Summary: Your girlfriend euijoo helps you dye your hair for the first time!
Warnings: fluff!!!, no specified hair type BUT ☝ reader at least has brunette hair and was blonde as a kid, set in uni (its not important to the plot but the setting is r accom), not proofread
A/n: this is my first fic on this acc and my first &team fic!! publishing this on my birthday too!! hope i haven't made EJ ooc too much, love my little ponyo
owner of divider specified no credit
Word Count: 1021
“Okay, I'm putting the bleach on now. It might itch near your ears in a few minutes-” she explains, grabbing a strip of foil from your lap. Euijoo begins to slather each partition of hair with the blue toned hair bleach.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, juju. I know nicho does your hair for you.”
“Relax relax-” she grabs another strip of foil. “Nicho only does my hair because I can never get the back, and I don't need anyone in the group making fun of my patchy hair. Plus I do hers in return!”
“Okay fine, I trust you”
“You should, babe”
She’s careful when she leans to the side to kiss your shoulder, letting the music play between you two where her phone is perched on the edge of the sink. The bleach feeling is starting to begin on the crown of your head, the incessant itch feeling like a little flea rummaging around your bleaching roots.
“Eep- I see what you mean now-”
“Hm?” She hums, taking off the nitrile gloves and binning them.
“The itchy-”
Your hand tenses, as if to resist itching the bleach covered hair with your bare hands.
“If it gets too much on the roots, you can itch it with this comb”
A red comb with a thin handle is dropped in your lap at the same time she reaches for another foil that you - oh so kindly - ripped into strips for her.
“How long is this supposed to stay in for?”
“Around… 45 minutes give or take. We hope that it takes to your hair well. ‘M using 30 percent peroxide on your roots so if they show through it’s easier to fix with a touch up than it will be for your ends, which is why we’re doing this in two. 40 percent for the ends”
You let out a noise of protest when she tickles your neck with your own hair. Realistically, you were glad she was explaining all of this as it was happening. It’s easing your nervousness of it going wrong or looking horrible by accident.
Euijoo finishes the top layer of your hair, giggling at how silly you look when you shake your head, the foil moving with you. She gently holds your head back in place on either side with her gloved fingertips, keeping you looking straight ahead in the mirror. She clenches her teeth into a boxy smile when she realises she can’t kiss the top of your head for a few hours lest she get bleach on her lips.
“Why not 40/40 like you do?”
“Becauseee, I don't want to destroy your precious hair, dove. I’m used to managing the damage and splits”
You just hum, watching her through the mirror. Taking your phone from next to hers, you take a mirror photo, enamoured with how much care is in her eyes.
“I saw that.”
“As if you mind-”
Euijoo just grumbles under her breath, putting a timer on for 45 minutes. She isn’t truly miffed, not when you giggle mischievously when posting it to your private story, arctic monkeys blasting from your phone when choosing a song for it. She squeezes your shoulders slightly and starts cleaning up the bleach mess.
“Ahh!! Cold cold cold-”
“Shhh- you’re fine-”
She turns the temperature knob on the shower, making sure it’s warmer before starting to wash the bleach out.
“At least this horrid smell will be gone- and I can pee again after this”
Euijoo laughs, continuing to massage out the rest of the bleach completely from your hair.
“It’ll linger for a while, it’s good that it’s warm enough out to have the windows open, hm?”
Before you can reply, you let out a squeak of surprise when you feel a mystery substance land on the crown of your head, shower head now in front of you on the shower floor. You relax when she starts to massage and scratch at your scalp. Ah. Shampoo.
“You can borrow my shampoo for a little, dovey, it’ll keep the colour fresher”
You just hum, enjoying the impromptu scalp massage. The shampoo bubbles fizzle on your scalp, popping the more it's agitated into your hair. Once more she grabs the shower head, relenting to let it be rinsed out a minute early when you complain about your knees aching from kneeling on the linoleum bathroom floor with your head over the edge of the shower. Euijoo tuts at your eagerness teasingly, turning off the water and hanging the shower head back in place.
A sigh of relief leaves your lips when you stand, your knees popping a little. A towel is dropped over your head unexpectedly.
“Ah!! Juju!!”
Your hands fly to your face, trying to orient the towel so you can see again. The first thing your eyes meet is her devious grin, chest puffed out trying to hold in the laugh at your protests to towel entrapment.
“Not funny?”
“It's a little mean, juju”
“I thought it was funny.”
“You hang around nicho too much-”
“As if you can resist my devious charm.”
She continues to tease, knowing you aren't actually upset and are just pouting for the love of the game. You wince when you see how blonde you actually became.
“Jeez- haven't seen that colour in a while”
“You used to be blonde?”
“I mean, when I was little I guess.”
“I can't imagine you as blonde at all.”
"Me neither to be honest."
You can see her rummage around your shelf for the dye in the reflection of the mirror as you sit on the cold metal stool you took from the kitchen.
“Please don't let it drip everywhere, I want my deposit back in July.”
You whine, watching her pour the dye into a plastic bowl you sacrificed for this purpose.
“Relax, toothpaste gets this stuff out usually. Either that or bleach.”
When she sees your unimpressed face, she continues.
“Okay fine, I'll help you clean if anything gets dyed that isn't your hair.”
At your huff of relief, she grins, all adorable.
“You ready for the dye?”
summary: you and jo are much better at sleeping together than you are at trying to have a conversation about feelings
tropes: autistic!reader, friends with benefits, unrequited love, angst, a drop of fluff
word count: 1.8k
warnings: very suggestive (mdni!!!), miscommunication
a/n: i wrote half of this on my phone on the subway and half of this while high <3
masterlist
jo is too sweet to tell you that he wants something more.
more than kissing in the dark and leaving your place in the middle of the night because you don’t want to cuddle.
he wants to tell he you loves you, and that he’s not seeing anybody else and doesn’t want you to either.
“i like your hair,” you say while he stands at your doorstep. it's gone from black to a dark reddish-brown since you last saw him. “looks really good.”
you reach up to run your hand through it, and he leans into your touch.
sometimes, he wonders if you also want the same things that he does, but then your sweetness fades just as quickly as your clothes come off.
jo doesn’t know how you can’t see it in his eyes when he looks at you, or maybe you just ignore it.
he’s not even sure how the two of you fell into this agreement. he remembers meeting you at a party and how pretty and nice you were and how you carried the conversation because he was shy.
the following week he had gotten your number from a mutual friend and had worked up the courage to ask you on a date.
you told him no. he graciously accepted your answer. but on a random saturday close to midnight, you texted him again: come over.
and that’s exactly what he did. every week like clockwork, sometimes even skipping parties and dinners and just about any other invite so he could see you. hold you and touch you.
he spends every moment he can pretending like you belong to him the way he belongs to you.
one night, he asks you to come over to his place instead, a bit earlier than when you'd usually see each other.
you agree, curious about how he lives. whether he's messy or neat, and if his artwork is everywhere or secluded to a small corner.
when jo opens the door, his hair is still damp and you can tell he's fresh out of the shower by the stray water droplets on his shirt.
"hi," he smiles, taking your bag and your jacket and hanging it on his coat rack. you leave your shoes at the door, and he's prepared with a pair of slippers in your size.
"don't worry, they're new," he assures you. you slip them on. "i know how your feet get cold."
it always makes you feel funny when he's sweet to you. sometimes, you're scared he likes you too much. but he's never made you feel like you had to offer him something you weren't ready for, and that's the entire reason the arrangement works for you.
the two of you put on a movie like you usually do, although you're not sure when was the last time one was actually watched in its entirety.
you snuggle up next to him in the big t-shirt you borrowed from his dresser, reveling in his warmth and the way you fit together.
one of your favorite parts of jo is his hands. the sheer size of them, and how long and pretty his fingers are. you find yourself playing with them, kissing his knuckles and running your thumb along the back of his palm.
you’ve had to stop yourself from sucking one of his fingers into your mouth three times since you got here.
whenver jo seems really into the plot, you try to hold off long enough to actually finish the movie. tonight might be one of those nights.
he gets tired of you fiddling with his hands and moves one to your thigh to get you to finally sit still. his grip is tight. almost punishing.
"stop it," he whispers, his eyes still locked on the screen. you don't listen.
"jojo," you whine, leaning in closer. you know the nickname drives him crazy, especially because you're the only person who calls him that.
you slide your hand under his shirt to feel his bare skin, your nails grazing his chest.
he barely reacts.
"stop ignoring me," you pout, pulling your hand away from him and crossing your arms.
"i'm watching the movie," he shrugs.
"you invited me over to watch a movie?"
"isn't that what we do?"
you’re not sure how to respond say that. maybe it was wrong of you to think that being invited to his place meant something good.
except he's not doing this to punish you. he's doing it to prove to himself that he doesn't have to let it hurt anymore if he doesn't want it to.
he hopes that maybe, just maybe, if he stops giving you everything you want, then he can stop wanting everything you won't give.
except it doesn't work. not for him and not for you. he hates seeing you sad, and hates you feeling like you've done something to make him angry even though it's all inside his head.
"did you invite me over to end things?" you ask quietly. when he finally looks at you again, your hands are folded neatly in your lap.
jo has never seen you look shy before.
you watch as he stares at the floor. at your slippers, which you finally notice match his, except in your favorite color instead.
hot tears fall into jo's lap. his hands are balled into fists.
he can't help but feel ashamed by how he's somehow convinced you that he doesn't want you.
you've never been good with emotions. whenever someone is too vulnerable, it makes you nervous. it's the main reason why you never let anybody get too close.
so, watching jo cry makes you think back to every person you've ever lost because they realized that you could never love them the way they wanted.
it makes you sad thinking about how much jo liked you when this all began. he had spent the entire party with you smushed into a corner away from the music, listening to you ramble for hours.
you treated him like he was some lifelong friend. that was what struck him most. how beautiful you are was only a bonus.
you had rejected him when he asked you out, and then still had the nerve to tell him to come over days later. it was completely pathetic that he showed up.
you know that and he knows that. it's just that neither of you have ever talked about it. but if you had, jo would promise to be as pathetic as possible in every timeline just to keep you in his life.
he keeps crying, still afraid to look you in the eye. his breathing gets harder and little whimpers slip out of his mouth no matter how hard he tries to contain them.
you don't know what to do. that's why things are the way they are.
it's never been about you not liking jo enough. hell, based on how long you've been seeing each other, you might even love him.
but you know that how you want to love and how you're able to aren't the same. so, you've given jo everything you felt like you could.
a part of you wonders if maybe you only love him because he's never asked for more.
he comes over when you want him to, fucks you the way you want him to. he's never even asked you to jerk him off or give him a blowjob, so those things only actually happen when you feel like offering.
it's never occurred to you that his lack of asking for love was in and of itself his own expression of it.
"i don't want to end things," he says finally in his quiet, gentle voice.
"then what's wrong?" you manage to ask. "why are you crying?"
"i could ask you the same question."
"i don't understand!" you whine, slapping the sofa near your thigh.
jo has never seen you like this before.
you've made sure to never let him.
this time, he's the one who has no clue how to handle things.
"i've gotten so used to you," you laugh halfheartedly. jo has stopped crying, but now you feel like its your turn.
"that's what's wrong," he says.
"what?"
"you're used to me," he hesitates, swallowing before starting again. "and i'm in love with you."
you furrow your brows. "those are the same thing."
"they aren't," he shakes his head.
"you've never asked me for more," you say.
"i didn't want you to feel pressured."
"i know," you nod. "that's why i like you."
jo looks down again. this isn't how he expected the night would go at all.
he doesn't reply. doesn't start crying again.
you wonder if you've said something wrong.
"i'm scared," you continue. jo sits up.
"of me?" he points at himself.
"no," you answer quickly. "not of you. of being the one who disappoints you."
his eyebrows knit together. "you don't disappoint me."
"you've never given me the opportunity to. you can't know that i won't."
"i don't," he gives a sad smile. "but that's okay."
"it's not okay," you whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear. "what if you want something that i can't give you? what if i make promises i can't keep?"
"then don't promise me anything."
you stare at him. "what?"
"just tell me when you don't know what to do."
"that's it?" you ask, raising your eyebrows.
"that's it."
"what about what you want?"
"i'll tell you," he smiles, wiping the last of your tears from your cheek.
he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into a hug, your arms hanging stiff at your sides until they finally relax from his touch.
you sit there like that for what feels like an eternity before jo finally pulls away. he kisses you on your forehead and then lets out a big yawn.
"so... do you want to go to sleep now?" you ask, standing up from the couch and holding out your hands for him to grab.
"hmm?" he tilts his head at you.
"well, i thought—i thought maybe you'd want to just head straight to bed tonight."
jo takes a second to figure out what to say. he’s sure you can see how red his ears are by now.
"i uh, i actually did want sex when i texted you."
"oh."
"yeah," he nods.
"you could've told me."
"i know," he laughs. he pulls his hands away from yours to grip your waist. "i want it more now, though."
he smiles when you laugh too.
"you're silly," you say, catching your breath.
"maybe. but i did say that i'd tell you what i want." jo pulls you into his lap before kissing you on the lips this time. "so i'm telling you what i want."
synopsis | after your neighbor's incessant practicing has kept you up for weeks, pretending she's your date is the least she could do.
details | fem!jo x fem!reader, bassist!jo, fem!nichojoo crumbs, besties!yumajoo, slightly suggestive daydreaming, overall tame and sweet, pining, mentions of drinking/alcohol/bars, mentions of food/eating, flirting, fake dating, cursing, lowercase intended, no use of y/n
wc | 7.8k
from the author | for my beloved rice nonnie. EAT UP SWEETIE
you've never been particularly lucky in love.
your family knew it, your friends knew it— it was like a flashing sign had been dangling over your head your entire life, prompting the weirdest, most socially and emotionally stunted people to invite you for drinks. maybe there was money involved, like you were the subject of a television show and whoever made the largest dent in your hope for humanity would make out like a bandit. that's the only thing that could have began to excuse the calamity that was your love life, because even you would sneeze on a stranger for a large sum; even you would sabotage a first date by ranking your exes for a new car. but the reality was that there were no cameras, no briefcases lined with stacks of cash hidden under a table somewhere. your dates were just bad, and you were just unlucky.
tonight was no different.
you should have known from the start that the date was doomed, but it took you much too long to realize that there was no point in seeing it through. for almost an hour, you had sat in a worn plastic restaurant booth, mortified by the turn the conversation had taken. the person across from you transformed on a dime into one of the top five worst conversationalists you had ever encountered. what started as lighthearted banter had quickly turned to a heated, one-sided argument about how people with your particular opinions on several, unrelated topics are the worst. you didn't know that someone could be so passionate about e-books and sprinkle varieties, especially enough to tank an entire first date.
you forked your food, silently, stomach turning inside out as your date waved their hands to grab your server's attention and then demanded that you pay the bill for both of your meals. the only thing worse than being walked on, insulted, and humiliated was letting it happen, which you did.
of course, you did. you weren't the confrontational type, a trait that usually meant you were screwed over in most situations; you took the middle seat in the car when your friends carpooled even though you felt trapped, lurked in the background at parties because you couldn't risk disappointing everyone by saying you were tired from work, and you've accidentally worked more volunteer events than you had ever wanted to because your small talk sounded a lot like interest. it wasn't even that you were a people pleaser— you just hated being perceived as the "bad guy," even if it meant sacrificing your own sanity.
even if it meant walking home alone in the rain, your wallet noticeably lighter after paying for your paperback-passionate date's eggplant risotto and coat weighing on your shoulders from absorbing most of the summer storm. the floor of your building's elevator was slick as you stepped out onto your floor, onto the worn and faded carpet that stretched the endless length of your hall. everything was heavy. your eyes, your heart, and your tongue in your mouth as you approached your apartment door and saw her standing anxiously outside of her own directly beside yours. your neighbor was an enigma to you, tall and elusive, like if bigfoot had fluffy, blonde hair and the softest voice ever recorded. you moved slowly as if any sudden movements would cause her to evaporate into a cloud of fog, as if she weren't physically stranded outside of her place until she found her key.
you finally reached your apartment and stood firmly in place, just in case your rain-soaked coat tried to take you to the ground when your knees inevitably gave out. she towered over you, even standing three feet apart, shoulders aligned like a step-ladder. your eyes began to hurt, strained from glancing sideways, careful not to let her see that you were in fact watching her every move. every shrill, metallic jingle, every plastic charm grating against the metal loop of her key ring— you caught it all, committed it to the part of your memory where you stored the few random facts you knew about her. and there were few.
first, there was the obvious; you knew her name: jo. sweet and brief, like a first, chaste kiss. jo moved into your apartment building five months ago, which you noticed not only because of the spontaneous, midnight ruckus that first night— who moves into a new place at two in the morning, anyway?— but because she knocked on your door the next morning and personally apologized for any inconvenience her settling in might have caused. and all you could do was slouch in the doorway, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, while she took up your entire doorway with a soft and radiant warmth. she was a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie, and you had been left on the counter for at least a week.
and, then, there was the not-so-obvious, things only you would know from your unique experience as her neighbor: she was a guitarist. she was a bassist, to be exact. her apartment's previous tenet was a musician, too, only his passion was the recorder, and he only played at dawn. it was worse than sleeping in a chicken coop, the sharp timbre of the instrument more excruciating than if you had just impaled yourself with the blunt end of it. jo, however, was pleasantly proficient. wherever she went from dawn to dusk meant that she was only able to play in the dwindling hours of the night. full and smooth, the sound had pulsed through the shared wall as the sun tucked itself into the skyline. those first few nights were sleepless; it seemed like jo was playing just to keep busy. it was nothing new, just the same melody over and over, plucking the same progression until you imagined her slumped over with the bass guitar in her lap.
now, she practiced; she experimented and learned, and when she fucked it up, she tried again. and you awaited it every night like a television premiere. so, you knew a third thing, too: she was good with her hands.
you pushed that thought deep, deep down, but you could feel it bubbling back up as you watched her nimble, slender fingers flip through her keys like stiff pages of a freshly pressed novel. you inhaled deeply as you did the same, with much less elegance, of course.
"do you not own an umbrella?"
her voice was low, rumbling through your already pounding chest like she had just plucked the thickest string of her bass. it was a good question, since you were dripping warm rain water all over your welcome mat; your hair was plastered to the top of your head, and any aspect of your appearance that looked halfway decent for your date had been washed away, reduced to smudges and smears. you looked the way you felt, though, which made your answer all the more pathetic. you breathed an awkward laugh, "i do."
