#// He would be a MESS without her and I do mean that

[everyonewooeverywhere]

chapter 3 : old pals, new beginnings

part 1 | part 2 | masterlist

summary: when you come into his shop to get your boyfriend's car fixed, yunho can help but wonder what a hardworking, pretty girl like you is doing with someone so...pathetic. and maybe, just maybe, he feels like he could treat you better.

pairing: cowboy mechanic!yunho x female!reader

genre: non-idol au | strangers to lovers | angst | fluff (no smut yet, but there will be eventually)

rating: pg-13 (18+ for the whole series bc there will be smut eventually)

word count: 5.6k

content/warnings: pet names (sweetheart, doll)

notes: thank you so so much to @yunho-onlyhands & @skzdust for beta reading this for me 🤧 it means so much, and it very much helped me iron out this draft 💗

also thank you so so much for all the love on this series so far! i truly love writing for this couple so much. they make me so happy 😞

Getting up out of bed for the next several days took nearly all of your energy. And unfortunately, “getting cheated on” is not an acceptable reason to get out of work, so you were forced to call in sick. Using up the last of your sick days for the year. Everything was so draining, and somehow every corner of that godforsaken apartment was just a painful reminder of the years you seemed to have wasted.

Your head swelled and pounded from the lack of sleep, and the endless hours of tossing and turning left you unbearably irritable. Even trying to make yourself meals felt like an impossible task.

You basked in the irony that your apartment was messier than ever. You were trying to pick away at Yeonjun’s endless amount of stuff. Throwing whatever you could find in boxes and letting it pile up in the kitchen. But somehow you were constantly finding shit that you had to physically restrain yourself from tossing straight into the garbage.

And you probably would have been living in your mess for days on end if Rosie hadn’t forced herself into your apartment nearly every day. Her cheerful energy never wavering when she burst through your front door. Usually bringing snacks and treats with her. 

Today was no different. This time, though, when she dragged you out of bed, she started laying out outfits. A variety of short, fringe skirts and topslined up haphazardly across your unmade bed, complimented by a pair of white cowboy boots tossed onto the floor.

“What is all this?” you asked, brows furrowing while you failed to suppress a yawn.

She grinned at you, “We’re going to a party.”

“Oh, Ro. I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” you grimaced at the idea of being surrounded by sweaty strangers in a house you’d never seen, Rosie’s usual party scene.

“Oh, babe…” She mimicked your tone, “You have no choice.”

You pouted at her, and she mirrored that, too. Before breaking into a wide grin, “C’mon! I know you’ll have fun! It’s not a house party. It’s a barn bash that Mingi invited me to. He said his friend’s family hosts one every year, and he really loves it. And I don’t know what I’d do without my favorite girl there.” 

You eyed her suspiciously, “‘His friend…”

She bit her lip in a failed attempt to hide her smile. Her clearly freshly manicured hand swatted at your arm, “Come on! You haven’t seen him in weeks! And you don’t even have to talk to him. I really just want to have you there,” she laid her head on your shoulder, “Between you and me, though, Mingi says he still talks about you a lot.”

You scoffed, but Rosie could tell clear as day how flattered you were by that statement. A heavy sigh fell from your lips, “Can we at least get ice cream after?” 

Her face lit up, “Yes! So you’ll come?”

You nodded and smiled softly at her, “Yes, Ro. I’ll come.”

“Oh yay!” She wrapped you in a hug. When she pulled back, her grin was full of scheming. “Okay…let’s play dress up.”

After several hours of letting her dress you up and do your make up and hair, Mingi pulled up outside your apartment. Loud music spilling out the windows of his shiny black sports car. 

Rosie grabbed your arm when she saw him leaning against the hood of the car, dark sunglasses covering his eyes. “Oh girl I got so lucky, didn’t I?” She whispers to you.

You rested a hand over hers, “Well I’d say he got pretty lucky, too.”

She giggled and smiled up at you. Letting her head lean on your shoulder as you both made your way down the sidewalk to his car.

He grinned and waved as he saw you both approaching, pushing himself off the car. “Wow, you both look great.” He slid his sunglasses onto his head, and you watched as Rosie ogled up and down at him. You wouldn’t lie, he looked really good. In a tight black t-shirt that didn’t quite reach the waistband of his black leather pants, leaving a sliver of his midriff exposed. The black, studded boots he wore were the perfect way to stay on theme but put his own spin on it. Suddenly, it made a lot more sense why your friend had opted for a black leather miniskirt for a supposed “barn bash.”

You reached your hand out to him, figuring this might be your only time tonight to finally introduce yourself to him, “Thank you, Mingi.” You gave him a friendly smile, “I’m Y/n, by the way. I don’t think we’ve ever officially introduced ourselves.”

He chuckled and shook your hand, “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” you glanced down at your friend, “I could say the same thing about you.”

Rosie just giggled and leaned further into your side. And your heart about melted at the way Mingi looked at her so fondly. Hearts practically forming in his eyes.

He opened the door to the backseat and half bowed, presenting the open car door to you, “Ladies.” 

You laughed and slipped into his car, clearly freshly cleaned. Rosie slid in after you, taking Mingi’s hand as he helped her into the car and kissing him on the cheek before he closed the door. She was glowing, and you couldn’t be more happy for her.

As you pulled up to the barn, your stomach fluttered with nerves. The car pulled to a stop before Mingi helped you both out and led you to the door, his hand resting on Rosie’s back.

The atmosphere is much calmer than you were expecting. It was still a party, but the ambiance of the small barn was really nice. There was no DJ, just a playlist playing over the various speakers spread around the building. A small but adequate bar was set up not too far from the door, and you saw many people serving themselves out of the coolers.  The lights were low, but it was still relatively easy to see all the way across the small space. And there were hardly more than fifty people here, so you had a lot of room to breathe. 

Maybe you were glad that Rosie had dragged you out of the house for this. 

“Alright ladies,” Mingi spoke from beside you, his hand on your friend’s lower back, “Everyone is over there.” He pointed to one of the many high-top tables that were spread around the dance floor.

And just like you suspected, Yunho stood beside it alongside a couple men you failed to recognize. He wore the normal cowboy get-up, but it seemed nicer today. Even though he wore the same beige hat you’d seen him in before, he was more dressed up. His jeans were darker, and he wore a white button-up that had clearly been ironed before he put it on. And maybe it was just the low light of the barn or maybe it was your newfound singleness, but something about the way he leaned against that table and the way his head tilted back when he laughed made your stomach flip.

You followed Mingi and Rosie to the table, trailing behind the two of them and trying to catch your breath and calm your growing nerves. Yunho saw Mingi first, his height and platinum hair a dead giveaway, and broke into a huge smile. He pulled his friend in for a hug, with two mildly aggressive pats to the back. And he even pulled Rosie in for a small side hug. 

“You guys made it!” He greeted with a huge grin. When he let go of Rosie, he finally saw you over Mingi’s shoulder. For a brief second he looked a little shocked, though you could tell he was trying to hide it. He broke into yet another smile but a softer one, one that was more obvious in his eyes than his lips. “Hey.”

You waved shyly at him, “Hi.”

Rosie and Mingi stepped aside to chat with the others, leaving the two of you alone with each other. “How’ve you been?”

You shrugged and failed to reel back a clearly unsavory sigh, “It’s been alright.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, “You sure?”

The tips of your fingers fiddled with the fringe on your skirt, and you chuckled dryly, “It’s been kinda horrible actually. I haven’t had to deal with a breakup since I was sixteen, so I guess I’m just out of practice.”

He laughed at that, and you were glad, feeling better that you hadn’t brought down the mood. “Try not to beat yourself up about it, alright? Break ups suck, but a lot of the time, it is for the better. And if you ever need anythin’, car related or otherwise, call me. I know you’ve got Rosie to help you out, but if you ever need help when she’s…” he glanced over at your friend who was practically hanging off of Mingi’s arm, “preoccupied, just let me know.”

You looked up at him, grateful for his willingness, “Thank you, Yunho.”

He tipped his hat, in a way that seemed half a joking nod to his cowboy persona and half completely sincere and genuine, “Of course, Doll. Anytime.” He glanced over your shoulder, “Can I introduce you to my friends? Well, most of ’em, anyways. Looks like we’ve got some slowpokes who haven’t shown up yet.”

“Please, I’d love that.” 

He holds out his arm for you, and you grasp it gently, letting him tuck your hand into the crease of his elbow. And he guides you back to the table where the rest of the group has been talking. 

They all turned to the two of you once they noticed your approach. Waiting curiously while Yunho introduced the girl who'd arrived with Mingi’s date, “Guys, this is y/n.”

You smile, giving them all a small wave, catching the eye of one of the men who was practically beaming at you.

“Well I was wondering when we’d finally get to meet her,” the blonde man said, leaning over the table and shaking your hand when you reached for him, “Nice to meet you. I’m Hongjoong.” 

“Nice to meet you, too.” 

You went around the whole table introducing yourself. You found out that Hongjoong had been in the year ahead of Yunho and Mingi in high school and had left town for fashion school in New York after he’d graduated. He’d moved back a couple of years ago and opened his own tailoring shop downtown. Bringing his boyfriend, Seonghwa, back with him from school with him. Both of them moving in together in the small studio above Hongjoong’s shop. Seonghwa had pulled you in for a hug immediately upon meeting you, and you couldn’t help but feel a deep warmth at how easily accepted you were.

After meeting Seonghwa and Hongjoong, you were introduced to San. And found out that you and San actually went to the same university. Never once did you cross paths, but it was nice to have the connection nonetheless. He was newer to the group apparently. Only meeting Mingi at a race a little under a year ago. He wasn’t a mechanic but he “knew his way around the cab better than anyone.” Or at least that’s what Mingi had claimed.

And then there was Yunho’s younger cousin, Jongho. Apparently, this whole barn bash tradition had been one started by his parents, and, though he wasn’t super keen on running it, he made sure that the party still happened annually. 

When Yunho went to grab you a beer, Jongho nudged your side with his elbow. Smirking at the way you shamelessly eyed his cousin at the bar.

“He’s single, you know?” standing next to you and admiring his cousin alongside you. Watching as he mingled with some other friends beer the cooler.

You laughed, “So I’ve heard. That’s not really any of my business, is it, though?”

Jongho shrugged, “I would say by the way you won’t stop staring at him, it might be all of your business.”

This kid. “I guess it’s kind of on him to make a move then, isn’t it?”

“He won’t.” He took a sip of his beer. Setting it on the table in front of you.

“What?” you glanced over at him, brows pinched in confusion. “What do you mean ‘he won’t?’”

He met your eyes, “You just got out of a relationship, right?” You nodded hesitantly and a bit embarrassed that that was knowledge he had. “Then he’s not gonna push anything. It took a lot of convincing from us,” he gestured to the group, “to even get him to invite you tonight, and he wouldn’t even do that directly. Unless you push for it, Yunho isn’t gonna make a move. He wants to give you the time you need to heal. So the ball is definitely in your court for this one.”

You pondered his words. Turning them over in your head. Part of you nervous at the prospect of being in charge, being the driving force. But another part of you feeling like he just couldn’t get anymore perfect. Already, he had been nothing but respectful and gentle toward you. Helping you where you needed it. But something about the way he treated you…it just made you feel so special.

Your heart tightened at the feeling. Special wasn’t a new feeling. A much younger you had felt that beautifully deceptive feeling before. Because it doesn’t take much to feel special, but it's an easy way to trick the heart.

“Want me to open it for ya?” Yunho gestured to the beer in his hand that he had so graciously grabbed for you.

You nodded, “That would be wonderful.”

“Not a problem, Doll.”

You watched as he positioned the rim of the bottle against the edge of the table. Shamelessly admiring his arms as he did it. You hadn’t noticed it earlier, but at some point, he’d rolled his sleeves up. Revealing his toned forearms. From which you could see his many veins lining his arm. When he brought his hand down on top of the bottle you jumped in surprise, watching the cap pop up and fall to the ground.

Yunho laughed at your jumpiness, reaching the bottle out to you. His fingers brushing over yours when you took it from him.

“Thank you,” you gave him a shy smile.

He opened his mouth to playfully remark over the way you ogled at him, but he was cut off by a voice behind you.

“Y/n!?” shouted a male voice full of obvious surprise. Your head whipped around, recognizing that  voice instantly.

You stared at him wide-eyed in shock. Though his hair was longer and his voice deeper, you’d recognize Jung Wooyoung anywhere. And he hardly gave you a second to breathe before his arms were wrapped around your shoulders, practically suffocating you. 

He rocked you side to side dramatically when you finally hugged him back, your arms embracing his back. You were still trying to comprehend seeing his face after so long, when he pulled back, hands still resting on your shoulders, “How have you been?”  His enthusiasm not once wavering. He playfully slapped your shoulder, “Where have you been?”

Still a bit dazed, you just blinked at him, before pulling him back in and hugging him tighter than before. His giggle vibrated through your chest. A sound you thought you’d honestly never hear again. And though you couldn’t see his face, you could perfectly visualize the way his lips pulled back into that smile that had encouraged you so strongly all those years ago.

Finally, after several long moments, you let each other go. His smile still burning as he repeated his question, “How’ve you been?”

You shrugged, trying not to let the unfortunate question tamper your mood, “Fine. Kind of going through a breakup right now, so it’s been a little rough if I’m honest.” You felt your heart fill with a familiar warmth, though. And you smiled at the memories of your long walks together, the ones where you told each other everything.

“Oh girl, a bad one?”

You nodded, taking a sip of your beer, “He cheated.”

“Shit, seriously!?” he made a face of disgust, “Give me his name. I’ll kick his ass. I swear.”

You sat there for a second silently staring at him. A bit embarrassed to admit the truth he had yet to realize.

Expectantly, he kept his gaze locked onto yours, waiting patiently for your response. Until you saw it click in his eyes, and his face turned to a look of utter disgust. “Please tell me you two did not just break up.” You avoided his eyes. His judgement, “Was there at least a break in there?”

You shook your head, “No…”

“Damn, girl. How’d you put up with that for that long?” Sympathy washed over his face.

Shrugging you offered the only thing you could think of as a reasonable answer, “It was comfortable? I don’t really know.” You leaned against the table, “He’s the only boyfriend I’ve ever had, so I guess I just…didn’t really know when I was supposed to end it.”

“Maybe that’s just the thing with him.”

You hummed.

He continued, “He makes you feel like you’re where you’re supposed to be. With him. And your life revolves around him for so long that it just becomes the new normal, and you struggle to even remember what your life was like before you met him. Was it better? Was it worse? I guess it’s hard to tell when he’s worn you down so much that you can’t even think that hard.”

As much as it was so nice to have someone to understand your pain, your heart hurt for Wooyoung, too. You placed a comforting hand on his back. 

He smiled gently at you, “Well, I’m glad you're at least out of it now.”

“I’m glad you are, too.”

