#I at least know generally the note it leaves off on and I don’t. like it

[perdvivly]

Not waiting for chance or fate to dictate the terms of how annoying I’m allowed to be on the internet. I am choosing to answer them all now, unasked as I am.

1) This is mildly variable depending on the amount of effort I’m willing to expend. Typically the common theme is no adulterants. No sugar, no milk, no queen of England. If I’m getting fancy with it I’ll make an effort to time the brewing duration, 3mins for a black tea, 5mins for a green tea, 7mins for a herbal tea. But honestly the sort of depression chic I’ve been serving lately has been leaving the bag in and drinking it straight, tannins be damned.

2) Mandarin. Just seems like it’d be the most useful innit. Also, relatively harder to pick up non-magically given my native Englishhood.

3) God. I try not to honestly. No, but seriously, my sleep schedule has been all sorts of out of shape recently. I should work on that. At the moment it varies wildly day to day and depends on my responsibilities the days before and after the sleep. I’ve pulled a couple of all nighters recently and it gets screwy.

4) Maybe atla? I remember really liking it when it came out but not fully understanding the whole plot because I didn’t see it serialised until later. Maybe the simpsons? There’s something to say here about the earnestness of the earlier seasons and seeing a deeply dysfunctional family care about each other in ways they struggle to express—that gets glossed out as the production value rises in the later seasons—that’s like heroin to someone trapped in an irony poisoned world. But maybe that’s cope? Maybe it’s just the show I had the easiest access to as a kid. I guess I didn’t watch a whole bunch of tv or at least not a whole bunch that stuck with me.

5) Summer ez. (Have you seen her baphomet pics? 🥵)

6) In general, I doubt very much that either the optimist or the pessimist considers themselves such. It’s not really the sort of thing that admits of self-diagnosis in that way… Philosophically, the broader question is what? Do I align with Schopenhauer, Voltaire’s Leibniz, or Russel’s Leibniz? I’m not sure the tumblrinas care about the history of philosophy. I guess I’ll say to the extent that Schopenhauer relies on Indian mysticism, which I think is typically underrated, he’s simply mistaken about the world as will and representation. I’ll say that, I’m *not* a Buddhist. I think the doctrine of dukkha misses fundamental aspects of human existence. I’ll say that people have richer inner lives, deeper felt internal experiences, than you might assume from reading their little words on the internet. And that, on the whole, these are good things.

7) I mean, both ideally. Variety is the spice of life. If I had to choose I suppose it would be sunshine. But I’m terribly glad I don’t live in a world where I have to choose.

8) I have the cutest little book marks. My primary two at the moment are the sun and the moon, which I use for main text and end notes respectively. Though, I have been known to dog-ear in my time. I once got yelled at by my aunt for turning the corner of the page on my copy of Harry Potter and the order of the phoenix because it was a first edition and she was under the impression that it may be valuable some day. I was like, come on man, I’m 7. Don’t even piss. <- I didn’t say these things, but I was *like* that.

9) For the longest time I *only* wore steel toe capped boots because I ran myself over with an electric pallet stacker and tore my toenail off and decided I didn’t want that to happen again. I don’t do that anymore because I interact with heavy machinery less than I used to. Now all that matters to me is that they’re waterproof.

10) *My* signature scent like, I produce it? Or like I like it? I guess one of my favourite scents is lavender. But I've been told... Okay, it's important you guys know I do *not* have a yeast infection... I've been told some parts of my body naturally smell like bread, like, that sort of doughy yeasty (I s2g I do *not* (I did not hit her. I did not! oh hi mark)) smell that you get with bread sometimes. Is that what the question was asking?

11) I mean... That's broadly not for me to decide right? Unless the sort of dragons you're imagining have some sort of glamoury illusion magic, which seems plausible. Anyway, do you guys remember in Moby Dick when he goes on this wild tangent about how St. George and The Dragon was acutally about whales? And St. George's horse was actually a walrus or something. What was that about??

Okay, author's note, there's a time skip here. I've been scrolling through lists of dragons in popular culture for a while now and there are a pretty neat and widely varied selection of designs. I'll get back to you on this one.