"are you, like," jo started, finally pushing her key into the lock, "afraid to use it?"
you never knew how much conversation was appropriate between acquaintances, especially when a part of you wanted to be much, much, much more. at what point was she no longer dissolving uncomfortable tension between two kinda-strangers and attempting authentic conversation? you had no idea. growing up, you were reserved and shy, although it felt less like introversion and more like fear; fear of saying the wrong thing, fear of making a fool of yourself, fear of being known and, thus, the potential for being misunderstood.
you kept it simple, if a little bit dishonest. you gulped and threw one quick glance jo's way, where she was slowly turning the key to await your answer. you debated actually giving her the full answer, that it wasn't raining when your walked to the restaurant and you had hoped to maybe catch a ride back to your dates place if everything finally went your way. obviously, from the fabric clinging to your arms, that didn't happen. you said, "i am." you felt like a robot, programmed to only say the most humiliating and boring phrases.
but jo didn't seem to mind. you could feel her eyes on the side of your face as you navigated your own key into the lock on your door. she was soft and sincere in an oversized sweatshirt, blonde hair falling in messy tufts over her shoulders. a small smile, barely different from her resting face, curved her lips upward, taut like tuned strings. she pushed her door open and started to step inside but hesitated, long legs stuttering in the threshold.
for a second, she looked like she were going to say something. maybe something funny, maybe something to turn your whole night around. instead, she gave you one final, polite smile and disappeared with the creak of a hinge.
saturday morning sunlight evaded you behind dark clouds; you would have done the same. nothing sounded more appealing following the previous night's disaster than staying in bed with the curtains drawn, keeping your eyes closed despite your mind's racing. the rain painted your windows in a glossy and disorienting sheen, hypnotic, convincing you with every swirling droplet to shove your feet back under the blankets.
but yuma would have killed you if you missed your weekly coffee date. again.
she was hunkered in her usual corner table when you arrived, sulking into the steam rising from her mug. she looked as though she had been abandoned, kicked to the curb and left to find her own way, despite euijoo sitting right next to her. although, euijoo was so obliviously invested in something on her phone that she didn't even notice you'd walked in. or that you'd ordered your favorite and pulled out a chair across from the two of them. her fingers swiped aimlessly, her hair tied neatly behind her in a contrastingly precise knot.
yuma, however, did notice you. she followed your path from the cafe's entrace, to the pastry counter, and all the way to the back of the chair where your fingers wrapped around the smooth wooden panel. she huffed, her breath puffing the hair that had fallen into her face up and away, "you know, it's courteous to send a text when you're gonna be late." she couldn't have been there for more than 15 minutes; her coffee was still hot.
"it's also courteous to cut me a little slack," you argued, tucking your umbrella into the space between your chair and the wall, "i had a rough night."
"yeah, you look like shit," yuma let the grin she had been suppressing since you sat down break loose in a mischievous curl. and just as quickly as you registered what she'd said, euijoo elbowed her deep in the ribs.
"yu," she scolded her, and yuma palmed at her now sensitive side with an exagerrated, pained expression. euijoo turned a kind eye toward you, "you look great… ish."
"wow, thanks," you scoffed, taking a cautious sip from your mug, "what would i do without you guys, seriously?"
for starters, you'd save a lot of money. you treasured your coffee dates, but yuma's favorite cafe was a bit pricey. it was delicious, but it was for that reason that she took every suggestion to try a different place so personally. she was intense, but you'd learned to predict her like the weather. only, you were better at predicting yuma's reactions than the actual weather, as demonstrated by last night's casual stroll in a downpour.
in many ways, yuma and euijoo learned how to predict you, too. you'd shared so much of yourself with them throughout your many years of being friends that they knew you like no one else; they knew you inside and out and something else in the middle. this also meant that they knew every detail of your life. every detail.
"i meant 'shit,' like, in a good way," yuma smoothed over her insult, like holding an ice pack on a severed limb, and she smirked, "like you had a really long night." and she winked, several times and in rapid succession. it really just looked like she was blinking.
euijoo clicked her phone off and placed it face down on the table between you, leaning into the conversation. she winked, too, "yeah, how 'rough' was it?"
and with the two of your closest friends staring at you, kind of, tucked into the corner of the overpriced and crowded cafe, you realized you had a choice; at first, the ritualistic meeting and bonding over your terrible dates was fun. it was good stress relief to laugh off some of the bizarre encounters you'd suffered through. your friends were very good at reassuring you, too, that you weren't the problem, that you were a freak magnet and not the freak. but, at some point, it became something you dreaded, like you'd forever be the weekend's entertainment. you felt like a spectacle: the single friend. so, you tossed the idea around in your head.
what if, just this once, you lied?
what if, just this once, you let them believe you went on a date that didn't end in you staring blankly at yourself in your bathroom mirror for three hours?
you gulped, and then you leapt.
"it wasn't rough at all, actually," you smoothed your hands down the front of your shirt, as if eliminating the wrinkles would make you seem more credible, "she was very sweet, and we had a great time."
euijoo and yuma's winking halted, both of their eyes blown as wide as they could go with their eyebrows pinched together, furrowed. they stared at you like that for what felt like a full minute, waiting for you to drop the hat. just kidding, you might have said, it fucking sucked! but you didn't— you held their uneasy gaze, even though every second was another penny tossed into the pit in the bottom of your stomach.
"so, it went well?" euijoo was the first to break the silence, with her tone genuinely bewildered, "nobody, like, made a scene? or insulted you? or- i don't know- died?"
if she only knew the truth, that all but one of those actually did happen, that you were left to pay the bill at a restaurant you didn't even like only to be stranded in the rain. if either of them knew the truth, it would've been the same routine as every saturday; you'd reenact the worst of it with euijoo as your understudy, and yuma would watch, astounded, like the camera in a mockumentary sitcom; you'd stalk the date's social media profiles and make assumptions about their life and friends and family just to make yourself feel better; you'd go home feeling worse than before.
so, you smiled, teeth bared like a caged animal, "it was the perfect date."
yuma leaned back in her chair, suspicion unfolding over her face. the crease in her brow ran deep and was obscured only faintly by the pillar of fading steam from her coffee. the air felt thick, only in the space between you, and damp, the sweat threatening to bead on the back of your neck. you never were a good liar. she sucked her teeth, "perfect, huh?"
"mhm."
"well, tell us about it!" euijoo urged and situated both of her elbows on the table, dropping her chin into her hands. her eyes were glazed over, expectant. yuma's were still hesitant. "please, spare no detail— i wanna know everything."
you hoped, in that moment, that all the nights spent dreaming about the perfect date would finally pay off. you spun a marvelous tale, one of flowers and shy glances, of pinkies brushing on the sidewalk. reservations were made and fell through, an error on your date's part, of course. you would never have been so careless, but you thought it was endearing that she was. you painted your date as disorganized but sweet, babbling on and off about hobbies and family. the conversation was enjoyable, and you made sure to note that your meal was unexpectedly delicious, since yuma knew you hated the restaurant you ended up at, that everything you'd ever ordered there was undercooked or absolutely charred. you wrapped it up in what you hoped was a neat, mostly true bow, "i paid for our overpriced meal, and we got totally soaked from the rain on the walk home."
euijoo's posture had melted into a slumped lean, turning her essentially into a lovesick puddle on the tabletop. she clapped her hands together in quiet, tiny bursts. "that sounds like a great time," she squealed, hushed in the quiet bustle of the cafe, "i'm so happy for you, and that's, like, the bare minimum of what a date should be, by the way."
but, yuma didn't seem convinced. her arms braced her chest, her brows still knitted tightly together, like everything would click if they touched. she had always been like this, skeptical and cautious. she never let a good thing pass by without asking a thousand questions first. gifting her anything came with an interview under a flourescent lamp, handcuffed to a chair. you felt the same burn, now, of harsh, white light as yuma stared into your eyes. she basically stared behind them, into your mind. she asked, "then what happened?"
"what?" you mentally tracked your story, re-weaving all the imaginary threads that you very well could have crossed and had no idea, "nothing else happened. we went home— that was it."
"there you go again," yuma pointed a finger, "home… singular."
shit, you thought. in your effort to remain somewhat honest, you had neglected the part of the fictional retelling where you walked your date home, where you ran into a convenience store and bought a cheap umbrella just to keep them dry. instead, you were too honest, revealing that you walked home alone, but, to yuma, it sounded like you brought someone with you. you knew what she was thinking, of course. you look like you had a really long night, she had said. and it would make sense for her to think that, regardless of how desperate it made you out to be that you would hook up with the only person to treat you like a human being in many, many months.
agreeing would only create more lies, more guilt, and, once again, you were never a good liar. the second yuma would ask for more details, you'd flounder and have to confess everything.
your thoughts jumped quickly— restaurant, rain, elevator, keys —and landed on one image from that morning: the umbrella, unfamiliar but well-loved, propped up on the wall beside your door as you hurried out, your own in your hand.
your thoughts jumped again, this time even quicker, and landed on one person.
"oh, yeah," you laughed, awkwardly, bouncing your palm off the side of your head to really show that you forgot an important detail, "she lives in my building. we're neighbors, actually."
yuma and euijoo sat up straight in their seats, gasping before exclaiming, in staggering harmony, "you went on a date with hot neighbor?"
"i thought that was rule number one of having a hot neighbor," yuma leaned in, clearing her throat and bringing her voice down to the previous volume, "not dating them. 'cause then it's awkward when you have to see them every day."
"wait," confused, euijoo glanced between the two of you, "i thought we didn't know anything about hot neighbor. i didn't know she even had a name, and you're going on dates with her?"
your friends had thankfully never met or even seen jo, thanks to her mysterious schedule. the three of them had never even been in the elevator together, and you'd kept a lot of what you'd gathered on her to yourself. she was your little secret, in some not-at-all creepy ways. 'hot neighbor' was good enough for you, as far as updating the group chat on why you were awake at three in the morning went. hot neighbor's being loud again, you would type, not nearly as inconvenienced as you sounded by jo's efforts to perfect a new bassline.
"oh, i thought i told you guys," you feigned ignorance, even shrugging it off before it became too obvious that you were spinning a very intricate, veyr fragile web of lies, "i found out her name is jo."
euijoo's confusion didn't dissipate as you expected, instead twisting into something else. she chewed on the inside of her cheek, her eyes wandering aimlessly as she filtered through her brain. yuma glanced with concern between the two of you. you wished that everybody's eyebrows would unfurrow. somehow, your "perfect" date had become more puzzling than dates that actually required some brainpower, like the one where your date had to have their arm greased by zoo staff after getting it trapped in the enclosure bars. this was so mundane, so normal, by comparison, that even your eyebrows were knitted closely by the amount of questioning.
"jo…" euijoo rolled the name around on her tongue before meeting your gaze again, "do you have a photo?"
you had essentially tried to remain invisible to jo since she moved in. and for your own sanity, you'd tried to pretend she was invisible, too. for the first time, you opened instagram and typed in her name, unsure if she even had social media. it would fit the disappearing act she'd perfected in the months she'd been your neighbor. as you scrolled through the dozens of search results, your finger stilled over an account that was undeniably hers and flipped your phone around to show euijoo the results. her photos were messily curated, snapshots of things she loves, surely, and all of her selfies were hidden in the back halves of photo dumps, eclipsed by sunsets and birds at the park and freshly baked sweets.
"holy shit," euijoo breathed a laugh as she scrolled, carefully, through jo's pictures. one swipe, then another, until she met your eyes with a smirk tugging at her lips, "i know jo."
it would have been easier to tell the truth— every liar eventually came to this same conclusion. you had briefly weighed the possible consequences of your dishonesty, and none of them involved you standing outside jo's apartment. none of them were as humiliating, as humbling, as the way your wrist trembled when you lifted it, rearing your knuckles back to rap at the door. jo had went to sleep way later than you did; your body remembered the vibrations through the wall as your eyes fluttered closed for the last time, the tuned strings of her guitar humming well into midnight. was she even up? your face felt hot just thinking about her, hair tousled from sleep and shirt slipping off her shoulder. had she bothered to set an alarm, instead planning to be gently roused by the sun's warmth through the window you knew sat at just the right height to glare off any and every surface? it no longer mattered; you knocked three times.
three knocks for three lies. the first being that the date was good. it wasnt. the second being that the date was with jo. it wasnt. and the third being that the jo you supposedly went out with and the jo euijoo knew were two different people who looked very, very similar.
they weren't.
in fact, they were horrifically the same— the same fluffy blonde hair, soft and welcoming smile, and talent that you weren't exactly aware wasn't just a hobby.
"she plays bass in nico's band," euijoo had smiled, handing your phone back to you over the table, "you all remember nico, right?"
of course, you didn't remember nico. euijoo seemed to know everybody in ways you couldn't comprehend. you only knew her and yuma. and, now, jo, whose band was playing a show at a local venue later tonight. jo, whose show you'd made a big deal about at the table, looking offended when yuma had asked if you were going. "jo mentioned it last night," you had said, even thought jo didn't, and scoffed, "im obviously going."
you were obviously screwed.
standing, now, in front of jo's door, the wait felt almost as long as the dreary walk home the night before. you rarely felt as hopeless as you did then. every step as punctuated with a sinking pit in your chest, desperate to be filled. like a tomb. the fabricated version was, as expected, much more enjoyable, riddled with brushes of the hand when the sidewalk narrowed and ducking under awnings to avoid as much of the rain as possible and stolen glances in the elevator. you didn't realize how long you'd been waiting for something like that. anything like that. was it too much to ask for subtle romance? could the bar go any lower than a glance and a smile?
you also didn't realize how long you'd wished for the courage to knock on jo's door until the knob was twisting in its socket, the door creaking on its old hinges. the wooden frame captured her confused expression like a painting, trapping her in a moment that, unfortunately, revealed to you that you didn't wish hard enough for that courage. there weren't enough wishes in the world to give you the guts to stand tall, although she was much taller, in jo's doorway in the much-too-early hours of a saturday morning.
but here you were.
and here she was, pajama pants slung low on her hips and a t-shirt twisted sideways across her torso. her face was soft and slightly puffy from the sleep you had just pulled her from with your three obnoxiously entitled knocks. the crease that adorned her brow smoothed when she saw you, however, her expression quickly twisting from confused to concerned. jo flattened her palm over her sleep-wrecked blonde hair and adjusted the hem of her shirt with the other.
"is everything okay?" jo's voice was hoarse as she asked and not-so-subtly looked past you, shooting a glance down the corridor before meeting your shifty gaze. it took everything you had to keep eye contact, to not flicker your attention anywhere else but her. you looked like a lost puppy, even though your home was merely two steps to the left. "do you need something?"
"everything's fine," you laughed awkwardly, "kind of." your umbrella suddenly felt heavy in your grip. you'd rolled the panels flat and fastened it closed, but you couldn't help but feel like the constant blow of the ac down the hall would force it open and carry you away, like mary poppins. only mary poppins had a magical bag she could crawl into and disappear. you just had to stand there, shift your weight between your feet, and confess to jo that you messed up in a really, really, really embarrassing way. perhaps more embarrassing than anything you'd ever done before, and you had found yourself in some particularly horrifying situations. you cleared your throat, but your voice still came out lilted, like you were asking a question instead of proposing an idea, "i need a favor?"
"i can turn my amp down," jo offered, immediately, pointing her thumb behind her, "if its a noise issue. i thought it was kind of loud last night, anyway."
"no, no," you held up both hands, even the one holding the umbrella, "it's not that at all. i mean, it is kind of loud, but i don't mind."
in the same moment you realized that you had said too much at once, jo noticed it, too. she smirked, just a slight tug of her lips, and crossed her arms over her chest. her concern fizzled away, leaving only intrigue to ghost over her features. her eyebrows raised, "how can i help you, then?"
you debated lying again. you debated asking her to trade umbrellas, using the one she left out for you, which you couldn't think too hard about or you'd be much worse off, as a scapegoat. it sat idly in the corner of your vision, clouded now by jo's amused stature. she was quickly becoming less soft, the effects of her interrupted sleep wearing off and replacing every curve with a more familiar, sharp feature. her nose was elegantly angled, her eyes narrowing in on you as you turned your options over in your head, rotated them and analyzed every corner and edge.
no more lies. you decided this as you told her everything in more detail than necessary. you started with your history— how you had a pretty impressive streak of terrible dates, how you have two nosy friends who look forward to hearing about your terrible dates, how you had grown tired of being the punchline of every joke, how she was the last person you spoke to, how you panicked. and you told jo everything without stumbling once on your words, taking accountability for every choice, explaining your reasoning.
more shocking than any of the confidence you mustered up out of seemingly nowhere, jo didn't care. not in the way you expected, at least.
"and i wouldn't have said your name at all if i had known that euijoo knew you," you clarified, almost breathless from your extensive retelling of events but mostly from the way jo's eyes never left you as you spoke, "because now it's just a big mess, and i'm going to your show tonight, and i'm not really sure what to do with all of it."
jo, with her arms still crossed over her chest and the faint muscles shifting under her skin, leaned onto her doorframe. you anticipated anger or disbelief. you had played out this scenario on the walk home from the cafe, and jo was much more upset about this in your head. she had slammed the door in your face, broken her lease, and moved out the next day just so she didn't have to see you anymore. because who lies about something like that?
but jo didn't do any of that. instead, the other side of her lips tilted up, pulling her smirk into a full smile. she asked, "you're coming to the show?"
your stomach flipped; once when she smiled and twice when she ignored everything that you were sure would incite some kind of life-ruining guilt. you scrunched your brows together, "did you… hear what i said before that?"
jo nodded, "mhm."
"and you're not upset that i dragged you into my lie?"
"i feel really bad that you had to in the first place," she admitted, her smile faltering, "but i'm not upset. not at all." jo stood up straight, once again adjusting her shirt on her frame, this time pinching the shoulders and aligning the collar closer to her neck, which was slightly flushed. not unlike your own, only you felt your entire body burning, blood rushing to every exposed sliver of skin. she added, "i think it's kind of cute, actually."
"oh," you gulped, "thanks."
