.

His hand never left your leg for long, occasionally squeezing gently when your relatives’ questions became too invasive. Somehow, he’d effortlessly positioned himself as both the charming guest and the attentive boyfriend, deflecting awkward questions with a disarming smile. And you’d never been so grateful for anything in your life as you were for him breaking the pattern on that random, rainy Monday morning.

"He even helped me with pathophysiology," you found yourself saying, leaning into him slightly, enjoying it. Two could play at this game.

"She didn't need much help," he replied, his voice laced with a warmth that sounded genuinely proud. It made your heart flutter. "Just someone to hold her flashcards while she made my ridiculously sweet coffee."

Your father, who hadn't said much all evening, finally smiled. "She works too hard sometimes."

"She does," Satoru agreed, his hand sliding just a fraction higher on your thigh under the table. "Though that's one of the things I admire most about her." A wave of heat rushed to your face, and you quickly looked away, focusing on a particularly uninteresting spot on the tablecloth. This is getting out of hand.

As the conversation shifted to some other topic—something about your uncle's questionable golf swing—you leaned in slightly, whispering just loud enough for him to hear, "You're awfully charming."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping lower so that only you could hear. "Funny, you don't seem to hate it." You felt your cheeks burn even hotter now.

By the time dinner ended, your mother was completely smitten, your aunts were bickering over who would host the next family gathering (with Satoru as the guest of honor, of course), and your cousin had somehow convinced him to follow her Instagram—and had already tagged him in three separate stories.

It was all too smooth, too perfect, too real. 

The way he helped you clear the table, his hand brushing the small of your back in a casual, yet intimate touch as he passed. How he effortlessly recalled every detail you’d ever mentioned about your family, from your grandmother’s obsession with crossword puzzles to your father’s love of bad puns. The soft, lingering looks he gave you when he thought no one was watching, filled with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher.

"You're very good at this," you said as you stood side by side at the sink, washing dishes after dinner.

"At what?"

"Playing pretend."

His hands paused for just a moment. "Who says I'm pretending?"

The wine glass you were drying slipped from your suddenly nerveless fingers. You managed to catch it before it shattered on the tile floor, but not before making enough noise to draw his attention.

"Hey." His hand was immediately at your waist, steadying you. "You okay?"

"Fine! I'm fine, just—" You set the glass down carefully, very aware of how close he was standing.  When you turned to face him, you found yourself effectively trapped between his broad frame and the hard edge of the kitchen counter. "Slippery hands. From the... soap."

"Hmm." His eyes searched your face, and for a fleeting moment, you thought—you could have sworn—his gaze flickered down to your lips before returning to meet your eyes. "You know, for someone who spends all day handling hot liquids, you've seemed very clumsy tonight."

"Maybe I'm just… distracted.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your face as he leaned infinitesimally closer, his eyes fixed on yours. One hand came up to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your cheek, his fingertips grazing your skin, the contact sending a shiver down your spine. "By what?" 

"You're doing it again," you whispered.

"Doing what?"

"Being too convincing."

A slow, almost hesitant smile spread across his face. It was a smile that reached his eyes, a smile that felt utterly real, utterly intimate, making your heart stutter in your chest. "Perhaps," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath against your skin, "maybe I'm not trying to convince anyone anymore."

You could feel his breath ghosting over your lips, the slight tremor in his hand where it rested on your waist, the way the kitchen suddenly felt too warm, too small, too—

"Who wants coffee?" your mother's voice carried from the dining room, making you both jump apart. Satoru cleared his throat, taking a hasty step back, his hand dropping from your waist. 

The rest of dinner passed in a surreal haze, neither of you quite able to forget the charged moment in the kitchen. What was that? You kept replaying the scene in your mind. His hand on your waist, his breath on your lips, the sudden shift in his eyes. It had felt… different. More real than any of the playacting. 

It wasn't until your aunt, after a drawn out round of goodbyes and air kisses, finally got up to leave that anyone noticed the shift in the weather. "Oh my goodness," your mother gasped, pulling back the curtains. "When did it start snowing?"

Outside, the world had transformed into a winter wonderland that would've been charming under different circumstances. At least a foot of snow covered everything, still falling heavily in thick, white sheets.

"The weather alert says it's going to continue all night," your father reported, checking his phone. "They're advising against any travel. Roads are already getting bad."

Your mother immediately switched into hostess mode. "You absolutely can't drive in this, Satoru. These roads won't be plowed until morning, at the earliest."

"I'm sure I can—" he started.

"Absolutely not," she interrupted. "You'll stay here tonight. Both of you."

You nearly choked on air. "Mom—"

"Don't be silly, dear," she said, already bustling towards the hallway. "You can take your old room, of course. It's all made up. Satoru," she called over her shoulder, "I'll go find some spare cloths for you." Then, turning back to you, she added, "And honey, you still have some things in your old room, so it'll be just like old times!"

Old times? What old times? Your childhood bedroom with those old embarrassing school photos and faded posters of your first boyband crush that you’d somehow never gotten around to taking down? This was not part of the plan. This was definitely not part of the plan.

He wasn't supposed to see that side of you.

As you counted down the seconds until you completely died from embarrassment your parents bustled off to prepare the rooms, leaving you and Satoru alone again. He leaned against the window, watching the snow fall, a small smile playing at his lips.

"Convenient weather we're having," you said suspiciously.

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying I somehow arranged a snowstorm?"

"At this point, I wouldn't put it past you."

His laugh was soft and warm. "As flattered as I am by your faith in my abilities, even I can't control the weather." He glanced at you. "Though I have to admit, this is working out better than my original plan of pretending my car wouldn't start."

"You're impossible," you groaned.

"So I've been told." He pushed off from the window, moving closer. He stopped just inches away, until you could feel the heat from his body. His gaze dropped—or you thought it did, your pulse quickening at the mere possibility—to your lips for the briefest of moments before returning to meet your eyes. You blinked, trying to clear your head. No, it couldn't be. "Though I notice you're not exactly complaining about the situation."

Before you could formulate a witty retort (or even a coherent thought, for that matter), your mother’s voice rang out from upstairs, effectively putting an end to whatever was about to happen. "I found some spare clothes, Satoru! And honey," she called down, "your old band t-shirts are still in your dresser!"