Things between him and Yeonjun had ended disastrously. About as bad as things could go. Wooyoung leaving the band had been kind of inevitable from the beginning. With all logic, it was just a fun thing for him to do throughout his university years. He had never planned for it to be a lifelong thing, let alone the career path that Yeonjun seemed to think it was. But when Wooyoung had told Yeonjun that he was leaving the group one month before graduation, it was chaos. A constant storm of accusations. Yeonjun berating his former friend for being a poser and a traitor. And Wooyoung scoffing at the man's delusions. 

You remember the countless hours you spent in Yeonjun’s room. In his bed consoling him. Telling him that it was going to be okay. And reassuring him that he didn’t need his help to keep the band together. Though you were secretly hoping to see Wooyoung move on to better things.

Peering up at him, you asked softly, “You don’t hate me, do you?”

He laughed through his nose, tucking you into his side and pressing his cheek into your forehead, “I could never. Actually sometimes I wonder why I never reached back out to you. Maybe I had figured you’d moved on.”

“I missed you, Youngie.” 

You felt him let out a content breath, “I missed you, too.” 

From behind you, you felt a pair of eyes on you, practically burning into your skull. You glanced over to see his painfully familiar face watching the two of you carefully. You tried to smile and wave at him, but he continued to stare, seemingly uninterested, before returning to his conversation with San.

“Oh, yeah…” Wooyoung muttered, “Yeosang’s here, too.”

“Mhm,” you sighed, a bit defeated, “And he still hates me.”

He nudged your hip with his, “Hey, he doesn’t hate you. You two just…probably have some things you need to work out.”

You glared at him, “That might be oversimplifying it.”

“Seriously, I think you just need to talk to him. At least for closure. Because I know the way you two left things left room for none of that.”

Of course, he was right. The last time you spoke to Yeosang, it was a massive fight. One that had left many wounds, the biggest one being the loss of your closest friend. Someone who had always made you feel complete.

“I’ll try.” It felt like an empty promise. The thought of going over there and talking to him made you honestly sick to your stomach. 

“Hey,” Wooyoung slid your beer back into your hand, “Don’t let it bum out your night, okay?” He looked back at the group and then smirking back at you, “So…Yunho?”

You took a sip to try and mask your smile, “What about him?”

“Don’t play dumb. What’s going on there? How’d you two even meet?”

You laughed, “Actually, I think you would really like this story.”

After chatting with Wooyoung for what felt like hours, you found yourself wandering back to Yunho. You could tell he was a bit tipsy from the light flush across his face. 

“Small world, huh?” He gestured toward your friend.

“Yeah I guess it is,” smiling fondly at him.

He lifts his hat off to readjust and ruffle his hair before placing it neatly back on his head. God you needed to get over your feelings about that hat. But you couldn’t stop looking at him. Something about the alcohol that was barely in your system and the way the smallest of his actions drove you up the wall had you feeling insane. 

But maybe it also had you feeling more confident. Perhaps a bit too confident.

“Hey,” You look up at Yunho apprehensively, “Do you wanna dance?”

His smile makes you nearly melt into the floor as he tips his head to the side, that stupid beige hat lopsided with the motion, “Of course, Doll. I thought you’d never ask.”

He takes your beer from your hands and discards it in the trash. Grabbing your hand and pulling you to the center of the barn where everyone is mingling and dancing together. 

You stumbled over your feet and braced yourself on his chest. He grinned down at you, “Well hello pretty girl.” 

He placed his hands on your waist to steady you. “Hi,” you whispered up at him.

He held you so gently. Letting you both sway to the song that reverberated off the wooden walls of the barn. But you paid no mind to the music or the dust at your feet or Wooyoung’s eyes that you could feel boring into your back. Too focused on the way you could hear the rustle of Yunho’s shirt as you danced.

As soon as the song picked up its beat, though, the two of you started to really have your fun. His hands found your own and he pulled you to him before spinning you around. He was careful with you, but not in a way that stomped on any of your excitement. You just felt…safe around him. And as many times as he spun you and dipped you and pulled you to him, you never once doubted his ability to keep you upright and in his arms.

Even when you tripped over your feet a couple times, he always made sure you were steady and balanced. And then he would proceed to giggle and tease you for being clumsy.

It was so carefree. Being with him made it so easy to forget that you were rotting in your bed just earlier that day. And it wasn’t out of a place of pity. He was just that kind of guy. The one who was so easily able to make you laugh with just his presence. And one that valued your happiness just because you deserved to be happy, not because it made him feel good to cheer you up.

And as the music kept going you could feel yourself falling deeper and deeper into his big brown eyes. Maybe it was just the alcohol or maybe it was the fact that this man, who seemed to embody everything you would want in man, had you in his arms, but your mind kept flashing with thoughts of lifting his hat off of his head and running your hands through his hair. Brushing your fingers over his cheek. Wrapping your arms around his neck.

As the music slowed, the space between you two shrank until there was virtually nothing between you save for the clothing covering your skin. Yunho’s hands lightly squeezed your waist, his eyes searching your expression for any sign of discomfort, “Is this okay?”

You nodded, letting your hands rest comfortably on his chest, “It’s perfect.”

Your eyes explored his face. Over his lightly flushed cheeks, over his beautiful eyes that tracked your every move, over the soft pink of his lips that made it impossible not to imagine them on your skin. You didn’t even notice when your hands slid from their place on his chest to the back of his neck. Holding yourself closer to him. The tips of your fingers brushing against the pieces of his soft hair that peaked out of his hat.

The sound of the music faded completely into the background. The only beat you could feel was the one of your hearts beating together in rhythm. 

“Fuck,” he said in a whispered breath, “you’re so beautiful.”

You pulled a bit of your lip between your teeth, “Yunho…”

He removed a hand from your waist and cupped your cheek, “Doll.”

You could only blink and look deep into his eyes. Trying to ignore the way your heart pounded erratically in your chest. Your ears drowning out anything but his voice.

“Doll,” he leaned in closer, and his eyes flicked down to your lips, “Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” you practically whimpered. Letting him fill the gap between you. Kissing you with so much need and desire. Like he’d been wanting this for months. For years. His arms wrapped around your back. Holding you as close as he could get you. 

And you let him kiss you so breathlessly that you had to gasp for air when he pulled away in moments. Grasping tight to the back of his neck. Only to be pulled back in by those deep, beautiful eyes.

His lips were so soft on top of your own. Just like you had imagined. But it was the way he held you that made you feel so safe. His arms around you like he’d never let you go. Like the comfort of having someone by your side for a lifetime. 

It felt like a lifetime.

An eternity.

You’d felt that before. 

When you had started dating Yeonjun at nineteen it had felt like a lifetime. And the way he kissed you the first time had made you melt into his arms. You’d rushed headfirst into that relationship. So sure that the sparks that flew between you and the tipsy butterflies filling your gut were enough to sustain the feeling you’d mistaken for love. 

And here you were again. 

Running away from Yeonjun and tumbling into Yunho’s open arms. 

Sweet, sincere, and beautiful Yunho who genuinely seemed to want something deeper with you. 

Who seemed to truly see you and want you despite knowing so little about you.

God, what the fuck were you doing?

Yunho pulled away from you immediately when he felt you freeze up in his arms. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked. His brows furrowed and voice gentle but still piercing through the loud music surrounding you. Concerned at the way you wouldn’t even meet his eyes.

You stumbled away from him, “Yunho, I’m so sorry.” Practically falling out of his grasp and in the next instant you were bolting out the nearest door. 

Yunho stared in shock as the barn’s side door slammed behind you. Glancing over at his friends, he saw that none of them had seemed to notice the incident. And with Rosie and Mingi nowhere in sight, he had no choice to run after you. A mix of fear of confusion guiding his steps as he chased after you. Momentarily losing sight of you in the dark expanse of the pasture.

The soft dirt revealed footprints that matched the pointed toe of your heeled boots along the side of the corn field. He followed them without a thought. Only racking his brain for what had gone wrong. Each step he took had him feeling sicker and sicker with dread. 

Fuck he had moved too fast. 

Never in his twenty-five years of life had he kissed someone without taking them on a date first. Let alone a woman who, before tonight, had not been single every time they had met. He knew he was jumping the gun when he asked Mingi to bring you tonight, though he wasn’t really sure if you were gonna show up. And just the brief idea that he had made you uncomfortable made Yunho want to curl up and die.

As your footsteps made the curve around the edge of the corn field, he finally saw you. Sitting in the old swing that hung from the massive oak tree that loomed over the pasture. 

His heart hurt when he saw you there. Hunched over and sobbing into your hands. With your back to him, he knew you couldn’t see him, but he was sure you knew that he was gonna come after you. Nevertheless, he stepped a bit heavier than he normally would, so you could hear him. Not wanting to scare you off another time.

You refused to turn around when you heard him coming up behind you, but you let your thumbs swipe away the tears that threatened to stream down your cheeks, taking a few deep breaths to try and get yourself together.

And when you caught a glimpse of him stepping into your line of sight, you finally dropped your hands from your face. Teeth gnawing at your lip. Trying to think of something, anything, to say to rectify the mess you had just created.

Because, truth was, that was probably the sweetest and gentlest kiss of your entire life, and maybe if you had held it together for two more seconds, you would have been able to explain your worries to him.

But instead, when you looked up from your lap to the man squatting right in front of you, hat clenched in his hands. And you couldn’t even find it in yourself to swoon at his flushed cheeks or the messy hair falling over his face, because all you could see was the distressed look in his eyes.

“Doll–” he shook his head, “Y/n, I’m sorry if I misread…Fuck.” He dragged a hand over his face and up into his hair, pushing the strands out of his face, “That was too soon. I’m so sorry. I should have never–”

“Yunho,” you cut him off. Still fighting back tears, “You did nothing wrong.”

“But–”

You put your hand up to stop him again, “Stop. Please. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I should’ve never asked you to dance. I didn’t mean to give you false hope.”

His heart broke a little, and you could see it in his eyes, “C’mon, you don’t mean that…”

“I’m sorry,” your words came out in a broken whisper, “I’m just…I can’t do this,” you pointed at him and then yourself, “right now.” 

“Sweetheart,” he lifted a hand and cautiously placed it on your knee, and you let him keep it there, “I don’ mean to rush things. We can wait as long as you need and go as slow as you're comfortable with. I just,” he took a deep breath, “don’t wanna let you go.”

You placed your hand over his, forcing yourself to look him in the eyes despite how painful it was, “Yunho, you are such a sweet guy. And I know someday you will make someone so happy.” His head dropped forward, his forehead barely resting against your leg in defeat, “But that someone just isn’t me. Not now. And probably not for a long time. I have too many wounds to heal from Yeonjun, and I just can’t pass that burden on to you.”

He stood up from the ground and you lifted yourself up with him. Your heart nearly cracking in half at the tears streaming down his face, “You won’t even let me try?” His voice came out in a strained whisper.

You reached your thumb up to wipe a tear from his eye, selfishly letting your hand rest on his cheek. You shook your head. “I need time. Too much time to expect you to wait for me.” The hat he dangled in his hands, the hat you’d grown to love, bumped against your thigh. You grabbed it from him and slipped it back onto his head. Smiling sadly up at him “I believe in you, cowboy. You’ll find someone else. I just know it.”

Pushing yourself up onto your toes, you gave him one last kiss on the cheek. Before leaving him standing there in the cool night air. Wishing for a brief second that you hadn’t come tonight at all. But wishing even stronger that you would never leave.

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@yizhou-time @shinyj3lly @kyeos4ng @prettygirlslietoo

[honeyhour]

he already knows the answer to that, so she merely shrugs. “now why would i do that? i already know where everything is. it’s called having a system.” after all, there’s no use in trying to fix something that isn’t broken. sure, she could move things around a little, but all that would really do is add unnecessary steps to her usual routine and she has enough going on without needing an extra five minutes to remember which cupboard she’d put the mugs in. “ah, see? if i’d rearranged it all, you’d have no idea where to look for those.” one point for lily. tilting her head as she continues to watch him flit around the kitchen, she makes a quiet noise caught somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “if by locked up in a cell, you mean hidden away from small children who might make a mess or try eating it like she apparently does with glue, then yes, it is. the day she gets tall enough to reach whatever she wants is not going to be fun, so let's hope she doesn't get her height from you.”

"does that mean i'm the one that has to make it?" he pulls a face, knowing that exact moment that he was the one who put his own foot in his mouth. no matter. if she's okay with him poking his nose around in her kitchen then he'll happily get to it. "just a little offended?" he asks as muscle memory kicks in, smirking to himself with his back turned towards her at how amazingly consistent she is. everything is certainly in its place but the fact that those very same items have never moved all this time? it's been years since he's lived here. "do you ever think to... redecorate?" it's a playful little quip, bash looking over his shoulder at her for such a brief moment. he starts up the pot then opens her cupboards to bring down two mugs. pauses a moment to think if he should get one for rosie as well for whatever morning beverage she prefers. ultimately, bash decides against it. "— a bit of cream and plenty of sugar? feel free to tell me if i'm wrong. i just know the sugar is locked up in a cell somewhere."

[mymoonisgrey]

you, my love, are All I Need.

synopsis: After the tragedy of the Star Plasma Vessel incident, Satoru Gojo loses more than just his closest friend, Suguru Geto—he loses the one person who made the chaos of his world feel bearable. She was his light, his tether to something more human, and just when he dared to imagine a future with her, fate cruelly severed their bond. With her sudden disappearance in his third year at Jujutsu High, Satoru is left reeling, torn between his duties as the strongest sorcerer and the ache of searching for someone he may never find.

pairings: gojo satoru x reader. (og jujutsu au.)

chapter warnings: profanities, mild violence, brief jealousy.

wc : 9k+

all i need's playlist!

series masterlist.

a/n: how’s everyone’s monday been? 😊

previously.

December 2007 

“You’re doing exceptionally well.” 

Sato’s voice is a low rumble that sends shivers crawling up your spine—ones you’d like to scrape off with a wire brush. He watches you with a strange intensity, his smile oily and unreadable. “Makes me wonder if we should start recruiting grade one sorcerers or higher for this program.” 

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Yeah, good luck with that. Everyone I’ve worked with so far fits your usual category: foreign, low cursed energy, expendable in your eyes.” 

His smile widens, smug and patronizing. “You’ve been paying attention. I like that. It means you’re learning.” He leans back in his chair, fingers steepled. “And I assume you’ve been keeping your profile low? No slip-ups about your affiliation, why you’re really here, or your... connections?” 

Your jaw tightens, but you nod. “Captain Shepherd’s the only one who knows the truth. He figured out I’m a special grade. He also knows I was pulled out of Jujutsu High too early.” 

Sato’s expression falters for just a moment, his eye twitching with irritation. “Didn’t I tell you to keep your goddamn mouth shut?” 

“He’s not an idiot!” you snap, unable to hold back your frustration. “He’s a thirty-five-year veteran! He’s seen enough soldiers to tell the difference between someone like me and your usual recruits.” 

Sato slams a hand on the table, making you flinch. “And what’s next? Are you going to tell me he knows the whole damn story? That the reason the higher-ups handed you over to me was because of him?” 

Your anger fizzles as his presence looms over you. His scarred face, hardened from years of battle, and his piercing gaze bore into your resolve. 