"i'll see you tonight, then?" jo quickly said, intercepting whatever awkwardness you were about to bring to the interaction. and when you nodded, jo slipped back inside, sparing you one last amused glance before pushing the door closed.
you released a breath you didn't know you'd been holding. the cool air swirled around your still burning skin, settling on your cheeks like post-rain fog. the umbrella was a bit lighter in your hand; you felt like, still, you might float away, if not for the anchoring weight of your heart low in your chest, beating heavy, reverberating.
if she hadn't moved in right next door, maybe you would have seen her, spared a fleeting glance that would've turned into several lingering ones, at the record store on the corner, flipping through albums in their crates with calloused fingers. maybe you would have bumped shoulders at the farmer's market and laughed as the peaches you'd been cradling bounced across the ground, bruising more and more the further they strayed from the two of you. or, maybe, she'd have been nursing a drink at your favorite karaoke bar, judging you for your poor sense of rhythm and off-key rendition of her favorite song. she'd have judged you until she couldn't anymore, until it became admiration of your (mostly sober) confidence to butcher any song that came your way.
one thing you knew for certain, however, was that you would have seen her here. in every timeline, every fateful turn of the earth, you would have been standing in the front of the crowd, watching through the settling, artifical fog and flashing, blazing hues of purple as jo did what she was made to do. her fingers slotted, more naturally than anything, between the frets. her guitar pressed against her hip, the strap nestled in the flat of her shoulder. her skin glinted like new stars, beads of sweat rolling down her neck and disappearing behind the collar of her shirt and leaving behind comet trails, glowing purple in the light. it was almost impossible to tell where jo ended and the instrument began; she was blurring with every phrase, every note change.
jo didn't just play the bass. she wielded it like a weapon. she was bass; she was sturdy, essential, constant. she was the most interesting person in the room, even as she swayed behind her bandmates and shook her hair from her eyes. and maybe, if you didn't know her, you would have been more distracted by nico's vocals or the drummer's twinkling hi-hats floating above the melody; you knew deep down that there was no possible way you'd have left without wanting to know her if you didn't.
you gripped your cup like it would fall out of your hands as the last song of the night started and a groovy, familiar sequence pulsed into the floor and up your legs. it was that same note progression that had been keeping you up for the last few weeks, the one jo played over and over every night until it became part of your dreams. you couldn't have imagined how perfect she looked playing it in front of you, how perfect she looked playing it flawlessly.
all the practice paid off, evidently, no matter how much sleep it costed you.
euijoo and yuma cheered and whooped next to you, and you must have looked like you really did go on a date with jo. you looked like you went on several dates with her, eyes glossy and a grin growing wider over your lips the longer she melted into the song. out of the corner of your eye, you saw yuma jab euijoo with her elbow, nodding toward you with that shit-eating grin you knew so well. she muttered something, also shit-eating, and clinked her half-empty beer can against euijoo's. a toast, just for you. you felt your smile waiver at the thought of how this might have been your final moments of peace. your final moments being perceived as honest, as well as a person capable of dating. it was nice to wear that mask for a while, but you were coming to terms with the possibility of having to take it off. your peace ended just as the final song was dwindling to a close and the only thing left was the low, lingering vibrations of jo's guitar.
how poetic, you thought, that the soundtrack to your humiliation was the same song that got you here in the first place.
the air felt thick around you as the crowd began to clear. many attendees flocked to the bar, more left the venue entirely in clusters, but you, euijoo, and yuma stood close to the stage, still. euijoo flipped through photos she took of nico on her digital camera, boasting about how cool her friend looked and patting herself on the back for the lighting settings she was experimenting with. yuma kept her attention on you, though, watching as you rocked anxiously on your heels. there wasn't a crowd to hide in anymore, no curtain to pull in front of you to shield your feelings from yuma, who had learned to read you like an open book over your years of friendship. you hoped that your nerves could be mistaken for jitters, for the anticipation of meeting your "date" and introducing her to your friends. you hoped that you could make that differentiation yourself; jo wasnt your date.
"there you are," jo's voice, unusually rough, pulled your attention from the floor, where you were committing every scuff to memory. she sauntered to your side in long, effortless strides— the kind of bravado only a rockstar could have. her eyes scanned yours, questioning in a way only you could recognize, as she got closer, begging you to trust her without knowing you already did. she extended her arms, stretching them out on either side of her chest: a hug. no, an embrace; a lover's embrace, warm, familiar. you mirrored her smile and slid your arms around her torso, exhaling a shaky breath as she caged you in, squeezing you close. you felt her voice before you heard it, felt it against your cheek on her chest, "my good luck charm, what'd you think?"
you couldn't help but giggle a little at the nickname. she was good at this. but so were you, pulling back to face her and realizing you didn't even have to pretend anymore. you smiled, "you were… incredible, jo. i've never seen anything quite like that before."
"like what?" she smirked, leaning down to meet your stare. her cheeks were flushed, still simmering from the adrenaline and the heat. you could feel it, standing so close to her, closer than you'd ever been. usually, your interactions with jo spanned a couple feet as you both unlocked your doors or were physically divided by a wall, barely interactions at all. so this, having your feet slotted between hers with your laces tangling, having her hands sliding down your arms in tantalizing strokes— it was making your face burn, too.
"impressive," you said, definitively. even though you'd heard the songs before, you'd only heard one strand of them. it was actually very cool to hear every element instead of just the one, and it was even cooler to see jo in her element. she was magnetic, addictive, even more so up close. she quirked her eyebrows up, as if she were genuinely surprised to hear the compliment.
she smiled and asked, only for you, "you really think so?"
"mhm," you nodded. then, you swallowed the nerves you'd been carrying all evening, the weight on your tongue, in a gulp that had to have been audible. your fingers trembled a bit as you lifted your hand and smoothed her hair behind her ear. her eyes scanned your face with an unspoken encouragement. your voice was soft, low, "i couldn't take my eyes off of you."
for a moment, the two of you were alone; everyone else had cleared the room, her bandmates had packed up their equipment, and the bartenders had put away every glass. for a moment, not even yuma or euijoo were watching as jo brought her fingertips from your side and straight to your chin, tilting your head up like she might kiss you. and for a moment, you wanted her to, even if it was just for show.
"jo!" euijoo exclaimed, startling the both of you as she finally pulled her face out of her camera. she skipped over and threw herself into her friend's arms and, consequently, shoved you out. jo spared you an apologetic glance, but you were laughing, entertained by your friend's unusually affectionate nature. the can in her hand was nearly empty. her voice was too sincere for the situation, "we are your biggest fans. dont ever forget that." she patted jo affirmingly on the shoulder, "or me. when you're super mega famous and stuff."
jo laughed, "understood, juju. you'll be the first i thank at any award show, okay?"
"that's what i like to hear," euijoo pulled back and held her chest, performatively moved by jo's promise. she wiped a fake tear from her cheek before dissolving into a fit of laughter, and jo wasn't too far behind. euijoo sighed, swirling the last swallow of liquid in her can as she felt for her camera in her pocket, "i'm gonna find nico, but it was great to see you." and euijoo spared you an obvious, painful-looking wink as she skipped away.
you suddenly felt the weight return, settling on your tongue, cementing your feet to the floor. yuma's eyes jumped from you to jo and back to you, searching, scanning. she collected information and filed it away, all behind a usually stoic expression. this time, however, she wore a smile, a glint of something satisfied wavering in her eyes.
"so," yuma's voice was lilted, carrying like treble, "jo, how'd you two meet?"
it was a test, of course. you knew this would happen, planned for it, even. yuma hadn't believed you in the cafe, and you knew she wouldn't stop until she could confirm or deny your story for herself. luckily, you told jo everything, in almost identical detail to what you told euijoo and yuma, which was a humiliating consequence of having daydreamed so much about what you wanted from a date. the flaw in your story was that you failed to account for jo living in your building. it was the weakest thread. you prayed that jo remembered her lines. just say we met at the bookstore, you had told her, i'm always there, so it won't be unbelievable.
jo smiled to herself, "well, we're neighbors," she slung her arm over your shoulder, pulling you into her side, "but it was funny that we ran into each other at the little bookshop— what's it called? Booked n' Busy?"
"Booked n' Busy," you confirmed, relief washing over you.
but jo kept going beyond what you had told her to say.
"she was holding two books, and i asked if she wanted some help choosing which to buy," jo breathed a laugh, as if she had actually been there. she smiled as if it had happened at all. "and i'm no bookworm, but she was buried inside the covers, reading the first few pages of each like she wasn't standing in the middle of the aisle."
yuma crossed her arms again, watching the way jo's eyes never flickered from your face as she spoke. she asked, "which book did you pick for her?"
"neither," jo squeezed your shoulder, "she had already read both of them."
it was your turn to laugh. if you'd have scripted that, you would have added something quippy about limited edition covers or how books deserve to be read more than once, but you were so caught off guard by the way jo had improvised such a sweet anecdote. you were surprised by how real it seemed, how endearing she had made you, how enamored she sounded as she relived it. you wondered if jo had spent her nights dreaming of the perfect date, too. part of you wondered if you were a stand-in or if you had been the main character of that story all along. it was so natural to cover your face, to hide your burning cheeks as you laughed softly.
"typical," yuma rolled her eyes, "she likes what she likes."
"i really do," you confirmed, leaning your head against jo. the implication made your heart jump, and you let it. for realism, you thought. she wasn't just your hot neighbor anymore, but you recognized that she hadn't been just anything for a while. you admired her passion, her kindness, her humor. and, now, you admired her willingness to stick out a potentially uncomfortable situation to help a near-stranger out. she was selfless, and it made your stomach flip.
yuma paused a beat, watching the way jo smiled down at you and you didn't even know it. she sighed, obviously exhausted by the show and from watching you and jo fawn over each other a little too convincingly, "i'm gonna find euijoo and head out. you coming?"
you stood up straight, smoothing your palms over your clothes, "oh, yeah. i'll-"
"i can take you," jo offered, her arm still draped behind you, "i live pretty close by."
she was being serious. if nothing else, jo was genuinely kind. you lied, roped her into it, and, now, she was offering you a ride home. and instead of heading back with your two closest friends, you accepted her offer, nodding and slinking back into her while yuma scrambled to find euijoo backstage. you lingered around for the next half hour, merely observing as jo unplugged amps and pushed equipment around. you had offered to help, but she insisted that you sit and look pretty while she packed everything away with her bandmates.
it surprised you that it didn't feel awkward. all around, jo was taking this very well. even when you told her about the lie and how you needed her help, all she seemed to care about was that you were coming to the show. was it a numbers thing? did they have a quota to meet to be able to continue to play at the venue, like a set number of attendees that you personally helped them reach?
you expected some kind of debt to pay. it would only be right for you to help jo out in some way in the future, and you would without a second thought. if she needed furniture moved, you were right next door and pretty skilled with a set of sliders. if she needed groceries, you went every week; you'd even buy her produce for the next month or more if she asked. there were few things jo could ask of you that, in the moment, you wouldn't do.
"what are you doing tomorrow?" jo's voice jolted you from your trance. and the timing was perfect! tomorrow, you were free for a plethora of favor-related activities. it was the ideal time to move a couch or pick the ripest avocados.
"nothing," you answered, "why?"
when you looked up, jo was swimming in an oversized zip-up. her hair was fully dried, no longer damp from the performance. she looked impossibly cute while towering over you as you sat on the stage steps. her guitar case was strapped to her back, and she fidgeted with the band across her chest. jo was… nervous? she didn't show it otherwise, her voice still strong, feet planted firmly before you. but her fingers, calloused and adept, wandered down the case's strap as she worked up what you thought was an endless supply of courage.
"i'm gonna take you on a date," jo said, smiling. she was no longer mysterious, no longer unattainable. you worried for a second that she pitied you, that voice in your head that kept you reserved urging you to deny her before it was too late. but then she reached forward and grabbed your wrist with a shaking, vulnerable hand, "a real date." she lined your fingers up and slotted hers between yours, the fit so natural that it almost took your breath away. "and then we can tell yuma and euijoo how perfect it was."
hi !! absolutely loved the Jo fic 💗 I appreciate you writing it even though you said you couldn't see Jo as a Dom. I personally think he'd make a great gentle and soft Dom, who guides you with extra care.
Also, I have another ask for u if that's okay but I so badly want to see doc jo x patient y/n. I can just imagine how lewd it would be 🤤
doctor ! doctor !
notes: girl i was giggling the whole time writing this ohmygoddd. thank you for your words sweet anon! ♡ and thank you irie for the jo pic ily
pairing: soft!dom!jo x fem!sub!reader
tags/warnings: med student!jo, doctor x patient roleplay, explicit content ⚠️ protected sex (for once lol), some fingering and praise. nothing else really its all really sweet <3 non proofread its 1am im sorry
wc: 3,1k
— ♬.ᐟ now playing: doctor! doctor! - zerobaseone
🏥🩺💉...
sprawled across the bed, wearing nothing but one of your boyfriend's shirts, you lazily scroll down your phone, waiting for him to come back home from his endless afternoon classes.
the sound of the front door opening and closing is what finally makes you look up from your phone. it's followed by the familiar shuffling of your boyfriend dropping his backpack by the entrance, before he makes his way to the bedroom in soft pads.
"hi, honey." jo's low voice echoes in the silent room, a tired smile on his face. "told you not to wait for me awake."
"told you i wouldn't listen." you sit up to greet him with a big grin. "how was uni?"
"tiring." he sighs, stretching his sore neck a bit. "we did a lot of lab work today. i've seen so many corpses i think i'm gonna turn into one of them soon..."
"ew! don't say that." you scrunch your nose up in disgust. "what's that?" curiously, your eyes focus on the big box he just parked by the door before stepping in.
a mischievous glint appears in jo's eyes. "something i believe you're gonna love." his movements are a bit stiff when he bends down to the box, due to the long day at lab, but his energy seems to pick up at the sight of you sitting there with his shirt on, looking up at him with those big, curious eyes.
you gasp way too loudly when he takes the contents of the box out; a neatly folded white coat and a brand new stethoscope. as he unfolds the coat, something catches your gaze and instantly warms your heart. the words "dr. asakura jo" are embroidered on its side, along with the local hospital's logo. "they finally gave me my own one."
you've been with jo through all the long journey to achieve his dream. you've been by his side while he memorized anatomy charts at dawn and have brought him maybe more than 1000 coffees in the nearly six years he's been studying.
you've watched him grow as a person and have watched his love for the profession grow along with him. now, seeing his name on that coat –his doctor coat, not the basic student uniform, feels like finally seeing the finish line.
he's really going to be a doctor.
"baby, you're gonna make me cry." you pout, feeling your eyes sting with emotion.
you hear him chuckle under his breath. "honey, i didn't bring it here to make you cry. don't you always say i look good in my uniform?"
"uh? yes, you do. you look hot." you don't even try to play it cool. it's true. you practically drool all over him every time you catch a glimpse of him in his blue student uniform. now that he has his own doctor coat... your mind is already wandering with images of how good he must look wearing it. "try it on?"
he fakes thinking for a few seconds. "well, since you asked so nicely..." casually, he takes his shirt off, revealing the toned lines of his torso to the cold air. his glasses fall off his nose when the collar goes through his head, so he pushes them up with his middle finger. a knowing look crosses his expression when he hears your breath get caught in your throat.
he doesn't need to take his shirt off at all. he's definitely doing it on purpose, and it's obviously getting the reaction he wants out of you.
jo slides his long arms into the coat's sleeves, adjusting the fabric over his broad shoulders. he doesn't button it, letting it drape loosely over his body. lastly, he places the stethoscope around his neck and turns around to face you. "it fits, but a bit stiff. might need to order one size bigger. what do you think?"
"i think..." your voice betrays you when you finally speak, coming out slightly strained. your eyes travel from the name tag on his chest up to his face, widening at the sight of the round piece of the stethoscope resting against his bare chest. "i think it fits perfectly."
jo's smirk widens. he can feel the flush creeping up your neck, the way you keep wetting your lips like they suddenly feel too dry. cute, he thinks. "incredible, uh?" he steps closer and leans down to your level. he lifts your chin up with his fingers when your eyes dart to his body instead of his eyes. "you know, as a doctor, i should probably check your vitals right now. you seem a bit affected."
finally, realization hits you. he's not just teasing you. he's playing. and of course, you're gonna play along.
"actually, i feel a bit hot, doctor. i might be running a fever." you place the back of your hand over your forehead, looking up at him like a lost puppy.
jo raises his eyebrows in faked surprise. "a fever? that sounds serious." he sits next to you, playing the role of professional doctor smoothly. he exchanges your hand with his, pressing his knuckles against your forehead and letting them run down your temple. "hmm... temperature does seem a bit elevated. i should check your heart rate as well, just to be sure."
he takes the stethoscope from around his neck and puts it in his ears, guiding its head towards your chest. the metal is cold against your skin when he presses it right over your heart, and it makes your skin shiver with goosebumps. the thumping is really loud in his ears, but he shakes his head like it is not. "i need to hear it clearly. take a deep breath for me, please."
you do as you're told, taking a deep breath through your nose. his scent immediately hits you. that soft mix of fresh laundry and lavender, now also mixed with the smell of the brand new fabric from the coat. it's so intoxicating that you feel almost dizzy.
"your heart rate is definitely not normal." he mutters, pretending to concentrate on the sound of your heart, but the way he's suppressing his smile betrays how much this is actually turning him on.
after teasing your sensitive skin for a few more seconds, he finally pulls his hand away from your chest and places the stethoscope on the bedside table. "i'll need to perform a more thorough examination." he looks at you through the bridge of his glasses, eyes burning in anticipation. "i'll need your cooperation for it. so please, lay back for me."
your body goes on autopilot as you settle back against the pillows. his shirt does barely nothing to cover your legs, and you're sure he can still hear your heartbeat even without the stethoscope. "i'm very cooperative, doctor."
your playful whisper manages to make his ears flush a faint tone of pink, though he keeps his expression neutral and professional. "that's good to know. i usually reward good patients at the end of the appointment, so..." his voice trails off as he crawls on the bed over you, both knees pressing into the mattress on either side of your hips. "...be a good girl and you might get yours too."
you stare at his cocky smirk, forgetting how to breathe for a moment as he starts lifting his shirt off of you. "yes, doctor."
when he tosses the shirt aside, he pauses for a moment, eyes racking over your exposed figure and soft curves. his hands come to your waist immediately, as he's been waiting all day to come home to this. to you. "we'll start with a physical exam." he mutters, leaning down to press a kiss on the hollow of your throat.
you try so hard to be a good patient and stay still for him, but it gets harder as his fingers move along your body, tickling your most sensitive areas. every touch is intentional; slow and calculated just to draw those little gasps he loves so much to hear out of you.