12) It depends on why I'm writing! If it's a quick note to myself for future reference it'll generally be cursive, if it's an important document that will be read by other people generally it'll be print. If it's time-sensitive it'll be cursive. I remember writing essays for undergrad that I'm sure were totally illegible by the end of them, I think literally just a line on a page with occasional lifts and dips.

13) There is more information on wookieepedia than existed in my philosophy but a few minutes ago. The typology I've discerned is thus: blue - jock, green - nerd, yellow - geek, red - edgelord. And I'm a little bit of all of these, so I think any would be fine. Realistically though, I'm not sure a lightsaber is the best weapon in fantasy space-past-future where spaceships and lasers are common. Like, I'll let it slide because the original trilogy was doing a kirkegaardian faith thing and the prequels were doing a logic doesn't matter it's cool thing, and those are both respectable motivations to leave logistics aside for a bit.

14) Sad

15) Ice skates! I love ice skating!

16) I'm a youngest. I have an older sister, I think I talk about her here from time to time.

17) Well, how I would use it would depend massively on what it was. If the question is which superpower I think is the best then why not ask that? Which superpower would I have has a faint ring of incomprehensibility about it. It's really not clear which counterfactual is under consideration. *If* what?

Anyway, I think time control powers are up there right? Top five at least, easy. Imagine what you could do if you could stop time and sleep whenever you felt like it. I feel King Leerish about the ability to just be well rested. I would do such things, what they are yet I know not.

18) The problem with romantic relationships is that eventually, all of your most interesting clothing will end up in someone else's closet. I think my day-to-day wear tends to be mostly blues, blacks and whites. Not hugely interesting colourwise.

19) Snake, I think, they have fewer demands and I can't really handle any more pressure in my life than I already have. I would hate to be a bad bird mom... I would hate to be a bad snake mom too, but I think it's easier. Typically regarded as easier. I don't know.

20) Okay, so, it's like this right: medieval battle = will probably die. And it's also like this: behind city walls = safe, my friend and lover and confidant. And so, for very obvious reasons, it's gotta be a bow right? Like, I'm standing way out of the action and I'll shoot some arrows long range. But if that's against the spirit of the ask then it's gotta be some kind of polearm, like a halberd or something. Not even close. The advantage you get from distance is hard to overstate. Yeah, polearm for sure.

21) Mint choc chip, it's just such a classic. But also, I had a "london fog" flavour recently that was really compelling. It's just earl grey and vanilla but it's so good.

22) I'm more of a herbs person than a spices person. Like, hmm, I do really enjoy paprika and ginger and stuff like that, don't get me wrong. But it doesn't really hold a candle to the sheer universality of parsley or basil or oregano or mint. Herbs stay winning.

23) These days it's aptos because I am the worlds most basic bitch. And yes, I do still have a fondness for arial.

ask game that tells a lot about you.

how do you take your tea / coffee?

if you could be fluent in any language at the snap of your fingers, which one and why?

when do you wake up?

what was your favourite tv show as a kid?

summer or winter?

realist, optimist, or pessimist?

rain or sunshine?

how do you mark your spot in a book?

what are your favourite shoes like?

what would your non-perfume/cologne signature scent be?

if you were a dragon, what would you look like?

is your handwriting more print, cursive, or a mix?

what colour would your lightsaber be?

what is your defining personality trait?

roller skates or rollerblades or ice skates?

are you an only child? oldest / middle / youngest?

what would your superpower be? how would you use it?

what’s your clothing colour palette?

pet snake or pet bird?

weapon of choice in a medieval battle

the best ice cream flavour

what spices do you always use when cooking?

default font when typing?

[designernishiki]

ngl im not sure if im looking forward to playing y6

[gay-dorito-dust]

How high on the clingy/protective scale these boys are …

Dick: a solid 8.5/10.

A very clingy bean.

Dick would be attached to your hip 24/7 if he could but he couldn’t answer that makes him sad.

In the wise words of @obsessedwithromance on one of my recent posts; ‘if Dick was a dog, he’d be a husky.’