You manage to steady your voice, quiet but firm. “He’ll find me.” Your hands clench into fists under the table. “And when he does, I’ll tell him everything—what you did, what the higher-ups did. He’ll kill all of you.” 

Sato stares at you for a long moment before chuckling darkly. “Oh, is that what you think? Go ahead, tell him. Let him come. He’s as good as dead.” 

You recoil slightly, your confidence wavering under his mocking tone. 

“Don’t hit me with the ‘he’s the strongest’ crap,” Sato sneers. “We can kill him, and you damn well know it.” 

Silence stretches between you, heavy and oppressive. 

Then you shake your head, defiance sparking in your eyes. “The higher-ups would never let that happen. Gojo’s their golden child. Their prodigy.” 

“Not the higher-ups, sweet thing.” Sato’s voice drops, his tone condescending and venomous. He leans forward, his face mere inches from yours. “Us.” 

Your breath catches. 

“And the higher-ups would let you do that?” you ask, your voice edged with disbelief. 

“They need us more than they need him,” Sato spits, slamming his palm against the table again. “We clean up their messes. We do the dirty work. Without us, the whole system falls apart. So, if you love him, you’ll shut your goddamn mouth. Or things will get ugly.” 

It isn’t the threat to your life that makes your blood run cold. 

It’s the threat to his. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You don’t exactly acknowledge him trailing behind you, his presence hot and unyielding, because your focus is on the bodies of your fallen comrades—laid out in neat rows on stretchers, or worse, on tarps. Some were intact, but others... dismembered, unidentifiable. You swallow thickly, the bile rising in your throat. 

Satoru is silent. His usual easy charm is buried beneath the weight of what he’s seeing. This wasn’t the jujutsu world he knew—pristine, organized, full of promise. No, this was raw and ugly, guns and missiles replacing talismans and hand signs. The air was thick with the sharp smell of gunpowder and blood. He glances around, his blue eyes scanning the navy camo uniforms, the weary faces of foreign sorcerers—low-grade curse users drafted from all corners of the globe. They didn’t sign up for glory; they were cannon fodder, drafted to protect a system that didn’t want them. 

You stumble forward, weaving through the chaotic hangar. Aircraft sit proud and powerful—some parked, others taxiing, and a few roaring to life as they prepare for takeoff. Around you, the injured are escorted to the med bay, their groans and cries blending with the hum of engines. 

“Watcher!” Shepherd’s gruff voice cuts through the noise. You turn your head, dazed, your severed hand clutched protectively to your chest. Leslie walks toward you, her sharp eyes softened by relief, a tablet cradled in her hands. Shepherd claps a heavy hand on your shoulder, halting your shaky steps. 

The sudden stop makes Satoru bump into you from behind. His chest brushes your back, and he mutters a quick, “Sorry,” before stepping to the side, his eyes flickering to your hand. 

“Good to see you all alive,” Leslie says, tapping on her tablet. Her professional demeanor doesn’t hide the relief in her tone. “Team 2-11 was just sent off to China. A group of curse users unleashed a significant number of spirits—grades unknown.” 

Shepherd frowns, his jaw tightening. “They need backup?” 

Your head snaps toward him, disbelief etched on your face. Your exhaustion screams louder than your words ever could. Not now. Not again. 

“I recommend you stay on standby,” Leslie replies, her voice even. “You never know when things get ugly, Shep.” 

He laughs, shaking his head. “Appreciate it, Les. Yer free to go.” 

Leslie nods, casting you a brief, knowing glance before retreating. 

“Shep—my hand—” you start, but he interrupts with a pointed nod toward your chest. “Ye’ gotta get that checked out,” he says firmly. 

“No shit,” you mutter, glaring at your mangled hand as if it had betrayed you. 

Satoru’s gaze lingers on your injury. His sharp intake of breath doesn’t escape Shepherd’s notice. The older man steps between you two, his weathered hand reaching out to stop Satoru from following you further. 

His fingers meet resistance. 

Shepherd flinches slightly, his hand repelled by an invisible force—the faint shimmer of Satoru’s infinity. 

“What the hell was that?” Shepherd grunts, pulling his hand back. 

Satoru turns slowly, his expression calm but his eyes hard. “Need something, General?” His voice is polite, but the disdain is unmistakable. 

“It’s Captain,” Shepherd corrects, his tone measured and steady. “And you’re not supposed to be here.” 

The words hang heavy in the air, a quiet warning. This wasn’t a place for outsiders. No students, no high-grade sorcerers—no one who might challenge the facade of order and control. 

Satoru feels it too. The weight of trespass. But he’s not leaving. Not yet. 

“I understand,” he replies smoothly. “I won’t overstay.” 

“Y’know, kid,” Shepherd begins, his sharp gaze assessing. “We can arrange a helo to take ye back to Tokyo or Kyoto—whichever school yer from.” 

Satoru tilts his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Appreciate the offer, but I can teleport.” 

He doesn’t wait for Shepherd’s response, slipping past the man and continuing after you. His eyes take in everything—the chaos, the desperation, the quiet resignation of those around him. This wasn’t a battlefield; it was a meat grinder. 

But his gaze always comes back to you. 

You haven’t stopped moving, your steps unsteady but purposeful. He quickens his pace to catch up, falling in step beside you, his voice soft. “Let me see your hand.” 

“Stay out of it,” you snap, your tone sharper than intended. 

Satoru doesn’t flinch, doesn’t waver. His voice drops to a whisper, carrying an edge of quiet intensity. “Not happening.” 

You don’t understand why you’re being mean, why your tone is sharp and your words laced with coldness. Your love—your Satoru—was standing right in front of you. 

Maybe it was Sato’s threats echoing in your mind. His warnings of what would happen if you let Satoru get too close. Wasn’t it better to push him away, to pretend you didn’t care, than to sign his name on a death sentence? 

Your combat boots strike against the metal flooring as you continue walking, and Satoru, undeterred, stays on your trail. 

“Why are you still here?” you ask, glancing back at him with a hint of malice in your voice. 

“I came with you on the plane?” he replies, like it’s obvious. 

“Teleport away.” 

“No.” 

“Stop following me, then.” 

“You’re the only one I know here.” 

“Do you?” you snap, your voice low and biting as you push open the door to a sterile room. The sharp chemical scent reminds him of the infirmary back at Jujutsu High, a place he’d visited far too often. 

“The fuck does that mean?” Satoru frowns, stepping into the room after you as the automatic door slides shut with a quiet hiss. 

You ignore him and start unbuttoning your uniform, struggling with the motion since your injured hand makes the task painstakingly slow. You need to check your body for bruises, the aftermath of your fall from the crashing plane still fresh in your mind and aching in your muscles. 

Satoru watches in silence, his throat tightening as his six eyes take in the sight of you. The struggle in your movements, the injury you cradled protectively, the exhaustion etched into your expression—it all unsettles him. 

Without thinking, he steps forward, his hands lifting instinctively to help. 

“Let me—” 

“Don’t,” you snap, flinching back at his sudden closeness. The recoil stings him more than he expects, but he doesn’t retreat. 

“You’re hurt. Let me help,” he insists, his voice softer but still firm. 

“I don’t need your help,” you bite back, gripping the fabric of your uniform and turning away from him, willing your fingers to cooperate despite the tremor of pain. 

“You do,” Satoru counters, his tone growing more intense, a desperation laced beneath the words. “You can’t even unbutton a damn shirt right now, and you’re acting like I’m the enemy.” 

Your breath hitches as his words strike a nerve. 

“You don’t get it!” you snap, finally turning to face him, your eyes blazing with frustration. “You don’t understand what this place is, what it does to people! You shouldn’t even be here!” 

“I don’t care about this place,” he says firmly, stepping closer. “I care about you.” 

You flinch again, your resolve wavering under the weight of his words. Satoru notices, but he doesn’t stop. 

“I’ve been looking for you for two years,” he continues, his voice quieter now, raw with emotion. “Years, and I never stopped. Don’t tell me to walk away now that I’ve found you.” 

You want to argue, to push him away again, but the sincerity in his eyes holds you captive. 

Still, you turn your back to him, resuming your struggle with the uniform. “You should have left me lost,” you mutter under your breath. 

Satoru doesn’t let the comment slide. “Lost? Is that what you think? That I could just give up on you?” 

He steps closer again, his breath catching as his six eyes absorb the details he hadn’t fully seen before—the changes in you. The soft curve of your waist, the toned strength in your arms, the way your figure had grown more feminine, more breathtaking. Despite the exhaustion that clung to you, despite the pain you clearly felt, you were beautiful in a way that made his chest ache. 

“Stop staring,” you mutter, your tone defensive, but there’s a tremble beneath it. 

“I can’t,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You freeze at the confession, your hands stilling. 

“I can’t because I’m trying to figure out how to keep you from slipping away again,” he says. “How to make sure you don’t shut me out.” 

Your throat tightens, and for a moment, silence fills the room, heavy and suffocating. 

“Let me help,” he pleads again, softer this time, almost a whisper. “Please.” 

This time, you don’t flinch when his hand hovers near yours, offering without demanding. His gaze is steady, unyielding, but so full of care that it makes your walls crack. 

Satoru doesn’t let go, even when your hand jerks in his hold, the motion sharp and defensive. His grip isn’t tight, but it’s firm enough to stop you from walking away again. 

“Let go,” you mutter through clenched teeth, your voice low and dangerous. 

He shakes his head, the stubborn tilt of his jaw igniting something volatile in you. “No. Not until you let me help.” 

“You don’t need to help,” you snap, yanking your hand free. “I’ve got this. I don’t need—” 

“Don’t finish that sentence.” His voice cuts through yours, sharp and unrelenting. “Because it’s not true, and we both know it.” 

You glare at him, the heat of his gaze locking with yours, but it only fuels the fire building in your chest. “You think you know me? You don’t know a damn thing.” 

“I know enough,” he replies, his tone steady but charged. “I know you’re hurting. I know you’re trying to carry this on your own. And I know that’s not you.” 

You scoff, shaking your head as you turn away from him. “You don’t know me anymore, Satoru. Things are different. I’m different.” 

He steps closer, and you hear the faint rustle of his uniform as he moves, his presence looming behind you like a shadow you can’t outrun. “You think I can’t see that? You think I can’t see how much you’ve been through?” 

“Then stop trying to fix it!” you snap, spinning to face him, your chest tight with frustration. “Stop acting like you can waltz in here and make it all better. You don’t belong in this world, Satoru. You don’t know what it’s like.” 

“And whose fault is that?” he shoots back, his voice rising. “You left. You disappeared, and I—I spent two years trying to find you. I’m here now, and you’re telling me to just walk away? That’s not happening.” 

His words hit harder than you want to admit, but you shove the feeling down, burying it beneath the ice you’ve built around yourself. 

“You don’t get it,” you say, quieter this time, but no less sharp. “You don’t belong here. You’re a sorcerer. You’re the strongest. You’re—” 

“Human,” he interrupts, his tone softer but no less determined. “I’m human, too, and I’m standing right here, trying to be here for you. You can hate me for that all you want, but I’m not going anywhere.” 

The silence that follows is heavy, your breath caught in your chest as you struggle to form words. 

“Fine,” you bite out finally, your voice low and controlled. “Stay. But don’t get in my way.” 

Satoru watches you, his jaw tightening, his gaze searching yours for something—anything—that might give him a clue to what you’re really thinking. But you don’t give him the satisfaction. You turn away, focusing on the task at hand, pretending he’s not standing there, his presence a constant weight on your already strained nerves. 

He doesn’t leave, though. Instead, he lingers, his eyes following your every move as you peel back the layers of your uniform with stiff, precise movements. When you struggle with a button, his hands twitch at his sides, itching to help, but he knows better than to reach out again. 

The fabric slides from your shoulders, revealing smooth, unmarred skin. Your cursed technique’s regenerative properties have left your body untouched by scars or bruises, a stark contrast to the destruction you’ve endured. But to him, it’s proof of your strength, a reminder of how untouchable you once seemed—and maybe still are. 

His breath catches, the sight of you momentarily stealing the air from his lungs. You’ve changed, matured. The lines of your body are more defined, your movements fluid yet restrained. You’re... breathtaking, and it’s not just the way you look. It’s the presence you command, even when you’re at your most vulnerable. 

You catch his gaze in the reflection of a nearby steel cabinet, and your eyes narrow. “What?” 

He swallows hard, his usual charm faltering as he scrambles for something to say. “Nothing,” he mutters, turning his head to give you some semblance of privacy. But the image of you, raw and unguarded, is seared into his mind. 

“Get used to it,” you say flatly, misinterpreting his silence. “This is the world you walked into. It’s ugly, it’s brutal, and it doesn’t have room for people like you.” 

He glances back at you, his expression unreadable. “Then I’ll make room,” he says simply. 

You scoff, grabbing a roll of bandages from a nearby tray. “Good luck with that.” 

As you wrap your hand with practiced efficiency, the faint glow of your cursed technique flickers around the wound, sealing it slowly but effectively. You feel his gaze on you again, unwavering and intense. His persistence grates on your nerves, but there’s a small, traitorous part of you that wants to believe him. 

But you don’t. You can’t. 

“You’ll leave,” you say quietly, not looking at him. “Eventually, you’ll realize you don’t belong here. And when you do, don’t come back.” 

His reply is immediate, his voice low and firm. “Not a chance.” 

You don’t respond. You can’t. Because if you do, you’ll crumble. 

And you can’t afford that. Not now. Not ever. 

You're quiet as you strip down, staying in your underwear—and he’s usually quiet, watching you like he’s been starved of sight, but this is different. He’s not seeing you with lust, not right now. His gaze isn’t hungry, it's desperate—yearning. There’s a raw intensity in the way he takes in your body, as though trying to reconcile the woman in front of him with the one from two years ago. He’s struggling, quietly, because you seem to deflect his attempts to reconnect, to bridge the gap between you two. 

But why? 

You know he can feel it. Both his heart and soul scream that something is wrong. He just doesn’t understand why. 

You feel shy under his gaze, the weight of it pressing into your skin like a brand, even though he has every inch of your body memorized. Every curve, every scar, every freckle. You know he does. Even two years apart, even with the pain of that time, you glance at him. Blink. The question hangs in your eyes—why are you looking at me? It’s the unspoken plea in your stare, but he doesn't look away. 

His voice breaks the silence, awkward and too loud. “You’ve grown.” 

“Excuse me?” you mutter, turning to face him, not fully aware of the way your breasts strain against that flimsy bra provided by the task force. It barely covers anything—half of it, at best. 

He gulps, his hands flexing at his sides before he rubs the back of his neck, his expression flustered and unsure. He doesn’t want to sound like a creep, but damn it, he’s just noticing what’s right in front of him. “Y-you’ve... grown?” he repeats, his voice cracking slightly, trying to sound casual. 

You almost want to laugh, but it comes out like a breath, empty. “Um... Thanks? You're... buffer?” You don't quite meet his eyes as you mumble the words, keeping your gaze fixed anywhere but on him. 