"patient is showing signs of increased sensitivity." his voice is a rough whisper against your neck, where his tongue traces a slow path up towards your earlobe. "i think you need immediate treatment."
his teeth give a soft tug to your earlobe before he moves to your face, quickly finding your lips. his mouth moves over yours fast and hungrily, swallowing every little moan you let out. you feel him smile against your lips as you start sliding the coat off his shoulders.
"patient is a bit desperate, hm?" he pulls back from you to take the coat off himself, tossing it aside without even caring that it's new. all he cares about right now is you and the increasing warmth between your bodies.
the air leaves your lungs when he takes the fabric off. no matter how many times you see him naked, it always has the same effect on you. the soft glow of the streetlights seeping through the windows crashes against his abdomen, highlighting the sharp lines of his muscles, already glowing with a faint layer of sweat.
"desperate, indeed." he leans down again, lips crashing into yours with hot fervor. his tongue makes its way inside your mouth, letting you have a taste of the coffee he had earlier. a deep groan tears from his throat when his glasses keep sliding down his nose, so he pulls back and throw them aside just like he did with his coat.
his hands slide from your waist down to your thighs, pulling them apart until the cold air hits your soaked underwear, which he slowly rolls down. he doesn't rush at all, taking pride in the way you're completely surrendered to him. however, when you're finally fully naked under him, he feels his control slip away.
"open up, honey." jo demands a little rougher than before, two fingers pressing against your lips. he doesn't even wait for you to comply, and forces them inside your mouth instead. he watches you throw your head back and your throat working as you move your tongue around his digits. the way your eyes flutter shut when the gag reflex hits you sends an intense jolt to his already hard lenght. "good reflexes." he mutters, like he was actually checking the steps of a real medical examination.
you struggle to catch your breath when he takes his fingers out, completely soaked in your saliva. they immediately find their way down to your center, sliding in almost immediately. a low chuckle vibrates through his chest when your body barely offers resistance. "you're already so loose. didn't really need to wet them." he uses his thumb to circle your clit, his movements slow but firm, in a way that makes your back arch off the bed.
his gaze burns into yours, focused in every little reaction you offer him. he's really studying you, memorizing every switch of your muscles like you were the most important case of his career.
he adds a third finger, stretching you out for him. his other hand fidgets with his zipper until he finally manages to take his pants off, along with his underwear. he leans forward to press his hardness against your thigh, just a few centimeters away from where you need him the most. "tell me, does it hurt anywhere? where do you need me to check?"
you whine loudly, too desperate to handle his teasing now. "here." shaking, you grab the wrist of the hand that's already inside you and press it harder into your core, dragging a moan out of your throat as the tip of his fingers graze that sweet spot inside you. "right there, jo, please..."
"jo?" he stops his movements abruptly, leaving you suspended in between the line of pleasure and frustration. his hand stays still inside you, feeling you clench around him in demand.
"doctor." you correct yourself in a broken whisper, eyes stinging with unshed tears. your whole body is on fire, and you can't risk him leaving you on the edge now. "right there, doctor, please... it hurts so bad. i need your treatment."
"that's better." his voice drops an octave as he pulls his hand away. you immediately panic, thinking he's gonna leave you hanging, but he reaches for the nightstand table's drawer instead. the sound of the condom's package is loud in que quiet room, but not louder than your ragged breathing.
"safety protocols first, right?" as much as he'd love to hit it raw, he knows very well the risk involved, and he'd never forgive himself if he accidentally ended up causing you any discomfort, so he always has protection ready for you.
jo gives you a soft smile and hands you the condom once he takes it out the small package. your fingers tremble, but you obey, sitting up a bit to roll the latex down his erection. when you finish, he takes your hand and kisses your knuckles, before placing it softly onto the matress. "so cute."
he positions himself between your legs and leans down so his chest is brushing against yours. his weight over you is heavy and warm, filling you not only with arousal but with the gentle love he has only for you. his lips press against your forehead, then your nose and finally, on your sweet lips. he repeats the motion until you start relaxing under him, your legs naturally opening to welcome him in.
"good girl." he guides himself to your entrance, stopping when he's half in. he waits, giving your body a moment to adjust. he knows you can handle it, but he still never allows himself to be too rough.
when he finally pushes forward, he does it in one smooth motion, filling you completely. a broken moan escapes your lips. the feeling is so overwhelming in the best way possible. you can't help but lift your hips to try and get even more of him.
he hums against your lips, completely drunk in the way your warmth envelopes him. he starts moving, each thrust coming with a calculated rhythm to make you feel every inch of him. his brown eyes never leave your face, completely mesmerized by the way your expression shifts as the pleasure consumes you.
"can i touch you, doctor?"
jo's breath hitches at the question, specially at the way you casually use the distinctive now. he never thought he'd find pleasure in the way his girl says his title, and yet here he is. "hmm... i think i can make an exception for such a good patient. go ahead, baby."
as soon as you have his permission, your hands attach to his body. your fingers trace his abs, arms, back... anywhere you can reach as he increases the rhythm of his thrusts. his skin burns under your touch, the heat radiating off it almost palpable.
the bed frame cracks rhythmically against the wall as his own desperatation takes over, flued by the feeling of your touch and your lips on his skin.
not much later, the pace makes its effect on you. you start squirming as you feel that familiar tingling sensation in the pit of your stomach, your moans turning even louder if that's possible.
the sound is like music to his ears. he shift his weight, angling himself to hit that perfect spot and make you cry out his name louder. "so beautiful. so loud for me..."
his hands slide under your thighs, pulling your legs apart and wrapping them around his waist. this way, you're forced to take him deeper. you break completely, falling into submission as your climax nears. "c-close... i'm close."
"yeah? i can tell, honey." though his voice sounds relaxed, he's also nearing his release. you feel it in the way he switches inside you and his movements turn a bit sloopy. but he holds back for now, focused on your pleasure first. "just a little more, right?" he reaches down with his thumb to trace circles on your sensitive clit.
the sudden pressure makes you see stars. your whole body arches, but he holds your legs firmly around his waist as your orgasm hits you. your internal walls pulse around him as you come, becoming a shaking mess on the bed. he prolongs it as long as he can, thumb moving over your clit until you're crying his name out in overstimulation. "that's my good girl."
jo changes his thrusts from fast and short to longer and deeper ones. he slides all the way in only to pull almost all the way out. he repeates it for a few seconds, groaning loudly as the way you keep squeezing him in. his teeth grind together as the urge to let go consumes him.
with one final, deep thrust, his body locks in. his fingers grip your thighs with enough force to leave the marks of his nails on them as he finally releases inside the condom. the moan he lets out is almost pornographic, as well as the way his body contracts with the force of every spurt coming out of him.
he stays buried inside you as he collapses forward. his face comes to rest against your shoulder, while you both try to catch your breath. "fuck... that was an intense treatment, wasn't it?"
the sound of your breathless laugh cuts through the silence. "yeah, pretty much. i don't think the healthcare system approves it."
jo chuckles himself as he finally slides out of you. he carefully lowers your legs onto the matress, giving each one a small kiss as an apology for any possible soreness. "for me, that was definitely the most interesting procedure of my entire career."
he rolls into his side, pulling you closer against his chest. one of his hands find yours, squeezing gently before kissing it. "you okay?"
you hum a small yes as response, finally feeling your heart rate slow down a bit since he came through the door. after a while, you break the silence. "so, what's the final diagnosis?"
jo's laugh vibrates under your ear, but the serious doctor persona quickly comes back. "unfortunately, today's examination wasn't enough to provide an accurate diagnosis. i'm gonna need you to come back for follow-up sessions. regularly. like, every night this week."
"every night?" your eyes widen in surprise. "that sounds like a very strict medical procedure, doctor. i'm not sure if i can keep up."
"oh, you surely can." he pokes your cheek as your eyes start to drop. "you're my best patient after all." a genuine smile comes with his words. one full of anything but adoration for you.
you return his smile and let his warmth pull you under a cloud of deep sleep. before your eyes close fully, you whisper. "and you're my best doctor, jo."
“only for you, honey.”
taglist: @euijooswife @sunsunpilled + click here to be added
...Or, texts between you and your retail coworker, Maki.
✩ Riki Mauss x Fem!Reader ─── Retail AU | Fluff & Crack| A/N: Hitting Maki with the retail ray because I've been thinking about this since I started writing for him. I work in retail, and I'll let you guys guess which of these have actually happened in my workplace before :P Also, note: I'm going to start a taglist, so pls comment if you wanna be on that hehe
fem!bruno bucciarati x reader x fem!leone abbacchio
SUMMARY: you call your two best friends because you're in need of a girls night out (wc: 1.6k)
cw: mdni, fingering, face sitting, sub!reader
You’ve been locked in your apartment for two whole weeks, ordering take out and scrolling through your phone seeing your ex has gotten back with her boyfriend. It doesn’t make sense to affect you this much, you were only dating for a few months, but she was practically living in your apartment and doing everything together. Seeing her rebuild her life so quickly like you don’t even exist pisses you off, you wanted to see her as heartbroken as you.
It takes you a few moments to decide that you can’t keep rotting in your apartment, being miserable and disgusting. You get up from bed, put your phone to charge and get in the shower. You scrub your body clean, wash your hair and do the whole routine to let you feel yourself clean again. Then you search in your contact list for your best friend, quickly clicking her name.
Bucciarati answers after a few rings, with some noise in the background. “Hi, honey. Is everything okay, we haven’t heard from you in a while?”
You try to hide your sigh, but Bucciarati clocks you so easily to end up spilling everything to her.
“Listen, call Abba and let’s go out, please!” you end up with your monologue. “I need to get out of the house and get drunk with my favorite girls.”
You hear her laugh on the other side of the line. “You know, Abba has been in this whole detox phase,”
“I don't care, Bucci. Tell her to put on that cute dress from last time.”
You hang up the phone with a little smile already tugging at your lips. You take your time getting ready. The shower left your skin soft and warm, so you rub on that vanilla-amber lotion that always makes people lean in closer without realizing why. You pick out the red top that hugs your chest just right and shows a hint of cleavage, paired with a short skirt that swishes when you move. Hair down, a little gloss on your lips and the good perfume on your pulse points. When you check the mirror you feel hot again, like yourself, like someone worth wanting.
Bucciarati texts you the name of the bar and you head out. They’re already there when you walk in. Bucciarati spots you first, her blue eyes lighting up as she waves you over. She’s wearing a fitted white button-up with the top few buttons undone, looking effortlessly elegant like always. Abbacchio sits beside her in a tight black dress that clings to her curves, silver hair loose and a little messy, the way it gets when she’s already had one drink. They both look good enough to stare at.
“Finally,” Bucciarati says, pulling you into a tight hug that lingers. She smells like expensive cologne and citrus. “You look incredible, honey.”
Abbacchio doesn’t say anything at first. She just looks you up and down, slow, then smirks and tugs you down into the booth between them. “Took you long enough to crawl out of your cave. Drink?”
The night slips into an easy rhythm after that. Shots arrive, then cocktails, then more shots. You talk about everything and nothing. Your ex, the way she moved on like it was easy and how lonely your apartment feels now. They listen, lean in close, hands brushing your arms and thighs under the table like it’s the most natural thing. The alcohol warms everything, loosens your tongue and your body.
Bucciarati’s fingers trace little circles on your knee while she laughs at one of your stories. Abbacchio keeps an arm around the back of the booth, her hand eventually resting on your shoulder, playing with the strap of your top. You don’t mind at all, actually, it feels nice.
After a couple hours you’re all buzzed, flushed and laughing too loud. The music gets heavier and you drag them to the dance floor, your bodies press close in the crowd. Bucciarati dances in front of you, hands on your waist, guiding your hips to the beat. Abbacchio comes up behind, chest against your back, her breath warm on your neck as she moves with you. The three of you melt together, touchy and comfortable, the kind of drunk where every graze of skin feels intentional.
At some point you end up back in the booth, squeezed between them again, cheeks hot and head pleasantly spinning. You take another sip of your drink and let the words tumble out.
“God, I haven’t had a good fuck in way too long,” you mutter, sighing. “Like… actually good. I’m so tired of my own hand and shitty memories.”
The words hang there for a second. Then Bucciarati tilts her head, eyes dark and curious. Abbacchio’s smirk turns sharper, interested.
“Is that so?” Bucciarati says softly, her hand sliding higher up your thigh under the table. “We can’t have that, can we?”
Abbacchio leans in, lips brushing your ear. “You should let us fix it then.”
They’re both watching you now, waiting, but not pushing. The heat in their eyes matches the one building low in your stomach. You bite your lip and nod, barely trusting your voice.
“Yeah,” you whisper. “I think I’d like that.”
Bucciarati smiles sweetly, while Abbacchio’s hand squeezes your waist. They take you out of the bar with ease, you’re slightly more drunk than them because you deserve it, and they guide you out of the bar and into a taxi, which takes about ten minutes to get to Bucciarati’s apartment. In the ride, they tease you over your clothes, kissing your neck and collarbone, pinching your nipple and kneading your boobs. Your core just keeps getting wetter, staining your cute red panties.
When all of you arrive at the apartment and click the door shut, you’re covered in Abbacchio’s purple lipstick and high off neediness.
“Oh, you’re a mess,” Abbachio tells you when they pull you to the bedroom, both of them sitting on the edge while you stay up for them to look at you properly.
“Please…” you mutter, breath ragged and mind dizzy.
“Please what?” Bucciarati asks, tilting her head with a little more sweetness on her voice. “Use that pretty voice of yours.”
You bite your lip harder, cheeks burning as both of them stare at you, your voice comes out small and shaky at first. “Please... touch me. I need it so bad.”
Bucciarati’s smile softens. “That’s my good girl,” she whispers, reaching up to brush your hair back from your face. “You did so well tonight, honey. So brave to let us take care of you.”
Abbacchio snorts, leaning back on her elbows with that sharp smirk. “She’s fucking desperate. Bet she’s already soaked just from the cab ride, can’t even wait to get her pussy played with.”
You shiver at her words, heat pooling between your legs even more. Bucciarati shoots her a gentle look. “Abba, be nice. She’s had a rough couple weeks.” But there's no real scolding in her tone, just that soft reminder.
Abbacchio chuckles low, tugging your skirt so you’re closer to her as she runs her hands through your body, squeezing your curves and getting rid of your top. “Yeah, yeah. But she loves it, don’t you, baby? Tell Bucci how wet you get when I call you out.”
You nod quickly, breath catching. “I... I do. I love it.”
Bucciarati lets out a soft laugh and pulls you closer, kissing your forehead before guiding you down onto the bed. “Come here, pretty thing. Let us make you feel better.”
They move you like they’ve done this a hundred times in their heads. Abbacchio pushes your skirt up around your hips and tugs your ruined red panties to the side. Her fingers are cool against your overheated skin as she slides two right along your slick folds, teasing your entrance. “Fuck, you’re dripping. Such a messy whore for us already.”
You moan loud, hips twitching, but Bucciarati is already moving, straddling your face with graceful ease. She hikes up her white button-up and lowers herself down, her warm and wet pussy pressing against your mouth. “That’s it, honey,” she praises, voice like velvet. “Make me feel good while Abba takes care of that needy cunt.”
You nod and start to lick into her eagerly, tasting her sweetness and sucking gently on her clit. She sighs happily above you, rocking her hips slow and steady. “Good girl... you’re doing so good for us.”
At the same time, Abbacchio sinks two fingers deep inside you without warning, curling them hard against that spot that makes your eyes roll back. She pumps them fast, thumb rubbing rough circles over your swollen clit. “Can’t even speak with your face buried in pussy, huh? Bet you’ve been dreaming about this, locked up in your room touching yourself like a sad slut.”
Her words burn in the best way and you moan right into Bucciarati, the vibrations making her gasp softly. Bucciarati reaches down to stroke your hair, gentle even as her thighs tremble around your head. “Easy, Abba. She’s our sweet girl tonight... right, baby?”
They both laugh when you don’t answer, too lost in all the sensations around your body. Abbacchio adds a third finger while Bucciarati grabs your hair so she can ride your face better. The wet sounds of your pussy, your muffled whimpers and Bucciarati’s moans fill the room.
Your hips buck up involuntarily and you whine “You’re close already, aren’t you?” Abbacchio mocks. “Gonna cum all over my hand while you eat Bucci out?”
You moan in response as Bucciarati grinds down firmer, praising you the whole time. “Yeah, honey, c-cum for us like the pretty girl you are.”
The pleasure crashes over you hard, legs shaking as you cry out against Bucciarati’s pussy. Abbacchio doesn’t stop fingering you through it, drawing it out until you’re a trembling mess underneath them. Bucciarati lifts up just enough for you to catch your breath, looking down at your flushed, shiny face with so much affection.
“See? Our beautiful girl,” she whispers, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “We’re not done with you yet.”
🪐 18+ euijoo always finds a way to ensure your comfort. ✮⋆˙ warnings: afab!reader, munch euijoo, oral (f receiving), reader has auditory sensory sensitivity, headphones on during intimacy, overstimulation, juju receives pleasure from seeing your pleasure ><
how would you manage not being able to deal with the sounds of sex?? well, you don’t because euijoo deals with it for you. yeah, sometimes there’s more cons than pros, since you can’t hear his moans but at least the other noises don’t trigger you. a win is a win, i think.
“i- uhhh, it’s working but.. mmnnn, i’m- i wanna h-hear you..” you puff out a bit louder than you intended but it wasn’t your fault that you couldn’t even hear your own words. you’re blissfully unaware of your own volume, but it doesn’t matter, because juju clearly doesn’t mind knowing how loud your moans can truly get when you’re not conscious of your own voice.
you can feel his head shake underneath your grip as a curt response, the movement ultimately landing you more pleasure as his tongue flicks side to side onto your slick mound. he doesn’t even wanna talk because he knows you won’t hear him.
having a overly wet one isn’t for the weak, but good thing he’s so strong. despite his soft nature, he can handle you and your weeping arousal quite easily. sometimes he fears he can be a little too strong for you (certified munch) but that’s something besides the point—
juju doesn’t want you to hear him, it’s better that way for you. he knows how you’ll get if you hear the mess he’s making with his drool and your slick pussy, shivering and jolting further away from his awaiting mouth from the sensory triggers each squelch would induce.
it already happened before, your whines not some he wanted to hear and the way your foot pressed against his shoulder to push away wasn’t what he was looking for, especially since it’s out of discomfort from hearing such obscene noises. which is why you’re in the predicament you’re in right now after he put the headphones on your ears and started playing songs off his playlist, the same playlist he made that consisted of all your favorite songs. hearing jhene talk about some trascendental sex while watching your man grip tighter onto your thighs and his pouty mouth continuously cup around your sticky cunt wasn’t on your bingo card for this year, but HEY, not that you don’t mind.