You covered your face with your hands. "Please forget everything she's about to show you."

"Now how could I possibly pass up the chance to see teenage you's fashion choices?" 

You peaked through your fingers to find him smirking, looking far too delighted by this turn of events. This was going to be a very long night.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

"I really can sleep on the floor," Satoru offered for the third time, shifting his weight awkwardly in the doorway of your childhood bedroom. He looked around, taking in your teenage decorating choices, and you could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

"Don't be ridiculous." You tried to sound casual as you smoothed down the NASA bedsheets you'd had since high school on your small bed, that suddenly looked barely big enough for one, let alone two adults. "We're both adults. We can share a bed without it being weird."

He was quiet for a moment, and when you glanced up, you found him studying your teenage self's wall decorations with poorly hidden amusement. It was a chaotic mixture of faded movie posters (mostly featuring heartthrobs from your early teens), band posters (an ambarrasing One Direction poster taking center stage), and a poorly crafted periodic table, complete with hand-drawn elements and color-coded categories.

"Nice periodic table," he finally said.

"Shut up," you muttered, throwing a pillow at him. He caught it easily, because of course he did. "Some of us were nerds before med school."

You turned to your old closet, pulling out one of those oversized band t-shirts you'd lived in during high school. You gripped the hem of your sweater, suddenly very aware of his presence in the small room.

You could feel his eyes on you, a weight on your back, and you could feel the heat creeping up your neck. You paused, your fingers frozen on the soft knit. "Um… could you…?" you trailed off, not wanting to meet his gaze.

He didn't say anything, didn't move. You could practically feel his gaze burning into your back. Finally, you turned, holding your band t-shirt protectively in front of you. "Seriously. Turn around."

He blinked. "You know, I am a doctor. I've seen it all."

"Still," you insisted, your cheeks flushing. "Turn. Around."

He sighed, but finally turned his back, though the lingering amusement in his eyes told you he was still enjoying the situation immensely.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you muttered, pulling the t-shirt over your head. You smoothed it down, then took a deep breath. 

"I would never," he said.

"You can turn around now."

He turned, his face carefully composed, though a telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away. His eyes traveled from the hem of the shirt to your face, making your heart stutter. "You look… cute."

"You're a terrible liar.”

You both settled into bed with careful movements, lying rigid as boards, backs facing each other in a vain attempt at maintaining some sort of personal space. The mattress, however, had other plans. It dipped under his weight, creating a subtle slope that kept trying to draw you toward the center—toward him. 

Your childhood bed, which had seemed perfectly adequate when you were sixteen, now felt absurdly small. You pressed against the edge, but it was no use, there couldn't have been more than a few inches between your back and his. You could feel the heat of his body, warming the small space between you, his every breath, the subtle shift of the sheets when he moved.

The silence stretched, filled only with the sound of falling snow outside your window and your own heartbeat. It felt so loud, you were certain he could hear it.

"Thank you," you finally whispered into the darkness. "For tonight. For all of it. You didn't have to do any of this."

The bed shifted as he turned over. After a moment's hesitation, you did too, finding yourself face to face with him in the dim light of the streetlamp filtering through your old curtains. His hair was disheveled from the pillow, his expression softer than you'd ever seen it.

"It was fun," he said simply, his breath warm against your cheek.

A small laugh escaped your lips. "Fun? My mom interrogated you about your entire medical history, my dad made you look at his coin collection for an hour, and my cousin tried to show you every embarrassing photo of me from middle school."

"The braces years were particularly charming."

You kicked his shin lightly under the covers. "Shut up."

He grinned, the warmth in his eyes visible even in the dim light. "I mean it, though. Your family is… lively."

"That's a polite way of saying chaotic."

"They care about you. It's nice."

You studied his face, searching for the truth in his words. "Why did you really come tonight? You could have easily found an excuse to avoid this disaster of a family dinner."

"Would you believe me if I said I wanted to?"

"No," you said. "Nobody wants to spend their evening being questioned by my parents and subjected to my aunt's weird baking."

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes never leaving yours. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, more serious. "Maybe I wanted to understand you better. See where you came from. Meet the people who made you... you."

Your heart stuttered in your chest. "Why would you care about any of that?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

You stared at him, suddenly very aware of how close you were, how little space there was between you in this too-small bed. "No," you whispered. "It's not obvious at all."

"Then I must be doing a terrible job of showing you."

Your heart was racing now, your voice barely audible. "Showing me what?"

Before you could respond, he shifted, until he was hovering above you. Your breath caught at the change, at how his white hair fell forward framing his face, at how his eyes seemed to hold entire galaxies in them.

And then he kissed you.

The kiss was nothing like the casual touch of lips from before. It was soft, sweet, and achingly tender at first. He moved against you slowly, his lips parting slightly, inviting you to deepen the kiss. You met his silent invitation, your own lips parting in response. One hand cupped your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, while the other braced against the mattress, supporting his weight. 

Then, with a soft sigh, he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a gentle urgency that made your heart ache with a longing you hadn’t known you carried. He pulled you closer, just a fraction, the kiss becoming more urgent, more demanding, yet still laced with a surprising tenderness. 

You could feel the rapid thump of his heart against your own chest but then, just as suddenly as it began, he pulled back, breaking the kiss. He didn't move far, though, remaining close enough that you could still feel his breath on your face, see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "Still think I'm just playing pretend?"

This time, you didn't hesitate. You were the one who moved forward, your hand sliding into his hair, the soft strands tangling around your fingers, pulling him back down to you. His surprised intake of breath was quickly lost as your lips met again.

This kiss was different—deeper, more urgent, six months of watching and waiting poured into a single moment. He made a low sound in his throat as your fingers tightened in his hair, urging him closer. 

His own hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers pressing gently into the sensitive skin there. The weight of him pressed you into the mattress, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of your band t-shirt.

"I've wanted to do that since the first time you rolled your eyes at my coffee order," he said against your lips, his voice rough in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

"That long?" You tried to sound teasing, but it came out breathless instead.

He smiled against your lips. "Longer, probably." He pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another to your jawline. "Though watching you try to diagnose yourself with every terrible disease I mentioned was pretty entertaining, too."