He blinks at you, taking in your awkward attempt at deflecting the situation. He looks down at himself—his uniform tight around his chest and arms, muscles straining at the seams from the training they’ve been putting him through. “Thank you—training.” 

“Must be vigorous,” you respond, distracted, but the words are clipped, your voice trailing off as your mind races with the real reason for your discomfort. 

“Yeah... well, they make it vigorous for me,” he chuckles darkly. It’s humorless, a low sound that hangs in the air between you two. You get the hint. They’re exploiting him, just like they did to you—taking away everything that made you both feel human. 

You want to tell him. You want to scream it all out, spill every secret. But the thought of him getting hurt, of the higher-ups turning their eyes on him, keeps your lips sealed. Sato’s words—those damn words—still echo in your mind, cutting deep. 

“And you accept?” you murmur, your voice quiet, strained, as you crack your fingers back in place and pour disinfectant over the raw wound in your hand. The sting is sharp, but not as sharp as the words you wish you could say. 

Satoru is quiet, taking a few slow steps toward you. He stands right behind you, his presence overwhelming. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the familiar warmth you once sought. His body language is tense, his eyes unwilling to leave the sight of you, but he tries to stay focused, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. But you know it’s no use. His eyes linger, and for a moment, it feels like nothing has changed. 

“I needed a distraction,” he says finally, his voice low as he takes the disinfectant from your hands, his touch soft but firm as he begins tending to your injury. 

“From what?” you whisper, your voice faltering slightly as you fight the tightness in your chest. 

He’s quiet for a moment, the words seemingly stuck in his throat. But then they come, gruff, low, raw. “You,” he mutters, his hand stilling over your wound for a second. He’s not even looking at it. He’s looking at you. “Your sudden disappearance... Thought you fucking died on that godforsaken mission you were sent to. Turns out they lied.” 

Your breath hitches, a quiet sting of guilt piercing you. You didn’t mean to hurt him like this. “I came here,” you say, your voice betraying you with its sharp edge. 

“Willingly?” he presses, his eyes piercing you with that intensity, like they always did when he was seeking the truth, seeking to understand you. 

“Yes,” you lie, barely believing the words as they leave your mouth. 

“Why?” he presses again, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s a quiet desperation behind the question, a longing for something—anything—that would make sense of this fractured puzzle you’ve become. 

“...I needed more money,” you say, and the words feel like ash on your tongue. 

He scoffs, disbelief flooding his face. “Girl, c’mon, I had money.” 

“The fuck does that have to do with anything?” you hiss, the frustration bubbling up, the walls closing in. 

“I’m sayin’ you didn’t need money. I took care of you, didn’t I?” 

“Yeah, well, I needed money, and—” You trail off, not wanting to finish the thought. Not wanting to voice the lies that have kept you alive all this time. 

Satoru stitches your hand up carefully, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone so strong. He could use reverse cursed technique on you, but he’s not Shoko, and she never trained him for this. Besides, he knows your cursed technique will regenerate in no time. The wound will heal, and there won’t be a trace of it. 

“You know your eyes twitch when you lie, sweetheart?” he mutters under his breath, his tone teasing, but his focus never wavers from the task at hand. 

Your heart skips a beat. “I’m not lying—” 

“I already know the specific way people get drafted here,” he continues, his voice low and knowing. “Foreign, low cursed energy, and it’s not voluntary. The higher-ups throw them here with no backtalk.” His eyes stay focused, but you feel the weight of his words like a crushing wave. “You’ve been through this before. You’re not stupid. You know how it works.” 

You wince when he pinches your skin to get the needle through. “How did you know I was in the fucking task force?” you snap, your voice trembling with the sudden wave of frustration. 

“Shoko and I saw some woman I thought was you—she had the necklace I fucking gave you—and she asked for her name, and we did some research on the old cranky computer.” He’s still working, his words flowing with ease, like he’s not talking about the most dangerous thing that’s ever happened to you. 

You stay quiet, your mind racing. “Hana,” you breathe out, her name tasting like hope on your lips. 

She made it out. 

“Atta girl. Told you you were smart.” Satoru bites his lip, continuing to stitch up the wound. His movements are practiced, steady, but you can see the storm in his eyes. “So, if my calculations are correct—you’re just foreign. That’s one box ticked in their list of preferences for sorcerers who get thrown here,” he murmurs, his voice soft, but there’s a sharpness to it now. “But what about the rest? You’re special grade. You have high cursed energy. So why?” 

Your heart stops. The question hovers in the air between you, thick and suffocating. You can’t say the truth. Not when it could cost him everything. Not when it could mean his life. 

“Money. They pay a lot here,” you breathe, the words stilted as you try to force yourself to believe them. 

Satoru scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yeah, okay—whatever. I believe you.” His voice softens slightly, a tired edge to it. “But I don’t care anymore. I fucking found you. That’s what matters. You’re not dead.” His breath hitches slightly, but he doesn’t let it show. Not fully. 

And it hits you harder than you want to admit. You feel something twist deep in your chest, but you don’t let it show. Not to him. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The shooting range seemed like the perfect place to blow off some steam—at least it did when you first walked in. You hoped, maybe, Satoru wouldn’t follow you here, but of course, he did. You pity him in a way; you’re the only familiar face for him in this cold, strange place. 

“You can always just... teleport back home and then come back if you want. You know where I'm based now,” you mutter, wiping the sweat from your forehead with your black tank top. 

Satoru’s eyes briefly flick to your midsection, but he quickly drags them back to your face, a subtle shift in his gaze that doesn’t go unnoticed. His jacket is tossed on a nearby table while he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, his white button-up shirt loosely unbuttoned, likely for air—or for dramatic effect. You can't really tell. 

"I could," he replies, his voice smooth, but there's an edge of something more lurking underneath. "But I haven’t seen you in two years." 

You don’t respond right away, trying to ignore the unsettling way his presence feels like it’s suffocating you. Were you still soft inside there? Would you still sing him to sleep, play with his hair while he pawed at your body like it was the most natural thing in the world? That’s how it used to be, wasn’t it? 

You bite your lip, a little too hard. He notices. He always notices. 

“Why?” you ask quietly, trying to keep your voice steady despite the storm inside you. The pressure from his gaze is too much, but you won't break. Not here, not now. 

"You know why, don’t play coy. You’re my girlfriend," he replies, and it sounds too natural, too casual. Like it’s obvious, like it hasn’t been two years of separation, pain, and complications. 

“I think... we haven’t seen each other for two years. I don’t think we’re still dating,” you say softly, your tone almost as indifferent as you can manage. You cock your gun and focus on aiming at the targets in front of you. Anything to distract yourself. 

Satoru doesn’t flinch. He just tilts his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “We didn’t have a verbal breakup, and I still don’t believe you’d leave me willingly.” 

You scoff, trying to maintain a facade of indifference, but deep down, his words sting in a way you hate to admit. “You think that highly of yourself?” you retort, avoiding his eyes as you keep your focus on the target. 

But in your chest, there’s a hole. You want to hug him, go home with him, return to the life you once had. But you can’t. You know the cost. Sato’s warning echoes in your mind. 

"I think highly of our love for each other," Satoru says, sitting up straighter, his gaze sharpening, a bit of vulnerability creeping through the cracks in his confidence. "You still love me, right?" 

The question hits you harder than it should. You freeze for a moment, unsure of what to say. If you tell him yes, things could get messy. If you say no... you’d be lying to both of you. 

You’re saved by a cheerful voice breaking through the tension. 

“Hola! Hola!” Alec greets as he enters, a wave of lightness following him. You smile at him politely, grateful for the interruption. 

But Satoru, he doesn’t hide his displeasure. The shift in his cursed energy is immediate, a sharp spike of possessiveness and frustration. His brows furrow, a crease appearing between them as he watches Alec move towards you. 

"You look fresh," you smile at Alec, who grabs a heavy-looking rifle, clearly eager to blow off some steam himself. "Dios mio, tough day today—but we made it out. Of course, I'd cheer up!" He laughs, his energy infectious, but his eyes catch Satoru’s for a second, and the tension thickens. 

“Don’t like the gun?” Alec asks, glancing at Satoru as he loads it with ease, an almost theatrical nonchalance to his movements. 

Satoru raises a brow, a slight smirk playing at his lips. “I think guns are cool, just barbaric for sorcerers to use.” 

Alec laughs sheepishly, his energy still bubbling with excitement. “Well, we’re barely considered sorcerers, that’s why we’re here—" 

He cuts himself off when he notices what he was spewing. “I shouldn’t be saying this to a jujutsu student, right?” 

You smile, trying to keep things light. “Yeah, you shouldn’t. But he already knows everything,” you say, glancing at Satoru, whose calm demeanor doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The smile on his lips is polite but cold. 

Alec stares at you in disbelief for a second, then back at Satoru. "The hell! Did you tell him? You'll get into trouble!” 

You shake your head, barely containing the laughter that wants to escape. “No, Alec. I didn’t.” But the look in your eyes says more than words could. 

"Whatever, chica," Alec shrugs. "If you get hurt, please leave me out of it. I still love you, though." He gestures to Satoru with his gun, an easy smile on his face. “Introduce him to me.” 

Satoru raises an eyebrow, sensing Alec’s teasing nature. He decides to play along, though something about the situation makes him feel oddly... free. Here, no one knows him. He’s not the feared Satoru Gojo. He's just a guy, and in this moment, that feels kind of nice. 

“I can speak for myself," Satoru says, his tone light and unbothered. 

Alec shoots him a look, clearly eager to get the conversation rolling. “Come on, man. Don’t be shy. Tell me who you are.” 

“My name’s Satoru,” he says with a grin, relaxed. "I’m a student at Jujutsu High, twenty, graduating this year in my fifth year. Came here because she’s my girlfri—" 

“We used to be in the same class, we’re friends,” you interject quickly, shooting Satoru a warning look—one that says to keep some things quiet. 

Alec’s eyes widen. “What the—you were at Jujutsu High? So, you’re twenty too? Why the hell are you here?” 

“Low cursed energy, like the rest of you guys,” you fake a smile, trying to keep things light despite the pang in your chest. 

Satoru’s eyes narrow slightly, but he says nothing.

Liar.

Alec lets out a low whistle. "So you came here for her? Damn, that’s some real friendship, man! My friends would sell me for a bag of taquitos," he laughs, shaking his head. 

Satoru laughs too, and there’s a genuine warmth to it this time. He’s enjoying this, this weird, ordinary little moment in the chaos of everything. “Tell me more about yourself,” he says, surprising Alec with his interest. 

Alec’s eyes light up, the excitement clear in his voice. “Well, Alec. twenty-six, I’m from Mexico, but I was born in Tunisia. One of my parents was a jujutsu sorcerer— my mother. Lived my life there—so many Japanese people live there, and tons of jujutsu sorcerers. There’s even a district, like in every country. So when I came to Japan to study jujutsu and get stronger, hoping to join that district, my cursed energy was... low. So they threw me here,” Alec says with a shrug, then adds with a grin, “But I’m happy! I’ve got friends, and a cool captain.” 

You raise an eyebrow at his last statement, a sarcastic edge in your voice. “Shepherd is cool?” 

Alec nods vigorously, smiling wide. “Hell yeah!” 

You roll your eyes and grin. “Alec, if he hears you say that—ten reps of push-ups,” you mutter under your breath. 

Alec laughs nervously, knowing you’re probably right. "Yeah, yeah, chica. But still, I love the old guy, even with the push-ups." 

Satoru examines the rifle in his hands, his fingers tracing the cold metal. He’s silent, focused, but there’s a hint of curiosity in his gaze as he inspects the weapon. His cursed energy vibrates around him, filling the room with an almost tangible hum. 

“Can I try it?” Satoru’s voice is smooth, measured—his tone more a statement than a question. There's a quiet challenge to it, but it's undercut by the calmness that only he can manage. 

Alec, still recovering from the earlier explosion, nods and grins, his eyes glinting. "Sure, Saturn," he says, completely unfazed, as though it's the most natural thing in the world. He fumbles with his words a little, clearly struggling to pronounce "Satoru," and just goes with it. 

Satoru doesn’t correct him, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrays the annoyance flickering beneath his cool exterior. "Saturn," he repeats quietly under his breath, eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing how far Alec's teasing might go. 

You suppress a smirk. Alec’s obliviousness to Satoru’s irritation is a running joke, and you can’t help but find it mildly amusing. 

Alec’s grin only widens as he watches Satoru adjust the rifle. “I like it. Saturn suits you. You know, big, powerful—kind of like the planet, right?” 

Satoru’s hand tightens around the rifle. “Saturn’s a planet, Alec,” he mutters, his voice dry. “Not my name.” 

But Alec’s too distracted to notice. “Whatever, man. It’s catchy. And you’ve got that, you know, planetary vibe. Makes sense to me.” 

You can see the subtle annoyance creeping into Satoru’s face, but he bites his tongue. “Can we just... do this?” he asks, his patience thinning. 

Alec shrugs, seemingly unphased by Satoru’s subtle irritation. “You’re the one asking to try my gun, Saturn.” He laughs, as if this is some kind of inside joke that only he finds hilarious. 

You give Satoru an apologetic look, but there’s a part of you that finds this exchange amusing—if only because you know Satoru’s patience only stretches so far, and Alec doesn’t seem to be letting up. 

Satoru takes the rifle from Alec’s hands and steadies himself. “Let’s get this over with.” 

You step in, guiding his hands lightly. His cursed energy surges subtly beneath his skin, wrapping around the weapon as he tries to infuse it. The rifle hums with power, vibrating under his control—but then, a flicker of his immense energy causes it to backfire, an explosion of cursed energy erupting from the weapon, sending shards of metal in all directions. 

You instinctively duck behind Satoru, who is already lifting his Infinity. The world slows as his barrier expands, and you’re shielded from the flying debris by the familiar, invisible force surrounding you both. 

Alec stumbles back, eyes wide. “Dios mío! Saturn!” he exclaims, more out of shock than fear. His hands are raised, as if he expects the next explosion to be any second. “I didn’t know you were that strong!” 

Satoru lowers his hand, his Infinity flickering back to its neutral state. His expression is cool, but there’s a small twitch in his brow. “It was an accident,” he says, almost in a deadpan tone. He glances at Alec, who’s still frozen in place. “I... got carried away.” 

Alec laughs nervously, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Holy shit, man. I thought I was gonna die.” 

Satoru turns his gaze back to the rifle in his hands, the metal now slightly dented from the explosion. He shakes his head, clearly frustrated but trying to mask it. “I need more control.” 

“Guess Saturn’s a bit too much for this little thing,” Alec says, raising his eyebrows. “Maybe try something smaller. This gun can’t handle that much energy.” He holds out a pistol instead, his tone light but with a touch of genuine concern. “Try this.” 

Satoru takes the pistol, his fingers curling around it with a practiced ease. He holds it up to his face, inspecting it for a moment before glancing at you. The air between you both feels thick—an unspoken understanding lingering in the space. 

You step in close to him, your breath catching as you guide his hands once more, feeling his energy surge under your fingertips. The proximity is almost unbearable, the tension between you two sharp enough to cut through the air. 