“this i-isn’t fair, baby, please? wanna h-aahhh- hear your voice,”
but how can you if he’s busy burying his pretty mouth onto your cunt, making out with your puffy lips as if they were the ones on your face?
still, you just wanted to hear him because he always makes his own noises when he’s eating you up, deriving pleasure from giving you pleasure, and those are the best noises you love hearing the most. fuck how wet you sound, you wanna hear how undeniably needy he sounds, that’s what’s killing you. the vibrations you felt pour out from his hoarse throat and against your sensitive mess were definitely in tune with the blissful expression he had on his face, eyes clouded with pleasure and slightly rolling behind his half-lidded eyelids as he works his reddened lips around your buzzing clit.
you just know he’s moaning, like he always does, and you know they must sound so pretty and must be getting even louder as his eyebrows furrow higher once he sucks your dripping lips between his own and hums fruitfully. eating his favorite fruit.
“e…euij-aahhh,” you’re battling yourself, your body is shutting down and succumbing to the pleasure that trails within your nerves and pools into your trembling navel. you’re sinking into the messy array of pillows he propped underneath your back, your eyes twitching and eyelashes fluttering as you struggle on keeping them open and on him, but he’s humming….
consistently.
your mind is fighting against two major thoughts; the frustration of not being able to hear him moan louder along with you as he draws you near and over your orgasm, and how you can’t imagine your man bumping to this song — especially when it pops up from his playlist.
you wouldn’t doubt he could hear the sensual melody blasting from the headphones from how loud it is pressed onto your ears, but he must be focused on the sound of your moans and squelching mess in front of him instead.
the tighter your hands messed onto his fluffy hair, the harsher his grip was onto your thighs as he shakes his entire face in between them after easily spreading them further apart. his tongue laps with purpose and you’re tensing with your impending release, right on the tip of his pinkish, flicking muscle.
you don’t dare close your eyes and lose your already clouding vision from the sight in front of you, you wanna see his rounded eyes gaze upwards into yours as his tongue flattens and pushes your swollen lips apart, accommodating the girth of the muscle as strings of your erotic fluid fall onto his taste buds.
“wait euijoo, i… i’m gonna..” said man nods once under your wondering fingers, suction cupping onto your aching clit before popping off and licking further down your entire slit, rubbing the tip of his reddened nose right against your bud again.
and his ears twitch at the sound of your airy moans pitching higher, louder with no restraint. that’s when he figures he should do this more often, if it means he gets to hear you clearer.
your toes curl against his shoulder as your eyelids grow tired; you can’t hold out any longer as his mouth continuously works itself over your throbbing mess, watery eyes squeezing shut and bared teeth clenching together behind trembling lips as your head plops back onto the pillows with defeat.
and now, all that surrounded you was jhene’s sinful lyrics and the feeling of his constant actions, adding that last source of pleasure you need for you to fall apart, finally letting go onto his face with the sweetest cry he has ever heard coming from your lips.
juju held on as your body arched from the intense release, one of his hands reaching upwards and holding onto yours, slightly wincing as your fingers threaded deeper into his soft locks and pulled.
getting you to fall undone with his mouth was everything he wanted, but hearing how unrestrained you were was more than enough for his pleasure. he couldn’t stop rutting down onto the sheets, trying hard to relieve the tightness in his sweats and the ache in his chubbing cock. thick and throbbing,
he wills himself not to imagine the obscene sounds it would make if he were to smack his tip right over your sticky slit.
if you could hear the sloshing and absolute squelching mess you’re making right now, you’d go absolutely insane. and it maybe slightly horrible to say, but he kinda likes it that way, almost as if this was his little special moment that he can have for himself, knowing he’s made you this drenched and messy.
it sounds so great in his reddened ears that he doesn’t mind hearing you more, ignoring the way your toes push against his shoulder in attempt on getting him and his darting tongue away from your sensitive cunt, and still continuously sucking away your sweet coat of nectar.
euijoo hums twice against your fluttering heat and you don’t have to look down at him to realize he meant no, “mhn-mm..” the vibrations and his movement making your relaxed muscles spasm.
he’s not finished yet. but you can’t hear him and you’re feeling boneless.
to him, that doesn’t matter. he’s been hooked on your pretty pussy since the very first moment he’s gotten a taste. he’s drunk on it, and he wants more to drink and he’ll do anything to get you to give him more. he’s your eager man, always finding solutions to bring you both pleasure, always focusing on yours first. making sure you’re comfortable to the best of his ability.
you’re his priority right now, his mind isn’t on his raging hard length, thickening and damping the front of his pants with leaking precum.
he wants to hear your water slosh again and feel his face get drenched, huff breathless cold air against your twitching cunt as your glimmering liquid release drips down his cheeks and chin.
euijoo’s gonna try again and he can, because you sure don’t mind hearing more of that soft r&b playing in your ears as his pleasureful mouth brings ecstasy into your soul.
tags: @rikunotfound shout out 2 my bb skye for helping me decide what to post LOL we luv munch ej ><
Synopsis/Plot: For the last few years, Y/N has treated her birthday like any normal day, something not worth celebrating. Something to get through. But, on the first day of her senior year at Grey City College, she meets EJ—a thoughtful classmate who finally sees her as more than “the deaf girl.” An unexpected close friendship blossoms between the two. As her birthday draws near, Y/N must decide whether she’s willing to let EJ make the day matter.
(College!AU: EJ x HOH!Fem!Reader)
Word Count: 7.76k-ish
Notes/Warnings: pure ultimate fluff, frequent switches between sign and spoken language, dialogue in sign is bold and italicized, spoken language is written normally, thoughts are italicized, talks of apathy surrounding birthdays (#relatable), negative birthday experiences (turned positive), mentions of exclusion and subtle ableism, use of emdashes, written in 3rd person, divider by @dollywons
While I am not a deaf or HOH person, I noticed the lack of disability representation/misrepresentations in the fanfic community as a whole. I’ve also noticed the lack of pure fluff in Lunéville Tumblr community (because y’all are some freaks😭). So, this is one fic to help fill those gaps. Please let me know if there are any misrepresentations or inaccuracies that can be corrected/edited. Thanks for reading!
XOXO, Dai <3
Y/N and EJ met during the first semester of their senior year at Grey City College.
GC474 — Senior Seminar.
On the very first day of class, they were assigned as partners.
Y/N sat in the front row of the lecture hall while her interpreter, Alyssa, sat directly in front of her, signing everything the professor said.
The moment she saw the sign for partner, her stomach dropped.
Over the past four years at Grey City College, she'd had plenty of group projects and assigned partners. And more often than not, she'd been met with the same reactions when her classmates realized they were paired with the "deaf girl."
The awkward pauses. The disappointed sighs. The barely concealed frustration.
Some students tried to hide it. Others didn't. Either way, she always noticed.
Then her interpreter signed a name. "E-J."
Y/N blinked.
"The professor asked him to raise his hand," Alyssa added.
Her gaze swept across the lecture hall until she spotted a hand raised a few rows back.
And—
Wow.
Y/N wasn't usually the type to get flustered over appearances, but EJ was easily one of the most attractive men she'd ever seen.
Dark boba eyes. Soft smile.
As if sensing her staring, EJ glanced toward the front of the room.
Their eyes met.
For a moment, neither of them looked away.
Because if Y/N thought EJ was beautiful, EJ was having a very similar problem.
He had not expected her.
Not with her warm smile and bright eyes that immediately made his heart skip.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
Slowly, the raised hand turned into a shy little wave.
Heat rushed to Y/N's face.
She quickly waved back before turning toward the front of the room again, hoping nobody had noticed.
Unfortunately, Alyssa had.
A quiet laugh escaped her. "He's cute."
Y/N immediately groaned. "Please don't start."
Alyssa's grin only widened. "Too late."
Once everyone had been assigned a partner, the professor dismissed the lecture and designated the rest of the class period for introductions.
"You'll be spending a lot of time together this semester," Alyssa signed the reminder from the professor.
Great. Just great.
Y/N barely had time to mentally prepare herself before EJ stood up and made his way toward the front of the lecture hall.
When he reached the empty seat beside her, he offered a small smile.
"Hi, I'm EJ."
At the same time, he lifted his hands and signed the greeting.
The movement wasn't perfect. A little hesitant. But it was sign language.
Y/N blinked.
Beside her, even Alyssa looked surprised.
"You know sign language?" Y/N asked.
A faint blush crept across EJ's cheeks.
"A little," he admitted. "I'm still learning."
Y/N stared at him for a moment.
In four years at Grey City College, she'd never been assigned a partner who knew any sign language at all.
Outside of her interpreter and the friends she'd made through the Deaf/HOH and Sign Language clubs, she rarely met hearing people who could sign.
Most relied on pen and paper. Others used their Notes app. Some expected her to read their lips the entire conversation. And there were always the people who spoke exclusively to her interpreter instead of speaking to her.
Yet here was EJ, sitting beside her and signing. Even if it wasn't perfect.
"I'm Y/N," she replied, signing and speaking at the same time.
Her spoken voice wasn't flawless, but over the years she'd become more comfortable using it when necessary. It often made conversations easier for hearing people.
EJ nodded, clearly paying attention to both her voice and her signs.
Then he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.
"Can I ask you something?"
Y/N nodded.
"What's the easiest way for you to communicate?"
The question caught her completely off guard.
Not “Can you read lips?”
Not “Can you hear me?”
Not “How are we supposed to do this project?”
“What do you prefer?”
Y/N couldn't remember the last time someone had asked that.
"I mostly use sign language," she explained. "At least on my end. But I can speak too if I need to. I can lip-read a little, and I have a cochlear implant, so you can talk normally if you want."
As she signed, EJ watched closely.
Whenever he missed something, he briefly glanced toward her interpreter before returning his attention to Y/N.
Not once did he direct the conversation away from her.
"Then I'll keep practicing sign language," he said.
Y/N couldn't help smiling.
"Really?"
"Yeah." He shrugged. "You're more comfortable signing, right?"
Y/N nodded.
"Then that's what I'll work on."
The smile on her face widened.
"Just promise you'll correct me when I mess up."
"You'll probably mess up a lot."
EJ laughed. "That's fair."
"And I'll teach you more signs."
"Deal."
He signed before holding out his hand. "Partners?"
Y/N looked at his outstretched hand for a second before taking it.
"Partners."
Three months later, spending Friday afternoons together had become routine.
The library's third floor had practically become Y/N and EJ's unofficial study spot. Most afternoons, one of them would claim their favorite table by the windows while the other grabbed coffee or snacks before settling in for a few hours of work.
Today was no different.
Y/N sat surrounded by notebooks and colorful index cards, carefully turning lecture notes into flashcards for an upcoming exam.
Across from her, EJ was focused on a paper, his fingers flying across his keyboard.
The comfortable silence between them wasn't awkward. It never was anymore.
Three months ago, Y/N had worried about being partnered with a stranger.
Now she couldn't imagine going through her final year without him.
EJ finished typing a paragraph before lightly tapping the table to get her attention.
Y/N glanced up.
"I'm getting hungry," he said. "How about you?"
She immediately set down her pencil. "Actually, yeah. I'm starving."
A grin spread across his face. "I've been thinking about Five Guys for the last hour."
Y/N laughed. "Only the last hour?"
"Okay, maybe the last three."
"That sounds more accurate."
"I even have enough money to splurge today."
"Ooh." Y/N nodded approvingly. "Now you're speaking my language."
"Five Guys?"
"No. Free food."
EJ laughed as he began packing up his laptop.
The two gathered their belongings while continuing their conversation.
Somewhere over the past three months, switching between sign language and spoken conversation had become second nature.
EJ's signing had improved dramatically since their first meeting. It was still far from perfect, but he practiced constantly, and Y/N had become his unofficial teacher.
In return, EJ had helped her grow more confident using her speaking voice. Y/N grew used to people being mean and condescending about her “deaf accent.” But with EJ, she had been talking more than she had in years just within 3 months of knowing him.
The arrangement had started as a classroom partnership. It hadn't stayed that way for long.
As it turned out, Senior Seminar hadn't even required a major project. Their professor's goal had simply been to pair students together for the semester—someone they could rely on, study with, or befriend.
In Y/N and EJ's case, it had worked almost too well.
They studied together. Ate together. Ran errands together. Spent hours hanging out in each other's dorms.
At some point, they had become each other's favorite part of the day.
EJ adjusted the strap of his backpack as he sat, waiting for Y/N to finish up.
"So, any exciting plans this weekend?"
Y/N shrugged.
"Not really. Just the usual."
"Same." EJ chuckled.
For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence as Y/N zipped her tote bag.
Then EJ casually added,
"Although Alyssa told me your birthday is next weekend."
Y/N stopped immediately.
Slowly, she turned to look at him.
"Betrayal."
EJ burst out laughing.
"That's your takeaway from what I said?"
"Absolutely."
"I'm texting Alyssa later and thanking her."
"Traitor and accomplice."
"I'll accept those charges."
Despite herself, Y/N smiled.
"Yes," she admitted. "My birthday is next Saturday."
The words came out noticeably less enthusiastic than they should have.
EJ's smile faded slightly.
"Wait."
He tilted his head.
"Why do you sound sad about that?"
Y/N looked away.
"Because birthdays aren't really my favorite thing."
His eyebrows furrowed.
"How is that possible? A Saturday birthday is literally elite."
She let out a small laugh.
"Maybe for other people."
Something in her voice made EJ's expression soften.
For the first time since the conversation started, he realized she wasn't joking.
Y/N shifted her tote bag higher on her shoulder.
"Let's just say..." she said quietly, "I've never really been a fan of celebrating big on my birthday."
Birthdays had always been complicated for Y/N.
Growing up, she watched classmates throw elaborate birthday parties every year.
There were bounce houses, sleepovers, laser tag arenas, skating rinks, and entire classrooms filled with invitations.
She'd come home from school and excitedly tell her parents about them, secretly hoping that one day she'd have a party like that too.
But money was often tight.
Most years, her birthday consisted of a homemade dinner, a cake, candles, a heartfelt card, and a few carefully chosen gifts.
And honestly? She loved those celebrations. She loved spending time with her family.
She loved how hard her parents worked to make every birthday feel special, regardless of what they could afford.
Still, a small part of her always wondered what it would be like to have a big party surrounded by friends.
That opportunity finally came during her freshman year of high school.
After months of saving, her parents told her they could afford to throw her a real birthday party.
The kind she'd dreamed about for years.
Y/N had never been so excited. She spent weeks planning everything.
The decorations. The food. The guest list. The playlist. Every detail mattered.
When she handed out invitations at school, she felt something she rarely allowed herself to feel. Popular. Included.
Normal.
Twenty-five people were invited. Almost all of them RSVP'd yes.
For the first time, she genuinely believed people wanted to celebrate with her.
Then the messages started arriving. One cancellation became three. Three became seven. Seven became fifteen.
By the morning of the party, her phone was filled with apologies and last-minute excuses.
Some sounded genuine. Others didn't.
By the time the party started, only four of the twenty-five invited classmates actually showed up. Four.
Y/N still remembered standing in the party room and glancing at all the empty chairs.
Trying not to count them. Trying not to notice how much food was left untouched. Trying not to let her parents see the disappointment written all over her face.
Her family did everything they could to make the day special. They laughed. They danced. They took pictures. They showered her with enough love to fill the room twice over.
But no amount of love could completely erase the sting.
Especially when many of the people who hadn't shown up were people she'd considered friends.
People whose birthdays she'd attended. People she'd supported. People she'd believed would do the same for her.
After that, she stopped asking for parties. Stopped expecting them.
When her parents suggested another birthday party, or even a graduation party, during her senior year of high school, she immediately declined. Once had been enough.
By then, most of the people she'd known as a freshman had drifted into other friend groups.
Y/N mostly kept to herself.
Sometimes she found herself missing how easy friendship had seemed when she was younger.
Elementary school hadn't cared about differences nearly as much.
High school did.
Whether people intended to or not, Y/N often felt like she was standing on the outside of conversations, friendships, and experiences everyone else slipped into naturally.
College wasn't entirely different.
She'd made a handful of friends through Grey City's Deaf/HOH and Sign Language clubs, and she was grateful for them. Truly.
But many of those friendships never seemed to extend much beyond meetings, events, and occasional conversations.
Nothing that felt permanent. Nothing that felt like home.
Because she'd chosen a college several hours away from her family, birthdays became even quieter.
Every year, she followed the same routine.
She'd buy herself a small cake from a local bakery. Order takeout from her favorite restaurant. Call her parents. Open whatever gifts and cards they mailed her. Reply to small birthday messages on social media. Then she'd spend the rest of the evening alone.
By now, birthdays no longer felt exciting. They felt like reminders.
Reminders of empty chairs. Missed expectations. The lingering fear that she cared about people far more than they cared about her. And loneliness.
EJ frowned.
"Well, I, for one, think you should celebrate."
Y/N rolled her eyes.
"EJ, it really isn't that serious."
"It is a little serious."
"No, it isn't."
"Y/N."
The look he gave her immediately made her sigh.
"EJ."
"It's our senior year," he argued. "You're telling me you've spent four years at Grey City and never done anything special for your birthday? Not once?"
Y/N shoved her hands into her jacket pockets.
"Does takeout and a cake count?"
"No."
She paused. "Then no."
EJ looked genuinely horrified. "That's actually depressing."
"Wow. Thank you."
"I'm serious."
Y/N laughed despite herself. "I survive somehow."
"Clearly not."
"You're being dramatic."
"I'm not being dramatic. You're treating your birthday like it's a mandatory dentist appointment."
"It's not that bad."
"It sounds exactly that bad."
Y/N shook her head.
"What's so special about birthdays anyway?"
EJ looked at her as though she'd just asked why water was wet.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean..." She shrugged. "It's just another day. The Earth keeps spinning. Life goes on."
The words came out casual. A little too casual. Because they both knew there was more to it than that.
After a moment, Y/N sighed.
"I already tried the whole big celebration thing once."
EJ's expression softened. "And?"