And he’d make a very vocal husky at that with how often he whines and whinges whenever you tried to move from his grasp, acting as though every attempt in removing yourself from his arms were an attack against his character. So he will take personal offence to you wanting to leave him out in the cold and desolate place that was your bedroom. 💀

‘Stop trying to get out of my arms.’ He moans, tightening his hold on you as he buried his head into your neck, locking legs with you for extra measure. ‘Dick, I love you but you’re being too clingy for me right now.’ You reply and had just noticed the error of your ways almost immediately and were about to explain yourself but it was already too late, for you had set Dick the human husky off.

‘Me? Clingy? I thought you liked it when I was clingy? Why the sudden change? What did I do wrong? Why don’t you love me?’ Dick began his tirade and you could only lay there and let him talk your ear off -and loudly might I add- about how you apparently didn’t love him enough, which was a bunch of bullshit, but dick was too in his feelings to listen to reason. You’ll have to kiss him to shut him up, there’s no other option.

So once he’s settled down, he’ll go back to cuddling against your back,smiling dopily while you could only congratulate for a job well done at defusing the situation form getting any worse. You love your dramatic human husky and you wouldn’t change anything for anyone.

Jason: 7.5/10 or a 8/10.

The only time you’re seeing this man be clingy as all hell if he’s in a particular mood and want your affection, which might as well be all the time with this man, or after a not so great nightmare.

He would wake up in a cold sweat and immediately look for you and hold you against his chest as though you were his personal teddy bear, only just until his breathing evens out and not so tense in the muscles. Until then he holds onto you tightly and familiarises himself with you in anyway that he could, whether that be counting your eyelashes, noting the different shades that make up your eyes and much more.

At least just enough to help him gain some sense of self and awareness that he was safe and sound from all harm.

Like Jaime, Jason would watch over you like a hawk as Red Hood without a shadow of a doubt, and Jason has his reasons to do so as he knows the type of people who litter the streets of Gotham at night like the back of his hand. He doesn’t want to subject you to that sort of life of constant fear of having to look over your shoulder in hopes that there wasn’t someone following you home.

For in his minds eye, he’s your sole protector and the one thing that stands between the scumbags of the street and you. Jason doesn’t take this position he’s given himself lightly, it’s unlike him to anyway, as your safety is his top priority and he’d do anything to obtain it; whether they way it’s obtained was morally questionable or not, he doesn’t care for as long as your safe, he’ll live to learn with having permanent blood on his hands.

Damian: 5/10 on a good day. 2/10 in general.

He’s not an overly clingy person. Protective? yes. Clingy? No. It’s just not in just nature and he can be very awkward going about it too.

Damian knows he doesn’t have to constantly survey you 24/7, he has more faith in you and your abilities then most. He knows that you won’t call upon him if at all when faced with a situation that you could easily resolve yourself.

However if you were to get hurt on his watch or otherwise, that’s when he gets slightly clingy and will attempt to be within any space with you possible. Damian shows care in a completely different way than most and will more or less act like a guard dog when it came to you.

This little dude will point his sword at anyone that comes into close contact with you while glaring at them, meanwhile you’re having to push the blade of his sword down and away from the poor victim, only for Damian to raise his sword back towards their throat once more.

‘Pack it in.’ You’d hiss.

‘No. You’re practically useless when hurt, so let me deal with this one.’ Damian said.

You purposely ignored the fact that he had just called you useless and instead pushed the blade of his sword down until it was pointing at the floor again. ‘He’s not even a threat, just a regular citizen. So you can stop it with the fear attics now.’ You told him in a hushed tone. Damian meets your eyes with a glare of his own. ‘How you can be certain he’s a harmless civilian? What if he’s a low life thug of an underground drug syndicate on the rise? You can’t allow yourself to trust every face you meet.’ He replies, not one to back down for anyone, not even you.

You sigh as you rubbed the sides of your head. ‘Well at least try not to cause more issue for your dad. I swear between you, Jason, Tim and Dick I don’t know who gives him the most grey hairs.’

Jaime: runner up for Dick’s crown with also a 8.5/10

He’s clingy in a sense that he fears of loosing you constantly.

Khaji-Da doesn’t make the situation any better as it only encourages Jaime’s Innate clinginess tenfold, and now Jaime can’t go a couple of minutes without offering to join you on wherever your going.