You groaned, burying your face in the crook of his neck. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Never," he agreed, pressing a kiss to your temple. Then, quieter, more intimate, "But I've got plenty of time to make it up to you."

His lips trailed down your neck, each gentle press sending shivers through your body. When he reached the collar of your t-shirt, he paused, his fingers toying with the hem. "Can I?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice, and he slowly, teasingly, pushed the fabric up, revealing your stomach inch by inch. The first brush of his lips against your bare skin made you gasp, your fingers tightening reflexively in his silky hair.

He took his time, pressing kisses to your belly, your ribs, the valley between your breasts. His tongue darted out, tasting your skin, leaving trails of fire in its wake. Your back arched, subtly at first, but with increasing urgency as his lips and hands explored your skin.

His fingers, still toying with the hem of your shirt, finally slipped beneath the fabric. He traced the curve of your waist, the swell of your breasts, leaving goosebumps in their wake. When his thumbs brushed over your nipples, you couldn't suppress the moan that escaped your lips. "More," you whispered, the word barely audible, but he heard it, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

"You sure?"

"Yes," you breathed. "Please."

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your sleeping shorts. Your heart raced, your skin flushed, every nerve ending racing with the promise of what was to come.

He dragged the fabric down your legs, the cool air hitting your heated skin making you shiver. He settled between your thighs, his broad shoulders forcing your legs wider, and lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, his kisses trailing down your inner thigh. And then his mouth was on you, and the world fell away. 

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

The next morning felt like stepping into a dream—a world where Dr. Satoru Gojo, the man you’d spent six months convinced was silently diagnosing you with rare diseases, was actually just a man utterly smitten with you.

It was as if a blurry lens had finally snapped into focus, revealing a picture so obvious you almost laughed. All those intense stares, the carefully timed coffee shop visits, the way he’d linger at your counter, even helping you study—it had never been about mysterious illnesses or professional concern. 

He’d simply been trying to be near you, and you’d been too busy inventing medical mysteries to notice.

And the most embarrassing part? How obvious it had been to everyone else. Your coworkers’ knowing looks finally made sense, as did your mother’s immediate acceptance of him as your “boyfriend.” Even his colleagues had been in on it, helping stage that ridiculous Christmas video call just to make you smile. 

When you later confessed your obliviousness to your coworkers, their reactions ranged from “Finally!” to a bewildered “Wait, you mean he wasn’t actually your boyfriend this whole time?”

Over breakfast, as he effortlessly charmed your mother into accepting a third helping of pancakes he casually dropped the bomb to your mom, “I actually rearranged my entire consultation schedule to match her shifts. I don't even like coffee."

Your mind went blank for a moment. He… what? Then, the implications crashed down on you. He’d rearranged his entire work schedule just to see you. And he hated coffee. He’d only ever ordered those sugary lattes because… because of you.

A blush crept up your neck, and you couldn't believe how adorably dense you’d been.

He met your gaze then, his blue eyes softening in that way that always made your heart flutter. Only now you understood what that look truly meant. He hadn’t been studying you. He’d been cherishing you with his gaze. He’d wanted to see you, to be near you, to simply be with you. And the realization made you ridiculously, undeniably happy.

Satoru walked over to you from where he stood next to your mom and leaned down, his breath warm against your temple, and pressed a soft kiss there. You closed your eyes, savoring the simple touch. God, you wanted more. You wanted him closer, his arms around you, his lips on yours again, just like last night.

You'll probably never get enough of that.

He pulled back slightly, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin. His gaze held yours, a soft smile playing on his lips. Then he whispered three words that made your world stand still, "I love you."

Three little words.

But those three words little changed everything.

It felt as though time itself had stopped. He loves me, the thought echoed in your mind, a fragile, beautiful sound you couldn't quite believe was real. You’d imagined this moment countless times in secret, tucked away in the quiet corners of your heart, but you'd never truly believed it could happen.

And in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his hand, the sweet scent of pancakes, and the soft morning light filtering through the kitchen window, you knew you’d never been happier in your entire life. 

And most importantly, you didn't have to pretend anymore. He wasn't just someone you were pretending to date for your family's sake. He was actually your boyfriend. Really, truly your boyfriend. And what had once felt like a performance suddenly felt very much like coming home.

But the best part? At exactly 7:15 the next morning, he still walked in, ordered his usual diabetes in a cup, and watched you work with those intense blue eyes. Only now, when you handed him his drink, he'd pull you close for a kiss that tasted of caramel and cinnamon.

"You know," he said one morning, watching you make his order, "for someone smart enough to get into med school, you were remarkably dense about this whole thing."

"Says the man who spent six months staring instead of just asking me out."

"I was building suspense."

"You were being creepy."

"Maybe," he said, then smilled. "But it worked, didn't it?"

And really, you couldn't argue with that. Though you did make his next latte extra sweet, just to watch him pretend to enjoy it.

After all, some things were worth suffering through overly sugary coffee for.

masterlist + support my writing

author's note — if you're familiar with a certain story on my blog, then no you didn't see this story, and this is definitely not a healthier version of another couple, and i absolutely do not have a thing for medical AUs, okay thank you.

anway, this was supposed to get spicier, but time got away from me because i really wanted to share it with you all for christmas so this is only suggestive, but i hope you enjoyed it either way. & thank you so much for reading this far !! your support means everything to me.

wishing you all a very merry christmas !! hope your holidays are filled with sweet coffee, warm embraces, and maybe even a handsome doctor of your own <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here!

tags — @fayuki @starmapz @snowsilver2000 @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna

@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @shervinss @chiyokoemilia

@janbannan @bloopsstuff

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

prettiest goofiest best friends

Acmé de la vie 23FW Collection With SEVENTEEN JEONGHAN

not so holy night

member | teacher!jihoon x teacher!reader genre | smut with plot, a teeny bit of drama (barely any), lots of fluff at the end word count | ~6,900 warnings | reader has a vagina and breasts, unprotected sex, oral (reader receiving), grinding, fingering, cumshot, some begging, please lmk if i missed any warnings! notes | this is the sequel to "not so silent night", which is posted on my sfw blog @junkissed! i would recommend reading part 1 first, since there's quite a bit of plot in this one! dedicated to @onlymingyus because she was going to murder me for that cliffhanger in part 1 hehe. so voila here is part 2! enjoy :) fyi i only read this like once bc i really wanted to post it tonight so if there's mistakes look away

this work contains nsfw content. minors dni or you will be blocked.