She looked away. "It didn't exactly work out."
That was all she said.
But it was enough. Enough for EJ to understand there was a story there. Enough for him to know he shouldn't push.
At least not right now.
"Okay," he said quietly.
Y/N glanced at him, surprised by how quickly he'd backed off.
Then he pointed a finger at her.
"But that doesn't mean you have to throw some huge party."
She groaned. "EJ—"
"I'm serious."
"You always say that right before saying something annoying."
EJ opened his mouth. Then immediately closed it.
"That's what I thought."
He ignored her.
"My point is, birthdays don't have to be huge. They don't have to be expensive either."
Y/N remained unconvinced.
"It's just about doing something special."
"I already do something special."
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do."
"You order takeout."
"I like takeout."
"You order takeout multiple times a week."
Y/N paused, then swatted his shoulder.
EJ laughed. "See? Even you know I'm right."
"I hate that you're right."
"I know."
The smug grin on his face made her want to hit him again.
"At least think about it," he said. "Please?"
Y/N hesitated.
For some reason, it was difficult to say no when he looked at her like that. Like he genuinely cared. Like her birthday actually mattered.
Finally, she relented. "Fine."
EJ's grin immediately widened.
"I'll think about it."
"Amazing."
"You look way too happy about that."
"I am."
Y/N shook her head. "You're ridiculous."
"And you're avoiding the possibility of having fun."
Before she could come up with a comeback, EJ stood up and started walking towards the library’s exit.
"Now come on."
"Where are we going?"
He looked back at her. "Five Guys."
"Oh, right."
"I'm starving."
"That's because you've been thinking about burgers for three hours."
"Closer to four now."
Y/N laughed and followed after him.
What she didn't notice was the small smile that crossed EJ's face.
Because while she had agreed to think about her birthday—
EJ had already started brainstorming.
It was nearly midnight when Y/N and EJ found themselves on the rooftop terrace of their apartment building.
The terrace was quiet at this hour, illuminated by strings of warm fairy lights that hung overhead. Beyond the railing stretched the campus and the surrounding city, glowing beneath the dark night sky.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
They sat side-by-side on a patio sofa, watching the lights below and enjoying the comfortable silence that had become second nature between them.
Eventually, EJ broke it.
"So... hypothetically."
Y/N immediately groaned.
EJ laughed. "What?"
She rolled her eyes and tipped her head back dramatically. "Every time you start a sentence with 'hypothetically,' I know you're about to ask something crazy."
"That's not true."
"It is absolutely true."
His grin widened. "Okay, maybe a little."
Y/N shook her head. "Go ahead."
EJ leaned back against the cushions.
"If you did decide to celebrate your birthday..." he began carefully, "...what would you do?"
Y/N stared out at the skyline. The honest answer? She had no idea.
"I don't know, EJ."
"Not even a little?"
She shook her head.
"I haven't really thought about it in a long time."
"How long is a long time?"
His voice became softer. Gentler.
"Years," she admitted quietly.
The answer seemed to surprise him.
A few moments passed before he spoke again.
"Have birthdays always been rough for you?"
Y/N considered the question. "No."
The answer came easier than she'd expected.
"They used to be okay."
EJ glanced toward her. "Used to?"
She nodded.
Another silence settled between them. This one felt heavier.
"What happened?" he finally asked.
Then, quickly, he added, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
Y/N swallowed.
Normally, she would've brushed the question aside. Changed the subject. Made a joke.
But this was EJ. And somewhere over the last three months, he'd become someone she trusted. So instead of speaking, she lifted her hands and began to sign.
"My birthdays were always pretty simple growing up."
EJ immediately shifted his attention to her hands.
"They were mostly family celebrations. Just me and my parents."
A small smile crossed her face.
"I loved them."
She paused.
"But I used to see other kids having huge birthday parties. Sleepovers. Arcades. Event halls. Friends showing up to celebrate. I wanted that too."
Her smile faded.
"So one year, my parents saved up enough for me to finally have a big birthday party."
EJ's expression softened.
"Freshman year of high school."
Y/N looked down at her lap.
"I invited twenty-five people. Most of them RSVP'd."
For a moment, she could almost see it again. The decorations. The food. The excitement she'd felt. The certainty that people actually wanted to come.
Then came the messages. The excuses. The cancellations.
"I think only four people showed up."
Her chest tightened even now. Years later.
"It's stupid."
EJ's eyebrows immediately furrowed and furiously shook his head.
Y/N ignored him and continued signing.
"I know it happened forever ago."
Her hands slowed.
"But it felt like a big deal at the time."
A lump formed in her throat.
"I always went to everyone's parties."
She blinked rapidly.
"I showed up for people because I never wanted anyone to feel forgotten."
The next sign came slower.
"But when it was my turn..."
She couldn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to. EJ understood.
The silence that followed was brief. Then she felt him move closer. Carefully. Giving her every opportunity to pull away if she wanted.
When she didn't, he slipped an arm around her shoulders and gently pulled her against his side.
"I'm sorry."
Y/N laughed weakly through the sting behind her eyes. "Why are you apologizing?"
Her voice sounded much smaller than she'd intended.
"You didn't do anything."
"No." EJ's voice was quiet. "But you shouldn't have gone through that."
The sincerity in his words nearly broke her.
Because he wasn't treating it like a silly high school memory. He wasn't brushing it off. He wasn't telling her to get over it.
He was simply acknowledging that it hurt.
And somehow, that made the tears even harder to hold back.
Y/N lowered her gaze.
Still tucked against his side, she lifted her hands and signed again.
The movements were smaller this time. More vulnerable.
"It was already hard enough being the deaf girl growing up."
EJ's arm tightened slightly around her shoulders. Not enough to overwhelm. Just enough to remind her he was there.
Y/N swallowed.
For years, she'd never said this part out loud. Not to anyone.
"I just..."
Her hands trembled.
"I just wanted to feel normal for once."
The confession barely left her before tears filled her eyes.
And for the first time since they'd started talking about birthdays, EJ finally understood.
This had never really been about the party.
It had been about belonging.
A few tears escaped before Y/N could stop them, slipping down her cheeks.
Immediately, EJ noticed.
Without saying a word, he tugged the sleeve of his sweatshirt over his hand and gently brushed away the tears.
The gesture was so simple. So natural. As if comforting her was the easiest thing in the world.
Y/N let out a shaky laugh. "Sorry."
EJ frowned. "For what?"
She shrugged weakly. "Crying over something that happened years ago."
"Hey."
His voice was firm enough to make her look at him.
"You're allowed to be hurt by things."
The knot in her chest tightened again. Not painfully this time. Just enough to remind her how much his words meant.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The city lights twinkled in the distance while a cool breeze drifted across the rooftop.
Then EJ sighed dramatically. "Well…"
Y/N narrowed her eyes. "Uh-oh."
"Nope." He pointed at her. "Now I'm really determined."
"Determined to do what?"
"Give you the best birthday you've ever had."
Y/N immediately groaned. "EJ."
"I'm serious."
A reluctant smile tugged at her lips as she rubbed at the corners of her eyes.
"Just... nothing too extravagant, okay?"
EJ's smile softened. The kind that always made her suspicious.
"No promises."
Y/N dropped her head into her hands. "I knew you were going to say that."
EJ laughed, pulling her a little closer against his side.
And for the first time in a long time, the thought of her upcoming birthday didn't feel quite so dreadful.
The next morning, EJ was awake far earlier than he needed to be.
By mid-morning, he was sprawled across his couch with his Notes app open, staring at a growing list titled: Y/N Birthday Ideas.
The problem was that every idea felt either too small or way too much.
Y/N had specifically said she didn't want anything extravagant. But she also deserved more than a slice of cake and takeout in her dorm room.
EJ sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
Why was this so difficult?
Actually, he knew exactly why.
Because this wasn't just anyone's birthday. It was Y/N's.
The girl whose smile could instantly improve his entire day. The girl who patiently corrected his sign language every time he messed up. The girl who somehow made every errand feel fun.
The girl he'd developed a very inconvenient crush on.
Which was exactly why he wanted everything to be perfect.
Not because he expected anything in return. Not because he was trying to impress her. He just wanted her to feel special. Wanted her to feel celebrated. Wanted her to have at least one birthday memory that didn't end in disappointment.
She deserved it.
For the next several hours, EJ bounced between apps.
Notes. Google. Pinterest. TikTok. Back to Notes. Then Pinterest again.
Every time he found an idea he liked, he'd write it down.
Every time he found one he loved, he'd immediately convince himself it was probably too much.
By lunchtime, his notes looked like the ramblings of a conspiracy theorist.
Birthday dinner? Movie night? Flowers?
(Too much?) (Maybe not?)
Ask Alyssa for help? Absolutely ask Alyssa for help.
He was halfway through another TikTok search when a video caught his attention.
A college student had surprised his girlfriend by decorating her dorm room.
Nothing outrageously expensive.
Just thoughtful.
Balloons. Streamers. A few gifts. Her favorite flowers. A small birthday cake. Photos and handwritten notes.
The girl's reaction was immediate. She started crying before she'd even made it halfway through the doorway.
EJ sat up straighter.
Then watched the video again. And again.
A slow smile spread across his face.
This was it.
Not the exact decorations. Not the exact gifts.
But the feeling. The thoughtfulness. The effort. The fact that someone had taken the time to make another person feel loved.
That was what he wanted for Y/N.
Immediately, he created a new note.
Operation: Best Birthday Ever
Underneath it, he began typing.
Y/N’s favorite flowers. Her favorite snacks. Cake flavors. Gift ideas. Decorations. Things Y/N had casually mentioned over the past three months.
Little details most people would've forgotten. EJ remembered all of them.
The list grew longer and longer.
Soon he was watching YouTube tutorials, scrolling through blogs, comparing decoration ideas, and adding entirely too many things to his online shopping cart.
At one point, he looked at the total price and physically winced. Then added another item anyway.
By the end of the afternoon, he leaned back against the couch cushions and admired his work.
Was he slightly overthinking this? Probably.
Was he already way more invested than a normal person should be? Definitely.
Did he care? Not even a little.
A grin spread across his face as he looked down at his growing plan.
This was going to be her best birthday yet.
Meanwhile, several floors above, Y/N sat curled up on her couch, absentmindedly staring at her laptop while her thoughts drifted elsewhere.
More specifically, they drifted toward EJ. And whatever birthday plan he was undoubtedly plotting.
A sigh escaped her.
I really hope he doesn't go overboard.
Knowing EJ, that hope felt unrealistic.
The thought made her smile despite herself.
Still, beneath the nervousness was something else. Something she hadn't expected.
Curiosity.
Because as much as she tried to pretend birthdays didn't matter, a small part of her couldn't help wondering what it would be like to actually enjoy one again.
To wake up excited. To spend the day making memories. To feel celebrated.
Just because she mattered to someone.
The thought made her chest ache unexpectedly.
Growing up, she'd always felt loved by her family. There was never any doubt about that. Her parents had spent years reminding her how cherished she was.
But friendship was different. Being chosen was different.
And if she was being completely honest with herself...
She wanted that too.
She wanted someone to be excited about her. To think about her when she wasn't around. To look forward to spending time with her the same way she looked forward to spending time with them.
A warmth crept into her cheeks.
Okay.
Maybe she wanted something even more specific than that.
Maybe she wanted that from EJ.
The realization wasn't exactly new. It had been growing quietly for months. Ever since the first day of Senior Seminar.
The first time she'd looked across the lecture hall and seen him raising his hand. The first time he'd sat beside her and introduced himself. The first time she'd discovered he was learning sign language.
That moment alone had nearly been enough to give her a crush. Everything afterward had only made it worse.
The late-night study sessions. The grocery runs. The random conversations that somehow lasted for hours. The way he always made sure she was included. The way he looked directly at her when she signed. The way he never treated communication as a burden.
Before she'd realized it, EJ had become her favorite person.
And somewhere along the way, friendship had stopped feeling like enough.
She wanted movie nights that were actually dates. She wanted to hold his hand without needing an excuse. She wanted to know what it would feel like to lean over and kiss him.
The thought alone made her immediately bury her face in a pillow. After a moment, she sat back up and groaned.
This was exactly why she'd been trying not to think about it.
Because the more she liked him, the more complicated everything became.
EJ was her best friend. The person she spent the most time with. The person she trusted most at Grey City.
And she had absolutely no idea whether he saw her as anything more.
For all she knew, he viewed her exactly the way she was supposed to view him. As a friend. A really good friend.
The possibility made her stomach sink.
So she'd done what she always did when things felt uncertain. She kept her feelings to herself.
It was easier that way. Safer.
Whatever was happening between them right now mattered too much to risk.
And honestly? She was already grateful for what she had.
Even if it wasn't everything she secretly wanted.
Her gaze drifted toward the window. A small smile tugged at her lips.
Whatever EJ had planned for her birthday was probably going to be completely ridiculous. Possibly expensive. Definitely overthought.
But for the first time in years, she found herself looking forward to her birthday.
Not because of the day itself. But because of him.
Because regardless of what happened, EJ cared enough to try.
And somehow, that meant more to her than he could possibly know.
Saturday arrived much faster than either of them expected.
The entire week leading up to Y/N's birthday had been absolute torture for EJ.
Not because of classes. Not because of assignments. But because he was trying—and failing miserably—to keep a secret.
Every day, he told himself he would act normal. And every day, he lasted approximately five minutes.
Y/N noticed immediately.
During one study session, EJ spent nearly an hour staring at the same paragraph of his textbook without turning a page.
When Y/N asked him a question, he responded with a single sign.
Another question. One-word answer.
A third question. A thumbs-up.
That was it. Y/N eventually lowered her notebook and narrowed her eyes.
EJ refused to look at her.
The harder he tried to hide his excitement, the more obvious it became.
Honestly, it was adorable. And entirely predictable.
After all, this was the same guy who had accidentally spoiled the gift she'd gotten Alyssa for National Interpreter Appreciation Day.
The second he'd mentioned it, Y/N had sent him the most offended glare imaginable.
EJ had immediately realized his mistake. Then spent ten minutes apologizing.
Needless to say, keeping secrets was not one of his strengths.
Which was exactly why Y/N knew something was coming.
Normally, she would've spent the entire week teasing him. Trying to trick him into talking. Poking holes in his terrible poker face.
But this time?
She wanted to be surprised.
So she let him suffer.
Saturday morning arrived.
At precisely 10 A.M., there was a knock on her apartment door.
Y/N opened it to find EJ standing there with a takeout bag in one hand and a drink carrier in the other. The smell alone made her smile.
"You got breakfast?"
"I got your favorite breakfast."
Y/N laughed and stepped aside to let him in.
A few minutes later, they were sitting at her kitchen table enjoying brunch from her favorite restaurant.
Everything felt surprisingly normal.
Until EJ suddenly slid his debit card across the table.
Y/N blinked. "What is this?"
"An assignment."
Her eyes narrowed. "EJ?"
Y/N immediately looked up. "EJ."
"Nope."
"EJ."
"Not listening."
"EJ."
He pointed dramatically toward the door before signing. "Go."
Her jaw dropped. "You are not serious."
"I am extremely serious."
"EJ, this is already too much."
"It's not."
"It is."
"It isn't."
Y/N groaned. "EJ."
He crossed his arms. "Y/N."
She knew she'd lost. Still, she tried one more time.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Like... really sure?"
"Yes."
"Positive?"
"Y/N."
She laughed. "Okay, okay."
Then she paused. "Wait."
EJ immediately regretted whatever was coming next.
"What?"
"You remembered me talking about needing new clothes?"
"Of course."
Y/N blinked. She'd mentioned that weeks ago.
Something about her body changing over the last couple of years and half her wardrobe fitting differently now. “Second puberty” and all. (A/N: ifykyk)
He remembered that?
The realization warmed her chest.
"Go enjoy your birthday," EJ said.
"Fine."
She grabbed her purse. "Fine."
Then she pointed at him. "If I come back and you've done something ridiculous—"
"I'm offended you'd even suggest that."
Y/N stared at him. He stared back. Neither of them believed that statement.
"Bye, EJ."
"Bye, Y/N."
The second the apartment door closed behind her, EJ sprang into action.
Showtime.
Thankfully, he wasn't alone.
Since Alyssa was currently a graduate student at Grey City, she'd agreed to help with the setup.
For the next three hours, the two of them hauled supplies between apartments like they were preparing for a covert operation.
Boxes. Bags. Decorations. Gifts. More decorations. An unreasonable amount of tape.
By the end of the first hour, Alyssa had completely stopped asking questions.
The second hour was spent inflating balloons. Or rather, EJ inflated balloons while Alyssa handled the decorating.
"Thank God for air pumps," EJ muttered.
"I was just thinking the same thing."
Soon, balloons covered the living room ceiling. On one wall, metallic letters spelled out: HAPPY BIRTHDAY.
And, of course, every decoration featured Y/N's favorite colors. EJ had made sure of that.
Once the decorations were finished, Alyssa left to pick up the cake and candles while EJ made a final snack run.
By the time she returned, everything was coming together perfectly.
The cake sat waiting in the kitchen. Her favorite snacks were arranged neatly in a gift basket. A bouquet of her favorite flowers rested on her bed beside several gift bags.
The entire apartment felt warm. Celebratory. Loved. Exactly what EJ had wanted.
Three hours later, he and Alyssa stood in the doorway admiring their work.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Alyssa smiled.
"You did good."
Relief immediately washed over him.
"You think so?"
"I know so."
As she gathered her things, she slid a gift bag and birthday card into the pile on the bed.
Then, casually, she added, "You better tell her how you feel."
EJ nearly dropped the roll of tape in his hand. "What?"
Alyssa looked at him blankly. "What do you mean, 'What'?"
"How do you know?"
Now it was her turn to look offended.
"EJ."
He winced.
"Your crush is painfully obvious."
"Is it?"
"It absolutely is."
EJ opened his mouth. Then closed it. Because unfortunately, she was right.
Alyssa laughed. "I was in undergrad once too, you know."
EJ buried his face in his hands. "This is embarrassing."
She patted his shoulder sympathetically. "For what it's worth, I think you have a shot."
EJ's head immediately snapped up.
Before he could ask another question, she was already opening the door. "Good luck."
Then she pointed toward the decorations. "And tell Y/N I said happy birthday."
With that, she disappeared into the hallway. Leaving EJ alone.
And suddenly very aware that in a few minutes, Y/N would be coming home.
