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prlan · 1 month ago

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ALWAYS : GOJO SATORU

gojo is an actor, a famous one, but he’s also been your boyfriend for a few years. you have an argument with him when he agrees to have a fake relationship with his costar without even telling you.

warning. established relationship! gojo, non-sorcerer! gojo, angst to comfort, reader thinking about leaving him.

gojo satoru, the name on everyone's lips, the face lighting up screens and hearts alike. after his series, jujutsu kaisen, hit the airwaves, his fame exploded. people couldn’t get enough of him—the magnetic charm, that boyish yet strikingly handsome face, his tall frame that seemed to demand attention, and that playful personality that left fans swooning. soon, he was everywhere, his every move followed, every glance analyzed. the media loved him, and so did the world. and it wasn’t long before rumors began to stir, fans shipping him with his co-star, utahime, the chemistry they shared on screen now fueling wild speculations.

but you— you loved him before all of that. before the fame, before the cameras, before the world started calling his name. you'd been his since high school, standing by his side through the quiet moments when it was just the two of you, when the world was smaller, and it felt like nothing could touch what you had. in all those years together, not once did you doubt him. not once did you question his love or his loyalty. satoru was yours, and you were his, in a way that felt unshakable, unbreakable.

until tonight.

you’re sitting on the couch, in the living room of your shared apartment, the place that always felt like home when he was around. the soft glow of the television flickers across your face, but the news it brings feels like a punch to the gut. there, on the screen, are headlines you never thought you'd see—rumors swirling about satoru dating utahime. the photos, the whispers, they feel like shards of glass cutting into you. your heart sinks, heavy and cold, and the world around you seems to crumble, falling to pieces at your feet. the trust you once held so tightly begins to tremble, slipping through your fingers like sand.

your chest tightens, breath shallow, as tears threaten to spill. it’s a slow ache, this feeling of betrayal—an unraveling of everything you thought you knew. but even with the panic swirling inside, even as the overthinking begins its cruel work, you hold onto a fragile hope. this has to be a misunderstanding, a twisted story spun by the media. you tell yourself to wait, to breathe, to stay strong until he comes home, until he can explain it all away.

hours tick by, and the apartment feels too quiet, too still. the silence presses in, and every minute that passes drags you deeper into doubt. finally, the door clicks open. it’s late—almost one in the morning. you watch as satoru steps through the threshold, his movements slow, his eyes glazed, the unmistakable scent of alcohol hanging heavy in the air between you.

satoru’s familiar smile lights up his face the moment his eyes land on you, that same warm, loving expression you’ve seen countless times. even through the haze of alcohol, there’s a softness in his gaze, a look of pure adoration as he leans against the doorframe for a moment, taking you in. despite the lateness of the hour, despite the swirling rumors, his eyes still hold that undeniable love, as if nothing in the world could change what he feels for you.

he steps closer, his movements slow but deliberate, and before you can say a word, his long arms wrap around your smaller frame. the embrace is warm, familiar, his body pressing against yours with a kind of gentle urgency. satoru buries his head in the crook of your neck, nuzzling into your skin like he always does when he needs comfort or closeness. his hold tightens around you, as if anchoring himself to you, as if the weight of the world outside disappears when he’s in your arms.

“i missed you,” he mumbles against your neck, voice low and slightly slurred from the alcohol. his breath is warm, his touch soothing, and for a moment, despite everything, everything seems like it’s as it should be between the two of you.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, the smile on his face wider, his gaze a bit more unfocused. he cups your face, his thumb gently tracing the line of your cheekbone. “you’ve been waiting up for me, dollface?”

you meet his blue eyes, those familiar pools of endless blue now a bit dull, clouded by the alcohol and the late hour. they still carry warmth, but beneath it all, you can see the exhaustion and the weight of something unspoken. his thumb traces your cheek with such tenderness, and for a brief second, it almost feels like everything is normal, like the rumors you’d seen and the doubts gnawing at your chest were just figments of your imagination. but as you nod silently, unable to bring yourself to speak, the lump in your throat grows heavier.

you watch his face, his smile a little too wide, his gaze unfocused, and your heart tightens. you want to ask him, demand the truth, but the words stay trapped inside, tangled with fear and uncertainty. instead, you just nod again, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as you fight the urge to cry. the silence between you feels thick, and the world seems to hang in the balance, teetering between the love you’ve always known and the fear of what might come next.

satoru’s smile falters for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he can sense the tension in the air. he can see the way you cling to his shirt, the tears threatening to spill from your eyes, and there’s a brief flicker of guilt in his expression. but he masks it quickly with another, more forced, smile.

“hey,” he murmurs, his thumbs gently wiping away the tear that escapes down your cheek. “why the tears, dollface?”

he can senses your inner turmoil when you don’t answer, the tension in your body, the way you cling to the fabric of his shirt tighten like a lifeline. the haze of alcohol makes everything hazy, his thoughts muddled and his reactions slower, but he can feel the storm brewing inside you. he leans his forehead against yours, his warm breath ghosting against your skin.

“dollface,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a mix of gentleness and intoxication, “i can see that pretty little head of yours overthinking. talk to me.”

your breath catches in your throat as he leans his forehead against yours, his closeness making it harder to suppress the storm raging inside you. his warmth, the familiar scent of him mixed with alcohol, wraps around you like a blanket, but it does nothing to soothe the ache in your chest. his words, so gentle yet muddled by intoxication, only deepen the conflict inside you. his voice pulls you in, but it’s the nagging thought in the back of your mind, the one you’ve been trying to ignore, that finally breaks through.

with trembling hands, you pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your grip on his shirt tightening even further, knuckles white from the strain. the words hang in the air between you, unspoken but heavy. your heart pounds in your chest as you force yourself to ask the question you’ve been dreading.

“did you... did you cheat on me with utahime, ‘toru?”

your voice is barely above a whisper, shaking with fear and vulnerability. you can feel the weight of the question settle into the space between you, and for a moment, it feels like time stops. the tears that had been threatening to fall finally spill over, your chest tight with the possibility that everything you had believed in, everything you had built together, could shatter with his next words.

satoru's reaction is immediate, his eyes widening as the weight of your words sinks in. without hesitation, he quickly shakes his head, his hands gripping your shoulders firmly but gently, grounding you both. there's a slight frown on his face, the alcohol clouding his thoughts, making it harder for him to process what you're feeling, but his urgency to reassure you is clear.

“no, no, no,” he mutters, his voice firm despite the slur, “of course not. i’d never do that to you, never.” his words come out rushed, almost desperate, as if the mere idea of it hurts him. he leans in closer, his blue eyes more focused now, searching yours for understanding.

“i love you too much, dollface. you have to know that,” he continues, his voice softer but filled with sincerity. “there’s no one else, not utahime, not anyone. it’s just you.”

his thumbs brush against your shoulders, his frown deepening as he tries to break through the haze of alcohol. he pulls you into him again, hugging you tightly, as if holding you close would somehow prove his words, his body trembling slightly against yours with the weight of his emotion.

you swallow hard, forcing a tight smile as you look up at him, your voice barely steady. “then why did i see the news, satoru? about you dating utahime?”

the question slips from your lips, though the lump in your throat makes it harder to speak. you’re trying to keep yourself from breaking, to hold back the tears threatening to fall, but the ache in your chest won’t ease. every part of you feels fragile, like you’re on the edge of crumbling.

you watch his expression carefully, searching for something—an explanation, a sign that what you saw wasn’t real. but even as you hold onto the hope in his words, the hurt gnaws at you, and you wonder if your heart can handle the truth, whatever it may be. your grip on his shirt loosens slightly, but you can’t stop the tremble in your fingers as you push through the overwhelming emotion rising within you.

satoru's expression falters again, his grip on you tightening, the alcohol making it harder for him to control his feelings. there's a mix of guilt and frustration in his eyes, a conflict warring within him. “it’s not what you think…” he starts, his words slightly slurred, “it’s all just... it’s all for the press, you have to understand…”

he’s trying to make you understand, to make you see past the headlines and rumors, but the complexity of the situation and the amount of alcohol in his system makes it difficult. he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you with a desperate kind of possessiveness. “it’s all for publicity, doll,” he repeats, his voice a bit more pleading now. “they’re pushing a narrative, but you know me. you know what we have. i would never betray you… never.”

he leans his forehead against yours again, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you believe him. the scent of alcohol is strong, but beneath it, you can still smell the familiar scent of his cologne, the one that’s always so comfortingly ‘him’.

his words swirl around in your mind, a mix of desperation and pleading, but they don’t quite settle. the weight of his arms around you feels heavier now, almost suffocating, and as his forehead presses against yours again, you find yourself pulling away, pushing him back gently but firmly. your eyes narrow, the confusion and hurt bubbling up inside you, and before you can stop yourself, the question bursts out.

“what? so you and utahime are just pretending to date? for the media?”

your voice trembles with disbelief, the words sharp and cutting. the idea feels like a betrayal all on its own, the thought of him allowing the world to believe in something so intimate with someone else. you’re struggling to keep your emotions in check, trying to hold on to the last thread of composure you have left, but the pain in your chest only grows stronger.

your tears threaten to spill again, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. the ache in your throat tightens as you wait for his response, your heart pounding with a mixture of anger and desperation for the truth.

satoru’s eyes widen further, the flicker of surprise obvious in his expression. he almost looks taken aback by your bluntness, the alcohol impairing his ability to react in a more composed manner. he stares at you, the weight of your words and the look in your eyes making it clear that you’re not buying into his explanation.

he tries to step closer to you again, his hands reaching out to touch you, but you step back, maintaining the distance between you two. he’s not used to you being this confrontational, this insistent, and for a moment, he looks almost lost, the situation overwhelming him in his current state. he swallows hard, the guilt and confusion clear in his eyes, as he runs a hand through his hair.

“i... it’s not like that,” he finally manages to stutter out, the words coming out shaky. “it’s just for appearances, for the sake of our careers... it’s not real. i swear, dollface. you have to believe me...” his voice is pleading, desperate even, as he tries to make you understand. the sight of you pulling away is like a punch to his gut, the fear of losing you obvious in his expression.

your frown deepens as his shaky explanation sinks in, but it doesn’t soothe the ache in your chest. instead, his words make the hurt sharper, and your heart feels heavier with each passing second. you take a step back, creating more distance between you, and the pain you’ve been holding inside finally spills over into your voice.

“you didn’t even bother to talk to me about this, satoru,” you say, your voice low but thick with emotion. “i had to find out like everyone else… through the news.”

the weight of your words hangs between you, and the hurt is unmistakable in your tone. your fingers tremble at your sides as you fight back the tears you’ve been holding in. “do you know how that felt? seeing you… like that, with her, and not even having a clue?” you swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it harder to speak. you want to believe him, to hold onto the love you’ve always shared, but the betrayal of being left in the dark cuts deep.

satoru swallows hard, the impact of your words hitting him like a ton of bricks. the guilt on his face is almost tangible as he watches you step away, the hurt and disbelief in your eyes more apparent than ever before. his hands fall to his sides, the helplessness of the situation evident in his expression.

“i...” he starts, his voice trembling a bit, “i wanted to tell you... but i couldn’t...” the excuse sounds hollow even to his own ears, a weak attempt to justify something that shouldn’t have happened. he wants to reach out, to close the distance between you, but he knows that the hurt he’s caused won’t disappear with just a touch. his shoulders slump, his eyes dropping to the ground as he tries to find the right words, but nothing seems right.

“i swear, dollface...” he tries again, his voice barely above a whisper. “it’s not real. she means nothing. you mean everything. you have to believe me... you have to...”

the vulnerability in his gaze is raw and desperate, the pain in his voice mirroring your own. despite the alcohol clouding his thoughts, the fear of losing you is clearer than ever. “i just didn’t want you to be upset.”

a bitter scoff escapes your lips before you can stop it, the sound cutting through the tension in the room like a knife. you cross your arms, the sarcasm lacing your words as you look at him with an almost mocking smile, your emotions spilling out in a rush.

“oh, well now that i know the truth, i’m just sooo happy, baby,” you say, your voice dripping with false enthusiasm. “euphoria, really. thank you for this… for such happiness.”

you let out a sharp laugh, rolling your eyes as your hand moves dramatically to your chest, as if to emphasize how ‘grateful’ you are. your expression is anything but happy, the hurt still etched into your features as you step closer to him, your fingers barely brushing his arm in a gesture that feels more like a mockery than comfort.

“thank you for letting me find out this way,” you continue, your voice faltering slightly beneath the sarcasm, the real pain slipping through your facade. “it’s exactly what i needed.” even as you stand so close, your words create a distance between you both that feels impossible to bridge.

your sarcasm hits him like a slap across the face, your words cutting deep. he flinches, the mixture of hurt and guilt in his eyes almost palpable. your expression is harsh, your smile laced with bitterness, and the false enthusiasm in your tone is a stark contrast to the pain evident in your gaze.

as your fingers brush against his arm, a slight shudder runs through him. he can sense your hurt, the anger behind your mocking expression, and the way you step closer, almost mockingly, only makes him feel worse. “stop…” he murmurs, his voice low and choked with emotion.

“stop it, dollface,” he tries again, his hands reaching out to grab your arms in a desperate attempt to keep you from further pulling away. “please, listen to me... it’s not what you think... i never meant to hurt you…” his voice trembles, the alcohol-fueled emotions leaving him more vulnerable than usual. he can’t stand the way you’re looking at him—with pain and disappointment in your gaze. he wants to fix this, to take it back, but the damage has already been done.

a breathy chuckle escapes you, but there's no warmth in it, only bitterness. you pull away slightly from his grip, your eyes hardening as you meet his pleading gaze. “of course you didn’t mean to hurt me,” you say, your voice low and sharp, “ou’re just a coward, satoru. a coward who only thought about himself.”

your words are harsh, but they flow out before you can stop them, your frustration and heartbreak spilling over. “you didn’t even consider how i’d feel, did you? seeing it in the news, instead of hearing it from you.”

you shake your head, taking a step back as the weight of it all crashes down on you. “you thought you could protect me by keeping me in the dark? you thought it would be easier for me to find out that way?” your voice cracks at the end, the anger you’ve been holding onto breaking under the pressure of your hurt.

you look at him, eyes burning with unshed tears, but you refuse to let them fall. “you always said i was the most important person in your life, but you couldn’t even give me the respect of telling me the truth.”

every word you throw at him feels like a dagger to the heart, each one sharper and more painful than the last. the alcohol has made him weaker, less in control, and your words cut through him, exposing all of his flaws and mistakes.

“i... i just wanted to protect you,” he stammers out, his grip on you loosening, his fingers trembling. “i didn’t want you to worry... i didn’t want to hurt you...” he knows his excuses sound hollow and weak, the guilt weighing heavily on him.

you take another step back, your eyes narrowing as his words hit you, hollow and weak. your heart aches, but anger swells inside you, pushing the sadness deeper. “protect me?” you repeat, your voice low and filled with disbelief. “protect me from what exactly, satoru?”

your gaze hardens as you stare at him, your lips trembling, trying to hold back the rising emotion. “from seeing you pretend to date someone else? from the truth? from feeling anything at all?”

your words cut through the air, and as you stand there, a mixture of hurt and frustration twisting inside you, you realize the weight of what he’s done. “how could you possibly think hiding this from me would make anything better?” your voice cracks slightly, but you swallow down the lump in your throat, refusing to break in front of him.

he winces at the sharpness of your tone, the pain in your voice making him ache. he knows how wrong he was, how stupid his reasoning sounds when confronted with the truth. he tries to find the right words to explain, to make you understand, but everything he thinks of sounds empty and weak.

“i… i thought if i didn’t tell you, you wouldn’t worry…” he answers, his voice low, almost a whisper. “i thought i could handle it… i thought i could keep you out of it…”

“i… i’m so sorry,” he falters, his eyes pleading with you, begging for your forgiveness. “i didn’t want to hurt you… i never wanted to hurt you. i just didn’t want you to worry. i wanted to keep you safe from the bullshit the media loves pushing, and i thought i could handle it on my own… but i was wrong, dollface. i was wrong about everything. please… please don’t hate me…”

your breath hitches, and despite trying to hold it back, the tears finally spill down your cheeks, hot and relentless. you stare at him, your voice trembling as you ask, “did you even think about me when you made that decision, satoru?”

each word carries the weight of your heartbreak, the betrayal sinking deep. your chest feels tight, your mind spinning as you search his face, his eyes—desperately looking for the love that was always there, the love that once felt so undeniable.

but now, standing before him, everything feels fragile, uncertain. “do you even love me?” you whisper, the question breaking you as it leaves your lips. the vulnerability in your voice is raw, and the silence that follows feels deafening.

you search his eyes for the truth, for something—anything—that can make this pain go away. but all you see is a man who hurt you, and you're not sure if he even knows how much.

the moment your question leaves your lips, you see the change in satoru's expression. it's as if the words struck him harder than any blow ever could. the haze of alcohol vanishes from his eyes, replaced by a raw, searing pain. for a split second, he looks shattered, but then, in an instant, his jaw tightens, and you can see anger flicker across his face.

“you are joking, right?” his voice is low, almost incredulous as he stares at you, his blue eyes sharper than before. “don’t you dare question my love for you.” his tone grows more intense, almost desperate, his hands reaching for you again. “i love you more than anything. more than anyone. everything i do, i do for you.”

his frustration simmers just below the surface, and you can feel it in his grip, his voice trembling not from the alcohol but from emotion. “how can you even ask me that after everything we’ve been through? i’ve given you everything i have—my heart, my life, my soul—and you think i don’t love you?”

he searches your eyes, his gaze pleading, desperate for you to understand, to believe him. but beneath that anger, you can still feel the weight of his guilt, the fear that you might not.

he takes another step towards you, closing the small gap between you. his hands tighten around your arms, his fingers digging into your skin as if he's afraid to let you go. “don’t you dare question my love for you,” he repeats, his voice low and intense. “i would never… i would never hurt you if i didn’t have to, dollface. you have to believe me.”

he looks at you, something between desperation and anger in his eyes, as if he’s begging you to see past the lie, to understand that he loves you more than anything in the world.

you've never seen him like this before—almost feral in his desperation to make you believe him. he's always been controlled, composed, but the thought of losing you has cracked that façade. he looks lost, raw, and desperate for you to see that he loves you, more than life itself.

your voice breaks as you softly ask, “then why are you doing this, satoru?” your words come out between the sobs, fragile and laced with the kind of pain that cuts deeper than any wound.

his grip tightens slightly, his fingers pressing into your skin, but you barely feel it, consumed by the flood of emotion. the tears continue streaming down your face, each one a reflection of the confusion, the heartbreak, the betrayal you feel.

“if you love me… why?” your voice is a whisper now, almost pleading, as if you're hoping for an answer that will make all of this hurt go away. you look up at him, searching for something, anything that will make sense of this, but all you see is the same mix of guilt and desperation in his eyes.

you want to believe him, to believe in the love you once thought was unshakable, but right now, all you can feel is the ache in your chest, the sharp sting of doubt that you never imagined you'd have to face.

“god damn it, dollface,” he mutters, his voice choked with emotion. “how can i make you believe me? how can i show you that i love you more than anything? i’d move mountains, i’d burn the world down…”

he leans forward, his forehead now touching yours, as he tries to get you to see the truth in his eyes. his voice is low and intense, his hands tighten around your arms, desperate to hold onto you, to make you understand how much he loves you.

the sight of your tears, the sound of your voice cracking with emotion, cuts through him like a knife. he reaches up to wipe away your tears, his touch gentle despite the intensity in his eyes. he can see the skepticism, the doubt in your eyes, and it only fuels his desperation.

“i would do anything for you, dollface,” he murmurs, his voice cracking. “anything. i’d give up everything, i’d burn the world down if it would make you believe me. just tell me what to do. tell me, and i’ll do it.”

you meet his gaze, searching his eyes for something—anything—that could make the pain go away. his words echo in your mind, the promise of doing anything for you, but it all feels so distant, unreachable. the hurt inside you runs too deep, and no matter how much you want to push it away, it keeps creeping in, clouding your thoughts.

your chest feels tight, and the silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. after a moment, your head falls against his chest, the steady beat of his heart only making the ache in yours worse. you stay like that, in the quiet, trying to think of what you want—what you need—but it’s too much. the hurt, the betrayal, it’s all too overwhelming.

with a shaky breath, you push him away gently, your hands trembling as you do. “i need some time,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, but firm. “i need to be alone for a while.”

his hands drop from your arms, his eyes widening slightly as you take a step back. you don’t meet his gaze again as you add, “i’ll sleep in the next room... for now.” and without waiting for a response, you turn and walk away, the weight of your decision pressing down on you with every step you take.

as the door closes behind you, the silence in the room is deafening, leaving only the sound of your heart pounding in your ears.

satoru stares at the door, his hand still outstretched, his mind struggling to process what just happened. the room feels empty without you in it, the silence is deafening, and the weight of what he’s done crashes down on him. he sinks onto the couch, his head in his hands, the full impact of your request—your need to be alone—hitting him with a force he didn’t expect.

he’s never been without you before, not like this. the thought of you being alone in the next room, your hurt, your pain... it’s almost too much to bear.

he sits like that, motionless, for what feels like hours, his mind a maelstrom of emotions. regret, guilt, worry, desperation—it’s all there, swirling together in a toxic mix that feels like it’s tearing him apart.

he thinks about going to you, of trying to make you understand, to apologize, to do anything to make things right. but deep down, he knows that you need this, that he needs to give you this time, even if it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

the front door creaks open, and you hear it close with a soft thud, followed by the sound of a car pulling away. you sit on the edge of the bed, your heart heavy as silence envelops the room. tears stream down your face, each drop a reminder of the pain from the night before. despite the exhaustion weighing down on you, sleep eludes you as the memories replay in your mind, the hurtful words echoing like a haunting refrain.

eventually, the weight of your emotions takes its toll, and you succumb to sleep, your body finally giving in to the fatigue that has consumed you.

when you awaken, the sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow in the room. glancing at the clock, you realize it’s nearly noon. the realization hits you hard—satoru hasn’t returned. a pang of hurt slices through you as you consider that he left without even saying goodbye.

as you move to the kitchen, a swirl of worry settles in your chest. where did he go? did he sleep well? did he eat anything? the questions multiply, and the thought of him with someone else makes your stomach churn. you can’t shake the image of him with utahime, the fear gnawing at you like a relentless predator.

you pour yourself a cup of coffee, the familiar scent providing a momentary comfort amidst the chaos of your thoughts. as you sip slowly, your mind races through countless scenarios—what if he’s out drinking again? what if he’s hurting? the worry overwhelms you, threatening to pull you under.

just as you’re lost in your thoughts, you hear the unmistakable sound of keys clattering onto the kitchen counter. your heart races as you blink, trying to process the moment. slowly, you turn your head, and there he is—satoru.

he stands in the doorway, his disheveled appearance a stark contrast to the confident man you know. his blue eyes, usually so vibrant, are ringed with redness and framed by dark circles, a testament to a sleepless night. his silver hair is tousled, sticking up in all directions as if he’s just rolled out of bed.

“satoru…” your voice comes out as a whisper, the mix of relief and apprehension washing over you. he shifts on his feet, looking vulnerable and exposed, the weight of unspoken apologies hanging heavily in the air.

“i… i’m back,” he says, his voice hoarse and shaky. he takes a hesitant step towards you, the air thick with tension as he searches your face for any sign of how you’re feeling.

you stand there, coffee cup cradled in your hands, unsure of how to react. the memories of the previous night flash through your mind—his hurtful act, your tears. despite the urge to run to him, to wrap your arms around him and forget everything, a part of you holds back.

satoru stands there, his heart thumping loudly in his chest as he watches the myriad of emotions play across your face. he looks weary, exhausted—physically, emotionally, mentally. the distance between you feels like an ocean, the air heavy with tension and unsaid apologies. he can see the war raging in your eyes, the hesitation—the doubt. and it hurts, more than he thought possible.

he takes another step forward, his hand reaching out slightly, hovering in the air as if he’s afraid to touch you, to cross that invisible line that’s been drawn between you.

he opens his mouth to speak, his mind racing through everything he could say—everything he wants to say. he wants to apologize, to explain, to make things right. he wants to hold you, to be held by you, to be close to you again. but the words seem to evaporate before they even reach his lips.

finally, he simply says your name. just your name. and the way it falls off his tongue is like a plea, a silent plea for you to understand, to forgive.

your heart races as you look up at him, his tired eyes filled with guilt and longing. the way he says your name—soft, almost reverent—feels like a plea for understanding, a desperate attempt to bridge the chasm that has formed between you. but despite the sincerity in his gaze, the memory of last night lingers, a painful reminder of betrayal.

when he takes your hand, the warmth of his touch sends a jolt through you. you want to feel comforted, to lean into him and forget the hurt, but the thought of him pretending to be with another girl cuts deep. the mere idea of it feels like a heavy weight pressing down on your chest, suffocating you.

“i… i don’t think i can stand it,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you struggle to keep your emotions in check. “seeing you with someone else in public... pretend to be all couple.”

satoru's heart clenches at your words, the pain in your voice slicing through him like a knife. he knew it was coming, knew you’d bring it up. it’s just one of the many things he’s been dreading this morning. but hearing it from you, seeing the look in your eyes, it makes everything so much more real, so much more painful.

he tightens his grip on your hand, his thumb tracing small circles on your skin, an attempt to soothe, to comfort. “i know,” he responds, his voice almost a whisper.

satoru's heart aches as he sees the hurt in your eyes, the pain mirrored in your expression. the weight of your words hangs heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the chasm that has grown between you. he takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, to gather his thoughts.

“that’s why,” he begins, his voice barely above a whisper, “i spoke to the company earlier.” he pauses, searching your gaze for understanding. “they were furious.”

he cups your cheek gently with his free hand, the warmth of his palm a stark contrast to the cold reality of the situation. “i never wanted you to be caught in the crossfire of all this,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “the pressure… the expectations… i just thought it would be easier if we kept it private. but i see now how wrong that was.”

his thumb brushes softly against your skin, an attempt to convey the depth of his remorse. “i was so focused on protecting you that I forgot what you really needed—transparency, honesty. i wanted to shield you from the chaos, but instead, I just pushed you away.” satoru’s eyes search yours, filled with regret and determination. “i’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. i’ll fight for us, even if it means facing the wrath of the company. i want to be open about us, to show the world how much you mean to me.”

you blink in surprise, confusion flooding your mind as you process his words. “what do you mean you spoke to the company?” you ask, your voice wavering slightly. “wwhat did they say?”

but before he can respond, satoru turns on the tv, and your heart drops at the sight of him. he looks so different—disheveled, exhausted, eyes red-rimmed, as if he hasn’t slept in days. the conference is chaotic, the flashing lights of cameras blinding as reporters hurl questions at him, but he stands there, unwavering.

you stare at the screen, completely stunned. your eyes flicker from the television back to satoru, who stands quietly beside you. the image of him on the screen—a mess of disheveled hair, red eyes, and exhaustion—contrasts sharply with the composed, confident man you know. your heart pounds as you take in what’s unfolding before you: the rumors, the flashing cameras, his raw vulnerability on full display.

the conference is chaotic. journalists fire rapid questions at him, flashes of light bursting in quick succession, but satoru doesn’t waver. he remains steadfast, repeating only one thing—that the rumors aren’t true, that he’s had a girlfriend for years. you feel a lump in your throat, your chest tightening with emotion as the realization sets in. he did this… for you.

you turn to him, your voice shaky, barely above a whisper, “satoru… why you did all of this…?”

he doesn’t speak immediately, just watches you, his expression soft yet filled with a mixture of guilt and hope. slowly, he nods, his thumb still brushing gently over your hand. “i couldn’t let you think for one more second that i’d ever choose anyone else over you,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse from everything he’s been through. “i had to do something… anything to show you.”

your eyes well up with tears again, but this time it’s not from pain or anger. you’re overwhelmed, touched by how far he’s gone to try and fix this. “but you didn’t have to—” you start, but he cuts you off, shaking his head.

“yes, i did,” he insists. “i needed to prove it. not just with words, but with action. i’m not letting you walk away thinking i’d ever betray you like that.”

satoru's gaze is intense, his eyes fixed on you as he continues, “i couldn’t let you think for a second that i'd even entertain the thought of being with someone else. you mean everything to me, and i had to make a statement, a public one, because i can’t bear the thought of you doubting that. not for a second.”