“Remember, just a little at a time,” you remind him quietly, your voice steady but laced with something else you can’t quite place. 

Satoru’s gaze shifts to you, his eyes locking onto yours for a brief, lingering moment. “I know,” he says, voice soft, but there's something charged in the way he looks at you. 

You focus, but there's no denying the tension building between you both. The familiarity of his presence stirs up old feelings, things you try to keep buried under layers of steel and resolve. 

Slowly, Satoru pours his cursed energy into the pistol. This time, it's controlled. The weapon hums with power, but the energy is focused, directed. The shot rings out, precise—an almost unnatural accuracy as the bullet hits the target dead center. 

Satoru lowers the gun, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “That’s better,” he murmurs, his tone satisfied but still, there’s that underlying irritation in the way Alec continues to tease him. 

Alec, not noticing the subtle shift in the air, claps his hands. “Nice! Now that’s what I’m talking about, Saturn! You’re a natural!” 

Satoru raises a brow, his patience finally wearing thin. “Please stop calling me Saturn.” 

But Alec, ever the oblivious one, just laughs. “What? It’s a good name! You’re strong as hell, Saturn, deal with it!” 

Satoru glances at you, and for a moment, the two of you share a quiet, charged look. The air between you both crackles, the weight of the past two years hanging heavy in the space. You can feel the old connection, the tension—it’s still there, undeniable. 

You let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh. “You’re lucky he’s not serious,” you mutter, giving Satoru a half-smile. 

Satoru smirks, but it’s tinged with something more—something deeper, something he isn’t ready to voice. “I’ll let him have his fun for now,” he says, voice laced with dry humor. 

Alec cheers in the background, unaware of the silent exchange between you and Satoru. “Damn, Saturn, you’re gonna make a great addition to the team!” “Addition?—no, he’s not a part of us,” you say, and Alec frowns. 

“Well, I get that, but he’s pretty far from the hocus pocus school right now. Unless he can teleport to Tokyo, he’s sticking around here for a while, right?” 

“He can tele—” 

“I can’t teleport,” Satoru shrugs, lying. Alec gives you a ‘see?’ look, clearly amused. 

You gape, turning to Satoru. “What? You don’t think I’m capable?” 

“You’re more than capable.” 

“Then I’ll help y’all out until Shepherd sends me home,” Satoru shrugs casually. 

“Where would you sleep, huh?” you retort. 

“You guys don’t have extra rooms or something?” he asks, feigning innocence. 

“Yes, we do,” Alec interjects, “but those are for prisoners—criminals we take hostage.” He smirks. “But she’s got a pretty big room since she’s Shepherd’s favorite, apparently. You can stay there!” 

“Why’re you making the decision, Alec?” you sigh, exasperated, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“C’mon, doll, I like him!” Alec whines playfully. 

Satoru’s brow twitches at the nickname, irritation flashing briefly in his eyes. He doesn’t like Alec calling you doll. He’s aware it’s probably just a nickname here, but hearing it still grates on him. It makes him feel... something. A slight twinge of jealousy. He doesn’t show it, though. He knows Alec doesn’t mean it the way he interprets it. 

“See? He likes me, doll,” Satoru says, dragging out the word as he looks at you with a look you identify as his jealousy. You’ve seen that look way too much for you to forget it. 

You want to blush, but the irony is too thick. Instead, you just groan in annoyance. “Whatever, we’ll see with Shepherd,” you mumble, reaching for your gun again. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You somehow managed to sneak an extra plate from the kitchens. Shepherd’s strict orders allowed one serving per soldier—ensuring everyone got their share. But you had a guest. A guest who, you knew, ate a lot. You even sacrificed some of your portion, piling more onto his plate. 

More rice, more miso soup, more seaweed, more seared tofu. It wasn’t fancy—just sustenance. Basic proteins and fiber meant to keep everyone functional, not satisfied. The higher-ups didn’t care about soldiers here any more than they cared about anyone outside their elite circles. The realization stung: sorcerers at Jujutsu High were glorified, while the rest of you were discarded when no longer useful. 

Balancing the plates, you pushed open the door to your room to find Satoru sitting on the edge of the bed. The sight caught you off guard for a second. The bed was big enough for two, but the thought of sharing it with him—after all this time—felt too... intimate. 

“Um... I’ve got food here,” you said softly, shyness creeping into your voice as you approached him, holding out the bigger plate. 

Satoru looked up at you, his lips quirking into a faint smile. The scene felt almost domestic, like you were... his wife. 

“Thanks,” he murmured, taking the plate from your hands. 

“I’m sorry it’s not much,” you added quickly, almost apologetic. “This is all they serve here—what they’re allowed to serve.” 

He glanced down at the plate before his gaze returned to you, something tender lurking in his eyes. “Good thing I can teleport then,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar playful lilt. 

Before you could respond, he reached under the bed and pulled out a crinkling plastic bag—a 7/11 logo emblazoned across it. 

Your jaw dropped. “You didn’t.” 

“I did,” he said, grinning smugly. 

“You didn’t just teleport to get yourself food,” you accused, crossing your arms. 

He tilted his head, correcting you with a casual, “Got us food, sweetheart.” 

“You’ll burn your eyes out,” you muttered, trying not to smile. 

“For you and my belly? Worth it.” 

You gave up, rolling your eyes as he pushed the bag toward you. Inside, you spotted greasy onigiri, a couple of bento boxes, and a can of your favorite drink. You hadn’t had anything like this in what felt like years. 

“Thanks,” you said quietly, unable to hide your gratitude. 

As you both ate, Satoru glanced at your plates, noting the uneven portions. His own was piled so high it looked like the plate might crack under the weight. “You didn’t have to give me half your tofu,” he said, pushing a few big pieces back toward you. 

“They’re for you,” you mumbled. 

“Thanks, baby, but I came prepared,” he teased, gesturing toward the 7/11 haul. 

You bit your lip to keep from smiling too much. It was small, but it felt like old times—before everything fell apart. 

“So, you always sleep here?” he asked through a mouthful of rice, his cheeks puffed like a squirrel. 

The sight nearly made you giggle. “No. Just after missions like these. This is a moving base. There’s a little house by the coast I stay in with Shepherd.” 

“Shepherd? The old gruff buff guy?” he asked, raising a brow. 

You nodded. “He kind of... took me under his wing. Said something like me was too precious to waste here.” 

“I agree with him,” Satoru said, his voice softening. 

For a moment, silence settled between you, filled only by the sound of eating. Then, he broke it. “Come home with me,” he said, the vulnerability in his voice catching you off guard. “God knows Shoko misses you—Yaga-sensei too. I miss you.” 

You hesitated, your grip tightening on your plate. “I can’t,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve gotten too used to this life.” 

“Liar,” he said, his tone sharper now. “I’m not leaving until you come home with me.” 

“This is my home,” you replied, setting your plate aside as your chest tightened. 

“I’m your home,” Satoru said, his voice quiet but firm, his jaw tightening as his eyes bore into yours.  

The words hung in the air like a challenge, daring you to deny them. 

You looked away, focusing on the empty plate in your hands. “That’s not fair,” you murmured, your voice trembling ever so slightly. 

“It’s the truth,” Satoru countered, setting his plate down beside him. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his crystalline eyes piercing through you. “You don’t belong here. You know that.” 

Your throat tightened, and you clenched your fists. “You think I chose this?” 

“I think someone made you believe you didn’t have a choice,” he said, his voice softening. “But you always have a choice. You had one when we first met, and you have one now.” 

You swallowed hard, the familiar ache in your chest rising. “It’s not that simple, Satoru.” 

“Isn’t it?” he asked, standing up. His height, his presence—it was overwhelming, and it reminded you of how small you felt in his orbit. “What’s stopping you, really? Is it fear? Guilt? Or is it because someone here convinced you you’re only useful if you stay?” 

You flinched, and he caught it. He always did. 

“It’s complicated,” you said, stepping back as he stepped closer. 

“Then uncomplicate it,” he said, his voice low, almost pleading. 

Your back hit the wall, and suddenly, there was nowhere else to go. He stood in front of you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him, but not close enough to touch. His hands clenched at his sides like he was holding himself back. 

“Satoru,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please don’t do this.” 

“I have to,” he said, his voice breaking ever so slightly. “Because if I don’t, I’ll lose you. And I can’t... I won’t let that happen.” 

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest. The raw vulnerability in his words, in his eyes—it was too much. 

“You think I haven’t missed you?” you asked, your voice cracking as tears welled up. “Every day, I think about what I left behind. About what we had. But I can’t go back. Not yet.” 

“Why?” he asked, his voice trembling with frustration and hurt. 

“Because I’m not the same person anymore,” you said, your tears finally spilling over. “And I don’t know if I can be her again.” 

He reached out then, his fingers brushing against your cheek, wiping away a tear. “You don’t have to be her,” he said softly. “Just be with me. That’s all I need.” 

For a moment, you let yourself lean into his touch, let yourself imagine a world where things were simple again. Where you weren’t bound by duty, by fear, by the chains you’d willingly wrapped around yourself. 

But then reality crashed back in. 

You tried to move away, but the sound of his fist slamming into the wall froze you. The reverberation rang in your ears, the dent just inches from your head. You stared at the deformed metal, then back at him, your chest tight with fear—or something far more complicated. 

His breaths came sharp, his hand still pressed against the wall as if steadying himself. But his eyes—his eyes locked onto yours with a desperation that made you want to cry and scream all at once. 

“Goddamn it, talk to me—tell me the truth.” His voice cracked, raw and unrelenting. 

“This is the truth!” you snapped back, your voice trembling despite the sharpness of your words. “I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but this is my life now! So just—just leave. Or we can sit down, eat whatever junk you teleported for, and pretend this didn’t happen.” 

You didn’t mean it. Not really. But the words flew out, your defenses building faster than you could think. 

“I’m not fuckin’ leaving,” he bit out, his voice low, gravelly, and trembling with anger. “I’ll figure you out—I’ll break through this. I’m so damn tired of everyone lying to me. Leaving me.” 

The last words hit you like a punch to the gut. You opened your mouth to speak, to tell him something—anything—but all you managed was a quiet, choked, “Please.” 

Something in your voice stopped him. His arm dropped, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of the world had finally caught up to him. He stepped back, giving you space, though the tension between you remained, thick and suffocating. 

You didn’t move at first. Your legs felt like jelly, and your heart thundered so loud you swore he could hear it. But when he finally sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, you willed yourself to follow, each step feeling heavier than the last. 

He exhaled sharply, breaking the silence. “It’s fine,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “I found you. That’s all that matters.” 

You hesitated before sitting beside him, close enough to feel his warmth but far enough to keep the invisible line between you intact. The food sat between you, untouched for a moment, until you quietly picked up your portion. 

You ate in silence, the tension slowly ebbing, though the ache in your chest remained. Every now and then, you’d glance at him, at his furrowed brows and clenched jaw. And as much as you wanted to stay angry, to cling to the walls you’d built, a part of you wanted to reach out—to touch him, to soothe the storm raging inside him. 

But you didn’t. 

Instead, you focused on the meal he’d risked so much to get, the quiet words he hadn’t spoken but had been etched into every action, every look. 

For now, this was enough. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Sleeping next to Satoru felt strangely natural, even after everything. The rhythm of his breathing, the warmth radiating from him—it all felt like coming home. You hadn’t felt this kind of peace in two years, and before you knew it, you were slipping into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

But Satoru didn’t share the luxury of rest, not fully. His body craved it, sure, but his heart and mind couldn’t stop racing. He was right here, next to you, after two agonizing years of chasing ghosts and dead ends. He didn’t want to waste a second. 

He studied your face like it was a map back to better days, tracing the curves and lines with his eyes, then with his fingertips. Carefully, reverently, as if you’d vanish if he pressed too hard. Your lashes fluttered slightly, but you stayed asleep, your lips parted in soft, even breaths. 

His chest tightened as he leaned closer, his nose brushing against yours. Just one kiss, he thought. You wouldn’t wake up. You wouldn’t mind. Right? 

The kiss was featherlight, a gentle press of lips that tasted like a bittersweet promise. Satoru stayed close for a moment longer, letting his forehead rest against yours, breathing you in. 

Finally, he pulled back and exhaled slowly, threading his fingers with yours. It wasn’t just to hold you close. It was to anchor himself, to remind him that this wasn’t a dream. You were here, and for the first time in a long while, the crushing weight on his chest began to lift. 

If you woke up and tried to leave, he’d know. 

But more than that, he just needed to feel connected to you, even if it was only through the quiet strength of your intertwined hands. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“I don’t understand why I’m here,” his voice echoed quietly, the calmness in his tone like it always had been, barely betraying the weight of his past decisions. “I’m... a criminal under your records.” 

The room was thick with tension, the air almost vibrating with the intensity of what was at stake. The elderly voice of the higher-up rumbled through the shadows, commanding authority with its gravelly resonance. 

“Yes, you are—" the voice boomed, thick with years of experience and frustration, "but in the end, you hate the Zen’in, don’t you? They want to overthrow our system, impose their own ideals—Naoya had us fooled. We thought we were making progress with him, but... no.” There was a pause, an exhale heavy with regret. “We need your help. We can’t do this without you.” 

A small silence followed, like a crack in the conversation, as the man stood still, his face a mask of indifference. He didn’t move, didn’t twitch a muscle as his mind ran through all the motives, all the options laid before him. 

“And why the hell would I care?” he finally spoke, his voice still flat, yet there was a deeper edge to his words now, cutting through the tension. “I have my own reasons, my own motives. Your visions, your politics—don’t concern me. And neither does the Zen'in family.” 

The elderly figure in the shadows could feel the defiance in his words, the weight of years of pain and betrayal weighing heavily in his heart. But this wasn’t about politics anymore—it was personal. 

“You’re different,” the voice rumbled again, with a certain conviction. “Naoya wants to eliminate sorcerers. You know he’s after Gojo, specifically. You care about him, don’t you? After all, everyone does. Isn’t that right?” 

A slight shift in his expression betrayed the fact that the mention of Gojo had struck a chord. 

“Sure,” he muttered, his voice softening ever so slightly as memories of his old friend flickered through his mind. “You can say that. But why do you need my help?” 

“Because," the elder’s voice dropped to a more sinister level, "you were once labeled the strongest. The one who could end it all. If you help us, we won’t detain you. You won’t be a prisoner after this is over. We’ll let you vanish, disappear. Go into hiding again. No one will come after you.” 

His lips twitched, a humorless chuckle escaping his throat. He turned slightly, his gaze steady as he let out a low sigh. 

“You all lie,” he said, eyes narrowing, a ghost of disbelief and bitterness lurking in his voice. “Why should I believe you?” 

“Because Naoya Zenin is a threat,” the elder responded with chilling finality. “He cannot—he will not—be allowed to control the jujutsu society. And neither will anyone like him. We need you to ensure that doesn’t happen. Help us, and we’ll keep our word.” 

The man stood there for what seemed like an eternity, contemplating the offer. His mind was a battleground of pros and cons, the weight of the past and the present crashing together in a maelstrom. There were risks, of course. But he couldn’t stand by and watch as the world he once knew spiraled into chaos. Not without doing something. 