Sure enough, about ten minutes later, EJ heard footsteps and the faint sound of keys jingling outside Y/N's apartment door.
Immediately, he sprang off the couch.
His heart began pounding. Way harder than it should've been.
He quickly ducked behind the wall near the entrance, trying—and failing—to calm himself down.
A second later, the door opened. Y/N stepped inside. And gasped.
Her shopping bags nearly slipped from her hands.
The apartment looked completely different.
Balloons floated against the ceiling. The decorations filled the room with her favorite colors.
The giant "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" display stretched across the wall.
Streamers. Confetti. Lights. Everything.
Before she could fully process it, EJ jumped out from behind the wall.
"Surprise!" He signed and spoke at the same time.
Y/N froze.
For a moment, she didn't say anything. She simply stood there. Looking. Taking everything in.
Slowly, she stepped farther into the apartment.
Her eyes moved from the balloons to the decorations. Then to the lights. Then back to EJ.
The room felt warm. Full of love.
And suddenly, it hit her. All of it.
The planning. The effort. The timing. The fact that someone had done all of this for her.
Her bottom lip trembled.
EJ's smile immediately disappeared.
Tears filled her eyes. Within seconds, they spilled over.
"Oh no."
EJ crossed the room almost instantly.
"Oh no, no, no."
He wrapped his arms around her.
"What's wrong?" he asked quickly.
"Is it too much? I knew I should've scaled it back. I knew the balloons were probably too many. Or maybe it was the confetti—"
"EJ."
His rambling stopped immediately.
Y/N pulled back just enough to look at him. Her hands remained around his waist.
"It's perfect."
The words came out through tears.
EJ blinked. "What?"
"It's perfect."
She laughed shakily and looked around the apartment again. "This is beautiful."
Fresh tears appeared.
"Oh no." EJ reached for her again.
"No, these are happy tears."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
"Positive?"
Y/N laughed. "Yes, EJ."
Relief washed over him.
A moment later, she buried her face against his shoulder again. "Thank you."
The words came out muffled. But EJ heard them anyway. His arms relaxed around her.
"You're welcome."
For a while, neither of them moved. They simply stood there holding each other.
And for the first time in years, Y/N didn't dread her birthday. She actually felt gratified.
Eventually, they pulled apart. Though not without EJ carefully helping wipe away a few lingering tears.
Once he was satisfied she wasn't about to cry again, he clapped his hands together.
"Okay."
Y/N immediately laughed. "What?"
"Important question."
His expression became completely serious. "Do you want cake first or gifts first?"
Y/N stared at him. "There’s gifts?"
EJ looked horrified. "Of course there’s gifts."
"EJ, you literally gave me your card and sent me shopping."
"And?"
"That wasn't enough?"
"No."
Y/N dropped her head into her hands. "You are ridiculous."
"I've been told that before."
She laughed. "Cake first."
"Excellent choice."
EJ immediately led her toward the kitchen.
The birthday cake sat waiting on the counter. Two candles glowed on top.
As he lit them, he began singing Happy Birthday. Softly. And a little off-key.
Y/N smiled the entire time.
When he finished, she closed her eyes. Made a wish. And blew out the candles.
"Okay," EJ announced. "We can eat cake later."
"What?"
"Gifts."
"EJ."
"Gifts."
Before she could protest, he was already guiding her toward her bedroom.
Y/N slowly pushed open the door. And stopped.
Again.
The bouquet of her favorite flowers sat on her bed. Beside it was a basket overflowing with her favorite snacks. Several gift bags surrounded them.
Her eyes immediately filled with tears.
"EJ."
"Oh, come on."
He rushed to her nightstand, grabbed the tissue box, and hurried back. "I just got you to stop crying."
Y/N laughed through her tears. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize."
He handed her a tissue. "I'd probably be emotional too."
That only made her laugh harder.
Once the tears finally subsided, she settled onto the bed and began opening gifts. One by one.
A new purse. A restock of her favorite perfume. Makeup. Skincare. Self-care essentials. Books she'd mentioned wanting to read months ago.
And finally, a LEGO set.
Y/N stared at it. Then looked at him.
"EJ."
"What?"
"You hate building LEGO sets."
"I don't hate them...I dislike them."
Y/N laughed. "You bought this for us, didn't you?"
EJ tried and failed to hide his smile. "Maybe."
Her chest tightened.
Because every gift told the same story.
He listened. He remembered. He cared.
By the time she'd finished opening everything, Y/N was overwhelmed all over again.
"EJ..." She carefully set the final gift aside.
"This is amazing."
His smile softened. "I told you I wanted to make this birthday special."
"It definitely is."
For a moment, they simply looked at each other. Then EJ tilted his head.
"So..."
Y/N immediately knew that look. "So what?"
He grinned. "Did I successfully cancel out all previous negative birthday experiences?"
Y/N groaned. "You can't be serious."
"I am very serious."
She shook her head, laughing. Then launched herself at him.
"Yes, you dork!"
EJ barely had enough time to react before she tackled him backward onto the bed.
His laughter filled the room.
And for the first time in a very long time, Y/N's birthday felt exactly the way it was supposed to.
Happy.
Later that night, EJ insisted on preserving one of Y/N's birthday traditions.
Takeout.
Because, according to him, "traditions are important."
So they ordered food, curled up on the couch, and spent the evening watching Y/N's favorite movie.
By the time the credits rolled, the clock was creeping closer to midnight.
The decorations still hung throughout the apartment. A few balloons had started drifting lower toward the floor. And the apartment felt warm in a way it never had before.
Now the two sat in the kitchen sharing slices of birthday cake.
For once, the silence between them wasn't filled with studying or homework.
Just contentment.
At least on EJ's end.
Y/N, meanwhile, couldn't stop thinking.
Not just about the act itself, but the fact that someone had spent weeks planning something just to make her happy. The fact that someone had looked at her and decided she was worth all that effort.
When they finished eating, EJ gathered their plates. "I got it."
"You always say that."
"And yet I always do it."
Y/N rolled her eyes affectionately as he carried everything to the sink.
She followed him into the kitchen a moment later and hopped onto the counter beside him.
For a while, she simply watched him. Watched him rinse the plates. Watched him hum quietly to himself. Watched him exist.
A smile tugged at her lips. "EJ?"
"Hmm?"
He didn't look away from the sink.
"Why did you do all of this for me?"
A small smile appeared on his face. "I already told you."
"You wanted to make my birthday special."
"Exactly."
Y/N stared down at her hands. "No."
Her voice was quieter this time.
"I mean... why me?"
That got his attention. The water stopped running. Slowly, EJ turned around.
Y/N swallowed. "I know you said you weren't going overboard."
A nervous laugh escaped her.
"But this was..."
She looked around the apartment.
"It was a lot."
EJ immediately looked concerned. "Too much?"
"No."
The answer came so quickly it made him pause.
"Not too much."
She shook her head. "It was perfect."
Her voice cracked slightly.
"That's what makes it hard to understand."
EJ frowned.
Y/N looked toward the floor.
"All of this..."
Her fingers twisted together in her lap.
"...for little old me?"
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Immediately, EJ's expression softened. He crossed the kitchen and stepped between her knees.
Close enough that she could see every detail of his face. Every beauty mark. Every lash. Every ounce of sincerity in his eyes.
Gently, he tilted her chin upward.
"Look at me."
Y/N followed.
"EJ—"
"No."
His voice was firm. Not angry. Just grounded.
"Y/N."
The way he said her name made her heart ache.
"I did all of this because it's you."
Her breath caught.
"You listen to people. You show up for people. You care about people."
His thumb brushed lightly against her cheek.
"You make everyone's day better without even realizing it."
Y/N felt her eyes beginning to sting again.
"And honestly?"
A nervous laugh escaped him.
"I think you’re my favorite person."
The confession settled between them. Warm. Honest. Terrifying. Beautiful.
Y/N stared at him.
Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she reached up. Placed both hands on his face. And kissed him.
For a second, EJ froze.
Not because he didn't want to. Quite the opposite, actually.
Because he'd imagined this happening so many times that it almost didn't feel real.
Then he kissed her back. One hand settling gently at her waist. The other finding her cheek.
The kiss was soft. Careful. The kind that felt like a question being answered.
When they finally pulled apart, Y/N's eyes widened.
Reality crashed into her all at once.
"Oh my God…EJ, I am so sorry."
"What?"
"I don't know why I—"
She immediately started rambling.
"EJ, I wasn't thinking and—"
This time, it was EJ who interrupted. Not with words. But by leaning forward and kissing her again.
The second kiss wasn't rushed or uncertain. It was deliberate. Grounding. Like he'd spent months wanting to do exactly that.
When they finally pulled apart again, both of them were smiling.
Neither one seemed entirely capable of speaking. For several seconds, they simply stared at each other.
Then EJ lifted his hands.
"Was that okay?" He signed the question carefully.
Y/N's face immediately softened. Still slightly stunned, she nodded.
"Yeah."
A smile spread across EJ's face. "Yeah?"
"Definitely yeah."
He laughed. The sound filled the kitchen.
Then he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. This time, Y/N hugged him back without hesitation.
EJ pressed a kiss to her forehead.
And for a moment, neither of them wanted to let go. Eventually, he glanced at the clock.
12:03 A.M. Technically, her birthday was over.
A grin tugged at his lips.
"So."
"So?"
EJ squeezed her hand.
"Best birthday ever?"
Y/N looked around the apartment. Then back at him.
At the boy who had somehow managed to change everything she thought she knew about birthdays.
And maybe a few other things too.
A smile spread across her face. "Best birthday ever."
currently thinking about cat hybrid fem!yuma when she goes into heat
warnings: SMUT mdni, kitty hybrid fem!yuma, WHERE MY LESBIANS AT, strap fucking, oral (reader rec), fem!reader, teensy bit of degradation
Oh but she's always so loving towards you, your darling girlfriend, your darling kitty who wraps her tail around you possessively whenever one of her friends dares to get closer. (She once hissed at her friend Taki, whose puppy ears drooped afterwards, she was only trying to get pets from you after all, but Yuma made sure to remind her who you belonged to).
When she's needy, she'll knead—her hands pressing against your chest or your hips, claws carefully retracted. She does it when she's content, too, especially when you're tangled together afterward, her cheek pressed to your heart. She'll knead the blanket, your shoulder, whatever's closest, purring like a motor. But her paws frequently (naturally) gravitate towards your pretty little tits.
Yuma's tail has a mind of its own too. When you're reading or watching something, it'll curl around your wrist or your ankle or, a particular favourite of hers, your thigh. When she's feeling possessive, it tightens, and if someone walks by, it flicks once, sharp, like a warning. She doesn't even realize she's doing it half the time.
She loves to be petted—loves it—but she'll never ask directly. Instead, she'll tilt her head into your hand or bump her forehead against your palm, or simply stare at you with those big, luminous eyes until you take the hint. And when you scratch behind her ears, she melts, eyes half-lidding, a soft chirrup escaping her lips.
And when she makes love to you?
Oh she writes poetry onto your skin—slow, each kiss a syllable, each touch a line break.
She always starts at your collarbone, pressing her lips there like she's testing the rhythm of your pulse, then trails downward, pausing at the dip of your sternum as if savoring a stanza she's memorized. Her fingers trace invisible verses along your ribs and when she finds a spot that makes you shiver, she purrs—low and rumbling—and repeats it, like she's found a rhyme she wants to keep.
“Are you my good girl, baby?”
Yuma's voice is a low, vibrating rumble that resonates deep in your chest. She looks up at you, her pupils blown wide, nearly swallowing the iris of her eyes. There is a hunger in her gaze that goes beyond affection—the primal drive of her heat, a feverish need that turns her usual tenderness into something far more demanding.
She doesn't wait for an answer. With movements that tell no lie that she's a cat in all her glory, she shoves you back onto the bed, her body pinning yours for a fleeting second before she slides down. Her tail lashes behind her, a whip of excitement, before it snakes around your waist, tightening with a firm, grounding grip that anchors you down to the mattress.
When Yuma reaches your thighs, she rips your underwear aside with her sharp teeth, her breath hot and erratic against your sensitive skin. The moment her tongue makes contact, it is not the slow stroke of a poet—it is the desperate hunger of a predator.
"Mmm, you smell so sweet…" She moans against your folds, her voice muffled and wet. "So fucking sweet for me. I can taste how much you want this."
Yuma dives in, her tongue broad and flat, licking you from the bottom of your pussy aaaall the way up to your clit in one long, drenched stroke. You gasp, your back arching off the sheets, but Yuma’s tail only tightens around your waist, pulling you back down down down, forcing you to take every bit of the friction. She begins to eat you out with a frantic, sloppy intensity, her tongue swirling and darting, coating you in thick, hot saliva.
"Ah! Yuma—!" You cry out, your fingers instinctively diving into her soft hair.
As you grip her locks, pulling her head closer, your knuckles brush against the base of her sensitive fluffy ears. Yuma lets out a sharp, high-pitched chirrup of pleasure, a sound of pure ecstasy that only makes her more aggressive.
She loves the pain, the way you claim her even as she dominates you. She responds by burying her face deeper, her nose pressing into your heat, sucking your clit into her mouth with a powerful, rhythmic vacuum.
"Yeah juuust like that baby…." She mumbles, her voice thick with lust between wet, slurping sounds. "Tell me how good it feels to have your kitty eating you. Tell me you're my little slut."
You can't even form words, only broken moans and whimpers as she relentlessly licks and sucks. The sound is explicit—the wet, squelching noise of her tongue working over your swollen folds, the rhythmic slap of her cheeks against your thighs.
Yuma is in the throes of her heat, and while her own body is screaming for release, the act of tasting you, of feeling you tremble and leak against her tongue is the only thing that satiates her.
You begin to squirm, your hips jerking in a desperate attempt to find the perfect angle, but Yuma’s tail is an iron band around your waist. She holds you pinned, her purring now a loud, guttural engine that vibrates through your entire lower body.
"Stay still." She commands, her voice a dominant growl. "A kitty needs to lick every drop, you know that, don't you sweetheart?"
Your girlfriend accelerates, her tongue flickering with lightning speed against your clit, swirling and pressing, driving you closer and closer to the edge. You are sobbing now, your fingers tightening in her hair, pulling her head firmly against you as the tension coils tight in your gut.
"Yuma…..'m gonna—!"
"Do it." Yuma moans, looking up for a split second, her face glistening with your juices. "Cum for me, my good girl……yeah fucking soak me darling….."
With one final suction of her lips and a sharp flick of her tongue, you shatter. Your orgasm hits like a tidal wave, your body convulsing violently. You scream into the quiet of the room, your muscles clamping down on her mouth as you cum all over her.
Yuma stays there, drinking you in (kitties don't waste a single drop), her tongue continuing to lap at you even as the peaks of your pleasure subside. She eventually pulls back, a thin string of saliva and cream connecting her lip to your clit. She looks utterly satisfied, her eyes hooded and glazed, a smug, possessive smile on her lips as she licks her lips clean.
"Good girl…" She whispers, her tail finally loosening its grip to curl affectionately around your ankle. "Absolutely perfect."
Oh but of course, what sort of a caring kitty would she be if she left her beloved after just one orgasm?
Yuma is a creature of appetite and while your juices have sated her hunger for a moment, the fire of her heat is still roaring, demanding a deeper kind of satisfaction.
God that strap game of hers, one could even go so far as to say it was better than anything heaven above or hell below could ever provide. But Yuma was your purgatory, wasn't she? A beautiful, purring torment who knew exactly how to keep you suspended between ecstasy and agony.
Yuma pulls back just enough to reach for the bedside table, her movements as fluid and predatory as that clawed half-part of her. When she returns, she’s wearing a harness, the leather straps hugging her hips, supporting a thick strap-on that hums with a low, menacing vibration. The device is designed for mutual pleasure, sending shivers of electricity back into Yuma's own body while it promises to tear through your remaining defenses.
"You can give me one more, yeah baby?" She growls, her voice dropping an octave. She shoves your legs wide, exposing you completely. "You're still so wet for me—we sure you're not in heat too?"
Yuma settles between your thighs with the painful patience of a cat who knows exactly what she's doing, the vibrating head of her strap brushing against your swollen clit, sending a jolt of electricity through your nerves that makes you gasp. She leans forward, her weight pressing you deeeeep into the mattress, and then, with a slow thrust, she slides inside you.
"Ah… fuck….." Yuma moans, her head falling forward. The vibration is humming through both of you now, a shared frequency of lust that makes your vision blur.
Your girlfriend fucks you nice and slow, each inch of the silicone stretching you, filling you until you feel like you might burst. She moves with a rhythmic, agonizing precision, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in with a wet slap.
"Hold onto me." She commands, her voice a purr. "Just hold onto your kitty."
You obey, your arms locking around her neck, pulling her chest flush against yours. As she continues the slow, grinding pace, Yuma begins to nuzzle into you.
She rubs her sensitive little kitty ears against your chest, the soft fur brushing against your skin as she chases that specific feeling. She loves—no—she's fucking obsessed with your chest—the scent of your skin, the way your heart hammers against your ribs—and she rubs her head against you with a needy intensity, purring so loudly that you can feel the vibration in your own lungs.
"You're so soft… so fucking perfect," she whimpers, her dominance momentarily flickering into raw, desperate need. "nghhh—fuck—n-need to be inside you forever, oh fuckkkk…."
The friction of the vibrating strap combined with the slow, deep penetration is too much. You start to shake, your internal muscles clamping tight around her strap, which only makes Yuma groan and push deeper, her hips grinding in a circular motion that hits every single nerve ending.
"That's it… take it all," she whispers, her breath hot against your neck. "You're going to break for me again, aren't you, pretty girl?"
Yuma picks up the pace just slightly, the vibrations intensifying as she finds the sweet spot, hammering into you with a sudden, possessive urgency—a predator claiming her prize. Her tail wraps firmly around your waist once more, ensuring that every thrust is felt to the fullest.
"Cum for me, pretty girl."
The build-up is excruciating, a coil of tension that snaps with violent force. You scream her name, your body arching off the bed as a massive, toe-curling orgasm rips through you. It's the most intense release of the night, an explosion that leaves you sobbing and breathless.
As you peak, Yuma lets out a long, guttural cry, her own body shuddering violently. The release of your climax, combined with the intense stimulation of the vibrator, finally breaks the fever of her heat. She collapses on top of you, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her heart racing in sync with yours.