“i know i messed up,” he continues, his voice filled with a mixture of regret and determination, “but i swear to you, i’ll never do anything to hurt you on purpose ever again.”

your heart races as you absorb his words, a whirlwind of emotions flooding your mind. the intensity of his gaze makes you feel both cherished and guilty. the weight of the situation settles heavily on your shoulders, and you can’t shake the feeling that you might be the cause of turmoil in his life.

you swallow hard, your throat dry as you find your voice. “but what about your series?” you ask, anxiety creeping into your tone. “what happens now? you just… put everything on the line for me?” the guilt gnaws at you, and you can't help but worry that your struggles might ruin his career. “satoru, i didn’t want this to affect you. i thought you’d want to keep things private to avoid backlash.”

the thought of him facing consequences for his public declaration sends a shiver down your spine. you look at him, your eyes wide with concern. “what did they say? are they going to fire you? or change the series because of this?” his silence hangs in the air, and you brace yourself for his answer, anxiety wrapping around your heart like a vise.

satoru’s eyes soften even further as he looks down at you, his hand still holding yours, but his grip has tightened slightly. he’s clearly nervous—nervous about what he has to say next, nervous about how you’ll react.

he takes a deep breath before responding, his voice measured and controlled. “i’m not getting fired, dollface.” his words, though relieving, don’t seem to quell the anxiety in your eyes. it’s clear that there’s more to the story, and he can see that you’re bracing for the worst.

satoru watches your expression shift from worry to confusion, then a flicker of understanding as he continues. “they just decided to kill me off in the middle of the second season,” he says, forcing a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He chuckles lightly, trying to lighten the mood. “the writer never really liked me anyway.”

he sees the way your brows furrow, and his heart aches for you. he wants to ease your concerns, to show you that his world isn’t crumbling because of this. “it’s all part of the plan,” he adds, his tone playful, even if the situation isn’t exactly ideal. “maybe i’ll get a dramatic comeback. who doesn’t love a good resurrection arc, right?”

he cups your nape gently, his thumb brushing along your skin as he leans down to place a tender kiss on your forehead. “i’d do it a million times over for you, you know? i’d take the hit if it means you feel secure in my love. No one else matters more than you.”

as he pulls back slightly, he searches your gaze, hoping to see a hint of reassurance that you understand his intentions. he wants you to feel loved and protected, no matter the chaos that surrounds them.

your heart feels heavy as you gaze up at satoru, the weight of your worry settling deep in your chest. “are you sure about this?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “i don’t want to be the person who ruins your career.”

the concern in your eyes reflects the turmoil inside you, the fear that your feelings and insecurities could jeopardize everything he’s worked so hard for. you search his face for any sign of doubt, but all you find is unwavering determination.

satoru’s expression shifts, and he gently squeezes your hand, trying to convey his certainty. “dollface, you could never ruin my career,” he reassures you, his voice steady and calm. “if anything, you’re the reason i want to fight for it. i don’t care what they think or what the company says. my love for you is worth any backlash i might face.”

he leans closer, his forehead resting against yours, grounding you both in the moment. “i’d rather give it all up than let you feel like you’re the problem. you are my priority, and nothing will ever change that.” his blue eyes search yours, pleading for you to believe him, to trust that he’s all in.

your heart pounds in your chest as satoru’s words sink in, the rawness of his vulnerability hitting you like a tidal wave. his career, his reputation, his future—he’s willing to risk all of it for you, and the weight of that sacrifice leaves you reeling.

you look at him, the love and determination evident in his eyes, and you struggle to find the words to express the mixture of gratitude and guilt churning inside you. you don’t want to be the one causing ripples in his world, but his steadfast resolve makes it impossible to deny the intensity of his feelings.

satoru notices the turmoil in your expression, the way your brow furrows with guilt as you process his words. it cuts through him like a knife, the thought that you might still feel responsible for any turmoil in his life. he can’t stand to see you in pain, especially not when it’s tied to his choices.

he takes a deep breath, trying to ease your mind. “hey,” he says gently, tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his, “i’ve got a few offers for new series and movies lined up. i’m not in danger of losing everything, i promise. they’re just waiting for me to finish this one.”

a small, reassuring smile crosses his face, one that he hopes will lift some of the weight off your shoulders. “this is just a bump in the road, and i’m more than capable of handling it. what matters is you. i need you to know that I’ll always choose you, no matter what.”

he leans in closer, his eyes searching yours, filled with sincerity. “we’ll figure this out together, okay? you’re not a burden; you’re my motivation.”

your heart squeezes at satoru's words, your chest tightening with a mix of emotions. the guilt, the worry, the love—it's all flooding through you, leaving you feeling vulnerable and exposed. but in that vulnerability, you also see the depth of his devotion, his unwavering commitment to you.

“but… i don’t want you to choose,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “i don't want you to feel like you have to sacrifice your career... because of me.”

satoru hums softly at your words, the sound reverberating with warmth as he processes your concerns. with a gentle yet deliberate motion, he lifts you to sit on the counter, his hands steadying you as your thighs rest against the cool surface. he positions himself closer, his forehead resting against the counter beside your body, effectively caging you in.

“i can’t sacrifice you for my career either,” he says, his voice low and earnest, the intensity of his gaze locking onto yours. “you’re the one thing i won’t compromise on. i’d give up everything for you, even if it meant starting over. no job, no series, nothing could ever mean more to me than you.”

his expression is fierce, a combination of determination and vulnerability that makes your heart race. “so please, don’t worry about me. we’re in this together. we’ll figure it out side by side, and i’ll make sure you never feel like you’re standing in the way of my dreams.”

as you look into his eyes, the depth of his words washes over you, and a warmth spreads through your chest. you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing the reassurance of his presence. the feel of his warmth against you brings a sense of comfort, a connection that calms the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

“i just… i don’t want to be the reason for your struggles,” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion. “i care about you so much, satoru. i want you to shine, to succeed, and to be happy.”

holding him tightly, you feel the tension in his body ease as he leans into you, his breath mingling with yours. “i know we’ll figure this out together,” you whisper, your heart swelling with love. “but promise me you won’t carry this weight alone. we’re a team, right?”

satoru’s eyes flutter shut as he absorbs your words, a mixture of gratitude and relief washing over him. your unwavering support and love are like a balm on his weary soul, and he melts into your embrace, his head resting on your shoulder.

“together,” he affirms, his voice a whisper against your skin. “you’re not just my partner; you’re my foundation. you give me the strength to face anything, good or bad. we’re in this together, and no one, not even the company, can come between us.”

he lifts his head, his eyes studying your face. “you’re not a burden or an inconvenience, dollface. you’re my priority, my everything. i may have an image to uphold, but nothing is worth more than your happiness, your comfort. i’d take on the world for you if i have to.”

a flicker of vulnerability passes across his face. “just promise me that you’ll keep communicating with me. if you ever feel like you’re in my way or like you’re causing me trouble, i need—no, i want you to tell me, okay?”

a warm smile spreads across your face at his words, the sincerity in his eyes soothing the lingering doubts in your mind. you nod, feeling a rush of affection for him. “okay,” you mumble softly, your voice filled with reassurance.

a wave of visible relief washes over satoru’s face as you agree to his request. the tension in his body eases visibly, and he reaches up to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face.

“thank you,” he whispers, his hand resting on your cheek. “i just... i need to know that you’re okay, that we’re okay. that, even when things are messy, we’re still you and me. always.”

you nod, a soft smile still gracing your lips as you gently cup his cheeks in your hands. feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms, you lean in closer, your heart racing in anticipation.

satoru’s heart races at the touch of your hands against his cheeks, the warmth of your palms sending electric currents through his body. your lips meet his, a sense of peace washes over you, the world around you fading into the background. it’s a sweet, tender kiss, filled with unspoken promises and the depth of your feelings for him. as your lips meet his, he savors the taste of you, melting into the kiss like a man starved.

you pull back slightly, your foreheads resting against each other, and whisper, “always,” letting the word linger in the air between you, a vow that encapsulates everything you both cherish. it’s a simple word, but it carries the weight of your love, a reminder that no matter the chaos, you’ll always find your way back to each other.

satoru feels the weight of your promise like a gentle caress. a content smile spreads across his face as he brushes his nose against yours, a whisper of affectionate laughter escaping his lips.

“always,” he repeats quietly, his blue eyes sparkling with love. “me and you.”

#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #angst #comfort #fake dating #actor

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prlan · 1 month ago

Text

Alex x Farmer

feeing like a bad parent seeing your s/o spend time with your child when you feel too exhausted from farm work

just a little blurb!

Watching your son grow up before your eyes was surreal, beautiful, and utterly crushing. It seemed like just yesterday that you had taken some time off from the farm, leaning on Alex heavily to do work in your place so that your body could recuperate and you could bond with the new life you and your husband had welcomed into the world.

Alex himself had been in tears, whispering sweet nothings against your temple, his hand gripping yours so tightly you could feel the imprint of him days later as your infant son held the same spot with his much tinier fingers. You felt so whole.

Now, your six-month old was showing leaps and bounds in his development. He was still a little shy around George but cooed and babbled in pure excitement when he saw Evelyn walk through the door. They had been amazing in their Great Grandparent Duty. They loved watching over him when you couldn't get away from the farm and Alex was busy.

Even when the both of you could handle the infant, Evelyn and George still had open arms and you had no heart to turn them down. They could see through this life that Alex had truly blossomed into the young man that they knew he could be. To watch him grow as a father when he hated his own, feared becoming him, was soothing a wound they hadn't known they'd held since the death of their daughter.

You could understand their desire to be so close with your sweet boy. He was the spitting image of Alex too, but with your eyes and ears. You think you preferred it that way. Coming home, the both of them sleeping soundly was something you adored but it tugged at your heart painfully some nights.

When you would get home from the mines, nearing two in the morning, you realized that Alex must have dealt heavily with the baby's fussing and rolling about. Now, the baby slept nearly all the way through the night and you couldn't help agonizing over that too.

When you would spend the day tending to the crops only to come in for a quick lunch you would see Alex, splayed on the couch and dozing while Evelyn bounced the babe on her hip and hummed gently.

"Oh hello dear!" She'd cry happily, kissing your cheek and pressing lunch into your hands. "We have everything handled here so don't you worry, you can get right back to work with peace of mind."

You knew she didn't mean it as a dismissal. Evelyn was truly one of your greatest supports in this valley you called home . She was your number one cheerleader even before you and Alex had inevitably fallen for one another. He had seen how you loved his parental figures, and the rest was history.

However, you couldn't help but notice your son no longer reached for you first when you walked in a room. You noticed that he was content with his great grandmother and father and didn't want you at the moment, didn't need you.

With a tight smile, you had returned back to the farm and allowed a shaky breath from your lips. Your boy was growing up so fast and you were working. You loved the work, every day you felt contentment that you could have never imagined feeling in Zuzu City, stuck at a cubicle.

Yet, right now, you were discontent with the distance you felt with your son. You hated that every time you blinked he seemed to get bigger. Alex had even used the sewing machine to make some of the baby's smaller clothes into those appropriate for his growth. You had to admit, with no small amount of pride and simultaneous envy, that your son wanted for nothing because his father was more than enough.

That night, you had walked into the nursery, bones aching and fingers stiff. Watching your swaddled baby breathe softly into open air, some of the tightness in your chest left.

"Come to bed sweetheart, he'll sleep through the night," Alex spoke softly, arms winding around your waist and his chin falling atop your shoulder. You hadn't heard him approach but you sunk into him easily.

"I know," You croaked, spinning in your husbands arms so you could bury your face in his chest. You couldn't help the sudden emotion you felt. Alex seemed to notice the change immediately and with one last glance towards your son he led you quietly to your bedroom.

Sitting you on the bed, Alex knelt and carefully unlaced your boots. It was something he had done since you married. If he was awake when you arrived to bed he would carefully undress you and help you get ready for bed. His warm hands massaged your calves carefully and you couldn't help the tears that had begun in the nursery were falling now.

"He's so big Alex," Your voice was no more than a whisper, but it didn't need to be.

Alex answered with a squeeze and a gentle smile. "Of course, he's his father's son, he'll grow up strong just like me,"

You couldn't stop the way you bristled at his words. "He's my son too..."

"Of course he is!" Alex rushed to say, now sitting beside you on the bed. He had changed you carefully out of your boots and dirty trousers, as well as your soiled top. Now, he held you in your most insecure and intimate form and tried to comfort you. "What's bothering you?"

Alex could guess what turmoil you were experiencing but he found the two of you had far less misunderstandings if he asked you straightaway. He was determined to be nothing like the man he unfortunately shared blood with and three years into marriage with you, he was able to believe he was succeeding in that endeavor.

"It's been half a year and I feel like I really only spent the first month with him... I went back to work because we needed it and because I was growing restless but now I come home and I realize he doesn't need his mama like before. It's like he doesn't expect me to be around. What sort of mother am I?"

Alex caught your tears as they fell, brushing them away and kissing your forehead even if his heart tugged painfully at the sight of you weeping.

"A damn good one," He grunted out, voice thick with emotion. "I haven't told you this before, but I've been thinking it since you first went back to work after he was born. You remind me so much of my mother. She worked so hard to give me everything and make up for that son of a bitch that ruined our lives. Even when mom got sick she worked herself to the bone to provide for me. How is that not one of the purest forms of love?"

You whimpered against him at the sentiment. How could you express that his words were invaluable to you, but in this moment, you could only feel self hatred?

"I-I think I need more time with him. I will always provide for you two, I will always want to be strong and I know what it means to you to tell me that I resemble your mom. But Alex, I miss him. I miss you! I just.... I just need a bit of a break."

"Oh sweetheart..." Alex intoned, strong hands running up and down your back. "How long have you been feeling this way? All you need to do is say the word and I'll step in for you at the farm, however long you need. There's a reason I learned all of your tasks when we got married. This is our home and our family. We are in this together, you don't need to shoulder everything alone."

Looking into Alex's eyes you didn't detect a single ounce of judgement and even though your eyes had dried partway through his ramble, you nearly felt the need to cry again.

Nodding in affirmation, and offering a generous and appreciative kiss to Alex's waiting lips, you finally felt the discontent slide away from your body. Tense shoulders dropped, and animated eyes became heavy with sleep.

"Tomorrow, I'll take care of the farm, you stay home and be with our boy,"

Guilt abating, and love expanding, you fell asleep.

You truly had the best family. You weren't alone.

#sdv alex #sdv alex x farmer #stardew valley #sdv #sdv angst #alex x reader

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prlan · 1 month ago

Text

Kiss it Off Me

CHAPTER 8

Chapter Summary:

Yeah, she might die a happy woman right here, but if Yoba were kind enough, she hoped she'd live long enough to see those smiles.

Pairings: Haley x Fem!farmer

Disclaimer: I do not own Stardew Valley or any of the related characters. Stardew Valley is created by and owned by ConcernedApe. This fanfiction is intended for entertainment only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of the original Stardew Valley story belong to ConcernedApe.

Warning: none

Notes: I know, I know it's late again. I'm really sorry, my loves. It's just that life hasn't been giving me a break already. Hope you enjoy this one! I know I've been taking my sweet time to this fic at a very slow pace but I just really want to take my time to lay out our characters, especially my wife. I hope you weren't bothered with it but I promise you, all this waiting will be worth it ;)

Spring 8

It was a warm, sunny Tuesday afternoon. Being spring, the afternoon sun did nothing to burn her skin, and the post-winter air combined with the fresh spring breeze provided a wonderful cooling effect on her exposed skin that wasn't covered by her blue tank top.

It was really a great idea to wear her hair up today, allowing her to fully enjoy the refreshing air.

Although there wasn't anything particularly picturesque about hanging out at the playground, it offered Haley a rare moment of solitude away from the crowd.

In her high school days, she would have basked in the attention people gave her.

Back then, being in the spotlight was exhilarating. However, after her peak during college, she found that she didn't like it as much. For one, popularity didn't help her grades, and secondly, being an 'It' girl didn't matter anymore—not when everyone was scrambling to pass their exams.

But now, here in Pelican Town, being popular just meant being in the center of gossip. The less attention she got, the better.

She preferred these quiet moments, where she could be herself without the prying eyes and whispers. The playground, with its empty swings and silent slides, provided the perfect escape from the pressures of scrutinizing gaze from townspeople who were no better than her either.

"Uh, Haley?"

Haley froze at the sound of a familiar voice, the smell of flowers and dirt filling her nostrils. She turned slowly, her heart skipping a beat.

"Oh..." she said, startled. "Hi, there..."

She wasn't expecting to see you so soon after that whole ordeal (Chapter 3, Spring 7). She might have invited you for breakfast out of goodwill and to make up for her rude behavior, but she kind of half-expected you to chicken out and possibly (hopefully) have the presence of mind to avoid her or something because, for the love of Yoba, your presence is becoming too much for her.

You’re like a pebble suddenly thrown into a pond, causing ripples in what was once stagnant. Haley couldn't quite figure out why you had such an effect on her.

You were speaking, talking about what seemed to be a hair tie but Haley's mind was buzzing elsewhere to actually understand you.

Her eyes briefly scanned you. You wore your typical green overalls, and even with a bit of dirt and grass clinging to your clothes, you still managed to look pretty good. The earthy tones seemed to suit you, giving you a rugged, outdoorsy vibe that was oddly attractive.

Surprisingly, your scent wasn't as pungent as Haley expected it to be. In fact, there was a hint of something pleasant mixed in with the earthy aroma, perhaps a subtle whiff of fresh hay or a trace of wildflowers. She couldn't really tell.

Her attention drifted almost inadvertently to your mouth. Slightly chapped, but full pink lips. Wait, what?

Eyes widening by a slight fraction, she immediately darted her eyes elsewhere, making her spot a hair tie and a handful of daffodils in your hand.

Then her eyes spotted Demetrius walking from where you both stood. Haley's mind quickly realized that you were planning to give her another gift this week, and while there's nothing wrong with daffodils (she likes them), you only give them to her when no one is around.

But now, in the presence of Demetrius, who will probably tell Robin, who will likely tell all her Yoga club members, who will surely tell the whole town that you have given her flowers!

While it shouldn't be a big deal, she has lived in this valley long enough that the rumor mill tends to exaggerate things. And Haley doesn't want to get caught in the middle of this.

As you continued speaking, she made a split-second decision to interject, surprising even herself.

"Uhm, how do I say this..." she began, her voice wavering slightly. "I appreciate your gifts and such. But please don't get the wrong ideas. It's not like a little flower will make us besties or anything, you know."

Her pretty mouth is probably the foulest thing ever created, but she couldn't really stop herself from saying the awful things in this world even if her life depended on it. It was as if her mouth had a mind of its own, blurting out things she'd later regret.

Fortunately, you didn't appear offended; rather, you seemed both confused and amused by Haley's abrupt interruption.

"Uhm, I was just asking if this is your hair tie," you said as you handed her the item.

"Oh!" Haley's voice held a note of embarrassment as she accepted the tie from your outstretched hand, her cheeks likely flushed with a deep shade of pink. "I didn't even notice it was missing..."

Your lips quirked up slightly at the sight of her flustered state. "You were saying..?"

Haley was certain you were teasing her, and she would have half a mind to wipe the adorable smirk off your face if she weren't so embarrassed herself.

"Sorry for jumping to conclusions. I was just..." She fidgeted uncomfortably, unable to find the right words. "Well, nevermind."

"Hey, you weren't even wrong. These are actually for you." You presented her with the daffodils before Haley could respond. "And I'm not expecting you to be friends with me just because I give you flowers, you know?"

"Then what else were you expecting?" That question should have sounded so harsh if Haley weren't so busy burying her nose in them to hide her flustered expression.

"Ever heard of giving a pretty flower to a pretty lady?"

She could have sworn she heard Demetrius snort back a laugh.

Haley couldn't help but sigh, but a smirk tugged at her lips at your poor attempt at charming her.

Rumors be damned. These flowers smelled good.

****

Summer 12

"Yoba..." she muttered under her breath, huffing as she finally managed to lift all her shopping bags off the bus. The driver, thankfully, was patient enough to wait as she struggled with her haul.

Some guy had even offered to help her, but Haley shot him a look that could kill, silently telling him to respectfully fuck off. She might have accepted his help if he hadn't been staring at her tits throughout the whole ride and being generally a creep altogether.

There was no way she was letting that perv touch any of her stuff.

The only problem now is how in Yoba's name she's going to lift all these shopping bags back to her house.

"Now there's the pretty face I hadn't seen all day."

Haley immediately perked up at the sound of your voice, her breath hitching as she caught sight of you approaching her.

Your hair was in a loose bun today, with stray strands framing your face in that imperfectly perfect way, it looked so endearing.

The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow, creating an ethereal aura around you as you stepped closer. The sunlight highlighted the gentle slope of your button nose and the soft curve of your lips, naturally tinted with a delicate shade of pink. Your tan skin seemed to radiate warmth, making Haley momentarily forget to breathe.

The sight of you, dressed in a sleek black leather jacket over a fitted white shirt, paired with jeans that hugged your figure just right, only intensified the fluttering in Haley's stomach.

Despite her best efforts to hide it, a flush spread across her cheeks as she took in your appearance.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, attempting to sound casual but failing miserably. The nervousness in her voice was unmistakable.

"Oh, I was about to take a ride to Calico," you replied with a casual shrug, causing Haley's eyes to wander toward the sword strapped behind your broad shoulders. "I've heard there's a cavern there worth exploring."

"To mine?" She couldn't help but make a face. "At this hour?"

You barked out a laugh, the sound hearty and genuine. "Don't worry," you said, a reassuring glint in your eyes. "I'm just going to check the area. My weapons aren't strong enough to take on the monsters in there yet."

"Or better yet, stick to the usual farming and foraging, which is much safer," she suggested, trying to mask her concern with a light tone.

"I don't think so, Hay." You reached out and pinched her nose playfully, earning a mock scowl from her. "Anyway, you need help with the bags?"

She crossed her arms, her stubbornness making its appearance once again. "I think I can handle them myself. Give me some credit."

"Nope." With a chuckle, you swooped in to grab all the shopping bags from the ground, ignoring Haley's protest. "You've been wearing those heels the whole day. They must have been killing your feet right now."

That made Haley pause, her defiance wavering. "B-but—"

"I know you're capable of handling them yourself," you continued, adjusting the bags with ease. "But letting your arms rest for a couple of minutes wouldn't hurt, right?"

Haley sighed, her resolve softening. "At least give me the other bags," she insisted, her cheeks growing warmer by the second.

She wasn't at all foreign to your chivalrous tendencies, but she's still not used to the feeling. She also knew you weren't struggling, she just couldn't shake the guilt of letting you shoulder all the bags after doing such heavy chores on the farm.

But you were stubborn as a mule. When Haley attempted to take some of the bags from you, you shook your head with a playful grin, transferring all the bags to one hand and extending your free hand toward her. "Tell you what, I'll carry the bags, and you can just walk beside me. Deal?"

"B-but I thought you were going to Calico?"

"That could wait," you answered simply, hand still extended, waiting expectantly.

Reluctantly, Haley took your hand, feeling a mix of gratitude and embarrassment. "Fine," she muttered, her cheeks flushing as she glanced away. "But only because my feet are killing me."

You gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "That's the spirit!." You beamed at her, oblivious to Haley's heart pounding hard against her chest. "Let's get you home."

Haley usually kept her cool around you, but feeling your calloused palm against her soft hand stirred up a whirlwind of emotions within her.

She'd be a liar if she denied that there are certain nights that she wonders what it would feel like for your hand to intertwine with hers, and it felt like nothing compared to actually feeling it for the first time.

Despite the roughness of your palm and fingertips, it only added to the warmth she was feeling. They were also a bit bigger compared to Haley's, making your hands almost fully encapsulate her whole hand, almost protectively.

She thought she'd dislike the feeling. Strangely, though, it only made her feel secure. They were the hands of a hard worker, after all.

As you walked through town together, she could see the prying eyes of Jodi and Caroline. She sensed their whispers, undoubtedly exchanging her name and yours.

Surprisingly, this time, Haley didn't seem to mind.

Being called 'yours', even in hushed whispers and rumors, didn't seem so bad now.

****

Summer 13

Dear Miss Carter,

Thank you for expressing interest in our modeling opportunity. After careful consideration, we regret to inform you that we have decided to pursue a different direction for the campaign. While we appreciate your enthusiasm, we believe this decision aligns best with our project goals. We hope to collaborate on future endeavors.

Best regards,

Victoria Bloom

Stardew Valley Gazette

Haley couldn't bring herself to read the letter in its entirety. A single glance was enough to confirm her fears—it was a flat-out rejection.

The sting of disappointment was immediate, sharp, and disheartening.

Her hopes had been high this time, not just because she thought she was beautiful enough, but because she believed in her own talent and passion. She loved photography, had an eye for detail, and knew what made a model truly shine in a photograph.

This was one step closer to her dream—her chance to prove she was more than just a pretty face, designer clothes, and expensive make-up.

This is where she truly shines. Or at least that's what she thought.

But maybe she had become too complacent, thinking her appearance alone would open doors for her.

Seeing the words "We regret to inform you..." felt like a punch to the gut. Doubt began to creep in, whispering that perhaps she wasn't as good as she thought. Maybe the others were right after all.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror felt like salt being rubbed into her wounds. This face, this body... they were all she had. And even those seemed to have failed her.

How on earth was she going to break this news to you? You had been the first to support her when she shared her desire to apply for the position. You believed in her, encouraged her, and told her she had what it took. The thought of seeing the disappointment in your eyes was almost unbearable.

Haley was used to feeling disappointed in herself. She had faced setbacks before, but this felt different. This felt like a failure that might change how you saw her, and that was a bitter pill she wasn't ready to swallow yet.

The fear of letting you down, of not living up to the potential you saw in her, weighed heavily on her heart.

She sniffled, regretting how eagerly she had opened the letter. Now she had to face Alex and celebrate his birthday, looking like she had been crying for hours. Her mascara was smudged, leaving dark streaks down her cheeks, and her eyes were puffy and red from crying.

While she may have to put on her mask, pretend everything's okay, she knew that you and Alex could easily see through her facade no matter how hard she tried to put on a brave face.

It will still ruin the spirit of the party.

Maybe she should consider not going.

But Alex would be upset with her.

Or, either that, he'll physically drag her to the party himself.

Both scenarios felt like disasters.

She let out a harsh breath. Attending was the only option.

She began to retouch her makeup, particularly the parts that had smudged because of her tears, but it was a difficult task with the tears continuously pouring down her cheeks. Her hands trembled as she tried to fix the damage but she didn't dare stop.

She had to look perfect.

Fake it until you make it.

Come on...

A sob couldn't help but escape from her lips.

Fuck.

"Haley." A pair of warm, rough hands take hold of her own, stopping her from smudging her makeup even further. "Haley, come on. Stop."

"Huh..?" Her voice hitched as she saw you tower over her. Her big, baby-blue eyes, filled with unshed tears, met yours.

Oh, no....

You can't see her like this.

"What's wrong?" you began to question, keeping a firm grip on her hands but not too tight to hurt her.

Haley only shook her head. You can't see me like this.

As you lifted her chin up to face you, forcing Haley to meet your gaze, her eyes still glistening with tears, you noticed a makeup wipe lying nearby. With a quick yet gentle movement, you reached behind her back and snatched it up.

"I'd rather fight a whole swarm of skeletons than see you like this," you murmured as you gingerly wiped mascara stains from her cheeks with such gentleness, leaving nothing but her smooth, rosy skin. "What's wrong, Haley? Tell me, please."

She should just push you away. Tell you to leave her alone.

But she couldn't. Not when you're looking at her like that.

Like she's worth of so much more.

And just like that, Haley's resolve crumbled. She had been trying so hard to keep it together, to be strong, but your kindness broke through her defenses. Fresh tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over as she tried to find the words.

"I... I got rejected," she finally managed to say, her voice shaking. "I really thought I'd get that job. Finally prove I'm more than just a dumb blonde from Pelican Town. But now... I feel like such a failure."

"You know that's not true."

"I keep trying my best, Y/n..." Her lips quivered and you were quick to caress her cheeks. "But it feels like I'm getting nowhere."

You squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "Haley, you're not a failure. You put yourself out there and took a risk. That's something to be proud of."

"But what if I'm just not good enough?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "What if I'll never be good enough?"

"Hey, hey... none of that. You are more than good enough," you assured her, gently cupping her cheeks before pressing a chaste kiss on her forehead. "One rejection doesn't define you or your worth. And it certainly doesn't change how I see you."

Haley sniffled again, trying to believe your words. "You're not bullshitting me, are you? Because I'm not in the mood to bake for you right now, you know?"

"I would never." You chuckled, your laughter infectious as Haley joined in. "Plus, it's their loss, you know? Only idiots would turn down a spectacular photographer AND model."

"Now I know you're definitely just kissing my ass," Haley snorted, lightly tapping your shoulder. As if to further tease her, your eyes playfully drifted downward, making it Haley's turn to cup your cheeks, unable to stop herself from giggling. "Eyes up here, miss."

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about," you retorted with a playful smirk, your eyes meeting hers with a twinkle of mischief.

Haley's laughter subsided, replaced by a soft, appreciative smile.

"Thank you, Y/n..." Her eyes are now sparkling with adoration instead of tears. The hands cupping your cheeks slid around your neck, drawing you closer. "You always know what to say to make me feel better."

Closeness that was once awkward and forced...

What was once a heart pounding like a drum in her chest, fast and hot in an uneven rhythm...

Is now a heart steadily beating.

This closeness is calm and silent.

And if she were to die today in this spot with your arms around her, then Haley would die a happy woman.

"Keeping you happy is a responsibility I'd happily taken upon myself," you said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead once again, and Haley couldn't help but close her eyes this time, unable to suppress her own smile. "Now, let's fix your makeup," you added with a small smile, reaching for the makeup wipe again. "And then we'll go to Alex's party together. We'll get through this, one step at a time."

Haley nodded, a genuine smile tugging at her lips. Yeah, she might die a happy woman right here, but if Yoba were kind enough, she hoped she'd live long enough to see those smiles.

****

Summer 17

Click. Click.

Haley sighed as she looked through her camera's viewfinder.

"Just how many variations of the same shot can I take?" she muttered, exhaling another sigh.

After her sudden show of vulnerability to you, Haley suddenly got this urge to take pictures once again. While she may have failed to get that position as a model, that doesn't mean she failed as a photographer.

But looking at the flat, uninspired pictures she'd been taking for almost an hour now, she was starting to think otherwise.

The view here was spectacular, sure, but she’d been photographing this same spot by the lake for years now.

She needed something new. Something more alive.

Haley lowered her camera and gazed around, searching for a fresh perspective. The sun was up and about, casting a golden glow on the water and surrounding trees. It was beautiful–majestic even, if she could dare to say, but still... it wasn't enough.

It felt soulless. Bland.

Chop. Chop.

"That again." Haley couldn't help but glare in the direction of the sound, as if her annoyance alone could make it stop.

The incessant noise of wood chopping from the distance was not helping her at all. Whoever was chopping away had been at it for hours already and didn't give the impression of stopping anytime soon.

She tried to refocus, raising her camera again, but her concentration which was already nonexistent to begin with, was now a mere dust taken away by the summer breeze. The rhythmic, relentless chopping seemed to seep into her mind, making it impossible to find the spark she was looking for.

As if this person knew which buttons to push, the sound of a tree crashing to the ground echoed through the air, making a fully formed nerve start to throb on her forehead.

Whoever that idiot was, they were really going to get a piece of her mind. There was a whole damn forest just south of here, so why did they have to do it here?

Yoba forbid if it was Clint. He was really going to get an earful.

Frustrated, she decided to investigate.

Maybe a change of scenery—or at least figuring out what was going on—would help. Haley packed up her camera and headed toward the source of the noise.

As Haley got closer, she stopped when you suddenly emerged from behind a mahogany tree, an axe in hand.

You leaned down to grab a bottle of water beside your rucksack resting against the tree. Haley only realized she was staring when even the droplet of water that missed your mouth began to cascade across your neck down to your already wet tank top, leaving little to no imagination.

Yoba, when did it get so hot?

Probably unable to not notice such a pretty being such as herself on your peripheral, you turned your head to her with that familiar shit-eating grin she had grown to like so much as you closed the cap of your bottle.