And, if he was being honest, a small part of him still cared about the ones who had cared for him—Gojo... and you. You had been kind to him when no one else had. And perhaps... just perhaps, there was a chance to make things right. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, his voice broke the stillness. “I accept.” 

The elder chuckled, a satisfied grin creeping across his face. “Good. You’re a smart man. Welcome back—Suguru Geto.” 

next

© All Rights Reserved mymoonisgrey

Taglist is open!

@lavnder311

[thewertsearch]

TG: jakes bday is coming up really soon TG: just a few days before mine remembr […] TG: i just wanted your advice on what to get him TG: something sentimental i guess? but i mean im mostly tapped out of precious heirlooms atm so idk TG: but not like anything coming on too strong

I don't think you need to overthink things, where Jake is concerned. Just like John, he strikes me as a rather straightforward guy, and would probably appreciate the direct approach.

Seriously, just be upfront with your feelings. He'll respond with either "capital! let us begin courting, post-haste!", or "sincerest apologies, my dear compatriot, but my heart lies with my cerulean beauties!"

Either way, the issue will be resolved. Simple as that.

TG: something that says TG: this is totes platonic and everything TG: no eyebrow raising funnybiz is goin on over here TG: but still says you know TG: call me TG: if you wanna

Nah, I'm just fucking with you.

These are teenagers. They're full of big emotions that they don't know what to do with, and they're navigating the treacherous waters of romance without a map. I might have dunked on Eridan when he said it, back in our Hivebent days, but when you're a kid, growing up really is hard, and nobody does understand. Not even you.

Roxy's not going to initiate a frank discussion about her feelings with Jake - she's going to pine for at least fifty pages, and then impulsively confess everything at once, probably in the middle of a crisis. Sometimes, that's just how it goes, when you're a teenager - and it's always how it goes when you're a fictional teenager.

TG: u dont think that if i didnt say he was off limits on account of you being my best friend TG: i wouldnt be all the hell over that????

Wait, ok. So Roxy is pretending she's going to flirt with Jake - but she's really just messing with Jane, because Jane's also into him.

It's nice that there's no bad blood between the two as a result. You just know that in a lesser story, Jane and Roxy would proceed to squabble over this guy until it completely ruined their friendship. Thank you, Homestuck, very cool!

TG: you dont even let me say your dad is hot even though we both know he way the fuck is i mean come one

In every timeline, Roxy is destined to swoon over the prefect gentleman that is Dad Egbert.

GG: I don't see why you don't try to court the favor of Mr. Strider. If you ask me, he and you are perfect for each other. TG: oh jane TG: so naive TG: soooo niaev

The Bro we knew probably shouldn't have been dating anyone. Perhaps this version of him is equally unapproachable, and Roxy knows it - his little out-of-office responder would certainly suggest that that's the case.

GG: How can you be this fargone so early? […] TG: its a lot later here GG: You're three hours ahead of me! TG: youd would be amazed TG: how much can happen TG: in 3 hours GG: Tsk. What would your mother have to say if she caught you? TG: p sure she wouldnt give a shit

Rose, what the fresh fuck!

Look - guys, I know she's not exactly the maternal type, but come on. Even the adult Roxy, absent and alcoholic as she was, at least lifted a finger to keep her daughter safe, and you're telling me Rose can't even clear that bar?

Maybe Roxy's projecting a little. Rose often assumed her mother was acting in bad faith, even when that wasn't necessarily the case, and there's no reason that something similar couldn't be happening here.

...right?

[thatonefanficwriternooneknows]

FoxQuin Week Day 1 - Shovel Talk

Good Afternoon/Morning/Evening/Night!

Here for your reading pleasure is day 1 of FoxQuin Week! I decided to be extra (and hate myself) and work in both the quote prompt and the writing prompt because why not :D

So this one is Fox's Batch Giving Quinlan the Shovel Talk and "What do you mean you're married?" (@foxquinweek )

It is a little over 1k so enjoy :D

Quinlan is having a rather odd day.

It started with Commander Wolffe trying to corner him in the halls of the Temple, it continued with Commander Ponds staring at him during the council meeting he was asked to, and it kept up with Commander Cody trying to get his attention in the mess hall.

Now, when Quinlan was trying to spend some quality time with his padawan, that may or may not include some recreational murder, Commander Bly kept swerving the conversation around to Fox.

That’s when the dots started to connect.

“Why exactly do you keep bringing Commander Fox up, Bly? Is there something you want to know?”

Aayla’s head perked up, looking at Quinlan and Bly with her wide eyes, smelling gossip no doubt. Bly stuttered through some word vomit before caving and muttering “never mind”.

They didn’t get to their recreational murder, but Quinlan had a great time making Bly uncomfortable with random mentions of what Fox and him get up to in their spare time. Without specifically saying Fox’s name.

It was quite fun.

Odd, but fun.

As the day passed, the Commanders tried more and more interesting ways to corner him. It didn’t work because, one, Quinlan grew up here and knew every hiding place, and two, he was a kriffing Shadow. If they wanted to corner him they’d have to get up to Fox’s level.

But, all good things had to come to an end, and it ended with Quinlan sitting at the Jedi Commissary with Captain Rex sitting across from him…cleaning his blaster while pointedly staring at Quinlan.

Not subtle, this lot.

Quinlan smirked at the blond captain and kept eating his food like he didn’t have a single care in the world.

Which he didn’t, because Fox’s batch’s approval meant nothing to him.

Fox’s opinion was the only opinion when it came to their relationship.

Soon enough, every single Commander that tried to corner him today was on Rex’s side of the table, staring Quinlan down, their Jedi were sitting on Quinlan’s side radiating concern.

Considering the only beings that knew about him and Fox were Tholme and Aayla that was fair.

“So…Jedi Master Quinlan Vos.” Wolffe started and Quinlan chuckled at the concerned sounds coming from Plo.

“So, Commander Wolffe.” Quinlan was nothing if not an asshole.

The one eyed commander glared at him with his one good eye, likely hoping Quinlan would spontaneously burst into flame if he glared hard enough.

Jokes on him, though, Quinlan has been glared at harsher by worse.

“Let’s just cut the chase, what are your intentions with our kih’vod, Vos?” Cody cut in on the staring contest.

Quinlan chuckled at several Jedi Councilors choking on their food.

He leaned back in his chair, smirking happily at the group of angry vode glaring at him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you mean.” Quinlan shrugged and kept eating, moving his attention to his wrist comm and the message from Fox on it.

The Hot (definitely) One: please ignore my batchers

                Thorn told them

                he’s being properly punished

The Smart (allegedly) One: lol

no worries, babe

                this is kriffing hilarious

The Hot (definitely) One: you have an odd sense of humor

                are you in the Temple?

The Smart (allegedly) One: commissary

The Hot (definitely) One: be right there

Quinlan smiled and returned to his food, smiling at Wolffe who was ignoring his food in favor of stabbing it menacingly.

Hex definitely did it better.

(Fox’s batchers attempting a compactor talk was infinitely amusing. More so when one considers the fact that no one could possibly be scarier than the CMO of the Guard, and Hex had cornered Quinlan seconds after he convinced Fox to give them a chance.

That man was terrifying.

Quinlan was convinced the war would be over if they just set the Guard CMO on the Separatist Senate.)

“We know you know who Fox is, General.” Ponds finally piped up. Good for him.

“Oh I definitely know Fox. What does that have to do with your kih’vod?” Quinlan was definitely being a shit right now. He was entitled.

Wolffe slammed his fists onto the table top, rattling the dishes and startling everyone not involved in this conflict.

“Stop being obtuse, Vos. What are your intentions with Fox?” Wolffe hissed out, Bly placing a placating hand on his shoulder and muttering under his breath about tempers.

Quinlan rested his cheek on his fist and hummed.

“My intentions are between Fox and I, Commander.” He couldn’t help but purr out, tempted to see how worked up he could get the batch before they caved and started threatening him outright.

Wolffe let out a strangled scream and made to launch across the table at Quinlan, only to be held back by Bly and Cody and slammed back into his seat.

“Fox is a grown vod, he can make his own decisions. But Vos, if you hurt him…well…” Rex trailed off and started putting his blaster together with emphasized movements.

Quinlan couldn’t help but laugh.

“Your compactor talk is so cute, Commanders, Captain. But CMO Hex already beat you to it. And ARC Captain Lex, Lieutenant Tina, Commander Thorn, Stone and Thire, even Sargent Apex. His was the funniest honestly.” Quinlan chuckled, remembering the scarred Sargent nonchalantly assembling a bomb while telling Quinlan all the things Fox has done for him and his batch.

It was almost the opposite of a compactor talk, actually.

The Commanders blinked in unison before their brows furrowed and their lips pursed.

Not his fault Fox’s batch weren’t up to date with the Guard personnel.

“Who is Fox?” Obi-wan was looking at Quinlan with his kicked tooka eyes and he vaguely felt bad for not telling his best friend about Fox, but also…things have been happening pretty fast.

He opened his mouth to answer, honestly for once, but a gloved hand slid around his neck and lightly tilted his chin up and Quinlan smiled as Fox pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

Fox’s answering smile was stunning.

“Me’vaar ti gar, riduur?” Fox asked against his lips, pulling back just far enough for Quinlan to have space to answer.

“Naas, ner riduur.” Quinlan responded before snaking his hand into Fox’s lovely locks to pull him in for another kiss.

Idly he heard the clattering of glassware and a strangled scream.

Quinlan looked over at their audience, smirking when Fox brushed his lips against his cheek while burying his face into Quinlan’s shoulders.

Everyone seemed to speak or shout at once and it echoed into the commissary, Fox’s shoulders shaking as his laugh echoed Quinlan’s.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE MARRIED?!”

[glossykissies]

hi princess! this is my first time sending an ask so i apologize if i mess up but ive been reading all your scott fics and ive been thinking about how scott and kitty would interact. i feel like after a bit of banter he’d get fed up and put her in her place, thank you for feeding us!!

without realising, scott can be rather nonchalant — and that often causes you to act out, skulking around poking and prodding at him until he gives you something, not satisfied until he does.

you’d waited for him all day to get back from work, and once he was back — instead of dropping everything to spend time lounging around with you like you’d hoped, he’s opening up his laptop with that permanent frown of his, not even close to giving you the attention that you need.

you really did try to be patient at first, knowing there was a chance you’d be rewarded for being such a good girl — but it was hard, you were feeling extra needy and emotional, and the whole thing was making you feel neglected.

after an hour, the attitude starts to seep in, continually disturbing him from his work to annoy him, pressing at him with your clawed manicure and whining, kicking your feet into his leg before he’d swat your foot away distractedly, continuing to type.

“god, if you love work so much why don’t you just date your laptop instead of me.” you huff, storming off to the kitchen of scott’s apartment aimlessly where you’d sulk for another ten minutes before finally hearing his slow unbothered footsteps.

you keep your back to him, hoping to feel him wrap his arms around you or even just stroke your lower back as he passes like he does when he’s in a good mood, but instead you hear him busy himself with opening the cupboards to retrieve the ingredients for his coffee. you quietly huff out your nose, pout deepening as you pretend to have great interest in the marbling on the counter top.

“tantrums wont get very far with me, just saying.” scott speaks, and your eyes fill with irritated tears. you just wanted his attention.

“not having a tantrum.” you grit your teeth, refusing to look at him and you just know he shakes his head with an amused smile.

“alright. so that wasn’t you that just cussed me out and stormed off. got it.” he sarks, and you spin around.

“y— you’re being an asshole. did you come in here just to — just —”

“i’m making coffee.” he shrugs, interrupting you and his nonchalance causes you to lose your temper, striding over and lightly hitting his arm. it was pathetic, and you weren’t quite sure why you did it. he pours his drink, unwounded.

“ouch.”

“i hate you.” you clench your fists by your sides. scott’s jaw ticks, losing his patience now as he places his mug down and grapples you by the arm, turning your body so your back was to his chest, wrapping a thick arm over your neck and applying a light pressure.

“you hate me?” he asks firmly and you suck in a shaky breath, body instantly calming at the feeling of his warmth all whilst beginning to release your pent up emotion, a tear streaking the makeup beneath your eye.

“no.” your answer is fast and breathy and you feel him nod.

“say what you really mean.” he commands blankly, voice holding authority with such little effort.

“f—feel neglected.” you whisper, sharp nails lightly scratching at his forearm. he holds the headlock a little longer, letting you feel his chest moving up and down with his slow breathing against your back for a moment — maybe he knew you needed the contact despite his strictness.

“i am doing my work.” he lowers his tone and you whine, so he tightens his grip which tells you to shut up and listen. “you are going to go to the bedroom, and calm down. i don’t want to hear anymore fussing. alright?” you nod, and it’s enough for him to let go and pat you on the ass to scurry off.

you take a few steps before you turn to him, and his cold heart thaws at the sight of you — all upset, snotty, mouth turned down because you’re crying now. “how long?” you wail, and it’s so desperate, scott feels guilty for being so strict. he sighs out his nose, mouth in a straight line and he steps up to you to cup your jaw, making you let out a pathetic little hiccup-sob.

“look at me.” his deep voice rumbles and you force your sticky eyes upwards to him, where he brushes a firm thumb over your cheek. “i’m not gonna be long. go to the room, take some breaths. like i taught you.” he’s sincere, eyes boring into yours and you find yourself nodding, feeling a little more comforted by his demand being directed toward your wellbeing. “you’re okay. go.” he nods to the bedroom and you slide off, with only the urge to be his good girl for the rest of the day.

[moociaoafterdark]

Since primarch are mix between warp and human DNA hence A x B gene seed construct, what if for the angst Horus and sanguinius after so long finally have child but their child lost on the gene inheritance so she got all the human side from both of the parent making them 30% warp & 70% human a little munchkin forever compared to the parent, I just now sangy will always carry them if they could help it

Wait, anon, are you saying that their kiddo is essentially a baseline human?? That she is, like, just a very strong psyker human??

ARE YOU SAYING THAT THESE TWO WILL NOT AGE A DAY SINCE THEIR CHILD'S BIRTH, BUT SHE JUST GROWS OLDER AND OLDER??

Are you saying that Horus and Sanguinius will have to worry and take care of her again, because she just got so old and frail, and rejuvenation treatment is no longer working??

ARE YOU FUCKING TELLING ME THAT HORUS AND SANGUINIUS ARE GOING TO OUTLIVE THEIR CHILD, BECAUSE SHE DIES FROM AN OLD AGE???

You are sick anon! And a genius! A sick genius! Do you have any idea what you just did to me (and to them???)

Okay, but seriously, very big brain of you, anon. Because I mean, whatever the Primarchs are actually related to each other genetically or not, they're still, from the genetic point of view, a huge fucking mess. A lot of people that make kid OCs for the Primarchs love to give them some defects that they inherit from their fathers, but are more or less negated thanks to the mothers' genes.

But Primarch x Primarch child? Even if it's not inbreeding, what is going to happen when you crossbreed one genetic nightmare with another genetic nightmare? AND that's without mentioning warp fuckery, which no doubt is going to make things even worse.