drinks and dinner. dinner and drinks. that’s all that’s going to happen tonight. why are you so nervous?

when saturday finally rolls around, you stand in front of your bathroom mirror an hour before jihoon is supposed to pick you up, scrutinizing your outfit choice. the holiday staff party is always hosted at a fancy restaurant downtown, the whole place rented out for all the teachers and administrators for dinner, with music and mingling afterwards.

in the four years you’ve been a teacher at the middle school, this is the first year you’re actually going to bring a date.

is it a date? is it friends? is it coworkers? you think it’s a date; after all, you did get coffee before school with jihoon twice this week. it could be a friend thing, but the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re distracted makes you think otherwise.

it’s going to be a long night, you already know. nothing like the little half-hour meetups for coffee or eating lunch together in the back corner of the teacher’s lounge. a solid two, three hours for the dinner alone, not to mention the drinks you’re getting with him beforehand and however long you’ll end up staying afterwards.

you’re mentally counting the time and figuring out when you might get home so you can put on your ratty pajamas and nurse your inevitable wine headache as you reflect on the evening. god, when did dating get so exhausting?

you twist in the mirror, checking out the way your ass looks in the dress. not bad. is it too forward of you to have put on your nice lingerie underneath, “just in case”? probably, but it’s not like you get an opportunity like this every day. if you’ve understood correctly, jihoon’s stuck in the same boat you are: painfully single, and not getting any younger.

and your mind starts to wander when out of nowhere your mind brings up a mental image of his long, slender fingers, and you can’t help but think about jihoon’s hands sliding up your legs and parting your folds, adding one finger, then another, then a third until you’re crying his name in relief, and–

jesus, it’s been way too long since you’ve gotten laid.

but even with just the passing thought of him, the nervous butterflies in your stomach travel lower, and you’re trying to will yourself to stop thinking about him before you ruin your only cute pair of panties.

you flick the bathroom lightswitch off and head to the living room to put something on tv, anything to clear your mind.

eventually your thoughts subside, and before you know it your doorbell is ringing and you’re scrambling to turn off the tv and make sure everything on your coffee table looks like it was put there intentionally and that you haven’t been anxiously adjusting it for the past hour.

you take a deep breath and turn the doorknob, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the man standing outside your door.

it almost feels like you’ve gotten the wind knocked out of you when you look at him. the sleek grey suitjacket that’s tailored perfectly around the broad shoulders you never noticed before (how the fuck did you not notice that before?). the too-tight white button down that frames the muscles in his chest. the way the cuffs of his sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, exposing forearms that are so toned, they look like they could deadlift a piano.

you don’t know who this man is, but he’s definitely not the shy mr. lee you’re used to seeing across the hall every day.

for some reason he seems to be equally taken aback by your outfit, which you honestly can’t understand why he would be, when he himself looks like that. but with the way he’s eyeing you up and down like he has to physically hold himself back from pouncing on you, suddenly this night just got a whole lot more exciting.

“hi,” you manage, still unable to take your eyes off of him. “you, uh… you look really good.”

it’s like he doesn’t even hear your compliment, he’s so focused on you. “i’ve, um– you–” he exhales sharply. “wow.”

you blink a few times, trying to clear your head of the barrage of dirty thoughts swirling around and get yourself back on track. “so. drinks?”

his eyes dart up to your face, seeming like he’s snapped out of it. “yes! yes. my friend owns a bar near the restaurant, so i thought it might be fun to start there.” he clears his throat, muttering under his breath. “although now, i think i have better things to do.”

you smile and nod, pretending you didn’t hear him, but oh my god you heard him and oh my god you’re not gonna last long tonight. you’d hate to bail on your date, but if things keep going how they have in the five minutes you’ve seen him, you don’t know how long you’ll be able to handle sitting next to him and not having his dick inside you in some way, shape, or form. 

you grab your purse and keys and lock your front door, following jihoon to his car. he pulls on the passenger side door handle, holding it open for you and even offering his hand to help you in.

you don’t know where this man came from out of nowhere, but you really kinda like it.

the drive across town is… tense, but somehow in a good way. it feels comfortable riding in his car; though you’ve only done it once before, it feels like you’ve been in his passenger seat your whole life.

“drinks are on me,” he says as you pull up in front of the bar, a swanky little place squished in between a used bookstore and an italian grill in a long line of shops. 

you smile politely, still fighting the heat creeping up in your cheeks. “jihoon, please, you don’t have to. i know how much you make in a year.”

he pulls his keys from the ignition, and the car falls silent. “and? tonight i’m spending it on you. it’s a special occasion.”

you don’t reply, partially because you’re already planning on paying for your own drinks when he isn’t looking, and partially because wtf does he mean it’s a special occasion?

you’re still immersed in trying to figure out what he means that you don’t notice when he check his side mirror for traffic and flings his door open when there’s a lull in cars whizzing by. he jogs in front of the car around to your side by the curb, opening your door and helping you out.

“thank you,” you mumble, trying to avoid staring at his chest that’s coincidentally right in front of your face.

at 5pm on a saturday evening the sidewalk is packed with people, and jihoon slides his arm around you, placing a hand gently on your lower back to guide you to the bar’s entrance. you have to force yourself not to shiver; despite the fabric of your thin sweater on top of your dress, it feels like his hand might as well be pressed against your bare skin.

you manage to find two seats at the bar, and a bartender in a black embroidered apron walks up when jihoon raises a hand to wave him over.

“if it isn’t lee jihoon,” the man grins, putting both hands on the counter. “nice to see you, buddy.”

“nice to see you, too, gyu.” jihoon turns to introduce you. “this is my friend, mingyu. he runs the place.”

you smile, offering him a polite greeting.

“so this is the lucky girl, hm?” mingyu asks, winking at you.

jihoon coughs, and you almost think you see him glare at the man, but his scowl quickly fades when he turns back to you. “ignore him. what do you want to drink?”

you give mingyu your order, and he smiles, pulling two glasses from the rack behind him. “the usual, uji?” he asks, and jihoon nods.

finally settling in, you shrug off your sweater, folding it carefully over the back of the chair before you notice jihoon staring at you.