"Hey there, pretty lady!" you greeted, slamming your axe on the stump behind you as you walked closer. "I didn't know you were here."

"Hey, yourself," she greeted with a small smile, her initial irritation suddenly evaporated into thin air. "I'm trying to get back on foot with photography and I was kind of distracted with the chopping noise, is all."

"Oh!" You scratched your nape sheepishly. Haley couldn't help but notice the way the sunlight caught the sweat on your skin, the muscles in your arms flexing with each movement. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to distract you."

Oh, you are distracting her alright, but probably for the wrong reasons.

"I just needed some woods so Robin could make some renovations on the cabin. Didn’t think anyone would be around," you went on, seemingly unaware of the effect you had on her. "If you'd like, I can hang with you for a bit. See your progress with your camera."

"Sure," Haley replied distractedly. "Wait, what?"

Before she knew it, you were peering over her shoulder, waiting expectantly for her to show the pictures she just took. The scent of sweat, wood, and flowers filled her nostrils, and Haley couldn't help but feel lightheaded. In a good way, she supposed.

Still, it was too much all at once.

Overwhelmed by the closeness that had been familiar over the months you had spent here, Haley instinctively backed away from you.

"Sorry," you chuckled, rubbing the back of your neck. "I forgot I smell."

"No!" she almost shrieked, her cheeks turning a shade of pink. "It's not that. I just…" she sighed deeply. "I got nothing to show you. All my shots are flat. Almost the same variations of the same scene. I can't put these in my portfolio, Y/n."

You plopped down on the grass, leaning back on your arms as you looked up at her with brilliant eyes. "That can't be true. You love taking pictures of this place."

"I know..." She let out another sigh, gingerly sitting on the grass in front of you. "I used to love this, capturing the beauty in everything. But now, it's like I'm stuck in a loop. There's got to be more to photography than just this."

"I think..." you trailed off, rummaging through your bag and producing a piece of white cloth. You brushed off the grass beside you, clearing away dried leaves and small pebbles before laying the cloth down. "Come sit here first, Haley." You patted the spot next to you.

Haley nodded dumbly, surprised and touched by your thoughtfulness. Did you really made sure she wouldn't sit directly on the grass because you knew how much she disliked getting dirty?

"I was saying," you continued, brushing off a stray piece of dry grass from Haley's skirt before helping her get comfortable beside you, "I think you need to find some new motives to spark your excitement again."

Haley settled next to you, feeling a bit more at ease. "New subjects, huh? Like what?"

You smiled, your eyes twinkling with ideas. "Anything that catches your eye. Maybe try photographing people, events, or even little details you might have overlooked before. Sometimes, a change in perspective is all it takes."

Haley considered your words. "You might be onto something there. I mean, I've been so focused on the same old scenes that I haven't really thought about branching out. It's just..." She looked down at the camera on her lap. "It's hard to break out of my comfort zone, you know? Old habits die hard, I guess."

"How about you take a photo of me chopping woods?" you suggested with a smirk as you helped her up.

"Be my model, you say?" Haley replied, a mischievous glint lighting up her eyes. "That's not a bad idea. You'd actually make a pretty good model if I say so myself."

That wiped the smile right out of your face.

"I was just kidding!"

"Nope." She grinned, even exaggerating the 'p' sound to further tease you. "Get your axe and get to chopping already, miss."

"But I'm as stiff as a board to be your model!" you whined but were already on your way to retrieve your axe.

"Just pretend I'm not here. Be candid."

"It's kind of difficult to ignore your camera's lens," you muttered, gripping the axe.

"Y/n," she called from behind her camera, adjusting the settings to capture the perfect shot. "Remember that photo I gave you last month?"

"Yeah..?"

"It was a good photo, you know?"

"Really?"

"You didn't need to pose at all to look good. Just be yourself." Haley briefly looked up from her camera, meeting your eyes with a soft smile before going back behind her lens. "I like you a lot better that way, anyway."

****

Later that night, she found herself inside her freshly made dark room. Designing this room had been challenging, but nothing was more challenging than sifting through hundreds, maybe thousands, of clothes in her walk-in closet that is now turned into the dark room, and finding some clothes she'd be willing to donate next spring for charity.

She truly loves her clothes and finds them as her way of expressing herself but hoarding them at this rate is alarming. So what better way to make good use of space than for her passion?

Though not completely satisfied with her setup, Haley knew this would have to do for now. Once the rest of the equipment she needed arrived, she'd definitely want you to see her darkroom one day.

With everything developed, she began to scan each photo with keen eyes, ready to pick out the ones that would go into her portfolio. But as she went through them, she realized that had been a mistake.

Her shots were... Impeccable. No surprise there.

And you were surprisingly a good model. Too good, actually.

She stopped on a particular photo, eyes raking towards your exposed stomach when you were about to slam your axe towards a log, arm flexing as you did. You have this fierce expression that's making Haley feel a lot of things one would deem explicit.

She felt her cheeks heat up as she continued to stare at the image, tracing the lines of your muscles with her eyes.

If she were to touch them, would they be hard against her fingertips or smooth and inviting? She was pretty sure that if you pinned her against the wall, she wouldn't budge. Not because she couldn't get past your solid chest, but because she'd probably melt right then and there, too overwhelmed to move.

Realizing she's thirsting over your photo, Haley gently slapped herself out of her trance. She tried to focus on the technical aspects of the photo, but it was no use. The picture was stunning and well—hot, and it's not just because of her photography skills. You were the reason it stood out so much. The way the light caught the sweat on your skin, the determination in your eyes—it all combined to create a powerful image.

She sighed, placing the photo in the "keep" pile. If she was this smitten over a couple of photos, there was no way she was submitting all of them. She liked to think these were for her eyes only, especially if that sultry, almost enticing gaze you were giving in front of the lens was anything to go by.

****

Summer 23

"Okay, Haley you got this. It's just water," she mentally cheered herself. "Every pretty girl must know how to swim on the beach."

It was probably just her screwed reasoning, but it definitely wasn’t because she saw you the other day swimming with Leah like some Olympic swimmer or something.

She's also gonna ignore the part that she avoids swimming on the beach because of some incident involving being taken away by the tide, water choking her lungs and her almost dying.

It wasn’t like that experience had put her off swimming entirely. She still loved the beach. The sun, the sand, the perfect tan it gave her—what's not to love?

But now, standing at the edge of the water, her toes curling into the wet sand, Haley felt the familiar knot of anxiety in her stomach. She took a deep breath, glancing over at the waves lapping gently at the shore.

"Just focus on the sun and the sea breeze," she told herself. "You can do this."

Anyway. It's not so bad if she confronted this... err—setback of her, right?

"Fancy seeing you here, Haley."

Haley whirled around from almost touching the water with her foot. Do you have some superpower in showing up whenever she felt the need to be vulnerable?

It wasn't that she didn't appreciate your presence, but she specifically woke up at the crack of dawn to practice her swimming skills because she knew you'd probably be busy tending to your farm, and most of the folks would still be snoring in their beds.

Well, aside from Elliot of course—knowing him, he was probably up already writing books and wouldn't leave his cabin anytime soon.

"Hi!" she finally greeted after what felt like an eternity of looking at your face. "I didn't expect to see anyone here so early."

"Really? I thought you know me well enough to know that I'm already up by 6 AM." You chuckled, running a hand through your hair. "And since when do you wake up so early? What happened to your beauty sleep?"

"Shut up. I'm just..." she rolled her eyes, stalling. She's not keen to tell you just yet what she's up to. Especially for a ridiculous reason. "I just felt like coming here for some fresh air."

Haley looked so proud of the reason she had come up with but it seemed you weren't buying her excuse.

"You look like you're going for a swim," you observed. Haley could have sworn she saw you checking her out, but it was gone as soon as she blinked. "You look good in blue."

Caught off guard by the compliment, Haley felt her cheeks warm up. "Oh, um, thanks," she mumbled, trying to play it cool.

Ever perceptive, you must have noticed she looked a little off.

You tilted your head, a hint of concern in your eyes. "Everything alright? You seem a bit caught off guard."

She sighed, glancing down at the sand. "Well, I guess I am."

"Wanna talk about it?"

Haley hesitated, weighing her words. "I could, but aren't you going somewhere?"

"I was planning to fish for some crimson fish," you explained, rubbing the back of your neck. "But now that I think about it, I remembered Willy saying there's a specific time for catching it. So, I have time right now."

Haley gave you a hard look. She knew you long enough to know you were bullshitting her. The tips of your ears turning red was a telltale sign she noticed whenever you lied. Which wasn't often, because you couldn't lie convincingly even if your life depended on it.

"Are you sure?" she asked, eyebrow raised. "It sounded important."

"Don't worry about it," you insisted, trying to sound casual.

You lent out a hand and Haley took it without hesitation. For some reason, clasping her hands against yours seemed a normal occurrence now that it seemed weird not to do it.

"Come on, let's sit by the shore. I heard the sunrise during summer looks great."

"Alright." Haley gave a small smile, appreciating the effort you were making to put her at ease. "Let's go."

The two of you walked towards the water's edge, the cool sand squishing beneath your feet. The horizon was starting to glow with the first hints of dawn, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange.

Sitting down, you both stared out at the calming waves. Haley took a deep breath, feeling a little more grounded by the familiar presence next to her.

"So, what's really going on?" you asked, your voice raspy but gentle. It was so soft that if it weren't quiet around them, she wouldn't have heard it. It was as if you were afraid to break the tranquil moment.

It was quiet for a moment. But the silence wasn't uncomfortable or forced by any means. It was calm and warm—feelings you seem to radiate whenever you were around.

After a few moments of finding a comfortable position to sit, Haley's head found its way to rest on your shoulder, and as if on instinct, your hand settled on the small of her back, pulling her closer.

"You know, I was thinking about getting out of my comfort zone," Haley began, staring at the waves.

"What do you mean?" you asked, turning to look at her, your cheek pressing gently against her hair.

"Okay, fine. I'll admit it." She took a deep breath. "I'm scared of swimming in the ocean. Silly, right?"

"I don't think it's silly," you declared, and Haley couldn't help but believe you.

"I read online about confronting your fears and thought I'd give it a shot. But..." She sighed, looking down at her hands. "I couldn't bring myself to do it."

You gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Fears are real. It doesn't matter how it may seem to anyone. The fact you're even trying to face them is a big step already."

"Thanks, Y/n... I just couldn't help but feel like I'm letting myself down, you know?"

"You're not letting yourself down," you reassured her, your voice gentle but firm. "We all have things that scare us, and it's okay to take your time. The important part is that you're here, trying to overcome it. That's something to be proud of."

"Thanks, Y/n," she murmured, her fingers gently squeezing your arm. "It means a lot to hear you say that."

"Anytime," you responded with a chaste kiss against her hair and Haley could feel herself melt on the spot if she could. "Maybe it's about finding the right way to face your fear. How about we do it together?"

"You'd do that?" she leaned back from you with surprise in her eyes.

"Of course. I'd also feel a lot better if you had someone looking out for you."

"Alright... I'll give it another shot. Just... just promise me you'll be there with me?"

"I promise."

****

As you both waded into the water, Haley took a deep breath, focusing on the feel of the cool water against her skin and the soothing rhythm of the waves. She glanced at you, and the sight of your reassuring smile gave her the courage to take another step forward.

"Okay..." she breathed. "I'm in the water."

It felt different from her usual pool experience, with the sand underfoot instead of solid ground, but she was cautious not to let her foot stomp on any sea urchin.

"You're doing good, Haley," you encouraged from behind.

"This... definitely feels different," she admitted, noticing the vastness of the ocean around her.

"But the water feels nice, right?"

She nodded, still unsure what to feel. While the fear of being taken by the tide lingers in the back of her mind, the thought you're just behind her makes her feel safe, even just for a little bit.

Feeling a little brave, she wadded a bit further until the water rose up to her chest. She can feel that familiar pressure in her lungs, and she can feel herself panicking a little, her breath coming in short gasps.

"Is everything alright?" your voice cut through the sound of the waves.

"Could you maybe..." her voice cracked a bit and she couldn't dare herself to turn around and face you, afraid the wave would swallow her whole if she even dared to move. "Can you come a bit closer to me, Y/n? I'm still a bit scared..."

"Come here..." It wasn't long before she felt your familiar arms enveloping her, offering a sense of security she desperately needed. "I got you, see?"

"Thanks…" she murmured, a shiver coursing through her body despite the warmth of your embrace.

"One step at a time."

"One step at a time," she echoed your words, trying to muster some courage. "It's not that bad, right? I mean it's just water."

"Uhuh," you nodded, your breath warm against her ear. "Plus keeping yourself calm is one of the important aspects of swimming. And you know, being aware of the tides so you know when it's okay to take a swim."

"Okay... I'll keep note of that."

****

"Can you believe I modeled in swimsuits once?" Haley suddenly said after allowing herself to be familiar with the water. "This feels a lot different from a photo shoot."

"Even if you don't tell me, I'd assume you had been in one before," you mused as you tucked a stray blonde hair away from her face. "You're more than brave enough than you let on. Doing a photoshoot needs a lot of bravery, too, and— well, confidence. Give yourself some credit."

"You know what? In some ways I did face scarier things, I guess," she admitted with a chuckle. "Like wearing heels on a rocky path for a shoot."

"Hmm, just think about those whenever you feel like you can't do it."

Haley couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at you, her lips curling up in amusement. "You're making it sound like modeling is a big thing and you facing dozens of monsters in a cave like a walk in the park."

"Well, I'd rather take on hundreds of slimes than be a model," you grumbled, a playful scowl on your face. "I'd look silly."

"That's ridiculous, you'd be a great model."

"You're just kissing my ass." With a mischievous grin, you splashed some water on her face, making Haley gasp at your audacity.

"I would never!" she protested, laughing as she wiped the water from her cheeks before retaliating with a splash of her own, catching you off guard.

Oh, it's on.

****

A/n: this chapter is more like a filler—a glimpse of how Haley and the farmer got closer. I stumbled upon a mod that adds additional heart events for Haley, and I decided to include it. I'm focusing more on exploring Haley's arc, which is why I'm drawing out this fanfic so much. Forgive me; I just couldn't jump ahead to the kissing and whatnot, even though I'm dying to write that scene already.

This is actually a two-part chapter because I think the mod adds about ten heart events, and I had to cut it short since I think this chapter is already lengthy. I also need a couple of hours to rest my eyes. Forgive me for any grammatical errors; I continued writing this after my exams, so my head is a bit foggy at the moment. Love y'all and thank you for your patience.

taglist:

@joordynn

@taliiiaasteria

@iluvwomen01

#haley x reader #sdv x reader #fluff

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prlan · 1 month ago

Text

sunflowers

Haley x Reader (Farmer)

Summary: Emily told her to carefully place the letter and roll of cloth into the Farmer's (albeit overflowing) mailbox. Easy instructions with a short note detailing how to get to the farm. Hayley would have to do it after she put the newest sunflower on her doorstep into the steadily growing vase on her dresser.

Warnings: None! Intended to be female farmer/haley, but no pronouns are used

A/n: I saw the cutest tik tok and it inspired me to make a whole new blog to get the idea onto paper. See the tik tok here -> ib

w.c. 1.4k

--♡--

'Please take this roll of cloth and note to the farmer! I have an errand to run in Calico Desert today, so I wont be able to! -E'

Haley yawned as she stared down at the note on the dining table. She blinked twice before groaning in annoyance, picking up the note and flipping it over to see carefully written out instructions detailing how to get to the farm. Glaring at the roll of cloth and carefully sealed envelope addressed to the farmer, she gingerly pushes them aside, making room for her to set down her bowl of cereal.

She chews slowly, hoping that if she moves slow enough, she wouldn't have to go and face the farmer as she delivered her sister's gift. Haley didn't mind having to see the farmer. It's not like she disliked the farmer, rather, she just doesn't understand why they would choose Pelican town of all places.

A glance to her phone tells her it's nearing noon, and if Emily isn't back to the house by now, it's more than likely she won't be home until after her shift at the saloon.

Haley sighs, again, and after placing her bowl in the sink, trudges to her room to fix up her hair and apply some makeup, just to look presentable. And most definitely not because she wants to look her best, just in case she does end up seeing the farmer.

It's basically one by the time she's done, and Haley takes a deep breath as she collects all of the items for delivery, hoping that the mud from the rain yesterday won't ruin her shoes as much as she anticipates.

She moves slowly, shifting the weight of the cloth to her hip as she opens her front door with one hand, blowing the strand of hair that fell into her face out of the way.

The sun is bright, and she shifts the cloth again before glancing down, warmth blooming in her chest.

Laying neatly on her doorstep was a sunflower, a bright thing, trimmed neatly with a bow tied carefully to the stem.

Haley glances outside, barely suppressing her smile, attempting to see if the owner was still around.

Seeing nothing but the young boy, 'Vincent' her head provides, poking around in the river, the smile on her face slips a little. Haley makes quick work of placing the cloth and letter on the coffee table by the door before bending down and gently picking up the flower. She admires it for a little before her hand smooths over the ribbon attached. Her cheeks are warm, and she flushes with affection at the thought of someone going out of their way to deliver something she loves to her doorstep.

She takes it to her room, smiling all the while, as she pulls the little glass vase on her dresser towards her, placing the flower in the water gently.

There's a total of seven now, one for each morning the past week. Haley has no idea who could be leaving the flowers, but a flush of affection blooms in her heart for whoever it could be.

She carefully thumbs over a petal on the oldest sunflower, beginning to wilt, it's petals growing softer by the day.

There's a couple minutes of Haley gently smiling at the flowers before she remembers the errand she has to run.

The flowers are left with one last glance as she closes her room door behind her, smiling to herself as she picks up the cloth and letter from the table before making her way outside.

It's hot outside, as expected from summer, but Haley's mind is only concerned about any sweat stains on her clothes, or the possibility her makeup is running. Additionally, the walk is longer than she previously expected, sparing a glance to the bus stop and then to her shoes, caked with mud. Haley sighs.

She hadn't visited the farm before, finding the distance a deterrent along with the fact that she simply had no reason to visit previously. The mud and the sweat Haley's sure is running down her throat is only further justification for why she's never visited.

There's a sign that points down the road, the farm's name written neatly in Robin's handwriting.

At least she's headed in the right direction.

The walk is only a little longer before the path gives way to a large expanse of land and a large farmhouse on her right. The mailbox is easy to spot, slightly overflowing with various letters and items gifted from those in the community.

'Popular.' Haley thinks offhandedly, shifting the cloth around in her arms. She's starting to wonder if she should've written a letter of her own to stick in the mailbox alongside her sister's.

'Well, too late.' She thinks, walking over to the mailbox.

It's not easy fitting the cloth and letter in the mailbox, but she's able to fit it alongside all of the other things. Haley's even sure that there was a rock in the mailbox. What the farmer needs the rock for? She's not sure.

Once she's completely sure that the mailbox won't burst open, spilling all of it's contents all over the floor, she allows herself to look around. She justifies the look around, 'snooping' the voice in her head helpfully chirps, by telling herself that she's looking for the farmer. Someone has to tell them to check their mailbox.

There's a box to the right of the farmhouse, and when she opens it, peering inside curiously, there's a case of wine neatly placed inside, along with a box of blueberries and other miscellaneous items.

She closes the box, the lid closing heavily as it shuts, and turns around. If she squints, Haley's sure there's a silo, and a small chicken coop, but the land is mostly worked, green plants sprouting up from the group. She's almost jealous that the farmer's so good with plants.

Her shoes click on the wooden walkways that the farmer has placed down, looking around, when something yellow in the corner of her eye catches her attention.

She turns and follows the path towards where the glimpse of yellow came from. The path curves around some trees, previously blocking her view. When her field of vision clears of trees, the breath in her chest rushes out of her body.

There's a small plot of land, seemingly dedicated to sunflowers.

Her legs move towards the plot without her permission, and her hand comes up to touch the soft petals of the proud flowers.

She walks around the square plot, mesmerized by the flowers, before coming across one empty spot. There must've been a flower here at one point, the rest of the flowers uniformly lined up, at different stages of growth.

Haley's eyes widen as she notes which flowers are blooming in different stages.

There's six total plants in the plot that are still in the process of blooming, the oldest one just waiting to bloom.

Her heartbeat is loud in her chest as she makes multiple different connections at once.

First, the farmer has an entire plot of farmland dedicated to her favorite flower. Second, the flowers she's been receiving for the last week are more than likely from the farmer. Third, the affection in her chest and the heat that is steadily growing on her cheeks is definitely not a normal reaction.

The sound of boots on wood pull her attention from the blooms, as she locks eyes with the farmer.

They're slightly muddy, holding a pail of milk in one hand, the other holding a silver watering can.

Her heartbeat thunders in her chest as her eyes zero in on the bead of sweat falling on the farmer's throat, and the press of biceps against the fabric of their shirt.

Haley's almost positive that she's trespassing, but she's more positive that the farmer looks so pretty in the summer heat.

She makes a couple of aborted noises, before her hand comes up to point at the sunflowers.

"You grow these?"

Of all of the things she could have said, Haley's sure that this could be one of the worst things.

The farmer simply shoots them a smile, setting down the milk pail by their feet.

"Yeah, aren't they pretty?"

Haley notes that the farmer never broke eye contact as they spoke.

"They're my absolute favorite."

Her heart pounds in her chest as the farmer's smile grows almost sheepish.

"I know."

#stardew valley x farmer #stardew valley #fluff #haley x reader #sdv

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prlan · 2 months ago

Text

❝ 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 ❞

❝ SATORU GOJO HAS LOVED YOU SINCE YOU WERE KIDS - HE’S GONNA MAKE YOU HIS ! ❞

✧ series: call it what you want (part one)

✧ pairing: younger!satoru gojo x reader

✧ summary: satoru gojo fell in love with you from the moment he met you at eight years old. and now, in his twenties, when he sees you again after you move back to be closer to your aunt and your cousin, suguru, he knows — he has to make you his by the end of the summer.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, eventual smut, childhood friends to strangers to lovers, fake dating, gojo is four years younger than you, rich boy!gojo, suguru is your little cousin, very fluffy, slow burn, like they don't even kiss, but they will :), love at first sight for gojo, naoya is your ex,

✧ w/c: 15,285

“Never thought we’d be doing this, did you?” Satoru muttered in your ear, breath fanning hot against your neck, “be a little quieter, sweetheart, otherwise Suguru might hear us,”

You whine, but his fingers drag against your kiss bitten lips, until the digits slide into your mouth, as his hips rut against yours. And you didn’t think you’d ever be in position with your cousin’s best friend — pressed to the doorway of your apartment where Suguru could walk in at anytime.

This isn't what you thought would happen when you invited him over to talk. This isn't what you thought would happen when you agreed to pretend to date him. This isn't what you thought about -- but how could you think about anything with the way his breath felt against your skin?

He loved you -- loved you since you were kids, and he couldn't let you go, not like this. Not when he had you.

Not that you even wanted him to.

You didn’t think you’d shiver as he pressed open mouthed kisses down your neck, tongue flicking against your burning skin. You never thought you’d want to moan his name, like you had, far too many times.

“You may have never thought about this, Princess, but I sure have,” he presses a kiss to your jaw, the wet sounds your skin slapping together, as he reaches around your body, pinned on your stomach to the mattress, to rub at your swollen clit, drawing a muffled cry from your lips, “far too many times,”

In fact, Satoru Gojo knew exactly the first time he fell for you. It was the day he first met you.

“Be my girlfriend!”

It was less of a question and more of a statement.

One declared in the doorway of your room, with flushed cheeks and flowers in hand. And they weren’t your cheeks or hands, but your baby cousin’s best friend.

The first time Satoru Gojo asked you out was at the ripe old age of eleven, but truth be told he had held this crush since the moment he saw you when he had come over to Suguru’s house for the first time, almost three years ago now.

Your fingers brushed his as you gently took the flowers, “Satoru, you know I care about you, but not like that. You’re better off seeing other people your own age, ok?” You smiled at him, the same way you always did, a slight pout on his lips as he nodded, saying nothing more.

And you knew you were right — there was no fucking question that you were right. He was eleven and you were fifteen — an age gap untenable and unreachable.

But now—

“Long time no see,” Satoru said, lips curled in an all too cocky smile that you couldn’t believe belonged to the same blushing kid who confessed so earnestly back then, “it’s been too long,” your name rolled off his tongue with a familiarity that was the same but all too different.

But he wasn’t a kid anymore — far from it. It had been over a decade since you had seen him, as the summer he confessed was the last one you had spent at your aunt and uncle’s home. And you and your family moved overseas shortly after that, and you didn’t return until now, four years after you graduated college, for a job offer you couldn’t pass up.

And you didn’t realize that so much time had passed.

But he did.

“Eh? What do you mean you can’t help me unpack today, Sugu?” you hold the phone between your ear and shoulder, as you rip open the tape on yet another box you had hauled into the proper room to unpack, “you told me—“

“I told you I’d help you unpack if I had time. But now, I’m stuck at work until the evening,” you heard your cousin sigh over the phone, “But don’t worry — you’ll have help—“

You’re too busy trying to rip the tape off as you rip into Suguru to notice the door creaking open behind you, “Suguru, I swear to god if you’re sending a total random stranger to help me—“

“Not a total stranger,” a voice says behind you, and your head whips around so quick, you nearly drop your phone, gripping it, “unless not seeing me for years makes me one,”

A mess of white locks and sunglasses tilted downward to reveal a hint of his cerulean eyes that you could never forget — but still, you barely recognize the man that has them. Even if the grin on his lips with the lilting sound of his voice told you that he very much recognized you.

“Satoru?” Suguru’s explanation falls on deaf ears, as Satoru’s eyes don’t bother to take in your new place, all too focused on you, hands slipping into his pockets, “you—“

He steps forward and plucks the phone from your fingers, “Yo Suguru, I told you it’d be better as a surprise,” and you gape at him, as his grin curls wider, “yeah, yeah, I didn’t take the phone to have you lecturing me — I get enough of that from my dad,” and Suguru says something that makes Satoru’s cheeks flush, and he hangs up, before his attention returns to you, “so, shall we unpack?”

A few minutes turns into hours of hauling boxes inside and then unpacking them. It’s relatively silent, surprisingly for Satoru. The silence was a far cry from the boy who couldn’t shut up for two seconds, telling you about the test he aced or something stupid that one of his classmates said or asking you about your day.

Instead you watch him haul boxes like they were filled with styrofoam and air from the truck outside, and then lift his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, a flash of his abs shiny with perspiration. Your eyes dart away, suddenly incredibly fascinated with the contents of this box of kitchenware you opened up, cheeks burning, wondering when did the little boy you looked after become a man?

“Princess, where do you want this?” Satoru lifts a box, and you can’t see the writing on it from the angle he picks it up.

“Do you still have to call me Princess?” The embarrassing nickname your aunt had given you still stuck — the one that Suguru would always tease you with, while Satoru’s decidedly lacked any malice, “my aunt only called me that because she wanted a girl so bad,”

“Is that why Suguru is growing out his hair now? Trying to fulfill her dreams?” You snort, as you walk over to him, “it still fits you regardless of the reason Princess,”

You’re close, even with the box providing glancing around the box until you find it scrawled on the box underneath his arm — his very…muscular arm, veins bulging and muscles tense underneath the weight of the box—

“So this is stuff for my bedroom, you can just leave it on the floor, it’s right over here,” you lead him over and he places down the box, “I think that’s mostly it, I’m sorry Suguru made you come down here to help,”

“You don’t need to apologize, I wanted to see you,” and you smile softly, “it’s been too long,”

“It really has,” and your neck strains a little with how he towered over you, “can't believe you’re the same little boy I used to babysit,”

And he rolls his eyes, “Suguru would say it’s arguable I could still use a babysitter,” and you chuckle, “I’m not so little anymore, but I wouldn’t mind if you were my babysitter,”

Was he? No. No, he wasn’t.

Right?

“Stop fucking around,” you shake your head, as you head into the kitchen, “do you want to wash up, and then maybe I’ll order take out to thank you?” You’re turning on the faucet.

You don’t notice the slight pout on his lips, one he schools into a smile as you glance back at him, blinking as you find him shirtless.

Fuck. How was it possible for a person to be this gorgeous? Sweat slid down his body, slipping between the dips of his chest and ridges of his abs until disappearing into the fabric of his pants, or somewhere hidden—

You look away — “I’d rather take a shower. Do you mind?” And you force your voice not to come out a squeak, busying yourself with washing your hands, just so you don’t have to look.

“Yeah, of course, the bathroom is just around the corner. There should already be fresh towels inside,” and yet his steps grow closer, as you glance back, “uh—“

He’s still fucking shirtless.

“Instead of take out, can we grab dinner somewhere? You haven’t been back to the area recently so it’s a good chance to show you around,”

“You really don’t have to—“

“I want to, Princess,” he cuts you off, reaching around you to grab a water bottle off the counter, “get ready while I clean up?”

And you bite your lip, “Okay, okay,” and he grins back, a glimpse of the little boy that beams at you when you’d praise him for a high mark on a test.