Perhaps their child got lucky, then. Yeah, it's heartbreaking that she lived such a short life compared to her parents, but her life, otherwise, was completely fine and she was more or less healthy. Imagine what kind of abomination could instead have been birthed instead and how painful their existence could've been.

Maybe THIS is why the Emperor doesn't want the Primarchs to have actual kids. Not because he hates the idea of grandkids. On the contrary, he knows what kind of pain and horror those childrens' lives could be if genetics go even a little bit wrong. He may be an absolute asshat, but even he got limits. Even he doesn't want those hypothetical children, his grandchildren mind you, to go through that nightmare. And that's if there's a human mother involved. If this is a case of incest between his sons, then the Emperor is that much more horrified and scared for the child.

As for Horus and Sanguinius, well, they don't recover. That was their baby, they saw her birth, they raised, saw her flourish and then wither away. That's every parent's worst nightmare and they just lived through that. Something tells me it would be much easier to corrupt both of them after this trauma! Get to work, Erebus, chop chop!

(Sorry for using she/her pronouns for the kiddo, just noticed you used it only once, on accident I assume. I assure you, the reaction would be the same regardless of the child's gender)

[lethalchiralium]

okay, guys, get serious here. where the FUCK are the soulmate AUs. i’m genuinely mad about this, like. what the fuck do you mean i have never seen ANYONE use the most POPULAR TROPE EVER?! (1 of 4)

the one where gaz is the perfect man. he’s beautiful, loyal, respectful, and polite, a huge hit among anyone he comes across while he’s home from deployment. if he was even more social than he already was, he was sure he’d have a line going out his sister’s cafe to check his soulmate clock on his arm. his sister was lucky to already find hers, a lovely woman who takes care of his sister and their lovely little coffee shop. he works there whenever he’s home; making pastries, teas to go, wiping tables. he refuses pay in exchange for a place to sleep and a full belly, and he is always obliged. he is a perfect man.

the only imperfection he has is the most obvious one. it’s not his crooked nose or large scar on his temple - no, it’s his broken soulmate clock. never having moved past nine years, three days, and six seconds since he got it when he was young. it doesn’t hurt him like it used to, he’s a rare case, it’s okay. just a glitch in the system, but it’s not likely he’d find the love of his life without that countdown. he came to terms with it long ago and he’s okay sweeping the floor of the cafe after hours, he’s okay deploying across the globe, he’s okay. he doesn’t want to mess with someone else fussing over him.

the doorbell clattered from above the front door, he doesn’t look up. “sorry, we’re closed!”

“oh, i’m sorry, it’s just- shit-“

he looked up from the floor to you as you held a squirming, dirty puppy. it was pouring rain outside, he had just mopped and he grew a tad irritated.

you glanced at him, “i’m sorry, i just found him - her? - in your alley and they’re cut up on their neck really good. i’d take ‘em to the vet but i don’t have a basket on my bike, and i was just hoping you could spare me a rag or something?”

in your monologue, gaz had set the broom aside and came around the counter, quietly approaching as the little black terrier cried and yowled, blood dripped from the poor thing’s leg and onto your pants. gaz reached out with his right arm, accidentally grazing you as he gently peered at the wound. he could see the soft glow of your clock against the fur, he didn’t look at it before he nodded towards the back.

“i’ve got a kit, i can clean ‘em up but we’d have to do it in the back so i can sanitize it and stuff.”

“thank you, so so so much…?”

“kyle.”

you smiled through the rain that dripped from your hair as you mentioned your own name. he led you behind the counter, to the back, and to the farthest and least used sink. you set the terrier down inside, and he noted that it could have been a jack russell before he caught a glimpse of your clock again.

it was blinking. his eyebrows furrowed. his sister said they would blink when you touch your soulmate, but it’s odd that your soulmate’s a dog. it was impossible for him to have a soulmate, it was so far outside of the possibilities. maybe your soulmate’s outside? is it the dog-

“kyle?”

his gaze looked up to you, but your eyes were glued to his own arm. his eyes followed yours and his stomach dropped, a gasp escaped him as he watched his own broken countdown count down faster than he could read until it hit zero and began to blink rapidly too.

you both looked at each other in confusion and amazement.

[winniefrezcomics]

Why does dev hate ved so much?

Also did ved have his own versions of dev’s au-pairs

No to the second part, actually! Ved lived a surprisingly quiet, humble life with his father Elad (who I’ll post some more info about in a different ask :3c)- he’s actually not even the prince of the anti fairies, Due to the fact that Elad simply isn’t that ambitious lol. (Unlike his dork-ass son, who is absolutely HELLBENT on taking over fairyworld, but keeps that on the dl uwu )

(Rough Elad concept, will finish later)

…The ruler of the anti faires in this au is actually still completely undecided tbfh, lemme know if yall have suggestions for who would make the most sense! :3c (it may have been Vicky at one point but her ass is for SURE in abracatraz atm)

As for the first part- Trust me, it is EARNED. The reason Dev’s hatred for his anti seems so blown out of proportion to everyone else is because Ved has INTENTIONALLY made it look like Dev hates him just for being an anti-fairy, to discredit anything Dev says to try and make Ved answer for the chaos he so loves causing.

(Longer explanation below)

(Dale is a WELL-KNOWN hater of anti-fairies, due to a certain experience with one named Vicky, so everyone just assumes that hatred was passed down, making Dev’s opinion very biased)

However, Because Dev is well aware he himself only PRETENDS to be mean as a defense mechanism , and actually cares very deeply for his friends and family, Dev can only assume that means Ved’s niceness is similarly fake, and he doesn’t really care about the wellbeing of others at ALL. Ved proves this to be true CONSTANTLY by harming and traumatizing bystanders of wishes- (always Indirectly enough to not break da rules) inevitably making Dev clean up his messes every single time. Aaaand As much as he hates it, Dev always does so, because if DEV messes up, he’s done with fairy godparenting for GOOD, and will have no choice but to crawl back to his dad (Perry is his “last chance” godkid, because he’s failed to help -or even just get along with- SO MANY in the short few years he’s been godparenting coughincludingIriscough)

Anyway, due to Dev and Ved’s mutual understanding of one another’s personalities (mostly through process of elimination tbfh) Dev is the ONLY fairy who has EVER seen Ved without his “mask”- something Ved has meticulously constructed to earn the trust of both faires and anti faires alike- saying and doing whatever he needs to in order to creep closer to his eventual goal.

But underneath all the fake niceness, all the goofy mannerisms, Ved has made it no secret to Dev specifically that he’s a MONSTER, and actively delights in the fact that no one will ever believe him.

Ty for the question! Lemme know if yall have anything else you wanna know about Ved lol- he specifically has been giving me TERRIBLE brainrot as of late ☠️☠️ (ngI Might eff around and rewrite set two and three so I can bring this freakass in early bc I’m honestly love him even tho he’s the WORST 😂 idk I like irredeemable villains I guess 🤓)

Sidenote: The first time they ever meet, Ved literally HUGS HIM as a power-move, looking to outsiders like a genuine gesture, but he was actually just getting close enough to whisper a taunt/ threat directly into Devs ear ☠️☠️ (will RB w that comic if I get around to finishing it lmao)

[arkaniske]

Say it like you Mean It

AO3 Link \\\ Chapter Five: Red Camellias.

2200 words \ SFW \ Jayvik

Beta read by @kitcatkim

Summary: Five times Jayce brought flowers for Viktor and one time Viktor brought flowers for Jayce.

All this time, he’d been building a wall of petals and stems, hiding behind them to say what he couldn’t with words. But now, he understood. No wall would ever be tall enough to contain his aching heart. He would tear it down without hesitation if it meant standing face-to-face with Viktor.

Chapter One: Daffodils \\\ Chapter Two: Sunflowers \\\ Chapter Three: Bluebells \\\ Chapter Four: Gardenias

The bell above the door chimed softly as Jayce stepped into the flower shop, the warm scent of blooms wrapping around him like a comforting embrace. The air was alive with the fragrance of roses, lavender and a faint trace of citrus, a haven of quiet beauty that stood in stark contrast to the chaos of thoughts he found himself in. He lingered near the entrance for a moment, eyes wandering over the vibrant displays, unsure what to do next.

“Mister Talis?” Julianna’s familiar voice called from behind the counter, gentle and welcoming. She stepped out from the backroom, a bundle of daisies cradled in one arm and an easy smile on her face. “It is good to see you again. What brings you by today? Another occasion?”

Jayce managed a faint chuckle, stepping further into the shop. “Ah, no big occasion. Just, um… Something I want to get right. Really right.”

Julianna tilted her head slightly, her curiosity softening into something warmer, more understanding. “Come on, let’s figure this one out. What’s on your mind?” She gestured for him to come closer.

Jayce joined her at the counter, hands clasped and coming to a rest at the table. “I… I don’t know.” He admitted, his voice quieter than usual. “I’ve been giving flowers to uh, someone. Trying to say things I can’t- It’s… I know the words, I have them, I can practice them like a speech but then, when I step in front of the audience I just…” His sentence trailed off at the thought of Viktor, even now just thinking about him had his heart fluttering like the lovesick puppy he once tried to deny the existence of.

The florist’s expression softened, and she leaned her arms against the counter. “That is a start, you know.” She said, her tone encouraging. “It means you’re already thinking about them. Really thinking about them.”

Jayce’s gaze shifted to the rows of blooms behind her, his nerves starting to show. “Have you ever done that?” He asked hesitantly. “Used flowers to… uh, say something? I mean, it seems like you’d know how, considering all this.”

Julianna’s eyes warmed with understanding, her smile turning a little more personal. “Oh, I have.” She said, nodding. “When I proposed to my partner, actually.”

Jayce blinked, he’d expected maybe flowers for an apology or a celebration. “You used flowers to propose?”

“I sure did! And! It worked!” She straightened and stepped around the counter, motioning for him to follow with her hand. A golden band around her finger telling him of the successful outcome. “I spent like weeks obsessing over what to pick. I wanted something meaningful, something that said everything I was feeling. Something with the right intention. It became a whole mess towards the end, I got a little too obsessed.” The confession made her wince with embarrassment, but it didn’t fester.

“I did realise, however,” She continued as she stopped them in front of a display of white gardenias. The scent pulled a warm memory from Jayce’s mind, he felt the lingering warmth of a hand in his as cold evening air brushed over his skin. If he stared long enough at the white blooms he could almost imagine golden embroidery on their petals. “That it wasn’t about the flower, really. I know that’s a bad thing to say as a florist but…” She shrugged one of her shoulders.

“It’s about you and it’s about them. The flower might just be a bridge, but you still have to meet in the middle.” A soft smile crossed her face as she reached out for one of the flowers. “I ended up choosing gardenias. You’re familiar with them, yes? From your gala? They’re one of my spouses favourites. For me, these felt like a promise— a way of saying, ‘you’re it for me, no matter what’, you know?”

Jayce froze, his eyes locked on the white bloom in Julianna’s hand. His heart did an unsteady flip, the warmth of her words sinking in before the full weight of them hit him. Gardenias. Oh. Oh. His mind reeled back to the balcony, to Viktor’s quiet acceptance of the flower Jayce had given him. I gave him a gardenia. I gave him a gardenia.

“You… uh, proposed with gardenias?” Jayce stammered, his voice climbing a little too high. “I-I mean, that’s beautiful, of course it is! I- I just didn’t think they meant- Not that I wouldn’t have meant, eventually, maybe, but not— I mean, uh-“

Julianna laughed gently, her warm and knowing smile both comforting and mortifying. “Easy there, Mister Talis,” She said, holding up her free hand as if to calm a startled animal. “I can see your brain running in circles. Take a breath.”

Jayce sucked in a sharp breath and nodded, though it did little to steady the rush of thoughts. Does Viktor think I’m proposing? Did I just hand him a flower that said “please, oh God, please marry me?” Oh no. The image of golden embroidery on a white suit sent a jolt through his system, it was made no better when accompanied by the clear visualisation of Viktor’s little smirk when saying ‘I do’— Jayce stopped himself there. His ears burning hot as he realised just where his thoughts were heading.

“It’s not the same, you know.” Julianna said, her tone calm and reassuring. “That was what the gardenias meant to me and my partner. But for you, they meant something different, right?”

Jayce blinked, her words cutting through his panic like a cool breeze. “I— Yeah. Yeah, they did.” He paused, the sound of wedding bells swapped with that little hitch of Viktor’s breath before their interruption. It filled his chest with a quiet ache as he thought of what the flower had meant to his confession. “It was… Yeah. It was something different.”

“Well, there you go!” The florist said, tone filled with encouragement. “See? The meaning doesn’t belong to the flower— it belongs to you. It’s your story. Your feelings. And you get to decide what to do with it.”

“I just… I don’t want to ruin anything before it even has a chance to be something.” The confession was too vulnerable than what he expected it to be, especially for a Wednesday afternoon in a flowershop. He would have to tip the florist a therapists fee after this. Why he found himself spilling his heart was hard to tell, perhaps it was the anonymity of the situation. To be allowed just for a moment to be a man buying their crush flowers instead of someone changing the trajectory of his life. Or perhaps it was just the scent of lavender that made him dizzy.

The florist’s expression shifted to something more tender. “Can I tell you something I learned when I was picking those gardenias for my spouse?”

Jayce nodded carefully, eyes locked on the flowers as if he looked anywhere else he might lose his bravery to stand there.

“I spent so much time worrying about getting it perfect,” she said, her voice steady and warm. “I was terrified I’d pick the wrong one, or that they wouldn’t understand, or that it wouldn’t be enough. That they wouldn’t understand how much I adore them. But when the moment came? God, they did not care about any of that. They cared about me. And the fact that I was standing there, telling them how I felt, in the way I knew how. That’s what mattered.”

Jayce swallowed hard, gaze dropping to the floor. “Just… Me, then?” His voice felt small as the realisation settled over him. All this time, he’d been building a wall of petals and stems, hiding behind them to say what he couldn’t with words. But now, he understood. No wall would ever be tall enough to contain his aching heart. He would tear it down without hesitation if it meant standing face-to-face with Viktor.

Julianna smiled, her hand coming to rest on Jayce’s shoulder. He found a little comfort in it. “Just you.” She said softly with a knowing look. “Because at the end of the day it isn’t about the flowers, or the secret messages or if it’s perfect or not. It’s about the heart behind it. It’s about you saying what you feel, in whatever way you can.” She gave a little squeeze to his shoulder. “It’s you. And it’s him. That’s all that matters.”

All that matters. ‘It’s you, everything you are.’ His own words from the night of the gala echoed through his thoughts. He hadn’t been brave enough to say all that he wanted, not in the way he wanted to. The words had been too big, too fragile, and now they sat heavy in him and all but demanded to be spoken. But even if the words were lodged deep in his chest, he could still build the bridge and run over it to embrace Viktor. That he could do.

Jayce let out a soft, awkward laugh, running a hand through his hair. Her words landed softly, but they sank deep. It was almost overwhelming how easy she had read him. “You’re, uh… You’re good at this, huh?” He said, trying to lighten the moment.