“i’m gonna… go to the bathroom,” he says hurriedly. “i’ll be right back.” he gets up and dashes towards the back of the room, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

you turn to watch him disappear into the crowd, offering him a smile as he leaves. as soon as he’s out of sight, you grab your wallet from your purse, seeing your chance. jihoon is sweet, but you don’t need him to pay for your drinks, too. just being here with him is the most fun you’ve had in a long time.

you catch mingyu’s attention and wave him over, pulling out a few bills. you start to hand them to him, but he shakes his head. “sorry, no can do. i’ve been told not to let you pay for your drinks, it’s jihoon’s treat.”

you sigh and stuff the money back into your purse. fine.

“between you and me…” he starts, and you look back up at him curiously. “uji’s been really happy lately, and if i had to guess, you’re probably the reason why. so if things go bad on your date tonight, just… don’t break his heart, ‘kay?”

your eyes widen. “no, i wouldn’t– i wasn’t planning on–” you stammer, but he’s already walking away to refill somebody’s cocktail, and you’re left wondering what the hell he was talking about. 

it was only supposed to be a couple of friendly outings. you can’t feel this way about your coworker, someone you see right across the hall for eight hours a day every monday through friday… right? but if mingyu’s right (and you have no reason to believe he isn’t), then jihoon feels the same way about you. shit, this is deeper than you thought.

before you started… whatever this is with jihoon, you didn’t really talk to him much, even though your classrooms were right next door. you just never happened to see him in passing.

sure, you heard the off-key guitar solos from his students at nine in the morning on mondays and wednesdays, and every once in a while you saw him sitting alone in the teacher’s lounge, earbuds plugged in, nodding his head to whatever song he was listening to and tapping his fingers on the table. but it’s a big school, anyways; it’s easy to not know every teacher that works there, especially ones in a different department.

eventually jihoon comes back, and you spend the next couple hours sipping your drinks, chatting and laughing like you usually do. before you know it he’s looking down at his watch and cursing. “we should go, if we don’t wanna be late,” he says, downing the rest of his drink.

of course, it’s just your luck that now you have absolutely zero appetite for food, and an insatiable appetite for jihoon. his hair is messed, glistening a little as if he ran his fingers through it with water, and his cheeks are practically glowing.

jihoon reaches out for you, and you take his hand, letting him lead you out of the bar. mingyu waves goodbye, a grin on his face as he watches the two of you walk away. 

the ride to the restaurant is more tense than you’d like it to be, but it’s probably imagined tension from you more than it is actual tension.

while you’re desperately trying to pretend you don’t want him to pull the car over and fuck you in the backseat, you don’t notice how he’s pretending he doesn’t want to turn the car around and drive home and fuck you there instead of going to this whole stupid dinner in the first place. you stare out your window, keeping your hands planted firmly in your lap, and he stares out the windshield, keeping his hands firmly wrapped around the steering wheel.

too quickly, you arrive at the restaurant and he parks in the lot out back. again, he gets out and jogs around to the passenger side to open your door for you again, offering his hand to help you out. your cheeks warm, and you hope he can’t tell how nervous you are.

walking through the lot towards the building, you recognize a few of your coworkers’ cars. past you that used to attend the teacher parties alone would’ve been a little disappointed that you’re so late to the event, but you that’s here now couldn’t care less about how late you show up, when you could be spending time alone with jihoon instead.

although, the amount of people around you tonight is probably for the best, because if they weren’t there you don’t think you’d be able to stop yourself from jumping him and fucking him in the middle of the restaurant.

he opens the door and smiles at the greeter, who leads you back to the private room where the rest of the party is. you feel jihoon’s grip on your waist tighten imperceptibly when the man glances at you for just a beat too long before showing you the table, and you force yourself to ignore the way your stomach does backflips at his touch.

the room is huge, with two long buffet tables for all the employees who are laughing and chatting. you find two empty seats near the end of the table and quickly a waiter comes over to offer you drinks. having already had enough to drink at mingyu’s bar, you settle for water, wanting to stay sober for whatever happens later. jihoon orders a coke.

some of the administrators order appetizers for the table, and as you wait for them to get passed down to you one of your coworkers walks over.

you look up at her and smile. “hey, jan–”

“hi, jihoon,” she purrs, completely ignoring you as she wraps her arm around your date’s shoulders, the martini in her hand sloshing with the movement. 

your smile drops, and you look away, focusing on the ice cubes in your glass as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. at least, it’s more interesting than watching your married coworker shamelessly flirt with the man you’re supposed to be on a date with. you should’ve known a man as attractive as jihoon would have women throwing themselves at him all night. maybe this was a bad idea after all.

he stiffens, brows knitting into a scowl when he sees you avoiding him. “mrs. walker,” he greets her in response, tone flat. “is your husband not able to make it tonight? i had such a nice conversation with him last year about his business trip.”

she giggles. “oh no, he’s working tonight. but…” she trails off, smoothing a hand down his arm. “we could always go have a conversation about another kind of business instead.”

you nearly snort water out your nose at her forwardness, and for a second you contemplate ordering an uber and just going home right now. god, were all the teachers usually this bad, or had you just not noticed it until you were seated next to somebody like jihoon?

he clears his throat, a little too loudly. “sorry, but my date and i have plans,” he says.

at the mention of your name you glance over your shoulder, giving her a short nod before you return to staring at the water droplets rolling down the side of your glass. 

her grin falters, but she recovers quickly. “oh! i didn’t know you two came together,” she says, giving you a look as she sips her martini.

jihoon doesn’t respond, his arms crossed and staring at his empty plate. your coworker stands behind his chair in silence until the awkwardness is too much, and she lets out another forced laugh. “well, i’ll leave you be, then. but you have my number if you change your mind and wanna do something more fun tonight,” she mutters, downing the rest of her drink and stumbling off in search of the nearest waiter for another round.

the restaurant is filled with loud conversations, but an uncomfortable silence settles between you. 

so what if you are a little jealous? you surely have no right to be; you’ve only gone out with this man a handful of times, not nearly enough to call him yours. but for tonight, for right now, he’s your date, and you feel entitled to at least a little bit of sulking.

jihoon coughs a little, finally breaking the silence. “i’m sorry about her.”

you stir your straw around your water glass, still avoiding his eyes. “not your fault.”