“It’s a date!” And he’s off, disappearing into the bathroom, and you’re left there, wondering — what had you gotten yourself into?

~~~

“So,” Satoru lifts a spoonful of his dessert — a fruit parfait with a sugar coma inducing amount of whipped cream — and you were almost relieved to see some things about him hadn’t changed. How many times had you scolded him as a kid not to eat so much sugar — and he still hasn’t kicked the habit. You bit back your chuckle, as he spoke, “did you get dumped?”

You almost choke on your drink, as you splutter for a moment, before glaring at him.

And yet the more they stayed the same.

“I see you’re as subtle as you were when you were 11,” you mutter, setting your drink down, as you wipe your mouth with a napkin. Satoru tilts his head, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

“So you dumped him?” He leans back, “I didn’t know you had such high standards,” your cheeks burn, distracting yourself with becoming enthralled in the menu — Satoru had dragged you to a hole in the wall barbecue place (after your insistence that you didn’t want anything fancy after unpacking for hours).

“How did you know I broke—“ and you cut yourself off at the obviousness of the answer, slapping another piece of meat on the grill, the sizzle punctuated by your words, “I’m going to murder him,”

“Well, you’re in the right place to dispose of his body,” Satoru licks the spoon clean, before sticking it back in the whipped cream, “why did you break up with him?”

You shrugged, “I realized he was a narcissistic prick who only wanted me as a trophy,” and Satoru whistled lowly, “I’m done with dating losers. And dating in general,”

“I don’t think you should give up on dating just because you had a few bad experiences,” his voice grows soft, “you deserve to be happy and taken care of, even if you have bad taste,”

And you pout, “I don’t have-“ and he tilts his head, and you lift a few pieces of meat from the grill onto your plate, tongs clattering slightly as you set it down, “fuck, I do,” you groan, shaking your head, “that’s why I had to get out of there. Just needed a fresh start you know?”

“Sometimes that’s just what you need,” and your lips curl.

“Sounds like you speak from experience,” and his eyes flit up to yours, gleaming in the low light of the restaurant, cerulean irises catching the drops of light like comets across his gaze.

“Don’t know what you mean, Princess,” he busies himself with his parfait, and you scoff.

“Come on, half the girls in this place are glaring at me while I sit here, the waitress has been flirting with you, and now they had brought you out the biggest dessert that I’m starting to wonder if they even serve it here,” he spares a glance around, several gasps from giggling girls who avert their gazes, before his eyes are back on you.

“Jealous?” You roll your eyes — he wasn’t lacking for ego at least.

“More like wondering what a guy like you is still doing single,” and he sighs, leaning back, with a tilt of his head.

“You sure are curious about me,” and his gaze softens for a moment, while he picks at his dessert, scooping the strawberry off the top, “there’s only really been one person that I really wanted,” his tone grew more serious, lips in a bittersweet smile, “but she’s never really looked me like that,”

“Don’t tell me it’s one of those things where she rejected you and you have to have her now,” and he chuckles, shaking his head, gaze far too wistful.

His words are slow, as slow as the ice melting in your glass, “It’s more of if I don’t have her, I don’t want anyone else,” and your heart squeezed — would you ever have someone care so deeply for you?

“Then why haven’t you said anything?” you picked up another piece of meat off the grill, “anyone would be lucky to be with you,” and you meant it — he was blunt, but also kind, sweet, not to mention rich and you flushed as you thought back to his hiked up shirt — good looking.

But he only stares back at you, tilting his head — expression unreadable, an emotion you can’t grasp before it’s hidden under his gaze’s tempered waters, “Are you included, Princess?”

There’s a pause, as you almost chuckle, but your laugh dying in your throat at his expression — that same smirk, but the way he looks at you stops your mind in its tracks — only one word rolling around in your head: what?

And your brow furrows, your lips parting in a response you don’t have — only questions, ones you don’t get to ask as Suguru slides in beside you.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Suguru sighs, the moment broken, and you don’t catch Satoru’s expression, too distracted by your cousin, “got stuck in a staff meeting,”

“I told you academia is hell,” you elbow him, and Suguru rolls his eyes, as he shrugs off his suit coat, “were these meetings the reasons you got held up or are they just an excuse so you didn’t have to help me?”

“Who said it can’t be both?” And he earns a smack to his shoulder, your attention turning back to Satoru, his gaze fixed outside.

“You’re unusually quiet, Satoru” Suguru kicks him lightly under the table, “not like you,”

He looks at you first — and you grasp the emotion he had hid before — what was it? Sadness? Longing? — right before it’s gone again as he slides his mask back on, grinning as he always does.

“What can I say? The view outside is much better than your ugly mug,” and the two of them begin to bicker, and you lean back in your seat, a smile pulling at your lips, even as you glanced back at Satoru.

And now you wondered if you would ever get an answer to your questions. Or maybe, you sipped your drink, it was better not to have it answered at all.

~~~

Satoru Gojo was eleven years old when he fell in love with you. It was from the moment he met you.

And there hasn’t been anyone else since.

He supposed it was inevitable in a way — since Suguru was his best friend, and his first, and when his family finally decided to enroll him in school, instead opting for private tutors, for the social aspect of making connections, of course. Because what else was your eleven year old son good for then helping to make future business deals easier?

But Satoru made friends with the one person who couldn’t help their deals — Suguru Geto, one of the only scholarship students in the entire school. And Satoru’s want to avoid spending his days with servants or on the rare occasion, dealing with his dad’s lecture for getting in another ‘disagreement’ with one of his classmates (that ended with that classmate crying after Satoru evaded his punch and kicked him in the shin), ended up with him at Suguru’s place. A lot.

Then soon enough, he was spending most of his summers there too. And that’s when he saw you.

“You said your cousin’s here? Is she nice?” Satoru asked, taking off his shoes, as Suguru shut the door behind them.

“She is, except when she’s being a pain about homework. And when she gets mad, she reminds me of my mom,” Suguru grimaced, as he walked past him, calling out for you. You rounded the corner, book in hand, and Satoru’s eyes grew wide.

“Hey Sugu, you brought a friend?” You walked over, still clad in your high school uniform, before introducing yourself, and offering him a warm smile, “it’s nice to meet you. I’m Suguru’s cousin,”

Satoru didn’t know what this feeling was — and he wouldn’t until a few more summers passed, and his hormones kicked in — but all he knew was that he would do anything to see you smile like that at him again. And he did — he would spend as much time as he could with you — talking to you about a test he aced, about something funny that happened at school, or even ratting on Suguru about what he was up to (earning him many knocks to the head by his best friend). But every time you smiled or laughed, it was worth it — worth every second he spent counting down the time to summer break so he could see you again.

But he didn’t know his seconds would run out so soon — and he only learned one random day going home with Suguru, from a snippet of a conversation he had with his mom.

“I know, I know she’s coming next week,” Satoru’s interest hadn’t been peaked by Suguru’s conversation until then, because he knew exactly who they were talking about. After all, you always came right at the start of break, and finally he could see you again — and maybe this time, he could tell you how he felt.

“I know, I know it’s her last time here so it has to be perfect,” and Satoru’s head snapped back to Suguru, last time? “I will,” and Suguru hangs up, a sigh on his lips, “my mom is being so annoying about my cousin. So what it’s her last time staying with us? It doesn’t mean we have to—“

“What do you mean it’s her last time?” Satoru kept his tone steady and slow, even as his heart thrummed against his ribs as if it was a xylophone, “she always comes every summer—“

“Of high school,” Suguru corrected him, “she is applying to university this year — most of them are abroad, and it seems likely she won’t be back in Japan, not for a while,” Suguru continued to complain on their way back to his place, but all Satoru could do was think about you.

It was your last summer with him. His last chance to make a move, to be something more than your younger cousin’s friend. His last chance to make you see him as a man, not a kid.

He had to confess, his fingers curled into fists, before the end of the summer. He would make you his girlfriend — one way or another.

And he did confess back then, Satoru thought, as he picked up a photo, wrinkled and yellowed at the corners, a picture that Suguru’s mom had taken of you and him the summer you had left. A candid of him and you looking at each other — one that Suguru’s mom had slipped to him with a knowing smile and a wink (one that had mortified him as a teenager).

He was always looking at you — no matter where he was, his eyes always found your form, a magnet to its opposite pole, and he didn’t know how to stop you from drawing him in. It had been over a decade and he still couldn’t.

He stared at your smiling face, the very same face that had looked at you with a smile fading to confusion this evening. He had gotten so close to asking you — to telling you how he felt — and he flips to the next picture, a scowl on his face as a picture of him and Suguru with his smug smile stared back at him. If only fucking Suguru hadn’t interrupted.

He shook his head, flipping back to his picture of you. This wasn’t the summer and he wasn’t a kid anymore. And you weren’t out of his reach, bound for another country across the ocean. No, you were here — only a short drive away.

And he made a promise to himself — he would get you to fall in love with him, before the end of this summer.

~~~

You hate first days.

“Did you see the guy waiting outside?” one woman whispered not so softly as you passed by.

“Yeah looks like he’s waiting for her,” the other’s lips formed a frown but only to hide her smirk.

From the time you were a kid, your first day of school was something you had all the time from your family moving around. You were always the new kid — the one who would be met with wide eyes and curiosity, only to be tossed aside a few days later.

But this was a fresh start that you had wanted — a new job far away from where you had started, with new responsibilities — a first day you had looked forward to, until it went so downhill.

And it was all your ex’s fault.

You texted Suguru — is it too early to quit on the first day?

He replies, well it’s been four hours, think you’ve lasted through one of my dad’s long winded stories longer than that. What happened?

You glanced outside towards the front of the building. It was more like ‘who happened?’

It was an innocuous enough morning, of introductions, trainings, orientation, and finally computer set up. You were rifling through your paperwork, trying to figure out what sheet looked the least daunting when someone called for you.

“There’s someone looking for you outside the lobby,” you saw a flurry of looks shared and smirks shot in your direction, and when you arrived downstairs you knew why.

What. The. Fuck.

You couldn’t help it. You bursted outside, “what are you doing here?” It was your ex — the very same ex who had started at the same overseas company after you both graduated and the one you had. And again, had chosen to follow you here.

“Waiting for you to change yer mind,” Naoya tilts his head, hands in his pocket, “and I know you will, because you love me,” he raises his voice to catch the eye of several passerby, and you grab his wrist, dragging him away.

“Fuck off,” you hiss under your breath, “I told you it’s over, and don’t you have a fucking job?”

“Did you forget? I’m rich, another reason ya can’t do better than me,” Naoya’s lips curl into that same grin, one you knew as charming once, until you saw past his pretty pink lips and glimpsed the sharp fangs behind them, “I took time off. Did ya think it was a coincidence we ended up at the same company?”

You gritted your teeth, “Naoya—“ and he breaks from your grip, instead his fingers dig into your wrist.

“All ya are is me. All that you have is me. And all you will have is me,” he dared closer, breath warming your lips, as he took hold of your other wrist and tugged you close, “the sooner you accept that, the better, doll,”

‘Doll.’ The term of endearment you had seen as precious to you. Something you always loved to hear roll off his tongue, the word you had learned to learned to reply to, even more than your own name. The one you regarded with such love had burned, burned until the flames licked your skin and knew what it really meant — a doll with strings, one he was meant to be the master of.

“Don’t call me that,” you rip your hands away, “leave. You’re embarrassing yourself,”

“Am I?” He tilts his head, jerking his head in the direction of your building where your offices had a clear view of this, “or am I just embarrassing you?”

You stared out the window for a moment and you knew he was still out there — judging but the way your phone was on the verge of suicide by notification, he was still very much there. And now, all people would know of you is the new worker with a crazy stalker ex.

I’m calling the police, Suguru’s text popped up, what’s your workplace’s address?

You think I hadn’t thought of that, Sugu? You sigh, he’s not doing anything. He’s on a public sidewalk. They can’t do anything to him.

Another text: when do you get out? You glance at the time, seeing another two coworkers whisper to each other, stealing looks.

An eternity — In another two hours.

I’ll handle it. Just wait in the lobby after work. And you frown.

Sugu, I can handle it. I don’t need you to come down here.

You always fought your battles. You didn’t need anything else to — or anyone else to pick them for you. Not even your baby cousin — no matter how sweet his intentions were.

Don’t worry. I’m not coming down. And you frown, staring at the text, before your phone rings, and you groan as ‘Assistant Director’ flashes on the screen.

You were so fired.

You weren’t — as you shut the door of his office behind you. However, he did advise you that this company had a strict no nonsense policy and did want personal drama to be dredged up in the office. And you were given the day to sort out your “mess.”

You scrub a hand down your face, but it wasn’t even your mess, and how would you fix it? He wasn’t going to listen to you. You sit at your desk, packing up your bag for the day. And your phone vibrates.

Come down.

You hesitate, But he’s still downstairs.

Just go.

Fuck. You sling your bag over your shoulder, piercing eyes digging into your back, vultures circling an already dead carcass, whispering still even as the elevators doors shut.

And you almost wish they never opened when you see what’s waiting for you outside.

Fuck.

You grit your teeth, stomach in absolute knots as if to brace yourself for the complete shitstorm you’re about to deal with.

“Satoru?”

Satoru Gojo leaned back against his expensive (likely imported) car, shiny as it was new, sunglasses glinting in the light, but not brighter than the grin he gives you. He holds out your favorite drink, a tilt of his head.

“Are you ready to go?”

You glance around, as he places the drink in your hand, “But what about—“

“Let go of me!”

Satoru’s lips curl, sliding his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, “Oh, I’ve gotten him handled,”

Naoya stood between two men restraining him, both in suits, as his face contorted in anger, veins bulging, eyes darting between the two of you, “Do you know who I am? I’m the heir to the Zenin Corporation — you cannot treat me like this. I’ll have you—“

“Heir? Really?” Satoru stepped forward, blocking him from your view, “is that right? I thought the Zenin hadn’t decided announced a successor yet,”

You furrow your brow — how does Satoru— but then you’re being put into a car with Satoru’s arm curled around your waist, as he opens the door and tucks you into the passenger seat.

And now you won’t know. At least not now.

Naoya scoffed, “And who are you to know anything about—“

“Have you heard of the Six Eyes Corp,” and Naoya’s eyes narrow, “you should have because we account for a large chunk of your business. And if that support were to disappear,” he flashes his blue eyes at him over the rim of his sunglasses, “I’d hate to tell them it’s because of this,”

“You fucking liar, like you could tell anyone anything—“

Satoru chuckles, “You’re right, I am a liar,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “I don’t need to tell anyone. Except my father,”

Naoya’s sneer fades into confusion, his eyes narrowed, “Don’t fucking tell me—”

“Then I won’t,” he steps forward, hands slipping into his pockets, “but if you ever step in her presence again,” he jerks his head towards you in his car, “then I will, and you don’t wanna know what happens if I do,” he steps in front of Naoya, back blocking your view so you don’t see him grab Naoya’s wrist, blue eyes aflame with something far deeper than anger, “because it will much worse,” he squeezes Naoya’s wrist hard making him flinch as he grits his teeth at Satoru’s smiling face, “who knows? Maybe I’ll break your wrist next time.”

He turns around, waving off the guards, as he makes his way back to his car, sliding into the driver’s seat, smile fading to concern.

“Are you alright, Princess?” You’re watching those people drag Naoya away, his hateful gaze trying and failing to get a last look at you as the guard takes a hand to the back of his head to force his gaze forward.

“Where are they taking him?”

Satoru starts the car, the quiet rumble of the engine filling the silence of his pause, “just to the proper authorities. He won’t bother you again,”

You bit your bottom lip, eyes burning with tears — and you don’t know whether if it’s embarrassment or relief, “I’m sorry—“

“Don’t finish that sentence,” and your eyes slide to his, a soft smile on his lips, “you don’t have anything to be sorry about. Or to thank me for,” he cuts you off as your lips part, “is your wrist okay?”

You glance down and see the slight redness still lingered, a final parting gift, and your other hand closes over the wrist, “it hurts a little, but I’ll ice it when I get home,”

“We’ll go to a hospital to have it looked at,” and you’re shaking your head.

“I don’t want to sit—“

“Then I’ll hire a doctor to come see you,” and you stare at him, as he rolls to a stop at a red light…is that a pout? “I just want you to be ok, Princess, please,”

You bite back a small smile, and ignore the flutter in your heart, “Fine, you win, let’s go to a walk-in clinic,” and you spot his shoulders relax, “but it’s not really fair when you give me your infamous pout,”

He raises an eyebrow, “‘Infamous?’”

“You used to whip that out all the time on me and on my aunt when you were a kid — it did always work,”

“Not always,” he replies, as he turns into the parking for the walk-in clinic, “in fact, I remember a time that it specifically did not work,”

“And when was that?” You tilt your head.

And he smiles, “When I asked you to be my girlfriend,” and you furrow your brow, nearly forgetting the memory, until it hits you.

“Oh my god, the last summer I spent here,” you covered your mouth with the tips of your fingers, a chuckle on your lips, “you were very direct,”

“I could say the same about you,” and you roll your eyes.

“You were a kid. You were way too young for me, you know that,” you unbuckle your seatbelt, “plus now I bet you could get any person you want. That’s why I was surprised why you didn’t have a girlfriend,”

“Like I said, there’s only one woman in the world for me,” his eyes find yours, cerulean bathed in sunlight, light catching across his irises, “and only one woman I ever wanted to be with,”

Oh.

No, no, that couldn’t be it — you couldn’t be her, not after all this time—

You blink, “Satoru, you don’t—“

“Well our age difference isn’t a problem anymore is it?” Your brain is struggling to process, lips parting with no words, “Princess,” his fingers brush yours, gently grazing your hand, as your gaze finds his again, “when are you going to take me seriously?”

“Satoru—“

“Just don’t say no,” Satoru cuts you off, pulling his hand away, “don’t say no and think about it,” you open your mouth only to waver at the sight of the pout on his lips and you sigh.

It was hard to say no, especially right now.

“Okay I won’t say no,” you slip from the car, lips breaking into a wide grin, before sticking your head inside, “don’t smile like that. It’s not a yes,” you huff, cheeks burning and stomach erupting in butterflies.

“Not yet,” Satoru says as you shut the door, “not yet, Princess.”

~~~

“Huh? You did what?”

You loved your aunt. You really did. She and her husband had taken you in when your parents were too busy working to properly take care of you during the summers. But times like this reminded you—

—-she truly was her mother’s sister.

“Well your mother was telling me that you haven’t dated anyone since you’ve been back—“

“It's only been a month!” You had barely finished getting unpacked, and in fact, you still had at least five boxes still stacked up in the closet, “I’m not interested in dating, I’m trying to focus on work,” you rubbed the back of your head, “new topic, please,” as you sip on your drink.

And after the debacle Naoya had caused, you needed to — you had put up with the whispers and stares for a few days, but since Naoya had stayed away, the rumors faded with time. Now things had died down for the most part. Except for—

“Has Satoru still been picking you up?” You nearly do a spit take, but instead you choke down the water, coughing, “eh? Are you okay, honey?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” your cheeks burn at the thought of Satoru — he was always a bold kid, but you didn’t think he’d confess to being in love with you all this time. Especially now as a man — and not a kid, “yeah he’s still picking me up,”

When he had confessed to you all those years ago as a young teenager, you had thought nothing of it. Except that it was a crush on his best friend’s older cousin — something that would pass easily with time. You hadn’t even thought of it in all these years.

But now, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Especially when he kept showing up to pick you up from work. And now you were stirring other sorts of rumors.

After he had taken you to the walk-in clinic, he had driven you home, making sure to check if your place was secure enough, and that you weren’t too shaken up.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drop you off to Suguru’s?” he had asked, crossing his arms, “I could also drag his ass here, he owes me anyway,”

“No, no I’m really fine,” you chewed your lip, looking down, “you sure he’s not going to come back?” and he leans down, forcing you to meet his gaze, as he tilts his head.

“Sweetheart, you think I’d even leave your place if I thought there was a chance of him coming back?” he offers you a smile, and you scoff softly, shaking your head, “trust me, he won’t be bothering you again, not while I’m around,” and he added, “and I’m not going anywhere.”

And you didn’t know what to do with the promise in his words. Because you knew he meant that — in more than one way.

But even so, he hadn’t brought up his confession — not once.

“He’s so sweet isn’t he? Suguru is always so busy but Satoru’s making time to pick you instead,” your aunt gushes, and you shake your head, your aunt did have a habit of being a little hard on her son, “by the way, would you mind stopping by the house today?”

“Why’s that?”

And well, how did you end up here?

You stood in front of the entrance to a very expensive looking building with a very intimidating doorman, with a large tote bag full of food that your aunt had insisted you drop off. She had given you his address, but by the time you arrived, you realized that you didn’t even have his number. And now Suguru or your aunt weren’t picking up their phones.

Fuck.

You were internally debating whether to talk to the doorman or to just go home and deal with this another time, when you heard someone speak behind you.

“Looking for someone?” You jump slightly, whirling when you see Satoru, hands in his pockets, a smile on his lips, as he lifts his sunglasses to meet your gaze, “didn’t think I’d find you hanging outside my apartment building, princess,”

“Well, you show up outside my workplace and I’ll be showing up outside your apartment building,” the words leave your mouth without much thought, as your cheeks burn at the implication, “I mean—”

“Is that supposed to discourage me from picking you up?” he grins, “Doesn’t sound like a bad deal to me,”

You roll your eyes, before holding up the bag, “My aunt asked me to drop off some dishes for you. She’s worried you’re eating too many sweets,”

He takes the bag from your hand, fingers brushing, as he shakes his head, “I shouldn’t have ever told her that I had cake for dinner,” and you snort, unable to hide your giggles, “what’s so funny?”

“I can see a lot about you has changed, but your sweet tooth is just as bad as when you were a kid,” and you see him scratch the back of his head, “is your favorite dessert still mochi?”

“You still remember that about me?” A smile pulling at his lips, and your cheeks burn, but you refuse to waver.

“Well, it’s hard to forget you threw up all over the rug when you ate too many,” You bite back a smile when you spot the tips of his ears burn red, as he gapes at you.

“Did you have to bring that up?” He mutters, a small pout on his lips, and you snort, as he can’t help the curl of his lips, “now, c’mon,” his fingers brush the small of your back.

“Satoru, where—“ but his hand is firm as he guides you towards his building.

He flashes you a grin as he signs you in with the doorman, “Do you think I’d let you come all this way without staying for dinner?”

~~~

“Do you want anything to drink?” Satoru’s penthouse was nothing less than immaculate — high ceilings, pristine floors, and an interior designed living space. You swore in some places it was still shiny — and you felt very out of place in your casual wear for the weekend.

“Just a water,” you reply, as he opens his refrigerator and you raise an eyebrow at the fully stocked compartments, “wow,” you murmur, and he’s pulling a water and a fancy looking juice out of it.

“What was that?” He raises a brow, and you stammer a moment, “c’mon princess, share with the class,”

“Just surprised your refrigerator isn’t just stuffed with just desserts, sweets, and ice cream,” and he hands you your water, before sitting beside you, spread out on the couch, as he always was.

“Oh it is, it’s just very well hidden,” and you snort, as he throws his arm over the back of the couch, “I may be an adult but I’m not going to be a boring old geezer like my father,”

“I don’t think I could ever see you becoming boring, Satoru,” you chuckle, and he tilts his head.

“Is that a rare compliment from you, princess?” And his grin only makes your cheeks warm, as you roll your eyes.

“More like an observation,” you reply, as your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you pull it out to check — who would be messaging you now?

Oh fuck.

“You ok there?”

No, no you weren’t. Because your lovely aunt had given your number to a prospective match, and now he was texting you. A lot.

“It’s nothing,” you sigh, shaking your head, putting your phone on ‘do not disturb.” You would have dinner first, and then you’d murder your aunt after dessert, “do you want me to help take out dinner?”

“You expect me to believe you don’t hire a chef to make these sides?” The food was spread out across the table, many of the dishes your aunt had made plated and presented, but along with sides that Satoru had made, “Suguru had made it seem as if the only thing you ever made was microwave ramen,”

“Well jokes on him, I burned it the one time I tried,” he grinned, “but I did learn to cook, I just never bothered to cook for Suguru,”

“And why’s that?” You take a bite of the pickled radish he had prepared.

“Because I’m not trying to impress him, am I?” And you nearly choke slightly, as you manage to swallow, “you should know I’m so much more than a pretty face, Princess,”

You sigh, “Satoru—“

“Have you thought about what I said at all?”

And you had. A lot more than you cared to admit. Especially after all he had done. Everything he had to Naoya to defend you. And just about him — how sweet he’s been, how protective, how kind, and how you’d like nothing more than to do the same for him—

But…

“I have, but Satoru, our ages—“

“We’re both adults. We both graduated. We haven’t seen each other in over a decade,” his leg brushes yours as he shifts closer, “are you telling me you don’t feel anything?”

You didn’t know how to answer that — not when you didn’t really know yourself. And you always knew the answer — you knew you wanted to study abroad, you knew you had to leave Naoya’s company, and you knew you wanted to live here — so why was this the one time you didn’t? And why was he the one thing you were unsure of?

You bite your bottom lip, “But, Suguru—“ and he scoffs softly.

“Are you really thinking about Suguru right now?” he asks, “or would you rather date the guy blowing up your phone earlier?”

Your eyebrows knit together, “How did you know—“

“Well I know it’s not Naoya, and I heard from Suguru that your aunt wanted to set you up,” fucking Suguru—and your lips twist into a pout, he tilts his head, not bothering to hide his smile, “if you dated me, you could get your aunt off your back,” he muses, leaning against his elbow, “she always did say I was family, and I’m not looking to be your brother,”

Your cheeks burn at his words, “Satoru,”

“Think about it, Princess, you don’t have to give me an answer now,” but his eyes flicker to your phone, “but I know you’ll find me once you meet any one of these guys your aunt sets you up with,”

You grimace at your phone, picking it up to see the messages from the guy your aunt had given your number to, “fuck,” you murmur, locking your phone before tossing it away, an image of you trapped at a dinner across the most boring man alive. And then you glance up at Satoru, still a smug smile on his lips, and then back to your phone.

“What’s your plan?”

~~~

“So, I heard you turned down the boy I gave your number to,”

Your aunt hardly pulled punches.

She never did when you and Suguru were growing up — she always knew what the two of you got up to, even if you were both sure she could never find out — she always did. Even the one time that the two of you had snuck out to get ramen on a late night, Suguru’s parents were in a dead sleep — but by the time you both snuck back in, she was waiting for both of you in the hallway. But this time, she wasn’t even leading with a wind-up before swinging.

And then she adds, eyes narrowing, “He said you declined because you’re dating someone,”

She was going for the kill.

She turns to grab the whistling tea kettle, turning it off, before pouring the hot water into two cups. You force yourself not to bite your bottom lip, the smallest tell was dangerous, even with her back turned, “Is there anything he didn’t tell you?” She’s placing the tea cups one by one on the tray, as if laying out her pieces on a board only to corner you.

Your aunt frowns, “His mother told me,” great, even better — he was a momma’s boy, and now you were starting to wonder just how many bullets did you dodge, “are you seeing someone?”

You were beginning to regret this plan — and you don’t know why you let Satoru talk you into it.

“You want me to do what?” You stared at Satoru as if he had suggested going diving with sharks, which is not far from what he was suggesting, “tell my aunt that we’re together. No way,”

“Aw, am I that embarrassing to date, Princess?” And you roll your eyes.

“Yes, for me,” and he’s tilting his head, “my aunt will immediately tell my uncle and Suguru — and I don’t know which one of them would kill you first,” your uncle wasn’t one for words or conflict, but he had a soft spot for you — and a fist for anyone that tried to come date you without his approval.

“Eh? Doesn’t Uncle like me?” And you snort, the one sided conversations that Satoru had with your uncle that usually ended with your uncle excusing himself to get away from that “annoying moron.”

“He doesn’t hate you but,” you choose your words carefully, “he doesn’t prefer you,”

Satoru scoffs, crossing his arms, “Well Auntie loves me, and I had a plan for this,” and she did, she had quite the soft spot for Satoru, ever since he was a kid. You couldn’t exactly blame her — he looked like an angel, even if the words that left his mouth made it seem like the contrary, his fingers brushing against a strand of your hair, “and soon I’ll make you love me too,”

Fucking cocky bastard, you thought to yourself, cheeks burning at the thought of the smirk on his lips, but you’re jarred back to reality as you hear the clattering of cups and spoons.

“I am,” you reply, and your aunt’s head whips around, the clinking of the glasses cutting through the pause, “it’s new,” you add, as she sets down the tea cups, placing the tea dispensers in each one, “I wasn’t sure if I should say anything,”

“Why wouldn’t you? This is wonderful,” she blinked, and her brow wrinkles, “unless it’s that Naoya—“ you flinch at the thought of him.

“No, I’m done with him,” you wave her off quickly, wrinkling your nose at the thought of that bastard, grabbing the tea cup, the scent of green tea wafting from the steam that warmed your face, as you blew air to cool it off, “it’s someone I reconnected with here,”

Your aunt raises an eyebrow, “So soon? Is it someone from work?” Again, is the word she implies with the sentence, a sharp tone that nicked your armor.

“No, it isn’t,” and she’s sipping her tea, and you take a sip only to burn your tongue, “but he is younger,”

“That’s not a problem if he’s not too much younger — how old is he?” and this was exactly why you hadn’t wanted to tell your aunt, it was more of an interrogation than a conversation.

“He’s about Suguru’s age,” and she’s tilting her head, “Suguru introduced us,” and that wasn’t a lie — it was true — both in the past and now.

“Really? And Sugu is okay with you dating his friend?” Your aunt may be gossip and a meddler, but she wasn’t a fool, your hesitation is your end, “and I assume you’re telling me all this to get me off your case and to ask not to tell Suguru,” she sighs.

“Auntie—“

“You know I don’t like lying for either of you—“

“But—“

“No, I can’t—“

“How about lying for me?” Satoru stands in the doorway, head tilted, a smile on his lips. And your aunt blinks before she slowly puts the puzzle pieces together, a mix of emotions crossing her expression — confusion, disbelief, and maybe a hint of joy, before she settled on a neutral

“Satoru—“

He frowns, “Auntie, you know Suguru will kill me for dating his cousin, please,” and then he does what he does best — pouting.

And your aunt breaks — with a one hit-KO.

“You must have been blessed by some needlessly annoying god,” you murmur as he walks you back to your place, sun gleaming as it gave off its last rays of light before setting for the night, “because I don’t know how you still get her to fall for that,”

“I was born blessed,” and you snort, as you catch sight of his smile out of the corner of your eye, “and speaking of which, when’s our first date?”

“Straight to the point, huh?” You stop walking, hands in your pockets, “Satoru—“

“Don’t tell me you’re about to launch into another speech about how you can’t date me,” he gives an exaggerated sigh, “I could go back to your aunt and tell her how you broke my heart and let her pull out list of aunties who have sons who are excited to meet you—“

“Alright, fine, a date, but one thing first,” you step close to him, making his breath catch, pretty blues finding your gaze, the very same he would love to get lost in, before they flicker down to your lips. And he swears you can probably hear his heart beating out of his chest, thumping at the bony bars of his ribcage, and he hates it, hates how you have him twisted around your finger without trying, “Princess—“

You reach for him, fingers nearly about to brush his cheek, his eyes fluttering, before you flick his forehead, “ow!”

“I was just going to ask when our first date is going to be, but if you rather I go on a bunch of blind dates—“ and he’s shaking his head, rubbing his forehead all the same, “then do you have any ideas?”