He just cares about you very deeply and wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he’d ever lost you despite having the ability to stop any harm from coming your way. So needless to say that you spend most of your time with him and his family is a severe understatement.

It’s not as though he doesn’t trust you, he wholeheartedly does, but that trust doesn’t extend to potential outside threats. Hell, he would even go as far as to watch over you as Blue Beatle, much to the behest of literally everyone that isn’t Khaji-Da because the scarab is just as clingy over you in a sense that you were Jaime’s mate and there for should be within close proximity to him at all times.

It’s endearing but I think it’s about time you told Kahji-Da to cool it on the whole threatening people you talked to with plans to eliminate them…

[vrystalius]

Hashira reacting to your affection

How will the hashira reaction to your affections?

Pairing: Sanemi, Kyojuro, Gyomei, Giyu x fem!reader

Types of affection included: kisses, hugs and cuddles, affectionate biting/nibbles, compliments

Note: I wrote this over the past few days and is by far the longest fic I’ve ever written! Enjoy!

Here’s the Upper Moons + Muzan version

Sanemi Shinazugawa

Kisses: 8/10

Sanemi grumbles when you don’t kiss him on his lips. He needs at least one kiss on his lips every morning after waking up, and a kiss on the lips when making his way to the next mission. Intimate and long kisses are his favourite, especially when he’s holding you in his arms, making out with you in the dark of your bedroom. It makes him feel very loved and secure like that.

Cheek kisses are alright, Sanemi doesn’t mind them. Quick pecks here and there make him grin slightly, but he prefers it when you kiss him properly.

Forehead kisses make him feel like a child. It’s not a good feeling for him since it reminds him how much he’s missing his mother. When you kiss him on the forehead, Sanemi would grimace, but not push you away.

Neck kisses make him shudder and blush, especially when you sneak up behind him and surprise him with them. He’d gasp and turn his head to you, asking what’s your problem. You just don’t know how sensitive his neck actually is, and the goosebumps you’re causing (and perhaps cause something to stiffen in his pants). But in return, Sanemi loves making you squirm under him while he kisses your neck, nibbling down here and there. Besides classic lip kisses, neck kisses are his favourite as well. Only if he’s not the one receiving them.

“Hey, you missed. Come kiss me properly.”

Hugs and cuddles: 9/10

Sanemi loves holding you for hours at a time. Cuddles are his absolute favourite activity to do with you, just holding you and caressing your back. Sometimes he’ll just lay there, caressing your face with his calloused fingers and admiring you and your sleeping beauty.

Hugs in general are nothing too special for him. He doesn’t really like initiating them since that’ll make him look desperate (according to him). But sometimes, Sanemi would lay in your bed and open up his arms for you to join him. If you do, you just fell into his trap. He would wrap the blanket around you and roll you in with him, forming a blanket burrito. Now, you’re forced to cuddle him until either of you has to go to the bathroom.

“No, you can’t leave. I don’t care if ya have plans, I’m your plans now.”

Affectionate biting/nibbling: 6/10

It confuses him. Is it a joke? Are you challenging him? Or just trying to annoy him? Sanemi doesn’t mind, even if you bite down hard, since he is pretty pain tolerant. He will flinch or yelp quietly when you nibble on his hand or shoulder out of nowhere but if you do it during cuddles, Sanemi will just eye you, quietly judging… He grumbles when you leave a hickey on him. It makes him embarrassed if he can’t cover it up. Surely the other hashira are going to tease him every day until it faded… and probably even longer.

As mentioned before, Sanemi will nibble on your neck during steamy make-out sessions. He likes leaving hickeys on your collarbone and neck and in other obvious spots, obviously marking you as his.

“Hey, stop biting or I’ll bite back. I mean it.”

Compliments: 6/10

Compliments about his appearance make him feel proud of himself. Sanemi will brush you off and hide his blushing face, but on the inside, he’ll feel more confident and prideful. Pointing out how cool his scars look will make him less insecure about them. As long as you like them, Sanemi thinks.