“yeah, but still,” he says with a sigh. “she didn’t have to be an asshole to you.”

“it’s fine,” you say halfheartedly, bringing the plastic straw to your lips to take a small sip. “all the teachers get plastered at the staff parties.”

“you don’t, though,” he says after a pause.

“neither do you, looks like,” you say, pointing to the coke can in his hand.

he laughs. “no, not really… not when i have more fun things to do.”

for the second time that night you almost spit out your water. “that’s not funny, jihoon.”

“but you’re smiling,” he says, a grin of his own rising on his face, and you can’t hide the way your smile mirrors his.

you give in, letting out a laugh at his stupid joke, somehow both hating and loving how he was able to brighten your mood.

he smiles, his eyes sparkling under the restaurant lights. “do you maybe wanna… leave?”

ten minutes later, after a rushed goodbye to the assistant principal who was probably too drunk to even recognize you, your back is pressed against the side of jihoon’s car, your hands tangled in his hair as you moan into his mouth. his lips crash against yours, hands falling to your waist again as he pushes you into the passenger door.

when you pull away to take a breath, you can see his hair’s messed up again in that effortlessly sexy way that makes your heart race.

“can we go– someplace else?” you breathe. fuck if the back of your dress is totally dirty now from the car, you’re itching to get out of it—or have it taken off of you.

“shit, yes,” jihoon answers in between kisses up your jawline. “my place or yours?”

you whine at the feeling of his teeth against your skin. “anywhere, fuck– whatever’s closer.”

you find yourself in yet another extremely tense car ride as jihoon floors it down the highway, probably breaking more than a few traffic laws in his rush to get home. his house ends up being closer to the restaurant, so that’s where you decide on going.

he pulls in the driveway and you don’t even give him a chance to come around to open your door for you, jumping out of the car as soon as it’s turned off.

his hands fumble with his keys, but finally he gets the front door open and you both fall inside his house. the door slams shut behind you and immediately you’re shoved against it, jihoon’s hips pushing into you to keep you in place as you frantically grab at his broad shoulders to pull him closer. kissing him is addictive; the dizzying rush of his tongue in your mouth and his hands exploring your body makes you weak in the knees.

after a while you break apart, heaving for air as the lustful intensity starts to melt away into something more careful, but no less alluring. it’s finally starting to sink in that you’re kissing jihoon, you’re in his house, and you’re definitely getting laid tonight.

a sudden burst of confidence has you slipping one hand down, feeling his hips jerk when you palm him lightly over his pants.

“god, i’ve been hard for the past two hours,” he mutters through gritted teeth as your delicate fingers play with the top button on his slacks.

“you act like i haven’t been wet for the past two hours,” you reply, and he groans in relief when you undo the zipper, releasing some of the tension around his cock from how tight the dress pants were.

his hands grab at your waist, spinning you around to face away from him so he can unzip your dress. with how desperate he is—how you both are—you expect him to tug it off you as quickly as possible, but to your surprise, he moves slowly.

his hands smooth across your shoulders, running over your body through the fabric, and you shiver; the feeling of his touch is almost too much, even while you’re still fully clothed. his hands slide down your back, slowly moving to the sides of your breasts and traveling lower until they come to a stop at your waist.

he pulls you back against him, lightly grinding against your ass, and you whimper. you could already see he was, but now you know he really is as hard as he said, his clothed cock pressing into you.

his fingers move back up your body to toy with the zipper at the base of your neck, sending chills down your spine. he leans closer, and you can feel his breath on your neck as he leans in to press a kiss to the sensitive skin beneath your earlobe. 

“is this okay?” he breathes.

you whine, shifting on your feet to bring his lips back closer to you. “yes! please, jihoon.”

you can feel his smile against your neck before he dives back in, sucking lightly at your skin, burning hot under his touch. you’re sure he can feel your pulse racing a mile a minute as your legs start to buckle at the pleasure.

before you can stop yourself, you let out a loud moan, your head rolling back to rest against him and inadvertently exposing more of your neck to him. you feel his grip tighten around you, beginning to suck harder until you’re sure it’ll leave dark bruises. but for some reason, you don’t care. you want to carry around his marks on your neck. you want it to be a little obvious. if not for you, then to show that bitch jan what she was missing.

he pulls his mouth away from you and you whine again, but he just hums and puts his hands against your back, finally beginning to pull at the zipper.

he stops once it’s halfway down your body, moving his fingers back up to your shoulders to slip the fabric off, letting it hang around your waist.

he turns you around to face him, and you hastily reach around to unclasp your bra, letting it fall to the floor. he leans down and pushes his face into your bare breasts, moaning as he begins to sink to his knees in front of you.

if you hadn’t completely soaked through your panties earlier, you definitely have by now. you can feel the throbbing heat between your legs, begging for him to touch you, to do anything. 

he must read your mind, because immediately his hands reach behind you to grab onto the zipper again, tugging it down the rest of the way. he leaves a trail of kisses as the fabric falls to the side, starting in between your breasts and moving down lower, lower, past your belly button until he’s kissing the hem of your panties and your dress is in a pile at your feet.

you slip out of the dress, stepping out of your shoes as well as jihoon’s hands wrap around the backs of your thighs, pulling you into his face. he groans, his nose smushing against your clit through your underwear, and you gasp at the sudden contact.

he looks up at you, half his face obscured by the way he’s pressed against your body, only his eyes meeting yours, silently asking to continue. you whine out his name and another “please”, and that seems to satisfy him enough to loop his fingers underneath the waistband of your underwear and tug them down to your knees.

the moment he presses his mouth to your pussy is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. the way his tongue darts out, laving over every inch of the skin between your legs, has you squeezing your eyes shut in pure bliss and begging him not to stop. your hand shoots to his head, struggling for something to hold onto to keep you grounded at the sudden pleasure.

but just as you start to feel your orgasm approaching, he pulls off of you in a rush, panting as he sits back on his heels. he couldn’t have had his tongue on you for more than a few seconds, but it was more than enough to build you up before he tore you right back down.

he pulls your panties back up your legs, fixing them back at your hips as he stands up. you shoot him a panicked look. he’s not about to eat you out, not let you finish, and then bail on you… is he?