He grins, “Plenty, but there’s one in particular.”

~~~~

“An amusement park?”

He sat next to you, driving, hand on the console and you couldn’t help but brush your arm against his each time you moved — and you felt as if he did it on purpose.

He raises an eyebrow, stealing a glance out of the corner of his eye, “Uh-huh, got a problem, Princess?”

“No I’m just surprised, we went to plenty of these as kids,” you glanced at him, his eyes concentrated on the road, fingers curling a little tighter around the steering wheel.

You had raised an eyebrow at his choice, but now that you were here…it wasn’t a bad pick.

You hadn’t been to one in years — not since your summers with Suguru. The screams in the distance told you there was a rollercoaster not far off, the syrupy sweetness of sugar somehow emanated from every inch of air, and the park was filled to the brim with families and couples.

You glance at Satoru, a plain t-shirt and shorts, and somehow he still looked as if he stepped off a page of a men’s style magazine. He looked around, his eyes landing on a vendor selling cotton candy, and you hid your chuckle.

“C’mon,” you took his hand, leading him over without a second thought, and you’re grabbing a giant cotton candy for him, made into a flower by the vendor. Satoru’s practically vibrating with excitement, slinking his hand around to sneak the vendor money before you even had a chance, “I wanted to pay—“

“You think I’d make my date pay?” He takes a bite out of his cotton candy, sugar sticking to his lips even as he nearly inhales a petal, “even the arranged set ups should do that much,” but it’s hard to take him seriously with blue sugar all over his mouth, “what?”

You snort, grabbing a wet nap from your purse,“Well, you’d be surprised,” and you wipe his face, fingers cupping his chin, “some guys are a little immature,” and he stares back, and you swear you see a flush settle over his cheeks, before he turns away to wipe his lips.

“Not me,” he mumbles, tips of his ears burning red, and you bite your bottom lip, cute.

“Should we find a ride to go on?” he immediately grins at that, offering his arm this time, and you take it, a smile tugging at your lips.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

~~~

Oh you were wrong.

So wrong.

“I changed my mind, I don’t want to get on,” and before you can leave a hand catches you by the wrist gently, blue eyes judging over his rimless sunglasses, “Satoru—“

“It’s just a rollercoaster,” just a rollercoaster? No, it was literally your death. You stared up at the contraption above you, the echoing screams growing louder as the line crept forward — akin to a rickety boat that Charon would wade you across into hell itself.

“No, I can’t—“ you shake your head.

“C’mon it won’t be that bad—“

“So you admit it’s going to be bad,” and he’s biting back a smile, “what?”

“I just never really saw you being scared of anything, Princess,” he sighed loudly, “I guess I’ll have to ride it all alone,” but that only serves to make many women (and men) stare at him as if to offer him their company.

“You have options,” and he shakes his head, his hand outstretched as the two of you enter the final stretch of the line.

“Like I said, sweetheart, there’s only ever been one option for me,” and your fingers graze his with several second thoughts, but when his fingers laced with yours, you knew there was no turning back.

“I didn’t know you could scream that loud,”

You grinned at a shaken up Satoru, throat probably raw and aching as he frowns, face turned away, “I’m not used to the speed, unlike you, from how I heard you drive,” and you bite back a laugh, as he fails to hide his flush from you, his ears burning red.

Your chuckle is a badly disguised cough, “Are you pretending to be this way to make me feel better?” You tease, and he’s crossing his arms.

“No way I’d let myself look so lame in front of you, I’m no better than Ijichi,” and you raise an eyebrow. Ijichi was a boy in Suguru and Satoru’s class when they were kids — one that Satoru loved to complain about being slow.

“You still think about him?”

“He’s my assistant,” and you snort at the thought of Satoru still hassling that poor guy.

“I hope you pay him well,” he’s officially pouting again.

“I didn’t know it would be that intense!” you tilt your head, as the two of you find a corner of the park that’s not so crowded and riddled with children running amok, and you watch him down a sugary soda drink he had bought from one of the food stalls.

“You act as if you’ve never been to an amusement park,” he’s quiet for a second too long, and your eyebrows knit together, “but Suguru—”

“You guys would go every summer, but it was when I had my prep classes on the weekends,” he runs his fingers through his white locks, “I would have skipped when I was older, but by the time I had stopped caring what my father thought of me, you had already gone to college and Suguru’s family stopped going,”

You frown — you knew Satoru didn’t have the best upbringing — yes he had every opportunity at his fingertips, all the money in the world that you couldn’t even fathom, but you could count the number of times he’s mentioned his parents on one hand.

“I was always so jealous when you guys would go,” he sighed, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips, “it seems silly now—”

“No, it’s not,” you cut him off, shaking your head, “you should have been allowed to be a kid,”

He chuckles, a noise that sticks in your chest, “Well, more than anything, I wanted to go with you,” his cerulean eyes find yours, a soft smile on his lips, “thank you for indulging me, princess,”

“Well, you’re the one doing me a favor, right?” you tease, getting to your feet, “c’mon we have plenty of other things to do — I saw a booth with candy apples not too far over there—” you point, and his fingers are already finding yours as he nearly drags you along, a laugh caught in your throat as you can’t help but smile at his excitement.

It’s infectious, you thought as the two of you got in line, Satoru nearly vibrating with need for his sugar fix, and you shook your head, biting back a laugh, just like him.

~~~

“You don’t have to walk me home,” the sun had long sunk by the time you both had left, staying to catch a glimpse of the fireworks before heading back, “it’s not that far from here,”

The two of you had opted to take public transport to the amusement park, knowing there would be next to nowhere to park or rather only the middle of nowhere to park. The cicadas were already beginning their symphony, filling the relative silence of the neighborhood now, except for the chatter heard from inside houses or outside in gardens.

“Who would carry your loot home?” and he tilts the giant plushie to show his unimpressed face, “you barely wanted to carry this at the park, even after you begged me to win it, and I did, in one shot,”

And he did, he had won you a giant polar bear plushie nearly as tall as you were in his hands, along with several bags of sweets he had bought on the way out, just to snack on tonight (and you seriously wondered if he ate anything that was not coated in mochi, chocolate, or sugar).

“I don’t remember begging you — I asked you,” you cross your arms, and you know he’s smiling behind the bear, using the plushie to hide his goddamn smirk, “i did! I just asked if we could try to win it—”

“And I remember the phrases ‘please’ and ‘i need it’ being involved in the conversation,” you felt your cheeks burn, “you still like these things, huh?”

“What do you mean?” and he moves the polar bear under one arm, the bags in the other so you could actually see his face.

“You always loved plushies, you had that one from your parents that you kept in your room with you all the time—”

“Panda, I was very original with that name,” you shake your head, before your gaze turns to him, his sunglasses gleaming on his head in the low light of the streetlamps, “I can’t believe you remembered that,”

“There’s barely a thing I’d forget when it comes to you,” and you bite your lip, heart squeezing at his words, “you look like you wanna say something, princess?”

You reached the outside of your apartment building just as night fell, humidity still clinging to the thick summer air. The light of the lobby spilling out into the sidewalk through the glass doors, just as the streets grew quieter.

And you do — you’re not sure if you should ask it — a question posed on a precipice of uncertainty that you didn’t know if you wanted to step off of. But you know you had to, at one point or another.

You could just go inside, brush off his question, and leave the day at that. But a nagging question had wriggled it’s way to the forefront of your mind, and you knew it wouldn’t leave your mind until it left your tongue.

You chew on your lip, “You say these things so easily when it comes to me, but how are you so sure?”

And he shrugs, his eyes not leaving yours for even a second, “I just know,”

“But how?” He’s shaking his head, stepping forward, until he’s a breath away, your eyes flickering from his gaze to his lips for a split second, your own air caught in your traitorous throat.

“Instead of wondering why I feel why I do, I think you should wonder why you’re so unsure,” and his fingers graze your cheek, tilting your chin upwards, his touch sending heat to the far reaches of your body, and he’s leaning forward. Your eyes nearly flutter shut, as his words nearly warm your lips, but no, instead they brush against your ear, “because if I was still just that kid to you that I was all those years ago, then why aren’t you pulling away?”

Your eyes blink open, as he pulls away, grin on his lips, as he hands you your polar bear plushie, “Satoru—“ and you don’t even know what you want to say — you want to argue, you want to say something, anything, but nothing comes out but his name.

“You shouldn’t let a guy get that close, Princess, especially not twice,” he sighs, lips still curled, “because if you let me that close again, I won’t be leaving without a kiss,”

And you could only stare after him as he left — fingers touching your ear he had whispered against, lips pursing, as you huff, cheeks burning as you step inside your building, burying your face in white fluff of the polar bear that looked a little too much like someone’s hair.

“Idiot.”

~~~~

You’re avoiding me.

Satoru wasn’t wrong. You were — but not exactly on purpose. Or at least you didn’t think so. It had been the third time you had turned him down in the last week. Although, today’s wasn’t intentionally so. You stewed in a corner of the bar, eyes glancing at your phone — what was really an appropriate time to leave a work-sanctioned event without looking completely anti-social?

It was never really fun coming to these events alone — but you knew if Satoru was here, you’d actually have a good time. You were almost surprised he hadn’t shown up at your place or your work to see you — all he had done is text you. And why did that almost disappoint you?

You checked the time again, met with the notification of Satoru’s message again before you swiped it away out of sight. But he wasn’t out of mind. He hadn’t been for days. You rubbed at your temples — you hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep since your day at the amusement park, thoughts spinning in circles and it was all his fault. You had done everything to get him out of your head — minimize contact, not see him, even drag yourself to an event like this — but still, you stared at your phone screen again, the ghost of his words still warming your ear.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Fuck. What were you doing? You took a long swig of your drink, hoping the alcohol could erase some of that night out of your mind. The last thing you needed to be thinking about was Satoru Gojo.

“So who’s the guy who has been picking you up after work?”

You nearly choked on your drink. Really? You downed your drink, hoping you can ignore the question if you take long enough downing the searing concoction that the bartender had handed you, maybe they would let you off the hook. But as you finish the drink, you only find your coworkers staring back at you still. The hush that fell over this group of women was far too reverent for a conversation about a man.

“He’s my little cousin’s best friend,” you reply, ordering another drink — you were going to need it, and the women exchange glances, fake smiles plastered on their lips.

“He’s not your boyfriend?” and a strange twinge settles in your chest at the question, poking and prodding your tongue to say no, no he wasn’t, but you almost didn’t want to.

“No, he isn’t,” and the women grin amongst each other, “if you would excuse me—”

“Wait, wait, we just started talking, come on now,” you sigh internally, as they order another round of drinks as they corral you to their table, maybe after this you could finally leave.

~~~

“What’s got you so down?” Suguru slides into a seat across from Satoru — Satoru who couldn’t stop checking his phone to see if you had replied.

“What do you mean?” he sighs, he shouldn’t have sent that text earlier. He shouldn’t push so much, he’s already pushed enough with his comment. God, why the fuck did he say that? What if you thought he was a creep—what if you thought he was disgusting? What if—

“You look pathetic,” Suguru sips his coffee in his hand, scrolling through his phone, “who is it?”

Satoru sits up, locking his phone, tucking it away as if it would incriminate him — flashing your name across the screen like it was plastered over his mind, “what do you mean?”

“I’ve never seen you like this, you keep checking your phone — you barely can keep track of it most of the time,” he shrugs his shoulders, “I figured you must have grew a dick and started liking someone,”

“Look who’s talking — when’s the last time you dated someone again?” And Satoru catches the crumpled up paper Suguru tosses, “don’t get on your high horse if you don’t want the same thing back,”

“At least I’m not waiting like a lovesick puppy over my phone,” Suguru mutters, taking another sip of his drink, and that’s when a phone ringing cuts through the silence — that was your ringtone, the very one he set to know when you’d call — just so he wouldn’t miss it, “looks like your waiting by the door paid off,”

“Fuck off,” Satoru mumbled, walking off with his phone as he picked up, “hello?”

“Suguru!” Satoru’s brow furrowed at the sound of your cousin’s name leaving your lips, “can you pick me up plz—“ your words were slurred, sounds of chatter cutting through the background.

“Princ—“ you hiccuped, a small groan leaving your lips.

“You can’t tell Satoru, he’ll come here and my coworkers won’t stop asking me about him,” you sigh again, mumbling, “why does he have to be so—ugh, it’s not fair for someone to be that pretty—“

Pretty?

His cheeks burned, as he covered his mouth with his hand, trying and failing to bite back a stupid smile on his lips — it’s not fair for you to be this cute. He would have preferred ‘handsome’ or ‘perfect’ or ‘your boyfriend’ — but he could settle for pretty.

“Anyway!” You cut his thoughts off, “could you come get me?” And Satoru bit his lip, glancing at Suguru — he could tell Suguru to get you, he could, but the odds of you letting something slip to Suguru—- “remember you can’t tell Satoru—“

—was really high.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right there, and I won’t tell him,” he adds, because you already had.

~~~

“How did you find out where I work?” Satoru didn’t know after so many years that there were still new things to learn about you still — and one thing he had learned tonight was that —- you pouted at him, stumbling slightly as he came to a stop in front of your building — you were really whiny when drunk.

“I picked you up there, remember?” he lightly flicked your forehead that only made you huff, “now do you have your keys?”

“Do you know how annoying you are?” And he has to bite back a laugh at your scrunched up face.

“I do, sweetheart, but I’d love to hear you tell me,” you scoff, crossing your arms only to immediately uncross to dig through your purse for your keys, tossing out several things that Satoru catches or picks up.

“You come to my work and pick me up, and act all swoon worthy, and perfect, and you look like that—“

“Like what?” he can’t hide his smile this time, and your brow furrows as you pull out your keys, lips opening and closing, until you purse them.

“Like that,” you grumble as you teeter on your feet again, before he supports you, and he swore he heard you mumble, “so disgustingly handsome,”

And he’s glad your eyes are half closed and focused ahead, otherwise he knew you’d smack him for the grin on his face.

“Oi, don’t—“ and you don’t listen, nearly falling over as you unlock your door, whole body weight leaned against it, but his arm slips around you, holding you up from face planting into your floor, “you’re gonna break your neck, Princess,”

“You wouldn’t let that happen,” You break from his grip and lean up close, your breath warming his lips, your gaze half lidded, “not when you love me,” and his heart thuds against his ribs, rattling his lungs and bones alike, “that’s what you said, right?”

You weren’t making this easy, not with your fingers now sliding up his chest, toying with the top button of his shirt, “I did—“

“So are you going to prove it?” And the floor feels as if it slips out from underneath him, and all he feels is you, only you — the brush of your fingers against his chest, the faint scent of lavender from your perfume that your aunt had gifted you, and the caress of your gaze against his lips, the same eyes he could easily lose himself in — if he wasn’t careful.

But he had to be careful — because it was you.

“But—“

“But what?” it would be so easy to kiss you, when you were only half a breath away, lips parted and gaze asking him to do so, to just lean in—but he can’t.

Not like this.

His thumb runs down your lips, your eyes fluttering shut, fingers sliding to cup your jaw, and he leans in — feeling your breath catch—

But he only flicks your forehead, drawing a soft yelp from you.

“I’d like you to remember our first kiss,” and he’s corralling you into bed after that, your body keeling over into the soft mattress, as he’s able to wriggle you under the comforter. Your body relaxes into the plush bed, eyes shut, as your muscles loosen and unwind, while Satoru stands over you, the exact opposite — muscles taut and mind whirring.

Fuck.

“You never make it easy, do you, Princess?” he mutters under his breath, swallowing thickly as he scrubs a hand down his face, “good night,” his fingers ghost over the swell of your cheek, before turning to leave—

And your fingers caught him around the wrist, eyes half open as you stared up at him, a pout on your lips but now for an entirely different, but somehow the same reason—

“Stay,” one word nearly had him crumble right there — and how pathetic was that? Maybe Suguru was right — he was no better than a puppy at your beck and call — waiting by the door for his master to return. And he almost didn’t mind — if you always came home to him.

“Princess, you have to go to sleep—“ he could easily break from your grip, fingers wrapped loosely around his wrist, but your grasp may have been very well made of iron with how you had pinned him into place — an entomologist pinning their butterfly in their display.

“Don’t wanna sleep alone,” a slight whine in your voice makes him waver again, but he had a problem with sleeping beside you—

He shifted in place, adjusting himself, a somewhat big problem thst wouldn’t go away — no matter how many times he thought about Gakuganji in his underwear — especially when you were looking at him like that, half dressed in bed with a pout on your lips and want in your gaze—want that he never thought would be for him.

“Please?” And that’s all it takes, his thumb rubbing against your fingers — because he could never say no to you.

~~~~

“Are you okay?”

Satoru was never left alone — not since he had managed to wander off alone when he was five. It took several hours and a dozen security guards to find him at a bakery, having his third piece of cake. And when he was brought home, he was told just how many ways that could have went wrong — what could have happened to him, and most of all — how badly it could have made his parents look.

After that, he couldn’t remember a time that his hand wasn’t clutched by a caretaker or escort — from school to home to anywhere else he wished to go. But he never wished to go anywhere, not with a stranger at his side.

It was only when he met Suguru that he was allowed to go out without someone hovering over his shoulder. But without warning — warning that if any incident would mean he would be stuck back in his daily life. But that meant when he got distracted in the pastry section of the supermarket — looking for the exclusive mochi he desperately wanted — he found himself alone, with you and Suguru nowhere in sight.

“Suguru?” Satoru called, head whipping around, chest thudding as the white noise of the market grew louder. His gaze falls, ears ringing with all that could go wrong, back to the life with no one at his side, only strangers—

“Toru?” Satoru’s gaze snaps up, your hands on your hips, your head tilted, “you okay?” And he’s quickly wiping away his tears, sniffling softly, your hand finding the top of his head, “i got you something,” and you hold out a mochi in front of him, and he blinks.

“You found it?” He’s blinking and your lips curve into a pretty smile.

“Anything for you, Satoru,” your fingers run through his hair, “Satoru? Satoru—“

His eyes flutter open, finding you leaning over him, your tousled hair in messy tangles, “finally awake?” And a soft chuckle on your lips as you speak, rubbing your eye, flinching as you rub your temples, “what exactly happened last night?”

“You mean besides you calling me pretty?” And your jaw drops, biting your lip, “and begging me to stay? Didn’t know you liked my company that much, Princess,”

You glare at him, “well with charm like that—“ you mutter, when it occurs to you, “why did you sleep on the floor? And with that?” You point to the polar bear plushie he used as a pillow last night.

Not his most preferred bedfellow.

Always full of surprises, his cheeks burn, and he only can hope it doesn’t show on his face, hidden behind a cheeky smile, “Didn’t know you were so eager to share a bed with me, sweetheart,” and you roll your eyes, “I have to warn you, I have a tendency to cuddle—“ and you smack him with a pillow, he sighs, “someone wasn’t too keen on sharing her pillows with me, so this was the best I could do,”

You snort, as you take the offending plushie from him, “Did you do something to him?”

He tilts his head, “Eh?” And you hold up the polar bear plush, “what could I do to him?”

“Someone did threaten to toss him out into the ocean so he could join his family,”

“I can do a lot of things, but I can’t solve global warming, Princess,” and you bite back a laugh, “I was on my best behavior with him last night, even though he’s a shitty pillow,” and you didn’t have to know how he had slapped him a couple times.

But even so, you bite your lip, looking down as you toy with your comforter, “why did you come?”

He blinks, “what do you mean?”

“You could have sent Suguru, but you came, and you stayed, on the floor,” and he curls his lips.

“Well what kind of fake boyfriend would I be?” And you roll your eyes, still waiting for an answer, and his voice grows soft, “you know why, Princess,”

“I do, but I don’t,” you murmur, fidgeting with your blanket as you chewed on your bottom lip, “my coworkers couldn’t stop talking about you last night, they kept saying how handsome you are, how wonderful, how perfect—“

“Should I be less handsome or perfect? Because don’t know if that’s possible—“ and it earns him another whack with the pillow, but he only catches it, “you say that like it’s a bad thing,”

“It’s not, but I don’t know why after all these years, you still want me,” you sigh, words pushing past your lips, “you could have anyone, Satoru,”

“If I just wanted anyone, I wouldn’t have fell in love with you,” and you bury your face in your pillow, gaze peeking down at him.

“You say that with such ease, how do you know what love even is? I don’t know if I know what it is,” you add, mumbling under your breath, and his eyes can’t help but follow the way your fingers run through your hair.

“I don’t think I need to know when I feel it,” Satoru sat up, dangerously close to you, within reach yet so far out of it, “do you need to know to see the sky is blue? Do you need to know to feel pain when you burn yourself?”

“Didn’t know you were taking philosophy classes with Suguru,” and he snorts, shaking his head, “Satoru—“

“Like I said before, Princess, just give me some time,” his fingers reach for you, and your breath catches, before he slowly smoothed your hair out, “and I’ll win you over,”

Your eyes flicker to his, and god, he wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss you, but he couldn’t. He had to be patient. He couldn’t push you — he wanted you to want him just as much. He would make you fall into his arms willingly, and you’d kiss him — not the other way around.

“Want some breakfast?” your lips curl into a soft smile, the very same smile that he had fallen for time and time again.

“You offering to cook me breakfast?”

“Just wondering what would shut you up the quickest,” and he has half a mind to reply with ‘your lips,’ but he decides against it, “pancakes?”

~~~

“I can feel you staring,”

Even with your back turned to the stove, bowl in hand as you whipped the batter with the whisk, hoping your laser focus on the pancakes would help you distract yourself. But it did little when you could feel his gaze sticking in your back, spotlights on every little movement — something that wouldn’t have bothered you before — but after last night—

This was why you never drank.

You covered your face with the back of your hand, cheeks burning, as you placed the bowl down, what had your life become?

“C’mon you can’t just let a guy like that go,” one of the women from work nudged you — you couldn’t remember if her name was Kanae or Kanao — handing you a refill of the drink you had gotten, “he certainly seems into you from the way he looks at you,”

“If he isn’t, I’d take him off your hands,” Saki slurred, nearly spilling her drink, “he seems to like you. Is there really nothing between you two?”

“Not really,” you sipped your drink, if confessing to you after over a decade was nothing, “he’s just a friend,” and he was — a friend who was your fake boyfriend.

“You know with how you started, I thought your love life would be a lot more interesting,” Kanae sighed far too loudly, as she took another long swig of her cocktail.

“Well we’ve talked a lot about what you guys are but we haven’t asked how you feel,” Saki grinned, sloppily drunk yet somehow masterful with her questions, “how do you feel about him?”

And how did you? If someone asked you a few weeks ago, you would said he was just your little cousin’s best friend, a childhood friend — and you wouldn’t have thought twice. But now, he has given you so much to think about. Would you be this hesitant if you two haven’t met as kids? If he wasn’t Suguru’s best friend? If he didn’t seem so far out of your league?

Maybe. But you were never good at going for things you wanted — or accepting things as they were. Even with Naoya, you knew you should have broken up with him — you knew he was toxic, and yet you stayed — because it was easier.

And maybe it was easier to push Satoru away than to face how you felt.

Fuck, you were too drunk for this — you needed to get out of here, “excuse me,” you manage to slip away into the bathroom, washing your face, leaning over the sink.

You held your forehead, steadying yourself against the cold porcelain, fingers digging into the rim of the sink — eyes burning as your head throbs, a wave of nausea pulsing through your stomach. Fuck, there was no way that you could get home alone.

You pulled out your phone and scrolled — who the fuck would you call? The only people you knew were your family and…

Nope. No. Not an option.

You found Suguru’s number and tried to text, only to find your eyes blurring, and you knew if you sent a message he would be holding over any typos or fuck ups over your head forever.

You found his name, your head spinning as you clicked and called.

He didn’t pick up.

“Fucker,” you mumble, trying to hit his name again, your head spinning, and finally someone picked up—

And then you woke up in bed. A soft groan fell from your lips, knives prodding at every inch of your brain, memory blended and choppy as you drew into consciousness. You were home, your eyes fluttering open to sunlight illuminating your bedroom, a dull stiffness in your muscles that makes you stretch, turning on your side only to be met with a sight.

Satoru Gojo. Asleep on your floor, cuddling the plush polar bear he won for you. You stared, blinking, wondering if blinking away the sleep would somehow blink away Satoru too (it did not unfortunately). So you did the only other thing you could think of — take a picture.

As you glanced from the image to him, bits and pieces came back — from your drunken ramblings on the phone to the ones in person, your cheeks burning as you buried your face in your comforter before staring down at him. Was it possible to die of embarrassment? You were really testing those limits.

But even so, as you watched him sleep on top of the plushie, the only thing you could wonder was why had he stayed? He could have left after you fell asleep, or even before that, there wasn’t much you could have done to stop him. But he stayed, even on the floor, rather than anywhere else.

“So?” you didn’t need to turn from the stove to know he was grinning, “can’t I enjoy the show, Princess?”

“If you’re enjoying it so much, how about you become part of it and help?” you offer him a spatula, as he makes his way over, leaning over you, his body brushing against yours, but you ignore it all the same, eyes focused on the task instead on the warmth blooming from his touch, “I’ll spoon and you flip,”

The two of you work in silence, as you spoon batter onto the griddle and he flips the pancakes — and it’s only when you’re both just about done that you glance over, and his lips are curled, “What are you smiling about?” and he shakes his head, as he flips the last of the pancakes onto the stack, “Satoru—“

“I just never really have made breakfast like this before, or had someone make it for me,” he scratches the back of his head, “my parents always had chefs or maids or someone make me all my meals, and even when I moved out, I always cooked alone or bought my meals out,” he shrugs, as he turned the stove off, “it reminds me when you’d make me and Suguru instant ramen after we came in from playing outside,”

You snort, “You remember that?” You would get stuck making ramen for the two of them, tossing some seasoning and sauces into the mixture along with an egg, “I always put too much black pepper. I thought you hated it,”

“But I always finished,” he added, and he did, even if his cheeks were burning red and eyes watering by the end of the bowl. Your lips curl at the memory of him at the age of twelve downing an entire glass of water and spilling it all over the front of himself.

“Well I can make a lot more than instant noodles now,” you have Satoru set the table while you start to clean up, turning on the sink. You hear the clink of plates and utensils behind you, as he sets them down on the table, but you can feel his gaze fall over you even as your back is turned.

“I’m going to need some proof — there were a few times you almost burned those noodles,” and you pout, turning with your hands on your hips.

“Oh you want me to prove it now?” You turn, running your finger discreetly up the side of the used mixing bowl, finger full of batter as you walk up to him, hands behind your back.

“And how’re you gonna do that, Princess?” the corner of his lip quirks upwards, as you step close up to him, and god, he’s fucking tall — and it kind of pissed you off — all these boys shoot up like fucking weeds, but it didn’t mean you couldn’t knock him down a bit.

“Close your eyes, and find out,” he raises an eyebrow, suspicious, but still he obeys — good boy, the praise runs through your head to the tip of your tongue, but you bite it and the words back alike. And you’re so close, you can see his snow white eyelashes fan out against his cheeks, and he’s so unfairly pretty,

For now.

You’re so close, you nearly feel his body warmth radiate your skin — and you swear you hear his breath hitch — and it would be so easy to lean forward— “Princess — what—”

And then he gasps when you smear pancake batter down his cheek, a snort leaving your lips as he gapes at you, mouth ajar. He blinks, his hand reaching for his cheek, before he stops when his eyes flit to your batter caked finger, “You—”

You’re giggling, trying to stop yourself from doubling over at his expression, “What? I just wanted to give you a taste of my cooking before you tried it,” and he frowns at you for a moment, before his lips curl deviously, tilting his head.

“Is that right?” and his fingers run through the smeared batter, caking his finger tips before he’s stepping towards you, “then it’s fair, if I make you taste it too—“ and you’re trying to back up, giggles leaving your lips, but he catches you by the wrist.

“Satoru—“ you whine as you’re trying to squirm away, “let go!” but he only pulls you close, your body nearly bumping against his — and it was your turn for your breath to catch, cerulean irises stealing the air from your lungs as you drowned in them, “hey—“

“Just how much are you gonna tempt me, Princess?” and you should step away, but his fingers around your wrist send warmth blooming down your arm, straight to your chest, and you can’t bring yourself to step away.

“And how am I doing that?” His fingers tug you closer, thumb brushing against the inside of your wrist, before he leans close.

“You know exactly how,” and your glance flickers from his gaze to his lips, and back again, resisting the urge to shut your eyes — but you don’t have to, when he smears the batter all over your cheek.

“Toru!” You stare at him, and he’s laughing, as you grab at him, only for him to slip away, “I’m gonna kill you—“ and you move towards the sink, batter covered bowl still inside, “oh just you wait—“

But your beeline is cut short by his grip, arm darting around your middle, as he pulls you back. You gasp, struggling in his arms in vain — fuck his stupidly toned arms, “you shouldn’t start something you’re not ready to finish,” his words are said against your ear, but they rush down your body in almost a shudder.

His lips are an inch or two from yours, you would barely need to lean to reach them — the words of your coworkers ring in your ears

“Who said I wasn’t?” His eyes find yours, his fingers tilting your chin ever so slightly, when your phone rings.

You jerk slightly at the sound, your eyes flickering to the name across the screen and see Suguru’s name flashing on the screen.

“It’s Suguru,” and Satoru lets go of you, as you make your way to the phone, and you swear you hear him mutter something under his breath, “what did you say?” you don’t pick up the phone but a few texts come through anyway.

“Nothing,” he scratched the back of his head, “what did he say?”

“He’s asking if I wanna come over for dinner tonight, said you’re gonna be there too?” And you raise an eyebrow, as Satoru fishes his phone out of his pocket and glances at it.

“Apparently I am,” you turn on the faucet, cleaning your face off, offering Satoru a damp tissue. “Guess this won’t be the last meal we’re sharing today,”

“Guess not,” his fingers brush yours when taking the tissue, trying to clean the batter off his cheek but only spreads the mess. You snort, as you take the napkin from him holding his face by the chin, “so how’re we gonna play it?”

“Play what?” You toss the napkin away, both of you taking a seat at the table.

“Did you forget?” He stabs a pancake and places it in his plate, “we told your aunt we’re dating — and that we’re hiding it from Suguru, and you just agreed to dinner with both of them,”

Fuck.