The florist just gave a shrug of her shoulders with a smile, stepping back to give him some space. “It’s my job, Talis. Flowers and feelings— you’d be surprised how many flustered scientists walk through my door. You are not the only one, though you are my favourite.

“Ah, well. In that case I am very honoured.” He answered with a light chuckle. “Thank you, really.” Jayce gave her a warm smile and a slight bow of his head in gratitude. With his chest feeling a little lighter his eyes finally free to wander the shop.

He wanted to do this right, not to comfort his own perfectionism, but because Viktor deserved right. It had never been about the flowers, it had been about showing Viktor piece by piece what he saw in him. That he was adored, cherished, desired and above all that he was loved. Jayce could do that. He could show him that.

Jayce’s eyes came to a stop at red blooms.

“I’ll get three of those.”

Julianna followed his gaze to the flowers and grinned. “Perfect, I’ll get them wrapped up for you.”

\\\

The soft creak of the lab door echoed faintly as Jayce stepped inside. He was holding his breath as he looked around, eyes searching for the familiar shape of his partner but- no. He found himself alone in the room, Viktor’s chair standing empty.

Jayce released his breath, nerves thrumming as he stepped further in. The quiet absence was both a relief and a pang of disappointment. The entire walk from the flower shop he had imagined Viktor being here, imagined their eyes meeting as Jayce walked into the lab. He could almost hear Viktor’s sharp and witty comment disarm whatever awkward attempt Jayce would have made at explaining himself.

Instead, it was just him and the three flowers he held.

He approached Viktor’s desk, the scent of the blooms trailing with him. Jayce stared down at the workspace, its precision and purpose made a perfect reflection of Viktor himself. Every tool had its place, every notebook filled with clever words, even the empty beaker in the corner of the desk seemed intentional like it was waiting for a new confession. It was a space Jayce had always respected, even revered. To stand here now with something so delicate and fleeting in his hands felt like crossing into something sacred— an offering to something much bigger than him.

He hesitated, the flowers trembling slightly between his fingers. His mind swirled with all the moments that had led him here: Daffodils, Sunflowers, Bluebells and Gardenias. It told the story of just how deep Jayce had fallen for his partner. With every warm smile, with every laugh, every stolen glance, hidden smirk, soft words— with every loving touch. It had all been an ember.

Now, Jayce found himself fully ablaze. No longer wanting to control the hot surge of affection burning through him every time he as much as thought of Viktor. He understood now he would no longer be able to hide behind flowers; this was the last stem he could place before the walls he’d built around himself crumbled completely into the pyre of his adoration.

With a careful breath, Jayce leaned forward and placed the flowers at the centre of Viktor’s desk. He turned them slightly, the petals facing outwards, almost like an invitation to be taken. It rested atop an open notebook, its vibrant colour stark against the dark, inked pages. His hand rested there for a moment, he knew he couldn’t bring himself to pick the flowers up again after he had let them go. This was it. His thumb brushed against the stem. The gesture felt so small, but its weight tightened his chest and left his throat dry.

He let go. Stepping back slowly, his heart pounding as he stared at the flowers. Red camellias.

Unyielding love.

He lingered in the doorway, one hand gripping the frame as he glanced back one last time. The flowers seemed to cast a glow in the room, like a candle burning and shedding its light. A singular splash of colour in Viktor’s world.

And then, with a final breath, Jayce turned and walked away. Leaving the flower, and his heart, behind.

[keen-eye]

okay. rounding up my thoughts. (original post)

- dean starts rambling to try to break the tension and avoid awkward silence. something many of us do when we feel guilty, so, understandable. “he speaks” (sam is being childish, not dean). but then he turns the guilt around onto sam with the, “you might as well bite the bullet. you don’t want to be responsible for more innocent people’s deaths, right?”. which to be fair, dean ran into sam by chance, so since they both happen to be there they should just work together. but this all works out really well for dean because he can make sam spend time with him without having to apologize (he wouldn’t mean it anyway). and as seen in the original video: dean knows exactly what to say to get sam to do the heavy lifting of convincing himself that dean is right

- older sister that takes care of her younger sister (subtle). segues very neatly into the “you couldn’t do it so i did. that’s what family does, the dirty work”

- the ghost of the younger sister begs dean to listen to her, to which dean replies “you don’t get a vote”. sums up the whole show. sam can ask dean to do/not to do something but ultimately the choice is up to dean because he has the authority to determine what is Right and what is Wrong. meanwhile if sam goes against dean’s (the family patriarch’s) wishes he is automatically in the Wrong. this is winchester law #1 which dean enforces just like he did when sam disobeyed their father. however, despite the fact that dean eventually became disillusioned by john who he considered to be infallible, it benefits dean to maintain this law between himself and sam. and this means that dean will do/say whatever is necessary to keep sam believing in it too, largely by breaking sam down mentally

- the younger sister was just trying to warn them about “her evil bitch sister”, then sam and dean learn that the older sister really enjoys the feeling of killing someone. all of this being in the episode about dean trying to justify killing amy…it’s perfect, honestly

- dean says “you still want to break my face?”. very “clock me. i won’t even hit you back” in bloodlust. punch me back so i can feel better without us having to talk about our feelings. violence is dean’s emotional outlet so it should work for sam, too

- everything about this scene is….

sam has convinced himself that dean was right. as we and dean knew he would. yay! sam says “you were just trying to make sure no one else got hurt” and dean makes a sure, let’s go with that face. sam says that he’s worried about dean’s sleeping and drinking habits and dean says “oh, here we go” (he keeps trying to make me talk about my feelings!) which makes sam soften the blow with “last one to preach, i know”. of course he knows, dean reminds him every 5 minutes. but it’s different. sam is all messed up because he’s crazy while dean was nobly struggling and trying to cope with the guilt he felt from lying to sam. not because he was wrong, but because he had to protect sam’s fragile mind (because that’s what family does)

[screwpinecaprice]

I know it’s not a question but i can’t help but appreciate the fact that you draw adult Steven as a chubby guy! We big boys need some positive representation in here. Also, i’ve been following you for almost a year now!

Btw sorry for my English lol.

Hi! It's very pleasing to know you've been around for as long! 😁😁😁 I absolutely appreciate the appreciation! And no worries, your English is super fine! 😁 (Relatable actually. I am also apologizing in advance if I can't exactly have my point clearly across because I'm not well at English myself! lmao)

It took me quite some time to learn how to draw chubby characters but it's so satisfying to have eventually. ( *`u*) (I mean, there's still so much to learn, but still.)

Having a chubby main protagonist is so wonderful to have. And a good kid at that. (Ngl I'm attracted to kindness. haha So of course it's very important to me that he's fat AND kind.)

Also design-wise, I personally think it fits his character so well. Soft and huggable, shaped like a friend. Thick arms to hug people with snuggly. Body wide like a shield. etc. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

And I just really like to capture these elements when I draw him as an adult. Also that it's just fun to draw.

Simply personal thoughts about it, nothing against any other ways he's being portrayed by others of course.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[deputygonebye]

Even though he's got uncles and aunts on his father's side, Shane doesn't know a single one of them personally. Despite there having been seven children in total, of the Walsh clan, not one of them had made the effort to reach out to him while he grew up. Not even into adulthood, for that matter. Grandma Jean used to say it was better that way - better to be without that sort of negativity than have it - still, it always rubbed Shane wrong. King County's small. Everyone knows everybody. Family means everything; the fact that none of his own, besides Jean, made an effort for him, bothers Shane greatly. Truthfully, Shane doesn't even know what they look like. There are no faces to the names. He wouldn't be able to recall their names if asked, he doesn't know them.

Shane never had cousins to play with. Shane never got to watch football games with his uncles. Shane didn't get to hear all the juicy local gossip from his aunts. Though his father was a dead-beat, that didn't mean his other relations were excluded by him by default. However, the truth isn't always so pretty, nor is it kind. Plain and simple, this long lost branch of clan Walsh views Shane as the black stain upon their legacy. A marker to the failures done by their reckless brother Jon; the product of a crime worse than murder, able to damn an entire family just from mention alone. God have mercy on their souls, it's been warned through the generations to stay away from Shane. Act as if he doesn't exist - pretend as if they don't, either. All of the six remaining Walsh children stay shacked up in their own homes, on their shared land, completely cutoff from the rest of society, the rest of King County.

Whether due to marriage or their own decision, the Walsh name is hard to trace beyond Jon or Shane. Public records aren't consistent enough for it - Shane has tried to do some research in his free time - no one cares to document. With better things to worry about, what he has uncovered about his distant kin is nothing that surprises him. So similar to Jonathan despite their disgust of him, family connection that runs deeper than blood, drink, drugs, and vices of all sorts still plague the Walsh line. Some had gone to prison, allegedly. Others had moved completely out of the state of Georgia, per an off-chance interview with a neighbor so old that they could remember the first car being driven in the county. One or two were presumed missing. But eventually, all their lines go cold, those nameless brothers and sisters of Jonathan.

Shane soon just stopped looking into it.

[faebriel]

hgs brainrot has returned due to tbosas .. speaking of hgs here’s an ask abt the hgs au: if things were totally different, and Wilbur were to be a 12 victor, what do you think a possible mentor-tribute dynamic would look like between him & Niki? I feel like it would be similar to Snow & Lucy in the way that he’s just going out of his way to cheat n help her

anon u have in fact struck jackpot because this is a concept i was spinning some thoughts abt before bee mentioned avoxes and we went OOOOH at that!!! so yes i have considered rainduo as a mentor-tribute dynamic and would love to talk about that concept too :]

so for this concept i think wilbur and niki would be close friends throughout childhood from 12, and then in their teens wilbur is reaped and, well, no one has particularly high hopes (he's a writer and a musician at heart, not a fighter) but through sheer trickery and dumb luck, he makes it to the end of the games. wilbur pulled some pretty fucked up tricks to win - when you can't use brute force, you have to use your brain - and partly due to the trauma of the games, partly due to his shame and survivor's guilt, he sinks into the capitol and relishes a new life there as a socialite. to him, the old wilbur died in the games and the new one has taken his place - to niki, and to his other friends in 12, whatever the games did to him made him into every vapid heartless capitol victor there is.

or. niki has her doubts. they all saw how horrible the games were, but surely there is some part of him left, some part that's hurting, even if it's buried deep?

anyway.

like og spin of the au, niki is reaped and this sucks - this time she does expect wilbur as her mentor on the train, and she expects some kind of warm welcome (maybe even an apology for leaving them so suddenly and silently? an explanation?) but she gets jack shit. wilbur is jaded and cruel and unrecognisable and niki entirely hates it. this is the part where i REALLY WISH we got some time of those two beefing with each other directly in canon (or at least interactions while niki was So Mad at him) but it's okay we fly blind. niki feels abandoned, lonely, thrown off of her kilter - she expected an ally in this place, but she doesn't recognise the person wilbur has become. she doesn't recognise his shallowness (...much), his ruthless advice for the arena, the way he doesn't seem to care for anything. she's scared and now she's lonely and it pisses her off - their mentorship is fraught. here are some thoughts from discord on that:

i tend to think of niki as a bit naïve before l'manberg or even doomsday - i think this is an au where this streak would come out real strong, and niki is stubborn that she can get through the games without losing herself. stubborn that she can stop things, that she can protect people. i don't think wilbur is cold enough (or, really, can bear to say aloud) to say that her odds in the arena are slim enough as it is, but he definitely tells her that she's making enemies and that her odds of survival dwindle with the more trouble she causes.

beyond that... hm. niki's trust in wilbur is almost unshakeable until nov 16, even when she outright says she doesn't recognise him anymore. i think she'd reluctantly listen re: don't burn down any buildings, but she would grow bolder each day she had to stay in the capitol. she gets more honest in front of the cameras. she makes more friends in training, and not the ones wilbur recommends. she throws barbs at him every time he makes one of those callous, cold-hearted comments about other tributes and rankings and odds. and besides, she's going in the arena this time, not him. she needs to practice her bravery.

it's like... she hasn't given up on him. she thinks the old wilbur is in there somewhere. (she is wrong. that is not how trauma works.) but she won't hold her tongue just because she

for extra angst points could definitely play up the whole 'feeling abandoned' angle between them as niki goes into the arena - probably due to how fraught their friendship gets leading up to the games. niki wants to focus on them and their friendship, wilbur has stringently cut off (almost) everything from 12 and refuses to let her in; he tells her to behave for the cameras, she tells him she never will. i think the last point in that screenshot would also make for a super tasty argument where niki feels wilbur has gone astray, that he's abandoned 12, and that he'll probably do nothing but sit on his ass and watch her die and he can't even bring himself to care about her anymore, can he? just more fodder for the arena. and honestly, i think wilbur would passively agree with most of that - he values niki's opinion, after all, even now, and if she says he's rapidly descending into a lost cause then she must be right. and it's niki, so she will be fine, and he goes to his bedroom that night and tries to pretend he is sleeping perfectly fine instead of feeling paralysed with fear.

okay now onto the games - YES HE SO WOULD. or at least i think he would go out of his way to help. as for cheating - he's a recent victor for 12 and i think he would value tommy (no doubt a link to him... i think they'd be in touch in this au also) too much to risk the punishment falling onto him as well. i get the vibes this is a games closer to 74th than 10th, so there are far fewer opportunities to cheat and the consequences of getting caught are higher. but schmoozing up sponsors? making stupid ass radio interviews or whatever to talk up niki's odds? sharing anecdotes from their childhood - some real, some entirely fabricated - across capitol airwaves to stoke their sympathy? 100%. with less to lose in this au, i think niki would be far less inclined to play nice for the cameras - i hope you starve, she spits at one of them, and wilbur appears on a talkshow two days later as she scrambles for survival in the arena to talk up how she always saved loaves from the bakery for the poorest mothers and children in 12. he borrows and begs and swindles to the point where it feels like cheating. but hey, this new wilbur is capitol-branded. he knows how to play the game.

if anything he probably sinks into the game a little too much. self-preservation is not his forte. probably wracks up a few heavy debts and favours to owe, but those are not priority until niki is out of the arena, alive. as long as she wins, and as long as the family he has isn't in danger, he will manage. wow it would suck if at some point those two goals became impossible to co-achieve. anyway

i kind of see niki's victory in the arena being similar to the one in the main au - if only because planning out an entire games is hard for meee >-< . she walks in bolder and braver for sure, and with a less strategic pick of allies, but they all get picked off and she spends a few weeks so terrified she can barely sleep and then she ruptures some fuel line and sets the arena alight with a fire that burns brighter and more ravenously than it should. but she wins, and she's airlifted out of a filthy, muddy creek she had resigned herself to die in, and wilbur barges his way through as many peacekeepers so that he can actually see her with her burnt skin and hair and unfocused eyes and trust that what was on the screens wasn't a fluke, and that they made it. and then it's just a matter of surviving the after.

i'm sure there are some other random quirks or tidbits i can think of re: this take on a c!rainduo hunger games au but these are my base thoughts!!

[lesbianyosano]

legitimately what the fuck was that