but he just wipes his hand across the back of his mouth and picks your dress and shoes up off the hardwood floor. “we’re still in the front doorway,” he chuckles. he puts his hand on your lower back, your warm skin prickling at his cool touch as he leads you down the hall to what you assume is his bedroom. “thought you’d be more comfortable here.”

he flicks on the light and tosses your dress and shoes at the foot of the bed while you look around. his room is small but tidy, a keyboard in one corner and a few different guitars mounted on the wall.

it’s a pretty cool room, and if you weren’t so incredibly horny right now, you’d ask him to tell you about all his things, but right now all you can focus on is the tent in his pants that you’re praying will find its way between your legs sometime soon.

you’re still on edge from the orgasm he pulled you away from earlier, so you fall onto his bed with no hesitation, hoping he’ll get the hint as you lay in nothing but your underwear.

and he does, immediately coming over to you and beginning to strip down.

you should be embarrassed about how wet you are right now, but when your insanely sexy coworker is hurriedly pulling his shirt off, practically ripping the buttons off at how fast he throws it off, you have more important things on your mind. 

he drops to his knees at the edge of the bed, so close you can feel his breath on your cunt. you throw your head back as his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties for a second time, effortlessly tugging them all the way off and tossing them into the pile along with the rest of your outfit.

he hums, collecting your wetness on the tip of his finger as he drags it through your folds. his hands are freezing cold in contrast to the heat between your legs. “so it wasn’t just me,” he says to himself, admiring the way his finger glistens with moisture.

“h-huh?” you stutter, lifting your head to look down at him. the way he’s crouching between your legs like he’s about to devour you makes you forget everything else that’s happened tonight.

he ghosts his lips over your clit, giving you a quick kiss. “for a while i thought you were only being friendly, when you went out with me all those times.” 

“but look how wet you are,” and he holds his finger up for you to see. “so it wasn’t just me that wanted you so bad. you wanted me too.”

he pushes his finger back into you for just a moment, spreading your juices around and wiping his fingers on the inside of your thigh. “wanted to bend you over that table in the coffee shop, the one in the corner we always sit at,” he groans out. “the counter in the teacher’s lounge, by the window. the bathroom sink at gyu’s bar earlier. and especially at the table at the restaurant. wanted to fuck you goddamn everywhere.”

“jihoon, please,” you whimper. him confessing how much he likes you turns you on, more than you’d like to admit.

“please, what?”

maybe it’s a little much to be asking for the first time with you, he’ll admit, but you’re both so desperate for each other, and you’re really enjoying it, so he figures he might as well go all out.

you throw your head back, but you give him what he wants. “please, will you eat me out, jihoon?”

and as much as he loves the way his name sounds falling from your lips, he’s not done with you yet. “soon,” he replies simply, and you start to protest until he shoves his finger back inside of you.

you try to hold back a yelp at his sudden touch, but it escapes you. he tsks, slowly adding a second finger and ignoring the way you shiver. “don’t be quiet, baby. with all the noise we make in my classroom, i never hear a peep out of you across the hall. i know you can be loud when you want to.”

and you do want to. it’s almost frightening how suddenly his personality has flipped– the shy man you only saw briefly in the halls now has you completely wrapped around his finger, begging him to touch you. and you don’t even care.

the next time he pumps his fingers in and out of your dripping hole, you don’t hold back your moans, breath catching in your throat as he begins to speed up. “there you go. good girl,” he coos in a low voice that makes you clench automatically around his fingers, and he grins mischievously. “you make such pretty sounds. should fuck you in my classroom next time, they’ve got better acoustics in there so i can hear your pretty voice better.”

you’re much too focused on the way his thumb is flicking your swollen clit to comprehend the way he says “next time” as if this isn’t a one time thing. but after, when you’ve recovered enough to remember the things said in the heat of the moment, those words are something you won’t forget.

“jihoon, please, don’t talk about work while you’re fucking me,” you manage.

he just grins and laughs, pushing his fingers into you faster. before you know it you feel your orgasm building back up, and you have to resist the urge to reach down and tug on his hair to get him to go faster.

but somehow he must know you’re getting close, because he leans forward and wraps his lips around your clit and starts sucking, hard. your back arches and you gasp, not expecting the sudden warmth of his mouth on you.

he flicks his tongue as his fingers continue to pump in and out of you, and with a cry of his name he finally lets you cum. your cunt clenches hard around his fingers, so tight he can barely keep moving them, but somehow he does, helping you through your orgasm as wave after wave of intense pleasure washes over you.

you lay on his bed, panting, trying to catch your breath as he stands up, finally removing his own underwear.

“are you alright?” he asks, and you sit up on your elbows, your vision returned enough to see him now standing nude in front of you.

your eyes are glued to his cock when you answer, staring at how gorgeous it looks and how badly you want him in your mouth. “yeah, i’m–”

“then get up.”

your eyes widen. “huh?”

“do you wanna be on top?” he asks, but you’re already shifting to move off of the bed.

“yes, please.”

he grins. “good.” he sits down where you were just laying, cock resting against his defined abs as you climb up to straddle him. immediately his hands find your waist, guiding you over him.

you push your hips down to grind your clit over his length, not putting him inside you just yet, but moving so he slides through your folds, coating him in your juices.

it’s almost pathetic how eagerly you’re writhing against him, sliding up and down his abs desperately. your eyes are squeezed shut as you concentrate on the pleasure, so you miss the way he stares up at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.

what you don’t miss is the way his hands begin to grip more roughly at your hips, helping you ride him until he forces your movements to stop. you pry your eyes open to look at him.

“can i fuck you now?” he asks, and the sudden breathiness in his tone gives you a rush like you’ve never felt. 