✧ a/n: hi it's been quite a while T_T. sorry work has been so busy. i haven't had a moment to post, and now i had to split this up because it just got too long lmao. part two will come later, i'm going to be prioritizing my kinktober fics. thank you to @coffee-and-geto for betaing :)

✧ taglist: @satorusmochis , @celestialgojo , @sugurubabe , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @strawberryfanatic01 , @cira273 , @sobbangchan , @hiraethwrote , @peppertoastuniverse , @dreamtardisspace , @redmangotango , @h4ru-h4ruu , @anpacax0 , @theshylittleelfgirl , @hyori2 , @elliesndg , @maddietries , @roses-can-be-deadly-too, @vernasce-blogs , @mrsoikawa17 , @spider-fan72 , @haoxiaoxi , @horchatacow , @lovemoreworrylessv, @maybe-a-bi-witch , @missroki , @rubyarerosies ,, @ranatherealestsigma , @svt-backup , @catsgomurp , @sakurastorm , @forest-fruits-jam , @lemonpoppy-seed , @goddess-ofthe-godless , @notgoodforlife , @johannakhalafalla , @fushitoru , @kentosbutterfly , @augustwinesworld

#goio x reader #jjk x reader #older reader #age gap #smut

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prlan · 2 months ago

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lets play a game

what comes up in your tags when you types

#boku no hero x reader #minho x reader #take good care of yourself #pets #i've never gasped so hard before

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prlan · 2 months ago

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HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine, reader not in the best mental state (esp in first scene).

notes: FINALLY!!! its unedited so bear with me, i dont rlly have time to go through and edit + i've been sick as hell for two weeks straight now. but i hope u guys enjoy!!!

ALEA IACTA EST

You were trapped.

You didn’t know what sort of witchcraft Pantalone used but you couldn’t leave his wing. You thought you might be going crazy, it took two days of making excuses for you to realize that something was severely wrong, and another three for the anxieties to start embedding in your head. You had your first panic attack in years on the sixth day, and now on the seventh, you were sitting in the small library alone—there was a book in your lap, but the words were swimming off the pages and your head was spinning.

How was this what he wanted?

You couldn’t understand how either of you were benefiting from this. He wasn’t getting whatever knowledge he wanted from you and you weren’t getting what you needed to know. You were just stuck here, alone and lost. Not even Pantalone was around for the past few days because he went to finalize a business deal in a Mondstadt port town, he should be coming back soon but even when he did, you knew he wouldn’t spare you much attention.

How was this what he wanted? You wondered if it was supposed to be some sick sort of torture, wear down your mental fortitude so you’d be more apt to answer the questions he wanted. If that was the case, he would be severely disappointed when you spat in his face the next time he dared to make an appearance. Another part of you wondered if this was just how it would be—he would keep you locked up and alone so he didn’t have to deal with you but he also didn’t have to fear you running off and putting yourself in danger.

The more you thought about it, the more you convinced yourself of both options, and the more you hated your own soulmate.

Seven days. It had been seven days of being trapped in this place with only Pantalone to occasionally talk to and of the few times he spoke to you, the majority were just of him going on a vicious rant about how the Tianquan of Liyue kept sidelining his proposals and how the wineries of Mondstadt were icing him out of the wine market with Liyue’s merchants. He claimed it was all some big conspiracy against him because there was no reason they should be blatantly disregarding his letters, all of his proposals were mostly targeted for their profit, which the Regrator thought was blasphemous in itself—the Jester apparently cared more for building relationships with the administrative and economic sectors of each of the nations than Pantalone’s dignity as a businessman. You, evidently, did not give him the outraged reaction he wanted and he hadn’t come back to speak with you since, leaving for his meeting across the nation without a word.

Now you were alone, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you—and you knew it was not Dottore.

You exhaled as you tried to focus again on the book laying on your lap but your head throbbed and you were forced to avert your gaze back to the ceiling, trying to quell the pain through sheer willpower alone. The Regrator’s library was filled to the brim, but with nothing that would be of use to you trying to figure out how they had trapped you in this sector. Books on economics, the aristocratic families of Snezhnaya, the history of the northern lands and all of the old traditions and folklore that noble children were brought up learning, undoubtedly so he could fine tune that mask of his, pretending that he had always been one of them in order to shear more money from them.

A part of you wanted to warn him that the more he tried to fake it, the more they would ridicule him, but you didn’t want to be totally isolated again as soon as he came back so you figured you’d just let him figure it out himself.

Regardless, even with the massive amount of books that stacked his library’s walls, not a single one could help you in figuring out this spell. You’d never seen magics like this before—it was not elemental based, it was psyche-based. Every time you got down the hall, to the eighth window from your room to the right, your head started feeling light and dizzy, you felt sick and nauseous and were forced to turn back lest you put yourself in a very, very vulnerable position in a place where you could not afford any vulnerability.

As nervous as it made you, at first, you found amusement in it. You were irritated and scared, yes, but more than that, you knew that Dottore could feel everything you did. So, you made it your mission to stay right at that eighth window for as long as you possibly could, just because you knew that you were racking your soulmate with that same nausea and dizziness and light-headedness that you were experiencing.

Now, the amusement was gone and you were just scared. You were scared that you would be trapped here forever, never again to see your mother and your half-siblings and your grandfather. You were scared that you’d disappoint your father, that you wouldn’t be able to succeed in your mission and he would never be able to rest peacefully without justice having been exacted. And as much as you hated him, you were scared that you would never see him again either, that he would just leave you here to rot, live out the rest of your miserable existence confined to a single hall with books that you would rather burn than read.

You hated that you felt so attached to him already—that even though the thought of him filled you with vile rage and agony, your body still ached for his touch, your eyes still longed for the sight of him walking through the dark doors of the library, and your bond still screamed for you to somehow end this war between the two of you so it could find peace.

Even if peace negotiations were in your hands, you would still stubbornly throw them out the window, but they weren’t because he continued to completely deny you his presence. You were at his mercy, only when he decided, would a white flag be lifted.

“Excuse me.”

You stiffened, an unwelcome chill ran down your spine as you looked over your shoulder to where an unfamiliar figure was standing in the doorframe of the library. With golden blonde curls and green eyes, no more than a decade older than you, you thought that the man might’ve been handsome were it not for that there was a dark gleam behind his eyes that reminded you a lot of your step-father, one that promised danger and deceit.

He smiled and even though his teeth were not sharpened, somehow they looked more like knives than Theta’s did. “You’re the aristocrat from Fontaine that the Regrator took in, no?”

“I am,” you said. Your voice was hoarse from days without speaking, you cleared your throat, closing the book and placing it down on the couch next to you just in case the man tried to take a seat there with you. “And you are?”

He wasn’t as unfamiliar as you originally believed. You recognized him from the event, standing with the rest of the Harbingers—immediately, you were on edge, trying to figure out what he wanted from you. He came closer to you and you bit the words that tempted to fly from your mouth as he picked up the book you had placed as a deterrent to take a seat on the couch right next to you, too close for comfort. You could feel his thigh brushing yours as he looked to the side to watch you, eyes tracing over your body once before settling on your face.

“Brighella,” he greeted, holding a hand out to you. “Tenth of the Fatui Harbingers, delighted to make your acquaintance.”

You placed your hand in his, albeit reluctantly, watching raptly as he lifted your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently before letting go. His lips were soft and pleasant against your fingers yet it still made your skin crawl. You drew your hand back into your lap immediately, waiting for him to explain what he wanted.

“I was just curious,” he said, answering the unspoken question. “The Regrator is a very proud man, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, he never responds well to help. It came as a shock to hear that he was taking in an aristocrat from Fontaine as an advisor.”

He was lying—about what, you weren’t sure, but you knew somewhere in that statement of his that there was a lie, and though you had no way of confirming it, you suspected that it had to do with his initial claim: that he was simply curious.

“He intends to expand the Northland Bank into Fontaine City,” was all you replied with, a thin smile painting your lips. “Even someone as proud and intelligent as him is not capable of such a feat alone, the Court of Fontaine is notoriously anti-Snezhnaya.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard.” Brighella waved off your words and relaxed into the chair next to you, eyes disarmingly beseeching as he watched your reactions. “But we have our own operatives in Fontaine City, I was surprised that he didn’t just come to me for information, rather insulting, actually.”

He laid the information in front of you like meat to seduce a starving beast, all the while he lurked behind the bushes and waited for you to lunge at it so he could drive his blade across your neck as an execution. You didn’t respond, maybe for a second longer than you should have, but the sudden information had thrown you off guard.

It was him.

The words rang resounding through your head, Brighella was the one running the Fatui’s operations in Fontaine. Why had he told you? What did he expect to gain from this? There was something you were missing still, but after a week of forced isolation and no progress in your mission, this was like a feast handed to you on a silver platter.

“Perhaps your operatives are just not capable enough for such a scheme,” you said dryly, but your voice sounded vacant even to your own ears, it was clear that you were focused on something else.

Brighella raised a hand to his chest as if he’d been wounded by your words. “Oh, but the Knave and I had trained so many of them personally,” he sighed. “What use am I to this organization if my colleagues won’t even rely on me or my agents to deliver when necessary?”

It was a rhetorical question but you didn’t know what to make of it, or of him. Faux-mourning tainted his tone as he spoke, a regretful expression on his face as he turned his eyes up to the ceiling above.

What was he trying to gain from this? You asked yourself again, more desperately this time. His lips, still tilted up as they’d been this whole conversation, had a bit more of triumph in them than they’d had before and you knew that somewhere you had slipped up, revealing something you shouldn’t have. But you rewound the conversation in your head over and over and over again and you couldn’t quite place where you had. You’d been careful with your words, nothing to set off alarm bells—your cover with the Regrator’s expansion in Fontaine was true, but you were just not being quite as helpful as he would like you to be, and Pantalone was very clear in his opinions on their Fontaine plants and their inadequacy.

It had to have been your tone, the emptiness in your response to his reveal about his subordinates in Fontaine. It gave away your interest, and you could play it off as if it was just a general interest in how they’d infiltrated Fontaine, but if your stepfather truly was his agent, then he would know very well who you were and your ulterior reasons for being here—or he would at least now have confirmation.

Pantalone had told you that Pulcinella, Brighella and Tartaglia would be the three Harbingers who would be the least of your worries, but you thought that the Friar was much more dangerous than he made himself out to be.

How were you supposed to proceed? You tested words on the tip of your tongue but you could not figure out what to say—if you were suddenly interested in him, he would know it was only because of the information he revealed, but if you were cold and distant, you risked him not returning and you needed more information one way or another, even if it meant consorting with a man that made your hair stand on end.

You didn’t get the chance to speak up again though, as your lips parted to speak, Brighella rose to his feet.

“I should get going. I’d prefer not to draw the ire of my fellow Harbingers, but it was a pleasure talking to you,” he murmured, a small smile and eyes turned upward as he nodded his head down in acknowledgement. “I’ll stop by again soon, it’s cruel of the Regrator and the Doctor to leave you alone the way they have.”

Two days later, the Friar returned.

You’d spent the two days alone reeling and trying to understand where you had gone wrong and how you could compensate for it. You needed a plan of action, and a fast and efficient one at that. Freezing him out would be stupid, as much as it might be the most comforting course of action, but you also couldn’t just suddenly be trying to get closer to him because he would realize something was up.

You weren’t stupid. If he had truly just been curious about you, he would have come much sooner than he did. He waited because he wanted you to be worn down and utterly alone, so you would latch onto him like he was a buoy in the raging sea. Unfortunately for him, you were far too used to being alone. As agonizing as a week of isolation was, it was not near enough to make you that desperate.

But he had information you wanted desperately, so you wanted to let him think whatever plan he was concocting was working in hopes that he might reveal more to gain your trust and dependency. You thought it would be a slow and arduous process, not to mention agonizing, but considering neither Pantalone nor Dottore have come to see you in over a week now, you figured you had nothing better to do anyway and this was your best shot at getting what you wanted… and maybe, if you ended up being successful with this, you could free yourself too but you thought that was far less likely.

At the very least, it might force Dottore into action if he thought you were starting to get close with Brighella.

But that was a long shot anyway. Brighella was a type of beast that you were unfamiliar with. He kind of reminded you of some of the crueler members of Fontaine’s aristocracy, the ones who found entertainment in setting up trials that they knew would lead to one terrible sentencing, all the while smiling to the defendants face, but even then they were nothing like this. He was a wolf that portrayed himself as a sheep in the truest sense of the proverb and you just didn’t know what he was capable of, or what he wanted, and that was what scared you most—you didn’t like it when you didn’t know what someone’s intentions were with you.

Your stepfather was easy, all he wanted was more power in Fontaine, evidently to report back to the Fatui for a promotion—you and your father were obstacles in obtaining said power, so he removed your father from being able to influence your mother and you were certain that if you had stayed in Fontaine City, he would have gone after you too.

Dottore was somewhat frank in his intentions with you: he wanted you out of his life so that you couldn’t affect his research but he was keeping you here because he wanted information from you… and a part of you was certain that he was keeping you here also because it prevented you from going out and getting yourself hurt or killed, and that scared you because you didn’t know just how long he planned to keep you isolated here. Or if he ever even planned to release you.

Pantalone had been upfront with you: he wanted a way to get the Northland Bank into Fontaine, you had offered your help in exchange for assistance with removing your stepfather from the courts but you had no intention of giving him any help until he had pulled through on his end. And even then, you had never specified how much help you would give him—you were not going to give the Fatui more of a foothold than they already had.

Not after what they did to your father.

Brighella was an unknown. He had come to you with a goal two days ago, and whatever that goal had been, he had achieved it. You still couldn’t figure what it was, even after days of recounting your conversation to figure it out, and that unnerved you more than anything.

“You actually came back,” you said quietly, eyes flickering up to where Brighella had entered the library. He brought something with him, you couldn’t quite tell what it was but it smelled good, and familiar.

“I promised, didn’t I?” Brighella replied, amused. He came around the couch to sit next to you. He sat closer this time.

“It’s been two days, I was beginning to doubt.”

“Yes, well, the Regrator grew a bit suspicious when he saw me coming from the direction of his wing, the last thing I needed was to draw his ire. The Doctor already has it out for me even when I do no wrong.” Brighella sounded aggrieved as he spoke but your ears rang loudly at his words.

“The Regrator already returned from his meeting in Mondstadt?” you asked, keeping your voice free of all tightness but when Brighella only shot you a confused look, one that did not appear to be feigned in the slightest. “Ah, I see.”

There was no meeting in Mondstadt.

You wondered if it was by Dottore’s will or his own that he had lied and left you here in isolation. You thought it would be easier to believe it was Dottore’s, you had already made him out to be your villain, but you knew better than to assume that. Dottore was obstinate and prideful, yes, but Pantalone was the one who had clawed his way from the bottom tiers of society to the very top, his manipulation would know no bounds—he knew that you were already struggling with Dottore’s refusal to acknowledge you, and he probably thought that his disappearance, after entertaining you for a few days, would put you over the edge.

Jaw tight and trying your best to keep your emotions off of your face lest Brighella take advantage of your distressed realization, you forced yourself to turn your attention back to the Harbinger.

“Here,” Brighella said, passing the covered dish over to you. “Tartiflette, I figure you must be missing home. I hear tartiflette has been rather popular amongst the aristocrats lately.”

I hear.

Bitterly, you wanted to ask just how he managed to hear that but you refrained. Instead, you glanced down at the dish—it was covered with foil but it smelled good, just like the one you and Sylvie used to get from Cafe Lucerne before your father passed away.

You wondered if it was poisoned, or laced with something, you didn’t exactly put it past Brighella. Even if there were ulterior motives behind him bringing you the dish, it was thoughtful nonetheless. So instead of voicing your suspicions or refusing the dish, you took into your lap, letting the warmth of the bottom of the plate and the familiar scent sink in.

“Thank you.”

Brighella looked pleased, green eyes glittering. “You’re welcome.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, and you listened to the way the wind rattled the glass nearby. It was getting late already, you could see the moon rising over the trees in the distance. Nine days now with no word from Dottore at all. You were sure he was probably keeping the segments away from you too because you hadn’t seen a single one since that night.

After a few moments of silence, Brighella asked, “He told you that he had a meeting in Mondstadt?”

You didn’t respond, you supposed that was answer enough because he let out a heavy sigh.

“The Regrator does love his underhanded tactics.”

“And you don’t?” you couldn’t help but press, eyeing him curiously.

“I do.” At least he didn’t bother hiding it, shooting you a deceptively friendly smile as he relaxed back into the chair. “But it’s different, my underhanded tactics are for the greater good.”

“Many men have claimed to do terrible things for the greater good,” you murmured. “What makes you different?”

Your subordinate killed my father, you were saying, tell me how that was for the greater good?

Brighella watched you for a second and then said, “Perhaps you’re right, but I’d like to believe otherwise.”

You hummed, looking away but you could feel that he was still looking at you and it was making you feel antsy, like a cornered animal.

Finally, Brighella spoke up again. This time, his voice was far more quiet, as if he didn’t want someone listening in. “I wish we had more time to talk instead of rushing straight to business, but I fear that I’m testing many boundaries and patiences by coming to visit you and I’d like for you to understand why I am.” Curiously, your eyes focused onto him, he was still staring at you, watching your reactions. “The Regrator cannot give you what you want. He has no power in Fontaine, nor jurisdiction over any of the subordinates there, that is why he’s coming to you and trying to get your assistance. He does not want to use me as an intermediary for his business.”

There it was. You raised your chin a bit in surprise as Brighella’s words reached your ears and his motives became clearer. You didn’t doubt that there were other ulterior ones that he was keeping to himself, but this one was enough for you to get some clarity on the situation: Brighella and Pantalone were playing a game of chess for Fontaine, and both thought that you would be the piece that would win them the game.

You realized, slowly, that you might just have a bit more power than you realized, and that Pantalone had been trying to keep you ignorant to it.

It also gave you more insight on the Fatui itself, and more specifically, the relationship between the Harbingers. You had a feeling that the camaraderie shown during the event was just a show but you hadn’t thought the rivalry ran so deep as to having Harbingers competing for power through using outside sources.

You wondered if Brighella realized just how much he had revealed to you. From the steady look in his eyes as he watched you, he very much did. You wondered then why, because it had to be something beyond just trying to get you to not help Pantalone—unless he was that desperate to keep Fontaine in his grasp. But you had a feeling that wasn’t the case.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you finally responded with, pointedly meeting his eyes.

He was studying you carefully and finally, he nodded, rising to his feet. “It’s alright. I’ll come back soon and give you some time to think. Just remember, what the Regrator promised you is not something he is able to give at this point and time. He’s making you think that you are the one dependent on him but without your cooperation, he doesn’t have a foothold in Fontaine, which is what he desperately wants.”

You didn’t respond as he walked out of the room, but before he stepped through the door, he turned to look at you one last time, “Enjoy the tartiflette—perhaps next time, I’ll bring you an even grander gift.”

You were not in the library the next time Brighella came to visit. You were lounging in your room preparing for bed when the knock came at your door. For a second, just a second, you might’ve hoped that it was Dottore, finally ending the war between the two of you—but as you called for the person to come in, and a head of curly blonde hair and green eyes peeked from around the door, the bit of hope that had sprung up withered in an instant.

“May I?” Brighella asked, motioning for him to come into your room.

How improper, you thought to yourself, trying to force away the heat that rose to your cheeks. But you needed to keep talking to him, milk him for all that he knew before you made a decision about what you were going to do.

“Of course,” you responded with, watching him carefully as he slipped into the room and made his way over to where you were sitting. He sat on the window nook next to where you were sitting at your vanity, leaning back on his hands as he studied you carefully.

“Have you thought about my proposal yet?” Brighella murmured, his eyes were intense as he watched you, you could barely even hold his gaze and you had never had trouble holding anyone’s gaze before.

You had. Of course, you had. With the newfound knowledge of Pantalone’s inability to actually get you what you want without you giving him what he wanted first, everything changed. Your whole position in this situation changed. You were still a prisoner, naturally, but you were a prisoner with power right now. You had two different Harbingers vying to acquire your support. It could change in a second, you knew that, you couldn’t get ahead of yourself, but you couldn’t just disregard the opportunity this presented.

You also could not take everything Brighella said at face value.

You remembered the look in his eyes when you first met him, the skeevy one that reminded you of your stepfather and all of the other men and women in your life who had done terrible, terrible things without remorse.

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied instead, and Brighella sighed, disappointed but not surprised.

“Ah, I see,” Brighella said. “I haven’t quite gained your trust yet—well, perhaps this will change that.”

From his pocket, Brighella pulled out a piece of parchment, sealed with a wax Fatui insignia. He held it out to you and you reached out cautiously, taking it into your hands and turning it over to view the blank back of the parchment. You had no way of knowing the contents of it without breaking the wax seal, you looked up at Brighella, questioningly. He looked pleased, a small smile teasing at his lips.

“This is a letter I have addressed to a particular subordinate of mine stationed down in Fontaine,” Brighella explained, leaning his chin on his hand, elbow propped up on his knee as he watched you. You could only barely bite back the sharp intake of breath as you looked down at the parchment again. “Yes, yes, I know, you don’t know what I’m talking about. But hypothetically, if you did, I was willing to gift you one of two options.”

“What are these hypothetical options?” you asked, your knuckles just a bit too tight around the parchment to pass it off as normal.

“You can keep that letter, and we can work together as partners. I can work with the Knave to set up a mission with the Jester and the Tsaritsa to have you head back to Fontaine, where you can use the letter as evidence to put said subordinate on trial before the Hydro Archon and Chief Justice,” Brighella said, your throat felt tight and swollen, your lips on the verge of trembling.

Everything you wanted, but there had to be a catch. You knew better. For all you knew, the contents of the letter was empty, he could let you go down to Fontaine only to make you look like a fool when you presented the letter as evidence.

“The second option?” you asked, proud that your voice remained steady and void of the turbulent emotions rushing through you.

“I will send it south and summon him back to Snezhnaya. You can exact your own justice here.”

What was the catch?

There had to be a catch, but you couldn’t for the life of you figure it out. You knew it was something more than just preventing Pantalone from stepping into his territory but Brighella was impossible to read and far more unpredictable than you expected. You were baffled that he would go to this length to try to get you to trust him.

“You can hold onto the letter until you’ve made your decision, I-”

“My, my,” a familiar, smooth voice drawled. “What is this?”

At once, your blood ran cold as you looked up to see a familiar figure standing in your doorframe, violet eyes cold and cruel as he stared at where you were sitting with Brighella. Brighella only smiled thinly, mocking, as he looked at Pantalone and said: “Regrator, I hope you don’t mind me spending time with your new advisor, she’s quite the lovely little thing. I’m rather fond of her.”

“Is that meant to mean much?” Pantalone asked dryly, the smile on his lips tightening at the corners and you braced yourself for whatever he was about to say. “You’re fond of everything with two legs that will open for you.”

Your face felt hot, fingers tightening around the parchment as his words registered. Two legs that will open?

How dare he?

Who does he think he is?

The barrage of livid questions battered your head, begging to be let loose but you bit your tongue, sharpening it as you instead responded with: “How crude, I know you had an unfortunate upbringing but I thought you’d learned better by now than to speak every vile word that crosses through that repulsive mind of yours.”

Next to you, Brighella hid his smile behind his hand and you at least felt a little validated even as Pantalone’s eyes bore down into you, you could see the promise for bloodshed barely veiled beneath his calm expression.

“I’ll take my leave.” Brighella rose to his feet and to your horror, he leaned in close to you, taking both of your hands in his and you wanted to pull away, ask him what the hell he was thinking, but the words died on your tongue as he took the parchment from your hand before Pantalone could catch sight of it, subtly letting it drop to the floor before using his foot to slip it beneath the bed. His lips flickered upward. “Think about what I said. I’ll come by again.”

“No, you will not,” Pantalone interjected coolly. “I believe I have mentioned before that you are not welcome in my wing of the palace, Friar.”

“Then I will send one of my subordinates to fetch her to bring her to mine.” Brighella waved off the comment. “It’s no bother.”

He directed a faux-smile toward Pantalone as he slipped past the other Harbinger and left the room, leaving you alone with him. Pantalone stared after Brighella for a moment before turning his attention on you.

You raised your chin and asked sweetly, “How did your business deal down in Mondstadt fare?” knowing damn well that there was no business deal down in Mondstadt.

He very clearly understood what you were getting at, the sweet smile on his lips just as fake as your tone as he said, “Very well.”

“I’m sure.”

The mockery in his eyes slowly slipped away the longer he stared at you—he wanted to say something, that was for sure, but he either didn’t know how to say it or he couldn’t, and you had a distinct feeling that Pantalone spoke more than he breathed so finding a way to say it was not the problem, he felt that he couldn’t.

“The Friar is not to be trusted,” he finally decided.

“There is not a single soul within this palace that is to be trusted,” you countered icily.

He smiled, but the smile did not meet his eyes. “Fair enough.”

There was a quiet tone to his voice, you wondered if any of Brighella’s statements held any truth to them, if he was worried that you would side with the Tenth instead of him, and he would lose his shot at expanding the Northland Bank into Fontaine.

Something wicked swam in his eyes as his gaze cast over where you were sitting once more, voice more scathing now. “I do wonder how the Doctor will feel about your newfound relationship with the Friar,” and you realized that the Regrator did not fret over anything. And if he was backed into a corner like a wounded animal, he would lash out ten times as deadly.

He was threatening to tell Dottore if you did not speak to his liking, if you did not dismiss Brighella’s option.

Your eyes widened, just a bit—you knew there was nothing wrong with what you’d been talking about with the Friar. Dottore knew that you were here for one thing, and one thing alone: obtaining the evidence to convict your stepfather of your father’s murder. But you had a feeling that Pantalone would be spiteful and describe what he had walked in on as not what really happened, he’d put it in the worst light possible and blow the slim chance you had for Dottore ever showing up…

Or, it would finally force him into action.

It was a risky gamble—one that you weren’t sure if you should take. Dottore was prideful and stubborn and you didn’t know how far it extended. It could blow up in your face, or it could finally get you what you wanted: the upperhand.

You had never been a gambling woman before, but ever since you got to Snezhnaya, you were being put into situations forcing you to change and adapt just so you could survive, so you could bring justice to your father.

You didn’t think you liked the person who you were becoming, but you didn’t think you had a choice.

You smiled at Pantalone, but the smile was as empty as you felt.

“I don’t particularly care what the Doctor feels concerning my relationship with Brighella. Tell him whatever you please, do pass on my regards to the younger segments though.”

“I must say your soulmate truly is a little spitfire, she has proven it time and time again.”

Dottore sighed as he looked up from his vial, heavy eyes focusing on Pantalone as the man slunk into his labs as if he owned them. His smile was tight and his eyes were not in the typical upturn they usually turned up whenever he was amused—whatever you had said to him had severely pissed him off, it nearly made his own lips twitch upward, wondering what exactly you had said to get under his skin so badly.

“And what did she say this time?” Dottore drawled, not even bothering to feign curiosity, placing the vial back down on the burner as he looked up at Pantalone, whose eye twitched at the question.

“It’s about time you stop playing this game with her, Doctor.” Was all Pantalone said in response, observing a failed, burnt test subject disdainfully, poking at it with a long, gloved finger before drawing his gaze back up to Dottore.

“And here I thought you were playing the same game,” Dottore dismissed, although he would beg to differ that it was not a game, but the last thing he wanted was to get into a battle of semantics with Pantalone. “Was that not why you’ve been loitering around my labs this past week?”

“Yes, I was,” Pantalone agreed, but there was an edge to his voice that made Dottore suspicious, “and it backfired. A certain snake rose from the grasses to take advantage.”

“Hm?” Dottore tilted his head to the side, red eyes narrowing as Pantalone’s words registered.

“Now is not the time for your stubbornness, Doctor,” the banker warned. “Continue to disregard her and she will turn to someone else… or I suppose, she already has. I caught her acting rather intimately with the Friar in her quarters just before I came here.”

Dottore’s lips flattened and his eyes went cold, Pantalone caught the physical reaction, eyebrows shooting upward, mockingly. But Pantalone could only see the physical reaction, he could not feel how Dottore’s blood somehow felt like it was burning and freezing at the same time, he could not see how his vision tunneled and he could not hear how his ears were ringing.

Intimately?

There it was again—that prideful and possessive feeling rearing its ugly head. You were his, only by fate and by chance, but you were his nonetheless, even if he was loathe to admit it. He ignored the hypocrisy of his thoughts, you were his and yet he had ignored you for over a week? He was laying claim to you after all of his denial and anger?

He had been doing what was right, separating himself from you to prevent the bond from getting any stronger. He wasn’t playing the same game that Pantalone was, isolating you to try to make you more malleable to his requests when he finally came back around; Dottore did not play games, not with anyone, much less with you.

But was he okay with you turning your attention elsewhere with his absence?

No. No, he was not. The thought filled him with an emotion he hadn’t felt in over four hundred years, not since his years as a Fatui recruit before he’d learned to separate himself from his emotions.

“She asked for me to pass on my regards to the younger segments.” Pantalone smiled as he spoke, knowing that the words were bound to set Dottore off even more because how dare you send your regards to the children as you let another man into your quarters. “I’ll be heading to my office now. I have some paperwork to finish filling out. Do think on what I said, I expected a branch of the Northland Bank in Fontaine to come out of this arrangement. If it does not, you will have to make up for it.”

“Your expectations are not my responsibility,” Dottore said, voice clipped and icy and far more strained than he meant for it to be.

Pantalone only let out a huff of laughter as he spun on his heel, shooting Dottore one last long look that had Dottore’s body begging for violence as a response. Nearly twenty years of him being forced into a corner because of you, and it was only getting worse.

“It is in this situation,” he said as he made his way out of the lab as quickly as he had come, leaving Dottore there alone with raging thoughts and turbulent emotions.

The Friar.

Brighella.

Lip curled up in a type of rage he hadn’t felt in a long, long time, he finished putting his equipment away and reached for his mask, intent on heading to your quarters himself to understand just what was going on between you and the Tenth.

It was the first time you’d been in Snezhnaya where there hadn’t been a storm battering the night. Once the Regrator had left you to your business, and you were finally able to finish getting ready for bed, you curled up at the window nook to look outside, where the air was still bitter and cold but the harsh winds had subsided and the moon was reflecting prettily over the frozen lake north of the palace.

It looked calm and peaceful—you thought there was a beauty to Snezhnaya that was unique. The Hydro Archon and her acolytes liked to frame the nation as one big frozen wasteland but the more time you spent there, the more you realized that it was just not true. It was frozen, yes, but there were towering trees and massive lakes, the snow sparkled beneath the sun and moon in a way you’d never seen before.