Complimenting his skill as a hashira and his breathing style will make him flustered. Now everytime Sanemi uses a breathing technique, the only thing he can think about is how pretty you found the visuals. They aren’t supposed to be pretty, they’re supposed to be intimidating, damn it!

“Tch. I ain’t cute... and I’m not fucking blushing!”

Kyojuro Rengoku

Kisses: 8/10

Regular kisses make Kyojuro blush just a little. Your soft lips on his feel like heaven to him, the way you cup his cheeks and pull him closer… He’ll return the kiss with extreme enthusiasm, making sure to either pull you a little closer and pour his love and passion for you into that act, or to place multiple pecks on your lips. Kyojuro just cant get enough!

Cheek kisses make him smile brightly and return the favour as well. After you finished kissing him, he’d place a hand on the area where you kissed him, feeling the lingering affection. Kyojuro feels like cheek kissed are convenient, meaning that whatever you are doing, he’ll find a way to steal your attention for just a moment by kissing your cheek randomly.

Forehead kisses feel intimidate and protective. Kyojuro would close his eyes and feel your lips on his forehead. In return, he also likes giving you forehead pecks. He’d cup your cheeks and tilt your head downwards for him, then place a warm and affectionate kiss on your skin.

Neck kisses make Kyojuro squirm. A lot. He doesn’t really like getting them. He jumps everytime he feels your breath on his neck… please don’t do this to him, his neck is just too sensitive and ticklish! Kissing your neck makes him nervous, so he’ll grow flustered everytime he does it.

“May I have another kiss? You forgot my other cheek!”

Hugs and cuddles: 9/10

Kyojuro loves, loves, LOVES cuddling you! He doesn’t care if he is sweating or you’re sweating, cuddling together with you is one of his most favourite things in the whole world. He adores holding you against his chest and taking in the feeling of feeling your skin against his. Sometimes, when you’re asleep, Kyojuro will just stare at your beautiful face. He’ll smile at himself and admire your beauty and think about how lucky he is. Kyojuro also likes warming you up with his warm body, especially in the winters. He’d pull you even closer and make sure that you two are properly wrapped in a blanket together and huddled up in the warmth.

He also adores giving out big bear hugs. Kyojuro would pick you up and spin you up in the air, holding you by your waist and just twirling him around. He’ll do that in public, in front of Shinjuro and Senjuro, in private and whenever he wants! Kyojuro loves you dearly and will demonstrate it everywhere! Even if it’s childish at times.

“Father look! I can lift her well above my head!”

“Put that poor woman down, you’re gonna drop her.”

Affectionate biting/nibbling: 8/10

Kyojuro doesn’t mind your random biting or nibbling. He probably does it himself! When you two cuddle together or simply make out a little, Kyojuro might switch over to kissing the top of your hand, nibbling down on it a little. He also likes nuzzling into your neck, biting down gently. He might even leave a little hickey here and there. Whenever you nibble or bite down onto his skin, he will laugh loudly and place a kiss onto your cheek.

“Do I taste good? I hope so!

Compliments: 7/10

Calling him handsome brightens his day almost as much you kissing his cheek. They make him grin and feel proud. He’ll push his chest out a little and blush, thanking you loudly for your kind words. Also, Kyojuro loves to compliment you. He is your biggest cheerleader and will support you with his words and actions however he can. If you’re feeling down, he’ll make sure to cheer you right back up with encouraging and kind words

“Thank you, my flame! Your words warm my heart!”

Gyomei Himejima

Kisses: 8/10

Kissing Gyomei anywhere proves to be quite a challenge. You can’t really reach his face without having him to kneel or sit down, therefor the only chance you have to kiss him is early in the mornings when you two lay together in bed. That’s where Gyomei is the cutsest, all sleepy and sluggish. His voice will be even deeper and raspier and his hair is messed up. In those early morning hours, you have the best opportunity to give him kisses.

Forehead kisses are his favourite since that is the area you can never reach him normally. He connects those kisses with the times you two lay in bed and hold each other and the times you smother him in affection.

Cheek kisses are feel nice, but aren’t his favourite. He likes to return the favour though and kiss you on your cheek. Gyomei especially finds it adorable when you ask him to lean down in order to kiss him. It makes him cry a little everytime.