“please, jihoon,” you whimper in response, voice equally as breathy. “please, been waiting all night.”

he leans his head back against the pillows and exhales, letting his eyes fall closed for a second. “good, because i was about to cum from that.”

you giggle, placing your hands flat on his chest. “well, that wouldn’t exactly be a bad thing.”

he groans. “i know, but then i wouldn’t get to fuck you.”

you lean down to kiss him and he melts into your lips, his hands sliding up your back to grip at your shoulders and pull you closer.

he pushes up and manages to flip you over onto your back again, pressing one more kiss to your lower lip before shuffling down the bed. you spread your legs apart to give him better access, and he positions himself between them, looking down at you with a woozy smile on his face.

he begins pushing into you and you moan. the feeling of being full is something you haven’t felt in a while, but the feeling of being full of jihoon is a completely different story, and you don’t know whether you could go back to anyone else, even if you wanted to.

he pauses for a minute to let you adjust, and you breathe a sigh of relief when you finally feel him pull out and slowly push back in.

“god, you feel so fucking good,” he whines as he starts to increase his pace, hips rocking against yours.

you let your head fall back against the pillows in open-mouthed pants. “more, jihoon, please.”

he leans down and pushes your thighs up against your chest, holding your legs as he continues to pound into you. you vaguely register the praises that fall from his lips with how good he feels inside of you, each thrust angled perfectly to have you already coming closer and closer to the edge.

“jihoon– please! ‘m so close, please let me cum,” you sputter, hands fisting at the sheets for something to hold on to. you don’t know where this side of you came from all of a sudden, asking him for permission, but you can’t deny you kind of like it.

“go on, baby, cum for me,” he says, his voice low and breathy.

and with one more thrust you do, falling apart around him as pleasure burns through every inch of you. all you can do is whimper and let him fuck you through your orgasm, your vision going blank for a few seconds from so much stimulation all at once.

he keeps pushing into you, only easing his pace when you blink up at him, slowly coming back down to earth. your walls spasm around him in the aftershocks of your orgasm, and you feel his cock twitch inside of you when you murmur out his name. his thrusts get sloppier and more hurried as he begins to chase his own orgasm. 

“wh–where do you want me to–”

“on my face?” you interrupt, answering his question for him.

he curses under his breath, immediately followed by a low moan. “you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters. you clench around him and he swears again, finally pulling out of your cunt and holding his cock above you.

his hand moves quickly back and forth along his length as he chases his high, and it hits when you open your mouth wide, letting your tongue loll out, the lustful look on your face making him lose his mind.

his thick spurts of cum cover your upper half, painting your chin, your neck, your collarbones with white. the little bit that lands on your tongue you eagerly swallow, opening again to show him your empty mouth afterwards, and he groans at the sight.

he rolls over onto the bed, spent. the room is quiet for a minute, the only sound your soft exhales and his labored breathing as it begins to slow.

he presses a kiss to your cheek and slides off the bed, leaving the room for a second before he returns with a cool, wet washcloth, gently cleaning you off. in the moments he’s gone you sigh, feeling the softness of the sheets beneath you and basking in the fading glow of your orgasm.

since it’s saturday night and your sundays are usually free, you decide to spend the night with him. both of you are too exhausted to drive, and jihoon is more than happy to let you stay over. of course he would never force you to stay and he would happily pay for your uber home if you wanted, but he won’t deny that he secretly was hoping to spend a little more time with you before school on monday.

you scrub the makeup off your face as best you can and slip into the clothes he offered you, a t-shirt and a pair of soft cotton shorts. after getting cleaned up and comfortable, he makes a small pot of coffee and shows you the rest of his house. it’s a cute little place; not the biggest, but just right for him.

there’s an instrument in almost every room, and now you sit at the edge of his bed wrapped in a blanket, working up the courage to ask him if he’ll play something for you. “i always hear your students, but i’ve never heard you,” you laugh.

he smiles and pulls one of his guitars off the wall, just a hint of a blush creeping into his cheeks as he adjusts the tuning pegs. he strums a couple notes, humming along quietly as he settles into a gentle rhythm.

later, you’re lying in bed with him (he offered to sleep on the couch and let you have his bed to yourself, but you insisted on him staying). the colored lamp on his bedside table is on, casting a soft red glow around the room.

the sheets rustle as he rolls over onto his side. “i’m sorry if it was… intense, earlier,” he says quietly. “i was–” he pauses, thinking of his next words carefully. “i was excited. you’re so… i really admire you. so i might’ve been a little too eager.”

with a little effort you manage to roll over to face him. you reach across the sheets to run your hand through his hair, gently tucking it behind his ear. “don’t apologize,” you whisper. “it was perfect.”

he sighs, and even in the dim red light you can see his shoulders visibly relax. “i’m glad you decided to spend the night,” he whispers back.

you smile. “me too.”

“so you have a boyfriend now?”

you glance up, trying not to instinctively rub at the fading marks on your neck. “and what makes you think that?” you say. okay, so maybe you do technically have… something, now.

“i saw pictures of you and mr. lee on the school’s facebook from the christmas party,” heather says nonchalantly.

before you can even think of a response, something like, “why are you searching for pictures of me,” or, “since when does the school have a facebook profile?”, she shrugs and goes back to her grammar assignment. you were so caught up in jihoon at the party that you honestly don't even remember anyone taking pictures, but you can only hope they didn’t catch the way you were looking at each other in a decidedly not pg-rated way, right before you decided to leave the event.

you hold in a laugh, watching her. she doesn’t say anything more, so you look back at the homework in front of you, waiting to finish being graded. a shiver runs down your spine at the memory of jihoon’s hands roaming your body over the weekend, coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of you with his fingers and his tongue and his beautiful cock.

“if you two get married, can i be the flower girl?” you hear a minute later, interrupting the silence—and your naughty daydreams. “since it was me that got you together.”

“we’ll see,” you glare playfully, raising your eyebrows. after saturday night spent together and the following lazy sunday afternoon filled with soft kisses in between heated touches, you can’t say it isn’t entirely out of the question. but that’s not something you’re about to tell heather and her little gossip group. those details, you’ll have to keep to yourself.

taglist | @rae-ha-writes @listxn @babebatter @just-here-to-read-01 @baldi-2 @shuatm @yeosayang @noniestars @dkakapizzaboy @enhacolor @kimy3na @candidupped @berrryshortcake @tinkerbell460 @haraethx @iheartyeonnnnn @onlymingyus @brrrlamborgini @foxdaisy

**this is the taglist from my previous blog @1-800-hwahui! please join my new taglist if you'd like to continue being tagged in my works ❤️

join my taglist here!

JOSHUA DARL+ING @ UNESCO Youth Forum