You pressed the pad of your finger against the glass, a longing feeling sweeping over you as your eyes focused on the line of trees on the opposite side of the frozen lake. You thought that this might be your chance—the storms had subsided, you could make a break for it, but you knew deep down that the lack of storm was a deception you couldn’t afford to fall for. Just because the winds had died and the snow and ice had stopped falling, it didn’t mean that it was safe enough to travel through. You would still freeze. Perhaps if you had a pyro vision, it would be different but your hydro vision would do nothing to protect you against the cold.

You sighed, laying your forehead against the window and letting the chilly feeling spread through you, a stark contrast from the warmth of the fireplace emanating throughout your room.

You wondered if you made a mistake. You had antagonized Pantalone, and he had likely antagonized Dottore on your behalf. It had felt good in the moment—a sharp jab that relieved some of the heavy pressure that isolation had put on you, but now the pressure was back and worse than before.

You were not wondering. You knew it had been a mistake.

Even if Brighella had been telling the truth and you held more power than Pantalone was leading you to believe, you couldn’t afford to isolate yourself from the option he presented. Dottore clearly trusted him enough to trust him with you, which you thought was about the biggest show of trust anyone could get from the Second.

And neither of them trusted Brighella.

Your pride and anger had gotten the best of you—they had gotten the best of you when you had thought you had been in control. You laid everything out logically, convinced yourself that the option Brighella posed was just as appealing as Pantalone, forgetting that at the very least, Dottore and Pantalone were known threats to you. That yes, Pantalone wanted to use you and Dottore wanted nothing to do with you, but neither of them would risk your safety. Brighella was an unknown, just a charming and manipulative one that knew precisely when and how to strike.

You weren’t cut out for this. You let your eyes slide shut as you tried to force away the tears building in them. Frustration, anger, desperation, they were all becoming too much for you to handle. You didn’t know what to do. If Brighella was telling the truth, he really was the key to getting what you want, but you couldn’t trust him, you didn’t know what his motives were. Behind the pretty eyes and glittering smile was a snake with venomous fangs that could clamp down at any moment.

You thought the courts of Fontaine had prepared you for this but the Snezhnayan court and the heart of the Fatui was a beast that you were not equipped to deal with. The courts of Fontaine were a beast, you would never think otherwise, but you’d been foolish enough to let yourself believe that they were similar enough to Snezhnaya’s that you’d be able to handle it.

In Fontaine, your name had power and words were as sharp and lethal as daggers—as long as you put on a pretty mask and an entertaining performance, you would survive, but the aristocrats and observers of justice would eat alive anyone who could not put on a convincing and beguiling show.

In Snezhnaya, your name meant nothing and the only coat of protection you could place over yourself was Dottore’s position in the Fatui, and his forced bond to you. Your mask was shattering the longer you were stuck in the cold, and the entertaining performances you were so adept at putting on were becoming more pathetic than anything else. Danger lurked around every corner, not even just those who wanted to kill you as a means to weaken the Doctor, but also those who hated you for the country you come from. You had seen the way one of the Harbingers had looked at you during the event, and having even one Harbinger against you meant that you had hundreds of subordinates out for your throat to try to gain her approval.

You were well beyond your depth. A vast ocean all around you and the currents were dragging you under, water filling your lungs as you tried to thrash your way back to the surface but there was an anchor chained to your ankle that you simply couldn’t fight against.

You took in a deep, shuddered breath. You thought back to the old prophecy, the one that whispered that one day Fontaine and all of its citizens would be washed away by the rising waters, drowned by that which is supposed to protect them, finding their eternal rest in the sands until they became one with the sea.

Sometimes you wondered if it was a literal or metaphorical fate, you had always taken it as literal and dismissed it as an old wives’ tale, but now you were questioning everything you held as true: you felt like you were drowning, your identity dissolving as the water closed in around you, and you felt helpless to it, just like how the ancient prophecy threatened.

Finally, you raised your head and looked back outside, eyes widening when you caught sight of a figure standing in the frame of your door through the reflection of the window, tall and imposing. You hadn’t even heard the door open. Even with the mask, you could feel the coldness behind his gaze.

He only spoke one word:

“Come.”

reblogs appreciated!

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prlan · 2 months ago

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Standing alone at a bar is the worst feeling. You're used to not getting hit on, and while you're half grateful to not have to deal with unwanted advances, it also makes you wonder if you're just so undesirable, no one wants you.

On nights like these you feel particularly ugly.

To your right, your friend is laughing it up with some guy who offered to buy her a drink earlier, and at this point in the night, you're just here to make sure he doesn't kidnap her.

You want to go home. The musics too loud, but not loud enough to chase away your insecurities.

You're ugly. You're unworthy of love. What did you expect? You should've known.

You swirl your drink around in it's glass lazily before taking a sip. The ice is half melted at this point, dulling the taste of whatever alcohol the bartender poured into it.

You want to go home. But everytime your eyes flicker over to your friend, she's clearly having too much fun to leave, and you don't want to abandon her until you're both certain she's safe with this stranger.

So you sigh, and continue to swipe mindlessly on your phone, ocassionally sipping from your drink, and doing everything you can to try and not think about your insecurities.

"...up to her!"

"I'm not going so just leave me alone--"

"You've been looking at her all night and she's been alone for like 20 minutes now so go--"

"Stop--"

When you lift your head up to find the source of the noise, you're surprised at the sight before you.

A tall, lanky blonde man is standing right in front of you, face scrunched up and shoulders tense, as if he got caught doing something he wasn't supposed to. Your eyes flicker behind him to see his friends retreating to another side of the bar while laughing.

The two of you stand there in silence for a couple of seconds, his gaze seeming to land anywhere but your face before he caves and clears his throat.

"...hi, I'm Tsukishima," he starts quietly, voice barely audible over the loud music.

There's a beat of silence between the two of you as you wait for him to continue, but he never does.

"...nice to meet you, Tsukishima." You continue for him.

Your eyes slide over his face, admiring his sharp eyes, his clear jawline, the light tinge of pink in his ears--

...oh.

"Are you hitting on me?" you ask plainly, and you watch the flush spread to the rest of his face, clearly flustered.

"I--wasn't necessarily trying to but...yes." He finally manages to get out, his voice getting quieter with each word.

You blink, another beat of silence passing between the two of you, before you burst into laughter.

The heaviness of the insecurities weighing on your heart fade away at his embarrassed expression, his free hand coming up to hide the lower half of his face to try and conceal the redness of his cheeks.

You grin up at him when he finally catches your gaze.

"Can you go back to your friends and try that again, with more confidence this time?" you muse, and he grumbles something under his breath as he turns on his heel and retreats back to where his friends are watching him from another corner of the bar.

You watch as he snaps something at his friends. They slap their hands on his back, as if trying to instill their confidence in him, and you can't help but laugh again.

Finally, the blonde turns back around and makes his way back over to you. There's still a hint of pink dusting over the tips of his ears, but this time he's finally meeting your amused eyes.

"Hey, I'm Tsukishima. I don't normally do this, but I think you're cute, can I buy you a drink?"

Theres a hint of a pout on his lips. You grin, and suddenly you don't feel so alone.

"Nice to meet you, Tsukishima. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like a..."

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima kei #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x reader #fluff

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prlan · 3 months ago

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James Potter and Sirius Black definitely are the ones giggling during sex. I’m just picturing sub!James and Sub!Sirius with Dom!Rem and Dom!reader. Remus is fucking Sirius from behind with his face smushed into the pillow while Sirius watches James get fucked by you with a strap-on next to him. They will 100% be making eye contact and giggle at each other,

“Looking pretty fucked out over there James, you all right?”

“Shut up Sirius you’re acting like you weren’t not able to string two words together two seconds ago”

meanwhile Remus is panting above Sirius fucking into him a little harder just to make him stumble over his words.

And you shove your fingers into Jamie’s mouth to get him to be quiet

#marauders x reader #poly marauders #poly!marauders #poly marauders smut

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prlan · 3 months ago

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⇢ pairing: katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

⇢ rating: eventual e, 18+

⇢ chapter wc: 11,493 (ao3)

⇢ warnings: a/b/o dynamics, mating bites, scenting, knotting, a/b/o-typical animalistic traits, hunting and butchering of animals for consumption, villain-adjacent endeavor and hawks

⇢ tags: alpha bakugo x omega reader, slow burn, aged up characters, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f!receiving)

⇢ art: by the incredible @king-bito here!

✸ part of my big bang academia - see other incredible works here! ✸

⇢ summary:

In the Kingdom of Eldur, you’re an anomaly, an omega born to a society of betas, and treated poorly for it. During a celebration of the long-standing peace between the Kingdom of Eldur and the distant mountain tribes where alphas and omegas live freely, you meet their leader, Katsuki Bakugo. He is strong and wild and bares his teeth - an alpha’s alpha, who finds the forceful suppression of your omegan nature reprehensible.

When the King of Eldur rejects your request to accompany him to live with the among mountain tribesfolk, he makes you an offer that stops you in your tracks. A mating bite, knowing that even the King has no authority to sever such a bond. You must decide, then, what you will do - stay and languish within the safe walls of Eldur or trust yourself to an alpha with pointed fangs and sharp temper, whose scent awakens something inside you that’s laid dormant for years.

The day passes in a haze. Strange and distant, as you go through the motions of your daily tasks. Shelling peas into a bucket perched between your thighs. Rolling up your sleeves and sweating as you stir bed linens in giant vats of boiling water in the laundry den. Carrying barrels overflowing with dark grapes from the vineyard to the winery in the castle cellar, stepping with care to not trip on the hem of your dress.

Your thoughts tangle on a rhythmic loop through it all.

Don’t think about it.

Don’t think about them.

The King will never let you leave.

Don’t think about it.

Don’t think about them.

You’ll only be broken when they leave you behind.

Don’t think about it -

The weight of it is nearly unbearable, a pressing weight on the tense line of your shoulders, and by the early evening, you feel wrung out. Feel heavy and body aching from the weight of carrying the uncertainty of it. Knowing the answer already, in some part of you, without needing to be told.

You’re headed to the kitchens to begin preparing the nightly feast when you come around a stone corner and nearly collide with a body that smells of spiced oil and fine silks.

You apologize reflexively, stepping back and bowing your head, but you look up at the soft, pleased sound you hear over your head. Familiar to you, in a gut-sinking sort of way.

Hawks looks at you with that sharpened gaze he has. Appearing intrigued by your presence in a way that makes the hair on your arms prickle and want to stand.

“My Lord,” you say in greeting. Wanting nothing more than to step around him and continue on, to avoid whatever encounter you can feel brewing in the air between you.

But his gaze has you pinned to your spot before him as he tilts his head and offers you a smile. “Ahh,” he says, showing his teeth. “It’s you.”

You swallow thickly. All too aware of the looks other castle hands are giving you as they step around you in the hall - gawking and curious as to why you’ve been stopped by someone so adjacent to the royal family.

“How do you mean, my Lord?” you ask.

His shoulders lift in a huff of soft laughter. “The wild men would talk of nothing else today over the afternoon meal. I wonder what it is you’ve done for someone as plain as you to bewitch them so thoroughly?”

The back of your neck heats, shame feeling like creeping vines in your belly. Well aware that he’s implying unsavory things, even if his tone is light and airy.

“Perhaps it speaks to the simplicity of their nature,” he muses, his eyes drifting across your face contemplatively. “That they see one of their own and so barbarically desire to claim it as theirs. They asked the King to release you to their custody, can you believe it?”

You barely hear his amused chuckle over the sudden kick of your heart.

They’d asked.

They’d said they would, but your fear couldn’t help but assume their word to be empty platitudes. Niceties were more than people in your station could expect in life. To hope for anything more was a fool’s errand.

Hawk’s laughter fades as he studies you. Like he’s waiting for a response, knowing full well you’re in no place to give one. A prisoner here in this interaction, rooted to your place by the weight of his authority.

“The King said no, of course,” he says, after a moment. “Told them the only power higher than his over his citizens is the old ways, which they surely have no intention of invoking.”

Your heart sinks like a stone, and you feel foolish for it. Knowing. Having known that this was the only way it would be. The only way it could be, and chastising yourself for letting yourself hope for anything different.

“The old ways,“ you murmur without much thought, when he waits for your reply. Trying to keep the souring of your insides off your face, fearing he would delight in the sight of it.

Hawks’ brows lift, a bit salaciously. “You know, mating claims. The laws that ruled the land before the betas found civility and defected to Eldur. Their king is unclaimed, did you notice?”

You feel vaguely like you want to vomit and you swallow heavily, making a noncommittal and somewhat rude noise that Hawks takes as a reply.

“If only you had some worth,” he muses. His expression is kinder than his words, some sincerity there that does nothing to settle your twisting belly. “A kitchen maid has not much to offer a king.”

“Indeed, my Lord,” you murmur, your chin dipping. Wishing with every ounce of you for this conversation to end so you can go cry in a linen closet around the corner.

He watches you for a long moment, those sharp eyes of his sweeping over you and settling on your down-turned face. A castle page brushes by the two of you in the hall, bumping into Hawk’s shoulder and apologizing profusely, but he doesn’t take his eyes from you.

“I assured them that you’d have no interest in giving up your life here to scrounge around in the brush for scraps with them up in the mountains,” he says. “But perhaps that isn’t true.”

A warning shivers up your spine and you straighten at once, like a reflex. Tightening your jaw and forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I am a citizen of Eldur,” you say with as much force as you can muster. All too aware of the tenuous grace already extended to you by King Enji for allowing you to stay within the kingdom walls.

Hawk’s gaze is appraising as he watches you. “By the grace of the King.”

You nod, your stomach turning. “By the grace of the King.”

A ringing sounds down the hall, the shrill chime of rattled bells, and you duck into a curtesy. Trying not to sag with relief from the sound.

“Those are the bells for the evening meal, my Lord. I must go.”

He huffs softly to himself and tilts his head. “Very well, little dove. Fly away.”

You dip your head in another show of respect before you turn and go. Feeling the weight of his gaze on the backs of your shoulders as you disappear down the hall and doing your best to ignore it. Forcing yourself to straighten up and head to the kitchens. To focus your mind and your heart on the coming food service, so you don’t sink into the hollow pit of grief that’s begun to root dark and sinking in your stomach.

The summons comes for you late in the evening. Well after the nightly feast, when your feet are aching and you’re helping wipe down the kitchens before retiring for bed.

You walk to the Eastern Corridor in silence, too exhausted and hollow-empty in turn to care about your disheveled appearance from the nightly service. Pushing sweat curled hair back from your face as you climb long sets of stone staircases and draw in deep, grounding breaths of the crisp night air as you go.

This is another kindness to you, you think. A chance for them to let you down gently, after the hope they seeded in you this morning over the morning meal.

They didn’t have to ask after you at all, you remind yourself. Didn’t have to share their food with you or speak to you with kindness. They certainly did not have to inquire about you to the King of your realm, nor did they have to call you here now to surely apologize for their plan having failed.

So you push down the bitter grip of disappointment, empty and achy feeling, and force a smile onto your face as you approach the great wooden doors of their chambers.

You can return their kindness to them, if nothing else. You owe them so much more than just that but it’s all you have to offer.

You knock on the door with your knuckles, stepping back when you hear movement beyond it, and then Kirishima is there. Appearing in the open space of the door as he opens it, a soft, kind smile on his face that tells you all you need to know.

“Hey,” he greets, and you nod in reply. Your cheeks smarting from the smile you keep there, even as your heart aches like a bruise.

He steps back to let you in, and you’re struck at once by the difference in the room since the morning. Gone are the golden sunbeams and blue skies beyond the open windows. The room is dark from the inky night and lit by torches sconced along the stone walls.

It makes the light of the room flicker and dance across the floor, a golden shimmer and twist, and you swallow deeply as you step within the fire-warmed space.

Kirishima shuts the door quietly behind you and a hush settles in the room as he makes his way back around you, drawing air past you as he goes and tickling your nose with a tingle of his scent.

You wonder how long it’ll take you to forget what an alpha smells like. What the presence of one feels like on the surface of your skin and in the marrow of your bones.

The smile you offer Kirishima is sad, unable to do any better, and he returns your gaze with a thoughtful look. His mouth opens to speak, but another voice cuts across the quiet.

“You know.”

A shiver trickles down your spine as your whole body moves to face him without thought. Turning in place to where Bakugo is leaning against the sil of the window, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches you. His head is bowed a bit, his eyes glinting red in the flickering candle light.

Kirishima frowns, and looks from Bakugo to you. “Wait…did someone talk to you?”

It takes some effort to nod, the aura of the room thick with anticipation of this miserable conversation.

“I, um. Yes. Hawks found me. He told me what happened.”

Bakugo huffs a sharp exhale, straightening up a bit as his eyes roll, and Kirishima frowns deeper.

“We wanted to talk to you first,” Kirishima says, jaw setting lightly, as he shakes his head. “This is all out of order.”

You shake your head right back at him, your hands coming up. Chest aching sharply with grief only compounded by the strain in their expressions. “It’s alright,” you say to Kirishima. To both of them. “I know - that you tried, and I…I can’t thank you enough for even - ”

Bakugo’s voice cuts through yours, a knife through a petal. “What did he tell you?” His eyes remain on you, his body pulled tight like a bow string as he leans against the edge of the window.

“Oh,” you murmur. Chewing on your lower lip for a second, your heart kicking a little behind your ribs at the intensity of his gaze. You can feel it against your skin, like a prickle of electricity in the air. “He told me that…it wasn’t possible. That you’d made your request but the King had denied you.”

Bakugo’s brows dip down in the center, and Kirishima makes a soft sound.

“He told you the King said no?” Bakugo asks, his mouth lifting in a bit of a sneer you think is directed more at Hawks than yourself.

“Well,” you say. Trying to think back now to the conversation, feeling like you’ve somehow said something wrong. “He said that the King stated the only power higher than his was that of the old ways. Of a…mating claim.”

Bakugo’s chin lifts. Huffing softly, in apparent agreement. “That is what he said.”

You cast a quick look to Kirishima, confused, as your stomach twists lightly, but he looks back at you like he’s just as confused as you are, which is of little help.

Kirishima scratches his knuckles along his thigh absently. “Have you had time to consider it?”

A laugh punches from you so suddenly you can’t stop it. An abrupt, coarse sound that has you clapping your palm over your mouth too late to contain it.

When neither reply, you shake your head at him. “What is there to consider?”

Bakugo draws your eyes again with a slow, exhale between his teeth. “Said we wouldn’t force you, didn’t we? You’ve gotta choose.”

You nearly take a step back from where you’re stood near the door. A sudden heat simmering in you, almost overwhelming, as you try to make sense of what they’re saying.

“I don’t understand,” you manage, after a long, breathless pause. “Kirishima is mated. And you’re - ”

Bakugo’s brows lift, waiting for you to finish, but already unimpressed with your response, it seems.

“You’re - I know you said you don’t have the - hierarchies, but you’re…important. You’re the leader of the wild people? You cannot be offering…”

“But I am,” Bakugo says, a bit sharply. “You’ve already said you know nothing of our people, so why do you assume to know now?”

That knocks you into a silence punctuated only by the hard beat of your heart.

Kirishima takes a step toward you, his hand outstretched, as he gives Bakugo a look over his shoulder before turning back.

“It’s okay,” he says, nodding softly, and you feel the tension in the air lift as he offers you a quiet smile. You draw in a tight breath and he nods again, encouraging. “I’m sorry, we’re doing this all backwards. We can explain it better, okay?”

You’re struggling to take your eyes from Bakugo, every cell in your body alight and turned towards him, but you step blindly forward until your knees knock against the side of the feathered mattress in the center of the room.

Kirishima sits down and pats it with his hand. “Yeah, yeah, come on. Sit down for a second, your heart sounds like it’s going to beat out of your chest.” His hand touches lightly against the back of your arm, and it makes you jolt softly.

His voice is gentle when he speaks. “Do you want me to calm you? Like I did this morning?”

Your heart is lodged tight up somewhere in your throat and it’s making it difficult to breathe. So you nod, haltingly. “Um. A little, please. Just a bit…I - can’t really think.”

You offer your hand into the broad span of his, and the whisper of his thumb smearing across the gland in your wrist cuts your strings. Has your shoulders slumping forward on an exhale as you breathe through the sudden, syrupy surge of soothing pheromones pulsing through your veins.

He places your hand back in your lap after just a moment of a touch, but you feel your head clear in the wake of the heat, as you breathe deeply and ground yourself in the moment by tracing your fingers along the linens beneath you.

You swallow again after a long moment and find it easier, so you nod, to tell him to continue.

“Okay,” Kirishima says. “So, uh. Hmm.” He scratches his jaw with the pads of his fingers and shoots you an apologetic look. “Where do I even start, here…”

“A mating bite laid outside of a heat won’t take,” Bakugo says from his spot near the window. His arms uncross from his chest, then. Coming to rest behind him on either side of the sil. “But there’s no way they know that.”

“They being your people,” Kirishima agrees. “Or at least, we figure, since we haven’t seen a mating bite on anyone since we crossed the borders of Eldur. It’ll look legitimate when it’s fresh, and you’ll feel some echoes of the bond, but it won’t even come close to the real thing.”

Your head is clearing, you realize. Your heartbeat simmering down from its pounding roar. A glimmer of something prickling along your spine as you work to make sense of what they’re saying to you.

You nod, unable to summon any words.

“It’ll fade with time unless it’s renewed during a heat,” Kirishima says. “So you won’t be tied together forever. Just long enough to get you out of here.”

Bakugo grunts a soft assent. “After it fades, you can decide to mate for real, or not. You’ll have settled into the pack by then and you’ll know your options.”

Kirishima grins. “They’re great,” he promises. “You’ll love them.”

A silence settles between you then, as you look down at your hands and try to wrangle the messed tangle of your thoughts. Trying to wrap your mind around the possibilities of a world split wide open for you and laid at your feet.

Your life would change, entirely. For better or for worse, everything you’ve known would be written over by the new and novel. By the thrill of adventure and the fear of the unknown.

Bakugo’s watching you, still, as your mind turns around and around like a dog trying to settle for sleep.

“We leave in the morning, so you have until then to decide.”

But you shake your head. A stillness coming over you that has nothing to do with the calming scent still gently wafting off of Kirishima beside you. Every hope you dared to dream during the business of your day settling within you like silt to the ocean floor.

“No,” you say. Clearing your throat when your voice comes out a little thick. “I want to…I want to go with you. If you’re sure.”

Bakugo huffs softly, pushing himself up from the window. “I don’t say things I don’t mean. Stop asking.”

Beside you, Kirishima is instantly nearly bouncing in his seat. “Wow,” he says, his teeth sharp and bared in a grin. His mood turned on its head at your agreement. “This is - I am so excited. I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“I didn’t either,” you admit, and it comes out on a soft puff of laughter. You smooth your palms down over the skirt of your dress. “This doesn’t feel real.”

“I know,” Kirishima agrees. “Everyone’s going to lose their minds when they see Bakugo come back with someone.”

Bakugo groans under his breath, but it sounds as good natured as he can be as he moves across the room to a rope that dangles down from the ceiling along the wall. He gives it two sharp tugs and you hear the faint echo of clanging bells. A summons for castle servers to appear at their doorstep with food and drink, though it’ll take them a minute or two.

Kirishima rises to his feet too, with apparent purpose, and you feel your heart kick in your chest at the sudden motion.

“What do we do now?” you ask. The edges of your nerves prickling as reality begins to settle around you, and becoming more aware by the moment that Bakugo’s fangs will pierce your skin by night’s end. That the only life you’ve ever known will expire with the rising sun.

Kirishima looks up from where he was sharing a quiet word with Bakugo and he offers you a smile. “We’re just going to get some things ready. You can just…oh, actually…” He leans into Bakugo for a moment, then his face lights when he looks back to you. “There’s baths adjoining, just through the doorway. Have you used them?”

The question is funny, and you nearly laugh. Your last bath was with a coarse sponge and a bucket of well water, near a month ago.

You shake your head instead, and it seems to please him.

“Get in there, then! The water is warm and there’s oils and stuff - it’s awesome.”

You look to Bakugo, though you’re not quite sure why. But he tips his chin towards the doorway along the far wall and somehow that’s all the permission you need.

You gather the skirt of your dress and give them one last look before you step through the doorway and into the heady mist of the baths.

Heavenly is an understatement.

You lose track of time submerged in the baths, hot water slipping up over your shoulders and lapping against the nape of your neck. Breathing in the steam rising from the water’s surface and the hazy musk of the oils you’d added with a delicate glass stopper, you let yourself lean against the cool, stone edge of the pool and let your mind drift.

The heat of the room has your head feeling like it’s filled with cotton, but your thoughts come to you somehow clearer than before. The events of recent days, the absurdity of Bakugo’s offer to you, and the audacity of you to accept it, seem more grounded than before. More rooted beneath your feet, steady and sure.

You will go with them when they leave Eldur at first light. You will pose as Bakugo’s mate, bitten and bonded and true, to gain your freedom. You will journey with them over the plains and then up the distant mountains of their lands, to join their wild people and their wild lives with nature. Your omegan nature will be freed, if it can be, and you will be given choice and chance to do as you wish.

Tonight, you will accept Bakugo in whatever way is needed. You know not the intricacies of their bonding ritual or what it requires of you, but you know in some centered part of yourself that you’ll do what is necessary. That he won’t hurt you without purpose and that whatever ends may come justify those means.

Your skin has started to prune by the time you remember to properly bathe, running a soft cloth laid on the pool’s edge down your arms and beneath, scrubbing weeks of sweat and grime free from your skin. A part of you wonders if the suggestion to bathe was for Bakugo’s benefit for whatever is about to come more than a generous offering to you, but a half-hearted scrubbing will do no one any good regardless, so you make your cleanse thorough.

Your fingers still when the cloth drifts over the ridge of the scent gland in the side of your throat. It slips easily over the waxy film caked there, and you sit still for a moment, before you press down and scrub hard. Sucking in a breath at the bright spark of pain that flashes up your neck and down your arm, your stomach turning traitorously, until you manage to slough the cap of wax and it slips down your body and into the steaming pool.

It takes a minute for you to catch your breath. For the stars in your eyes to clear from the jolt of pain, and you find yourself steadied against the side of the pool as your stomach settles and your throat aches hollowly.

There’s no sudden rush of endorphins, no dizzying pull of hormones in your blood from your gland touching air for the first time since you can remember, but it’s strange all the same. The skin beneath the wax is thin, you can tell. Paper thin, from being covered for so many years, and even the faint breeze that trickles through the room catches against it and tugs a shiver down your spine.

You treat the rest of your scent glands with similar care, then. Moving from one to the other and gritting your teeth to weather the spark of discomfort before the wax slips free and down into the baths.

You realize when there’s nothing more to do in the bath that the only clothes in the room are the dress you wore into it, dusty and damp in parts from your sweat, and a pile of folded clothes left on a chaise beside the pool. You consider your choice as you step carefully from the water and shiver in the cool air, weighing the propriety of taking someone else's things with the unpleasant thought of slipping back into your dirty dress.

The choice is made for you when you pick your dress up from the ground and it leaves an immediate smear of grime on your palm. You huff softly, shaking your head, and gingerly take apart the pile of clothes set there on the chaise. It’s a shirt, linen and airy and open around the collar, and a pair of simple trousers. The material is soft and clean beneath your fingertips so you push past any lingering doubt and dress yourself in them.

They’re far too large, belonging surely to Bakugo or Kirishima, and you have to tie the trousers tight around your waist to keep them from slipping down. You hope, as look down at yourself, swimming in men’s clothes, that whatever ceremony you’re about to partake in does not require you to look appealing to Bakugo.

You’re nearly dry by the time you’ve gathered your courage, and you take a steadying breath to try to calm the flutter of your heart in your chest. Nerves and anticipating thickening in your throat, but you push yourself forward, because this is your choice, and it’s right.

You leave the heavy air of the baths behind and shiver again when you step back into the bedroom, still lit by flickering torch light, and it takes you a slow moment to find your bearings. Feeling a bit like you’ve stepped out of a dream and back into waking, unsure if the ground will hold steady beneath your feet.

There’s food on the bed, fruits and pastries piled high on a platter. Beside it is a leather flask you know contains a dark and spiced wine.

Something bursts in the air, a faint crush of musk you taste on your lips, and you turn to see Bakugo watching you from where he’s stood near the window. He’s dressed in what you’ve come to know him in - his furred cape secured over his shoulders, his forearms clad in leather bracers. There’s a tension to him that makes you want to dip your head. Avert your eyes from the intensity of his gaze on you.

“Those’re mine,” he says, and his voice comes out a soft rasp.

You know what he means and you feel your face heat as you touch at the tunic with your hand. “I, uh. I’m sorry. I had nothing clean.”

Bakugo shakes his head, though. One hard shake, like he’s clearing his mind. “No…it’s fine. C’mon.”

He motions towards the bed and you sit, a bit haltingly. Unsure of what’s expected of you and what’s to come. He sits on the opposite side of the bed, reclining back against the wall, and letting out a breath that you maybe think means he’s a bit uncertain too.

“Where’s Kirishima?”

Bakugo plucks a pear from the platter and turns it in his hands. “Went to go gather your things.”

Your brow creases. “I don’t have any…things to gather.”

Bakugo’s eyes lift to yours and he lets out a soft snort. “That’ll keep him busy, then.”

Some of the tension eases, then, and you draw in a deep breath. Taking a coarse slice of bread from the plate for something to do with your hands and running the pad of your finger across the gnarled crust.

“He is very kind,” you say. Watching Bakugo though your peripheral as he takes a wet bite out of the pear in his palm.

He draws it back from his face as he chews, his brow pinching. Mutters, “He’s a dipshit,” but there’s no malice in his words. “What is this?”

The corners of your mouth lift before you remember to school your expression to something more neutral. “A pear. Is it not to your liking?”

He takes another bite, like he’s not quite sure. “It’s sweet. Everything here is fucking sweet.”

A memory tickles at you. “Kirishima said the same,” you murmur, a smile soft on your mouth, and Bakugo shakes his chin, setting the half-eaten fruit back on the platter and grabbing a pillowy bread roll instead.

“Even the meat is sweet here,” he says, a bit critically, tearing off a piece with his teeth and you bob your head in quiet agreement.

“Honey,” you say. “They glaze everything in honey.”