She stays there for a long time, her face buried in the crook of your neck, her purring slowing down to a contented, sleepy thrum. The heat has broken, leaving her spent and soft, her possessive grip turning into a tender embrace.
"My good girl," she murmurs, licking a stray tear from your cheek. "Mine. All mine." You feel her words sink into your skin like ink, you're her favourite poem after all.
Afterward, when she's sated and drowsy, Yuma grooms you—licking your shoulder, your cheek, your knuckles, smoothing down your hair with careful fingers. It's her way of saying mine, mine, mine, and you let her, because you are.
And you always will be.
For all nine lives.
fin.
A/N: fem yuma have my heart soul and pussy im finally freeing you from my drafts i hope this will keep you guys fed till i lock in for deer euijoo yay which is probably going to be never because i am highly dead and wish to sink into my bed never to arise again BUT we have fics to complete so we're not doing that
divider by @kodaswrld
&team taglist: @eu1joo @7yataki @frenchkisstheabyss @yumangel @nichozzystuffs @blueuijoo @pglpblm @ikigaijo @antonh0lic @dearvampyr @riri4andy @tokunodoll @sunsoomi @makizdoll @solairemelo @cece0710 @/someonerandom909 @saturnsfae @cottonauroras @kpoplover-00005 + Shoot me an ask or comment to be added!
⤷ in which you drunkenly tease your shy, nerdy neighbor for your own amusement, only to find yourself wanting much more than a reaction out of him
nsfw! use of yn, fem!reader, dom!reader, virgin!euijoo, shy/nerdy!euijoo, mentions of drinking, unprotected sex, p in v, oral (m recieving), riding, hints of voyeurism / public sex, not proofread, wc: ~3.3k
you stumble into the communal kitchen inside your dorm building, heels in one hand, keys in the other, mascara slightly smudged in the way you pretend is intentional. your head is buzzing pleasantly from a long night of drinking.
your only goal right now is to make instant ramen without burning the dorm down. so you don’t even notice him at first, standing quietly in front of the kettle. big hoodie. gray sweatpants. round glasses. soft posture. of course he’s making tea.
you only realize he's there when you almost walk into the counter.
“shit,” you mutter, catching yourself, then turning your head.
oh. it’s that boy. the quiet one from your floor. the one who always looks away quickly when you pass by him in the hallways like he's scared of you.
he looks over, and immediately looks like he regrets it. “…hi, y/n.”
god, he’s so awkward.
you grin. “hi there."
you drop your stuff on the counter with far more noise than necessary, tearing open the ramen packet. euijoo keeps sneaking curious, nervous glances. you pretend not to notice... for approximately five seconds.
“so,” you say, leaning back against the counter, watching him openly now, “what's your name again? and how do you know mine...?"
he looks mildly startled, like this interaction has taken an unexpected turn. “e-euijoo, and uhm, we met before...”
"euijoo,” you echo, testing it out. “cute. i'll remember it this time”
his entire body seems to short-circuit at the compliment. it’s incredible. euijoo looks at you like you’ve just descended from heaven.
“so, euijoo,” you continue casually, like this is normal, like you’re not slightly drunk and far too entertained, “quiet night in?"
he glances at the kettle, then back at you, "uh yeah. just making tea."
“i see that,” you say, fascinated. “it’s kind of late for tea, isn’t it?”
he shifts slightly. "it helps me study."
“at two in the morning?”
“..yeah.”
you stare at him for a beat. then grin.
“wow,” you repeat, drifting a little closer to him, “you’re actually real?"
"real? what do you mean?"
“like,” you gesture vaguely, “one of those people who actually does all their assignments and drinks tea and has their life together.”
his expression flickers somewhere between confusion and mild panic. he smiles, shrugs, and avoids all eye contact as he says, "i mean, i don’t really have my life together...”
you laugh. “please. you’re making tea to study on a saturday night, euijoo. i'm just getting home from drinking myself into oblivion. you're already leagues ahead of me.”
your microwave hums behind you. the kettle clicks softly as his water finishes boiling. the tiny kitchen is filled with warmth that feels weirdly intimate. you lean back against the counter again, studying him shamelessly.
“so,” you say, voice lighter, curiosity slipping easily into mischief, “what bars do you usually go to?”
he blinks so hard his glasses shift slightly. “…bars?”
you laugh. it’s almost comical how long it takes him to process the question. “yes, euijoo. bars. those magical places with alcohol and edm music.”
“i don’t really go to bars.”
you tilt your head. “oh? more of a house party guy?”
he shifts his weight awkwardly, forcing a half-smile. "not really.”
of course not.
“no parties?” you ask, mock horror dripping from every syllable. “wow.”
no response. he looked nervous like he was holding his breath.
“wow,” you repeat, then giggle, “you’re actually such a dork.”
“…yeah,” he says quietly, almost like an apology. his ears turn pink. and for some deeply confusing reason, that doesn’t turn you off. it only makes you more curious.
“so what do you do in your free time?” you ask. this was gonna be good.
euijoo wore his anxiety in the tight line of his shoulders. he hesitates like it’s a trick question. “…study. mostly.”
you snort. “pathetic.”
“…and i read sometimes.”
“oh my god,” you grin. “it gets worse.”
and he laughs softly, surprisingly. that made your core flex. you couldn't figure out why.
you watch the way his long fingers curl tightly around his mug and the way he still can’t quite hold eye contact with you for more than a second at a time.
and it’s ridiculous. actually ridiculous. because this painfully shy, tea-drinking, absolutely-not-your-type boy should not be doing anything for you. and yet, there’s something about it. something about the shyness and the softness and the way he looks like he’d cum in his pants if you stepped even an inch closer.
you squint and scan your eyes over every inch of him. why do i find this dork so hot? it makes no sense. you hookup with frat boys, athletes, guys with zero emotional depth. definitely not mr. right's, but you have a brand.
and euijoo... euijoo is standing here blushing because you’re breathing in his general direction. looking at you like you’re something far more interesting than you actually are. and for some deeply irritating reason, it’s working.
you found yourself wanting to know how many layers were hiding underneath all that anxiety. for reasons you couldn't explain, you wanted to be the one to peel them back first.
“god,” you murmur, half to yourself, half to him, “this is so weird.”
he looks alarmed. "what is?”
“nothing,” you say, smiling crookedly. even though it is very much something.
“um, so... rough night?” he asks suddenly.
you raise an eyebrow. “wow. are you making conversation with me, euijoo?”
he looks embarrassed. "sorry.”
“no, don't be sorry.” you say through a laugh. “ but uh, yeah, rough night. went out to the bars just to come home alone at two am.”
you step closer just enough. he smells clean, like laundry detergent and jasmine.
“god,” you murmur, leaning slightly into his space, “you’re so cute. i just wanna—”
you don’t finish the sentence. instead, your hand glides forward and grabs the collar of his hoodie. he freezes.
and there it is. that look. that wide-eyed, slightly dazed expression. you’ve seen that expression before, usually right before things get interesting.
you step even closer. his entire body goes stiff, of course.
“why do you look so nervous, euijoo?” you murmur, barely pretending.
he shakes his head too fast. “i’m not.”
you lean in slightly, close enough now to whisper, breath grazing his ear. he stops breathing.
“you’re very nervous.”
he swallows again like that’s the only motor function he has left.
“...i’m not,” he repeats, voice softer now. a terrible lie.
“no?” you murmur. and instead of pulling away, you stay there. hovering. close. too close. your free hand lifts slowly, coming up to rest on his waist, fingers slowly curling against his hoodie.
“euijoo,” you whisper again, softer this time, almost curious, “is this your first time being this close to a girl like me?”
“…no.” but his voice wavers just a little. and it’s adorable.
your fingers begin to drift lazily from his sleeve… down his arm… slowly, like you’re exploring something that already belongs to you. he visibly tenses, every inch of him hyperaware now.
without breaking eye contact, your hand keeps moving. lower. his breath catches because he knows. because there’s no way he doesn’t know. because your fingers are trailing lower. lower. lower. until they hover right at the waistband of his pants. it's agonizing.
you tilt your head slightly and stare at him. wide eyes, flushed cheeks, lips slightly parted. completely ruined by nothing more than proximity.
“…euijoo,” you murmur softly, fingers barely grazing the fabric, “you’re really bad at lying.”
he doesn’t respond. doesn’t speak. doesn’t move. he just stands there breathing uneven.
you study his face for a second. the panic. the anticipation. the way his gaze keeps flickering helplessly to your lips.
“look at you,” you whisper, almost amused.
still nothing. so you step even closer until there’s barely space left between your bodies. your voice drops, “do you want to kiss me?”
his breath catches audibly, his brain absolutely scrambling for survival, “…i—”
he can’t even finish a sentence, but he’s nodding. you smile softly. “that’s what i thought.”
and then, without dragging it out another second, you kiss him. and euijoo — poor, doomed, completely unprepared euijoo — melts. his body is still stiff as a board, but he's squeezing his eyes shut like this is something unreal happening to him.
it’s almost embarrassing how easily he gives in. how quickly all that nervous tension turns soft beneath your mouth.
you reach and grab his arms to wrap them around your waist. you pull back just slightly, enough to watch him struggle to recover. he looks completely dazed, lips parted, eyes still half-lidded, like you’ve just sent him into shock.
cute. god, it’s so cute.
you reach forward, hands sliding up his arms, then up his chest and up to hook a finger beneath the bridge of his glasses and slide them off slowly. he squints almost immediately, eyes softer now without the lenses between you.
you tilt your head, studying him. somehow, without the glasses, he looked even prettier. his lashes were longer than you expected, framing warm round eyes that kept darting everywhere except your face. he tenses instantly as you stare. of course he does.
“just relax,” you murmur softly, "god, don't tell me that was your first kiss."
he looked away, so nervous you wondered if his heart was beating loud enough for you to hear. "no, i-i kissed a girl in middle school. it was actually a dare but-"
"just shut up," you said. you guide his arms until his hands settle awkwardly at your waist. he hesitates like he’s unsure what to do, so you press closer.
“there,” you whisper, "you can touch me as much as you want. i won't bite, unless you want me to."
and this time when you kiss him again, he kisses back. hesitant at first. nervous. like something in him has finally started to let go. you kiss him harder with no hesitation now. his fingers tighten at your waist. that makes you smile against his mouth. so he does have something in him.
your bodies press closer, his breathing already uneven, already wrecked. and then your hand slides downward, brushing warm skin, moving lower. lower. until they hook lightly into his waistband. his breath catches so sharply it almost sounds painful.
you pause. just for a second. your fingers press slightly, not moving yet, just waiting.
“is this okay?” you ask.
without hesitation, without even pretending to think, he answers. “yes.”
too fast. too breathless. too honest. then, quieter, almost desperate,
“yes… please, just, a-anything."”
you feel heat build up between your thighs at that. dear god, you wanted to badly to finally make him whimper under your touch. to make him forget how to breathe because you made him feel so good. to ruin him so that all he could think about was you.
but then, of course, reality sneaks back in.
“…but,” he adds quickly, “what if someone walks in?”
you grin and lean in close, lips brushing lightly against his ear again.
“don’t worry.” your fingers slip just slightly past the waistband. “that’s what makes it fun.”
maybe its your words or maybe its the way you said it, but something in euijoo breaks. his shaky hands fumble at the waistband of his sweatpants desperately, untying the strings like they were suffocating him. you pull back just enough to watch, a slow smile spreading across your lips as he struggles with the fabric.
his hard cock springs out of his sweatpants, pink, throbbing, and already dripping in precum. its perfectly long and pretty. he glances up at you, eyes wide like he's seeking your approval.
"pretty," you whisper. that earns you a small smile from him, like he was relieved.
with slow movements just to tease him, you kneel down in front of him. you take his full length in your mouth, staring up at him the whole time. he's staring down at you too, mouth widening slowly as he inhales.
"oh my god—" he reaches back to grip the counter behind him, biting his lip to suppress the moans trying to escape his mouth. he chants under his breath, "oh my god. oh my god. oh my god."
cock still stuffed in your mouth, you giggle, and the vibration seems to set him off even more. his legs wobble and he throws his head back. you quicken your pace.
"jesus, you look so pretty." he whines, closing his eyes because if he looks at you like this any longer he won’t survive it. then instinctively grabs a fistful of your hair to try and stop you. you lean back, strings of spit clinging from his dick to your mouth.
"hm? gonna cum already?"
his cheeks turn redder than before. "well... yeah. sorry."
you stand up, giggling again. so fucking cute.
"i like it." you tell him, "you're so sensitive. makes me want to touch you more. see just how good i can make you feel."
euijoo looks completely undone, panting. without breaking eye contact, your fingers slide to the hem of your shirt. you peel the fabric away slowly, deliberately, fully aware of what you’re doing to him. there’s something almost intoxicating about the way he watches like the simple act of you undressing is far more overwhelming than anything that’s happened so far.
"s-should i,” he asks quietly, voice rough, uncertain, “lock the door?”
you pause, jeans halfway off. “what, you scared someone might see?”
his expression tightens instantly. because yes. obviously yes. but he still glances toward the door. still torn between panic and you.
“no one’s coming in here at this hour.” you lean in, close enough that his attention snaps right back where you want it. you pull your jeans off completely. “and even if they were…”
you step closer, brushing lightly against him. euijoo doesn’t look away. he can’t. his eyes track every motion with a kind of helpless intensity, breath already uneven before the fabric even begins to fall.
then your panties hit the floor. the silence that follows is almost deafening. euijoo shudders.
“i don’t think you’d stop me.”
his hands twitch at his sides. “…i—”
but whatever thought he was trying to form disappears the second you touch him again. you grab his broad shoulders and mumble, "stand behind me."
you turn around and position yourself at the counter, hands planted on the cold marble. you lift the back of your shirt so that he can easily access you. he gently rests his hands on your bare ass, hesitating.
"are you sure?" he asks, "i... i've never done this before."
"i'm sure as long as you're sure," you say as you look over your shoulder at him, "i don't care that you're a virgin, euijoo."
he nods, "i really want to. you're b-beautiful. i just don't want to disappoint you. i don't know what i'm doing..."
there’s something painfully sincere in the way he says it.
“disappoint me?” you repeat softly, turning around fully now to face him again. he has no choice but to look at you.
your fingers lift, resting lightly against his jaw. his skin is soft and glowy, not a blemish in sight.
“the fact that you’re this nervous?” your thumb brushes slowly against his skin. “is already getting me off.”
his eyes widen. “…really?”
“i‘ve always wanted to be someone’s first… corrupt them… you want that, don’t you?”
“…i do. badly.”
you smile softly against his lips. “then you’re not disappointing me. not even close.”
and then you kiss him again, slow this time, but infinitely more dangerous. without breaking apart, you gently lead him to the table and push him into a chair. you're straddling him, your dripping pussy dangerously close to his cock now.
"just let me guide you, okay?" you say. he nods quickly.
you shift your hips forward slowly, letting your hands rest against his warm chest. his breath shakes the second you settle onto his cock, his entire body tensing beneath you. you settle down onto him inch by inch.
every small shift seems to send another visible wave of sensation through him. he lets out the faintest whimper, his grip tightening on your waist. his eyes flutter shut for a second before snapping back open, like he can’t decide whether this is too much or not enough.
"that feels so good," he groans.
"yeah?" you can feel your tight walls squeezing around him. "you want me to go all the way down, don't you?"
"yes... yes, please," his head leans back when you do. then, you bounce, and god, the face he makes, totally giving into you, only makes you wetter.
you go faster, the sensation rolling through your entire body and stealing the air from your lungs in quiet, uneven breaths.
his fingers are digging into you now, "oh my god, i don't think i can last much longer, but..."
your rhythm falters for a second, "but what?"
"but i don't wanna stop yet." he says honestly.
pure, unfiltered want.
a small smile curves across your lips, touched with something that almost feels like affection.
“yeah?” you murmur quietly.
“yeah,” he breathes.
your pulse spikes instantly.
“good,” you whisper. “i’m not done with you yet.”
"can you... go back to the counter? the way you were before? i want to try that." he asks sweetly, licking his lips. that earns a smile from you. he was warming up to you. you wish he'd tell you every dirty thought he had, every burning fantasy he'd been dreaming about trying. you oblige, standing and leaning on the counter again.
he comes behind you, positioning himself, holding onto your hips as a guide. you hear him take a deep breath.
and then... he slides into you. you gasp immediately. it feels even better, the angle hitting you deeper. he stalls for a moment, getting used to the sensation.
then, he ruts himself into you. its desperate and a little uneven, but that's what makes it so much better. maybe he doesn't have a clue what he's doing, but all he knows is he wants you so bad.
"yeah, just like that," you coo.
he goes faster. the delicious sounds of your skin slapping begins to fill the room over both of your moans. it sounds like he's trying to say something, but it all comes out as breathy, strained grunts.
he presses his chest flat to your back and wraps his arms completely around your torso. the sudden closeness sends warmth flooding through you as he clings onto you. euijoo buries his face against your shoulder, breathing you in like he can’t quite get enough of you.
"fuck, euijoo, you're gonna make me cum," you say, oddly proud.
"really? do i keep going?" he asks like he's genuinely surprised.
"yes. god, yes, shut the fuck up and keep going." your back arched further with each strained word. that makes his pace quicken even more. he's pounding into you with a certain hunger that you didn't know he had in him.
"just a little— ahh," your words dissolve into moans, your back arching as the sensation peaks without warning. every nerve in your body lights up with a sharp, pulsing intensity that feels almost impossible to contain. euijoo’s name falls from your lips in a broken whisper.
just after you reached your climax, he pulls out frantically, whimpering loudly as his cum spilled out onto the floor between your legs. for a moment, he breathes hard while he's resting against your back and takes it all in.
then, euijoo slowly opens his eyes, like he’s afraid it was all just a dream. his arms are still wrapped tightly around you. his chest rises and falls unevenly against your back, fingers still slightly tense.
“…holy shit,” he whispers softly like his brain is still catching up to reality. “that was…” he trails off, clearly unable to find a word big enough.
“…good?” you murmur softly.
euijoo nods instantly. he breathes out, “good. really good. did... did you like it?"
you couldn't help but laugh, "was my orgasm not proof enough? yes, euijoo, you weren’t as pathetic as i thought you’d be."
you slither around to face him, then melt into his chest. his embrace is warm and strong and sweeter than you expected.
"o-okay. that’s good," his arms tighten around you again like he has absolutely no intention of letting go anytime soon.