He shakes his head again and leans back against the wall with a soft thud. Taking another mouthful of bread before grabbing the flask near his knee and popping the cork free. “Beta fucking senses,” he mutters, taking a pull from the flask. “Weak as shit.”

You watch his throat bob as he swallows and lick your lips to chase the smoky taste of his scent from them.

He offers you the flask and his brows lift when you hesitate. You offer an apologetic smile and end up taking it, curling it in your lap as you look down into the mouth and see a dark liquid swirling there.

“Not to your liking?” he says after a moment, his voice a gruff scrape against the air, and you find yourself shrugging.

“I never have before.” Wine is reserved for people in the castle far more important than you. You’ve only ever seen it turn men to fools, or worse.

He seems to consider that for a minute, watching you, before he makes a soft sound. “Well,” he says, tearing free another bite of bread. “You don’t have to. It’ll just make what’s comin’ easier.”

You force a breath past the tight squeeze of your lungs and raise your eyes to his, watching him met yours evenly in the dim light. It takes you a moment to find your voice, but you do.

“What is…coming, exactly?”

Your eyes drift to the bed beneath you, the rumpled bedlinens, and watch his expression tighten as realization dawns.

“Not…” He scrubs his hand over his chin, then his jaw. Coming up the back of his head and tugging shortly at the spikes of his hair there before his hand smoothes across his thigh. “Nothing like that. Relax.” His mouth opens again, but then closes, and you see his jaw work as he breathes out through his nose.

His voice is a breath softer when he speaks again. “Told you. Not gonna…”

“Force me,” you finish on an exhale, and he nods. Looking at you seriously, now, something in his eyes that you can’t quite read. Frustration that he seems to be holding back, you think. Or anger. “I’m sorry.”

He looks away from you, then. Shaking his head softly and exhaling through his teeth, before his eyes return to you. “No,” he mutters. “It’s just…fuckin’ backwards.”

Your fingers smooth over the stitched leather of the flask, your eyes tracing over the broad line of his shoulders where they’ve hunched slightly forward. Torchlight glimmers off a curved claw at the center of his lowest necklace and you trace the shape unconsciously against the flask.

After a moment of stillness, he brings his hand up to the side of his throat. “You’ve got a gland here. Beneath your skin,” he says, running his pads over where his neck meets his shoulder.

You mirror him and your fingers slip over the hard knot pitted deep in the muscle there, making you shiver. Even the faint brush of your fingertips aches against your skin and your lower lip catches between your teeth.

Bakugo’s eyes linger on the spot for a beat, before he drags them back to your face. “Alpha marks there. With a bite.”

You brace against a shiver. Nodding, your fingers tightening around the neck of the flask. “Does it hurt?”

He looks away again, slowly. Tearing the heel of the bread roll between his hands and tossing the pieces back towards the tray. “The bite is usually given in a heat,” he says, after a long beat of silence. “Things get…mixed up for omega during a heat. Pleasure, pain, all of that. It all blurs.”

Your heart thuds between your ears. Hollow and ringing. Hearing his answer.

“I’m not in a heat.”

Bakugo’s eyes slide to yours. Heated garnet in the flickering torchlight. “No. You’re not.” His gaze drifts down the line of your throat. Settles on the lump of your gland, and you feel a faint pulse there from the weight of his gaze.

After a moment, he nods at the flask in your hands and your fingers tighten reflexively around it as you look down again towards the dark liquid. Feeling lost, all of the sudden. Like he’s a mile away from you, even as his thigh sits within a foot or two of yours.

“What should I do?” you ask. Swallowing, when your voice catches in your throat.

He lets out a low breath and you feel the weight of his gaze on your face. You think for a moment that he won’t respond, silence falling between the two of you like a shroud, but then he answers.

“Drink up, kit.”

So, you do.

The wine becomes more agreeable as the night slips by. The first sips are caustic down your throat but the flavor softens and smooths with each following pull from the flask, and in an hours time, you’ve gone loose-limbed on the bed. Staring over at Bakugo with your hand propped up on your palm, slouched over on the bedding in a way that would be mortifyingly familiar at any other time.

He’s being kind to you, you think. You’ve only known him a few days but you’re certain the ebbing and flowing conversation he keeps up with you as you slip deeper into the pull of the drink is solely for your benefit.

He hasn’t seemed an overly social man, nor one occupied with pleasing others, yet here he sits with you. Handing you pieces of food every so often and encouraging you to eat with a soft nod of his chin, answering the questions about his people and his land that come from you easier and easier as the night drifts on.

You’re in the middle of asking him about Kirishima’s mate, your voice drifting a bit as you try to remember what he’d shared about her before, when Bakugo’s patience seems to reach its limit. He looks towards the window abruptly, as if he’d heard something, and you realize, when you squint, that you see the very first hints of daylight in the night sky. Hours off, still, but you realize you’ve been laying around Bakugo’s bed for much longer than you realized.

“I’m sorry,” you say, pushing yourself more upright on the bed and pushing your hair back from your face. “I was…going on.”

Bakugo’s brows tick up for a second, like he maybe agrees with you but is kind enough to not say so, and he tells you simply, “You’ll need time to rest. After. And we leave at first light.”

A thumping thud of your heart, sluggish through your body with the weight of the wine, as you remember why you’re even doing this. Why he’s let you drink to a syrupy, weighty point. Why he’s slowly let his scent thicken and go heavy and low in the space of the room.

“Oh. Alright.”

They’re all the words you can muster, and you make a dim mental note that you don’t like feeling this way. Like your bones are heavy and your tongue is too large for your mouth.

Bakugo’s eyes flick to you. “Relax,” he says. “I’m not gonna spring it on you.”

You wonder if he can hear the hammer of your heart, suddenly loud in your ears as you brush your hands once down the front of your borrowed trousers, then twice.

Bakugo starts to clear the bed and you stand to get out of his way. Forcing yourself to breathe in and out as he sets the platter of food scraps on the floor near the door and takes one pull from the wine flask before tossing it down to the ground, too.

“Sit down,” he mutters when he walks past you and into the baths, and you plunk mutely back down on the bedding, until he reappears with a clay cup in his hands.

He passes it to you, jerking his chin, and you sip it tentatively, before groaning softly and tipping it back.

Water. Cool, crisp, clearing water.

You finish it quickly, leaving your lips wet and your breath a bit rushed when he takes the cup from you and pushes it away from you on the ground with his foot.

When you look back up at him, your eyes meet, and you realize that there isn’t really much to do besides…what you’ve come to do.

“You’re nervous,” Bakugo says, an observation without much heat to it, and you feel your shoulders lift towards your ears. He sits beside you and the bed dips from his weight.

It takes you a second to realize your mouth has twisted into a frown. “I don’t like pain.”

He breathes out his nose for a long moment, his eyes like bloodied gems. “Few do, kit. Give me your hand.”

He takes your wrist with more care than you expect. Turning your hand in his until your palm is facing up, letting his fingertips drag along the surface of it.

“Easy,” he murmurs. “I’m just gonna show you.”

His thumb finds the swollen knot on the inside of your wrist, your scent gland that’s aching faintly with each rapid beat of your heart, and he smooths over the bump of it.

Something simmers in your blood at the pressure, something that draws tight on an inhale and loosens on an exhale, and you let out a wobbly breath as you feel some of the tension between your shoulders give.

It’s the same touch Kirishima has given you, twice now, but your wrist aches deeper with Bakugo’s touch. He rubs over the raised bump of it, working away the last of the wax remaining there, his eyes remaining on your face.

“This is scenting,” he tells you. His voice gone a bit low in the space between you. “It’s how we bond to each other.”

He holds your hand steady in his palm and gently rubs the inside of his other wrist against yours. You shiver, full-bodied, at the pulse of heat beneath your skin when his wrist gland oils lightly against yours.

“You’ll smell like me, now. Any other alpha will know you’ve been with me.”

You nod, slowly. Breathing out between your lips, wiggling your fingers to remind them to uncurl. Using every ounce of your strength to stay grounded in the moment so you can hear what he’s telling you, as every piece of you aches to lean into that honeyed, mindless warmth.

Bakugo’s thumb replaces his wrist and he continues to soothe over the rise in your skin. Slow, steady brushes of his thumb. “It’s a comfort thing, usually. Here on the wrist. Families will scent each other here. Friends, too.” His eyes lift up your front, landing on the side of your throat, and his hand follows.

The sides of his knuckles brush against the gland in the side of your throat, and your eyelids flutter.

His voice is a murmur. “This is more intimate. Mates scent each other here.” He watches you carefully, then asks, “This alright?”

You nod again, your eyes drifting closed as you lean into the pressure of his hand. “Feels good,” you feel yourself say, the words slipping softly through your lips.

You can feel yourself beginning to drift. Feeling like the wine in your blood but hotter, somehow. More potent, as he tugs your heart towards him with every slow brush of his fingers over your throat.

“Let go,” he murmurs, his voice closer than before, and a wave of his scent washes over you as he shifts closer. “You’re fighting it.”

“It’s strange,” you protest softly, but you go when he tugs you towards him. Feeling as if your limbs have turned to honey as he arranges you to sit across the broad spread of his thighs.

What remains of your rational mind marvels at your lack of reaction as you slide easily into place on his lap. No surge in your heart, no prickle of fear along the back of your neck. Just sinking into place like gravity is pulling you. Like you’ve been denying yourself something your entire life and it’s here for you now, if only you’ll give yourself to it.

“It’s safe,” he says back, tilting your chin the side as he nudges his nose along the line of your jaw. Breathing in deeply when it reaches beneath your ear. “Breathe.”

You make a sound you don’t recognize when his cheek brushes against yours. A soft little sound that catches in your throat as you turn towards him and deepen the touch. Breathing through parted lips and rubbing your cheek against his, shivering in his lap at the flutter of warmth you feel trickle down your spine.

Giving into it is irresistable. Inevitable, in a way that feels beyond your control, as you feel your thinking mind slip further and further from you with every slide of his skin against yours.

He breathes out against your throat, his breath hot and a little strained, and it cuts something loose in you. Tugs you free from the last of your propriety and has you leaning into him. Breathing in puffing pants between parted lips, your cheeks heated and your hands clutching at him to keep you close. Feeling some part of you flickering to life that you’ve never known before today. Before this exact moment, as he scents you with firm rubs of his skin against yours and a tight grip of his hands on your waist.

Time passes like that. With you writhing on his lap and begging him for more without words. Feeling your mind turn and twist beyond your comprehension, beyond reason, until all that remains in you is instinct and need, simmering up scalding beneath the surface of you.

It’s this pull that possesses you to lean down over him. To nudge your nose submissive against his jaw and then lick beneath it. Whining softly, mindlessly as you taste at his throat. Giving little nips and tastes of your tongue, knowing, in some buried part of you, that you’re giving yourself to him by doing this.

An urgency comes over him that you can’t help but mirror. Your breath coming quick as he shifts you in his lap. Tugging you deeper into the cradle of his hips as he nips lightly at the hinge of your jaw and makes you moan softly, unconscious and instinctive.

He lifts his arm to you, breathing, “Here,” to you as he presses the inside of his wrist against the part of your lips, and you moan again at the slick of the oil from his scent gland trickling onto your tongue and making your insides clench on a sudden scorch of heat.

You begin to suck on it without a thought, a gentle grip of the ridge of it between your teeth as you whine softly and try to drink him. Wanting to bathe in the scent of him that’s so rich here. So slippery on your tongue and down your throat, making your mouth flush with saliva as he tilts your head to the side and presses his teeth bluntly against the line of your neck.

You shiver, your body pressing against his because you know that you should, and you’re so lost in the heady pleasure of lapping at his scent gland that you barely hear the warning he murmurs into your skin. The apology his lips press to the heated curve of your throat, before his lips smear across the slick of your scent gland, and he sets the points of his teeth there.

You have a moment, an instant of bright, flickering knowing, where you realize what’s happening. What’s about to happen, what he’s about to do, and you have time only to suck in a rushed gasp and try to pull away, before his free hand presses your mouth against his wrist and he clamps his jaws down onto your throat.

You lurch against him like you’d been shocked, a scream catching in your throat as your jaws snap in surging, blinding pain, and you only have a moment to realize that your teeth have pierced his skin, blood filling hotly your mouth, before he groans and bears down again. Clamping his jaws tight and making you scream. Muffled into the bloodied skin of his wrist as pain scorches through you like a flame, dragging you down, and down, until you feel the edges of blessed darkness, and throw yourself towards it with every fiber of strength not torn asunder by the suffocating pain that’s turning your mind to madness and your body ablaze.

Sleep leaves you slowly the next morning.

You come back to consciousness in slow, warm waves of wakefulness. Rhythmic and soothing, flowing back and forth over your exhausted mind, and building slowly, surely upon the last, until your eyelids flutter finally open and you blink yourself awake.

Your head feels cottony and hazed, confusion thick in your mind as you flinch at the sharp ache radiating from where your neck meets shoulder. You shiver as the pain flares as you come back to yourself, a whimper slipping from you that’s pressed against something warm and firm.

A sound comes from over your head, something low and throaty, and it makes you shiver again, down your back and to your toes as your blood prickles in helpless reply. You shift against the warm bulk beside you, your lips parting as you nudge your nose forward blindly. Groaning softly as you try to squirm closer, chasing the relief the scent draping thickly over you is easing over the pain like balm on a burn.

Something drags softly up your back, touching along the bumps of your spine, and you exhale when you feel the warm grip of a large hand along the back of your neck. Grounding you, tugging you closer, and making some place buried deep in your chest warm like it’s a glowing light.

You don’t have the will to pull yourself from the comfort of it for some time. Breathing through the weakening waves of pain from your shoulder as a nose nudges against your temple and breathes in deeply the scent of you.

You know it’s Bakugo. Know without looking, know without thinking. The ruddy spice of his scent, earthen and dark, greets your slow-waking mind like an old friend. Like something beloved and known, imprinted on the oldest parts of you. If you thought it seemed eerily familiar to you before…

His hand is a steady anchor on the back of your neck. Not gripping, just resting with the thumb over your syrupy slow pulse. Keeping you close as he snuffles lightly against your hairline and makes soft sounds from deep down in his chest.

When you finally manage to draw yourself back, your mind is still stirring slowly. Drifting so lazily in the haze of the thrumming warmth you feel where the two of you are pressed together that you can’t even gather a sliver of embarrassment from how you’ve found yourself. Pressed against the heated skin of his bare chest, your toes curling as you try to press yourself even closer still, something like a low purr wanting to rumble from you.

You blink blearily up at him against the morning light, only realizing after a moment of significant delay that the sun is casting beams of golden light across the stone floor. Confusion tickles at your mind again, sure that they’d said the day before that they’d leave at first night, but your eye is drawn to Bakugo’s face, and your dim and uncollected thoughts on timing fade as quickly as they formed.

You’re slipped too far beneath the surface of whatever spell you’re under to know what to expect from him in this moment. Not even able to string the thoughts together to worry if he’s angry with you for sleeping late or looking down at you on his bed with regret painted over his face.

Your palm is pressed between the two of you, resting flat over the beat of his heart, and you swear you feel something physical there. Something heavy and warm and tender that wasn’t there before.

His brow is softly pinched as he looks down at you. Laying on his side and brushing his thumb in slow strokes over the pulse point in your throat. His mouth set on a soft shape that you think means he’s deep in thought, and when a whispered whine escapes you, soft, questioning, his reply is unconscious. A low, gentle chuff from his throat, and it’s only Bakugo’s hand on the back of your neck that keeps you from nudging back forward on instinct. From seeking his warmth and his scent and burying your face back into the crook of his shoulder.

It takes you a moment to find your voice, and even then, it comes out hoarse.

“I thought we were to leave at sunrise?”

His eyes drift down your face, then back up, his thumb still sweeping gently over your pulse. Rubbing softly around the softly aching outer edges of the bite he laid into your skin there, his touch making the hair on your arms want to stand.

He makes a soft, noncommittal sound. “When Kirishima returns, we’ll go.” His voice is rough, too. Raw sounding, almost, like the night prior had taken as much out of him as it had you. “You’re in pain.”

You shake your head, gritting your teeth to stop yourself from flinching when the skin of the bite in your throat pulls with the motion. Your head is clearing now, with your face pulled back from the warm pillow of scent coming from the bare skin of his chest.

“It’s better now,” you say. Meaning it, the pain you feel softening with every passing, wakeful moment. The sharp edges of it soothing with the buttery comfort of his scent pillowed around the both of you. “Where is Kirishima?”

Bakugo exhales slowly, and you realize his eyes have begun to clear. Only realizing then that they’d been a bit hazed too, curled up with you in his bed.

“Readying the horses,” Bakugo says, his thumb stilling over the side of your throat like he just now noticed he’d been stroking there. “We’re not staying here a second longer’n we need to.”

The leap of your heart when he begins to pull himself away from you is sharp. Almost painful in your chest, and you nearly chew into your lower lip to keep yourself from whining as he guides some space between the two of you with careful hands. The air that rushes between you is cool and the skin down your arm prickles with goosebumps that chill you to the bone.

Your head is clearing more with each passing minute of wakefulness and with every inch of distance added between you and Bakugo, and the first thought you have that isn’t warm safe stay is a disquieting realization that this whole situation should probably feel terrifying and strange, but it doesn't. A realization that even as your mind comes back to you and reminds you of propriety and dignity and the frightening unknown, every instinct beneath your skin is beckoning you forward. Towards him, towards the gentle grip of his hand and the soft brush of the edge of his nose against the shell of your ear.

Bakugo pushes himself to the edge of the bed, then stands. Moving to the window to look out of it, his sun-darkened skin glowing in the morning light, and then the strangest feeling quivers behind your ribs.

You feel the quick length of his steps away from you like a physical thing. A tug, painful and rooted deep within you, that warm thrum that had been echoing back and forth between the two of you in bed stretching taut and thinning. Invisible in the morning air, nothing between you but dust motes drifting, but something very real all the same.

You have a moment, laying in the rumpled linens of Bakugo’s borrowed bed, to wonder if you’ve gone mad. If the claiming bite had broken something in you, to have you feeling something this intense, this connected, to a man you barely know.

But then Bakugo turns back towards you from his place at the window. His eyes roving over you laid out in his bed and smelling of him. Shaking his chin almost imperceptibly, like he’s trying to shake a trick of the light from his sight.

You don’t know what to say. Laying there, feeling a pressure in your chest from the distance he put between you that feels cavernous and cruel, a jagged loss of something whole, feeling like you’ve lost all of your senses, when he makes a soft, incredulous sound.

“They said it would be…muted.”

You can’t think very straight over the urge, physical and pressing, to crawl across the bed and go to him. Holding yourself back with nothing but the power of your will, as you try to hear the words he just said. “Muted?”

He shakes his head softly. Swallowing, his brows dipping gently on his brow in a fleeting glimpse of feeling. “The bond. It’s supposed to…pale in comparison to a true claim.”

Your heart kicks in your chest.

He feels it, too.

You swallow heavily. Unable to stop yourself from staring hard in the stretched space between you. Looking, squinting, to see anything to validate this excruciating pull you feel, like gravity itself is tugging you towards where he’s stood.

There’s nothing glimmering in the morning light besides the sun on the stone floor, but you know, when the garnet of his eyes meet yours, that it’s real. That he’s feeling that same thrumming pull, just the same as you.

It takes you a moment to speak. Trying to find the words, and only able to murmur. “What do we do?”

Bakugo watches you, his chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths. When he speaks again, he pulls his eyes from yours, and you try not to flinch at the loss that blooms around your heart at the feeling.

After a long moment of lingering silence, he squares his shoulders, and you see the king of the wild people appear before you in the soft morning light. Seeming to shake the last of whatever haze you’d both been under when you’d been skin to skin, scenting each other out of instinct and need, doing what your bodies told you to because you were both too far beneath the surface of it to stop yourselves.

He finds his cloak and drapes it over his shoulders. Securing it in place and turning back to face you, like he’s finally found his footing and come back fully to himself.

“We wait for Kirishima to get back,” he says, his voice gone a little low in the quiet of the chambers. His eyes drift back to yours, and your heart clutches in your chest in reply.

“Then,” he says, “we get the fuck out of here.”

You’re still dazed from the pull of bond when you’re brought alongside them to the dining hall in the center of the castle. There’s a length to their stride you struggle to match and Bakugo’s hand around yours is the only thing that keeps you in tow as you walk between them and try to focus on placing your feet in front of you instead of floating uselessly in the thrumming pulse of the bond.

Bakugo is tense. You know from the grip of his hand on yours and the faint strain prickling at bond, while Kirishima is deliberately light as you make your way through the castle halls. Making conversation with you about nothing important that you manage to keep up with while your mind swirls with the pull of the bite and the knowledge of what you’re all about to go do.

It’s the last day of Friður and the last meal is to be held in the dining hall and with King Enji. A formal farewell and close of the festivities, but Bakugo told you that you won’t be partaking in the meal this morning. Assuming, correctly, surely, that once the King learns of what’s happened, your welcome within the kingdom walls will wane considerably.

The three of you had discussed what was to come in their chambers, so you had some idea of what to expect. An expeditious exit from Eldur that retained as much diplomatic grace as possible, for the sake of the peace treaty and the futures of both countries. Kirishima had seemed optimistic that the revelation of the bite would be received with the same distant, forced cordiality they’d been treated with their whole stay, but the set of Bakugo’s jaw makes you think that perhaps that was just Kirishima hoping for the best.

The large wooden doors of the dining hall swing open as you approach, draw back by castle hands who can’t hide the shock on their faces at the sight of you, hand in hand with the leader of the wild people and striding forward dressed in a man’s clothes.

The din of conversation in the hall abruptly ceases as the three of you step into the space, and you find yourself shifting minutely towards Bakugo. Turning your nose against the side of his arm and breathing in, to try to steady the sudden and violent beat of your heart in the silence.

King Enji is sat at a long table at the center of the hall, a full, steaming place setting before him. You’re late to the meal, you realize, and your nerves climb even higher in the tight tunnel of your throat.

Hawks is sat beside him and you don’t miss how he straightens in his chair at the sight of you. Standing between Bakugo and Kirishima, your hand clasped within Bakugo’s.

He huffs a laugh. “What’s this, then?” he asks, blinking like he’s properly shaking off sleep for the first time since waking this morning.

King Enji’s gaze is a glare, edged and sharp, and it lands on the place where you and Bakugo are joined.

“You’re late,” he says, voice stiff, and in a instant, you know that the forced pleasantries of the festival have run themselves dry.

“Yeah,” Bakugo says, not an ounce of apology in his voice. “We’re leaving.”

Kirishima takes a half step forward to stand level with Bakugo. “Thank you for your generosity,” he says to King Enji. “We’ve had a wonderful time. Perhaps we can host you on the mountain for the next festival.”

King Enji waves his hand sharply, his jaw set. Pushing past the political formalities and zeroing in on the spectable standing before him. “Was I not clear when I declined your request yesterday,” he asks. “She is a citizen of Eldur and will remain so.”

Bakugo shrugs, irreverent, and it makes King Enji bristle. “I invoked the old ways. Not up to you, now.”

Hawks makes a delighted squawking sound, his palm slapping against the table, as King Enji’s expression darkens.

“You did no such thing.”

Bakugo offers him a sharp, humorless smile that shows none of his teeth. “No higher power than the old ways, right King?”

“You’ve lost your minds,” Hawks mutters, delighted, grinning across the hall at the three of you. “You wild people…”

“She’s not yours to take,” King Enji says, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. Rage there, simmering beneath the surface.

The bond snaps tight, anger scorching down it so quickly that you flinch bodily.

“She’s no one’s to take,” Bakugo spits, his hand tightening painfully around yours. “She chose this, as did I.”

King Enji motions sharply to a page standing along the far wall and he scurries off, leaving the hall rigid with tension as two kings stand their ground in the face of another.

“You’ve no decency,” King Enji says lowly. “No respect. You come to my kingdom and spit on our culture.”

Bakugo snorts, derisively. “Your opinion means jackshit to me, King.”

“Ookay,” Kirishima says, stepping forward with his hands raised, just as Hawks darts out a hand to keep King Enji from flipping the table, and the tension in the room ratchets higher. Unbearable, almost, and you find yourself barely able to be present in it. Choosing instead to continue to breathe in Bakugo’s scent in a desperate bid to calm the panic you feel clawing up your insides.

The moment draws out, silence and hard stares, until the hall doors swing open again and a man in draped robes comes through. You recognize him as the royal healer, and your stomach twists a miserable turn. Fear brewing anew when you realize what his presence means.

King Enji has settled back into his chair now, but his gaze is like glowing embers. Furious, as he waves the man forward. “Release her,” he says to Bakugo. “She must be examined so I know this claim is legitimate.”

Bakugo laughs shortly. Darkly. “Take her from me. See what happens.”

The healer shuffles forward warily, giving Bakugo distance as he comes around to stand between the kings and looking like he’d do just about anything to be anywhere but where he’s standing.

After a moment of uneasy silence, Bakugo barks, “Come up, then. I’m not gonna fuckin' hurt you.”

The healer glances back only to meet the steelen glare of King Enji, so he steps forward cautiously. Stopping a foot away from you and requesting in a low, deferential voice to see the claim marks.

Bakugo turns his forearm, and you shudder at your first sight of your bite. A ringed circle of bloodied skin from where your teeth sunk deep, and you can’t help the pulse of heat down the bond that Bakugo echoes back unconsciously.

The healer doesn’t touch but he does give it a good look, shifting a bit to change his view, before his eyes lift to you. “And hers,” he says.

You look up to Bakugo, nervous, suddenly, and his eyes are sharp when they meet yours. Still primed with anger he can’t soften, so you look back to the healer just as quick, raising your hand to the neckline of your tunic and tugging it gently to the side.

He takes a moment there, staring critically at the swollen lump around the scent gland on the side of your throat. His brow furrowing, taking so long that you begin to fear that he’ll know, somehow. That he’ll sense your deception or the incompleteness of the bond.

But after a moment, he steps back. His eyes looking between you and Bakugo one last time before he turns and goes to the head table. Leaning across and murmuring into King Enji’s ear before drawing back and away.

King Enji’s gaze does not change, anger painted across every inch of his face, when he says through gritted teeth, “Get out of my Kingdom.”

Bakugo makes an unkind sound and turns, tugging you alongside him as he makes his way back from where you came. Kirishima follows suit but manages a “Thank you for your hospitality!” before the wooden doors of the hall are slammed behind you.

The three of you stand there for a moment, in the empty castle hall. Bakugo drops your hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, stress souring the plume of scent emanating from him, while Kirishima sucks in a deep, gusting breath and then lets it out through his mouth.

“Well,” he says, clapping his hands together and laughing softly when Bakugo cuts him a weary look. “That could have gone worse!”

You slump against Bakugo, your heart ringing still in your ears, as something like an exhausted laugh falls from your lips. “I suppose…”

You all stay there for a moment in the silence of the hall. Catching your breath and calming the roars of your hearts, before Bakugo straightens himself, running the edge of his knuckles against the gland on your wrist where it hangs by your side.

“Alright,” he says. Shaking his chin as if to clear the tension from it, before his eyes raise to Kirishima’s. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

In the end, leaving is easy. There’s no fanfare bestowed on the departing foreigners, nor any grief from the Kingdom for losing their greatest blight as you walk to the gates of Eldur at Bakugo’s side, with Kirishima on his other. The streets are cleared as you proceed through the city, people busying themselves to avoid staring as you pass by open windows and doors, and Bakugo and Kirishima walk with such an easy pride that you can’t help but marvel at. Can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever possess such a feeling, all squared shoulders and raised chins and long-legged, easy strides.

The two horses they’d ridden in on are waiting for you at the gate, held by two castle guardsmen who avert their eyes as the three of you approach.

The towering front gates are opened on deep-groaning hinges when you stand before them, and the three of you slip through them without a word uttered. Stepping out onto the grasslands beyond the kingdom walls, and you turn back to watch when the doors slam shut behind you with a deafening crescendo of finality.

You take a moment there, your gaze lifting up the gates and the towering walls that spread out on either side. Seeing your homeland in a way you never have. From the outside, as the world sees it. The tall, impenetrable walls, the towers with slits for the notched arrows of guard archers.

It occurs to you, as you tilt your head back to see it all, that perhaps Eldur has always felt this way to you, in your heart. Like it didn’t belong to you, or you to it. Like it was a cold place gilded in stone and steel that you were never meant for.

You feel a flutter on the bond and when you turn back, Bakugo is watching you from beside his horse. There’s an expression on his face that’s a bit guarded, so you can’t quite decipher it, but his voice has a note of gentleness when he speaks.

“You ready, kit?”

Kirishima mounts his horse with ease, his massive bulk settling lightly into the saddle, and Bakugo holds out a hand towards you.

Warmth trickles through you, like heated oil. Finding comfort there in Bakugo’s sure gaze and Kirishima’s lopsided grin as he chats quietly to his horse, and you step forward and slip your hand into Bakugo’s.

His skin is rough against yours, his hand enveloping yours entirely as he draws you beside his mount. His scent is rich, this close to him, and you draw in a pull of it, to feel the relief of it shudder down to your toes.

“Ready,” you say. Nodding, trusting, and you see Bakugo see it in your face.

He helps you aboard his horse, lifting you up and over his head like you weigh nothing at all, before he joins you. Settling into the saddle behind you and resting the width of his forearm over your thigh. Nudging you back against the cradle of his hips, til your back is pressed to his chest.

He gathers the reins in one hand and you feel something like the nudge of his nose behind your ear as his horse steps sideways beneath you. A comforting shiver trickling down your spine as he scents you lightly, making a soft sound beneath his breath, before he urges his horse forward with a pulse of his knees.

Kirishima falls into step beside you atop his horse, his smile eager. “Just a week or two of riding, and we’ll be there,” he says. “It’s only been a few days here but it feels like ages. Are you feeling good?”

You nod to him, the corners of your mouth lifting in a soft smile. Feeling a bit shy, tucked against Bakugo’s chest, but sure. Ready for what’s to come.

Bakugo makes a soft, huffing sound of ascent above your head. “Let’s go home.”

The two alphas turn their horses to the west and start forward across the plains, taking you towards your new life. Full of mystery and promise, both nothing you’ve ever known and maybe, everything you never knew you needed.

#bakugo x reader fic #bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #abo #omegaverse #omega #alpha

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