Regular kisses are nice. He likes it when you ask him to lean down, cup his cheeks and kiss him on the lips. It does taste a little salty though, given how Gyomei starts crying when kissing you sometimes.

“Apologies for my tears, dear pearl. May I have another kiss?”

Hugs and cuddles: 9/10

Gyomei adores holding you close to his larger body. He likes being the big spoon, but his favourite position would be holding you while his head is nuzzling against your soft chest. That way, you can run your fingers through his hair and trace the muscles on his back. He loves the warmth you give him. Gyomei’s absolutely loves running his large palm over your body, tracing your features. His hand will linger on your waist and rub you up an down, then it will travel downwards to your buttocks (if you let him) and caress your backside a little, then it would go down to your thighs and gently squeeze you here and there.

Gyomei likes hugs a lot. Your hugs are cute to him and how you’re trying to wrap your arms around his whole waist. He will lean down slightly and hug you back, mumbling quiet affectionate words to you. Gyomei is the best hug giver.

“Your body is my temple. I’d like to worship you more, if you let me.”

Affectionate biting/nibbling: 7/10

When you nibble on his shoulder like that, your behaviour reminds him of a feisty cat. It’s adorable and Gyomei will let you to as you like. As a way to tease you a little, he may pat your head the same way he would pet a cat. Gyomei won’t do it in return. He doesn’t always give out hickeys, but he doesn’t mind having them. Knowing that you left a mark on him for everyone to see makes him smile sightly.

“What do you require? Would you like me to pet you?”

Compliments: 8/10

Gyomei starts crying when you praise him. He’ll thank you and compliment you as well, trying to please you. He doesn’t always know what exactly to compliment, given that he is blind, so he sometimes compliments something very random about you. Hearing you giggle after Gyomei points out that your hairstyle _feels_ different but better than yesterday makes him cry and smile at the same time. Your laugh is the sweetest melody to him.

Gyomei appreciates your praises and compliments and the encourage him to keep training.

“Your skin feels so soft, my beloved.”

Giyu Tomioka

Kisses: 7/10

Giyu tenses up everytime you surprise him with kisses. It’s not like he doesn’t like them, he’s just not used to get affection like that. But when you two are hanging out in private, maybe even making out, he’ll blush and return your kisses with eagerness. Your lips on his feel like heaven to him, or as close as he can get there.

Regular kisses on his lips make him blush brightly but he’ll eagerly try to reincorporate your affections by kissing you a well. Giyu isn’t very good at kissing though, but practise makes perfect! The more you kiss him, the better he’ll get.

Cheek kisses are one of his favourites. They don’t make him as flustered and they’re convenient. Giyu can just lean in and give you a quick peck on your cheek and remind you that he loves you lots. Sometimes, when you two sleep together in the same bed, Giyu’ll kiss your face all over.

Forehead kisses make him feel oddly secure and loved. When you cup his cheeks like that and lean in, kissing his forehead and playing with his hair a little. It makes his knees feel weak when you do that.

Neck kisses make him tense and flustered, especially when you sneak up on him. Giyu would let whimper your name and try to shoo you away, but give up after a while. He’ll try to stop himself from moaning…

“D-Don’t sneak up on me like that again. Ah…”

Hugs and cuddles: 8/10

Giyu likes cuddling you. It makes him feel safe and secure when you hold him in your arms like that. His favourite position is being the little spoon and you big spooning him, running your fingers through his black hair. Being held makes him feel incredibly relaxed and secure, being loved like this. His doubts about your relationships and insecurities vaporise for just a moment. He also loves to lay his head on your chest. In his opinion, that’s the best way someone could sleep at night. Giyu probably won’t initiate the cuddles himself, thinking you would just say yes to please him, but once you initiate the cuddles, he’ll happily oblige.

Hugs are a little complicated for him. He grows incredibly tense when you hug him in public. Giyu doesn’t really know what to do with his arms or hands, where to look or how to properly and respectfully breathe around you. He really is scared of making you uncomfortable or do something you might dislike. You’ll need to tell him that you’re perfectly comfortable with him hugging you back and hugging you at all. He can handle hugs in private a little better.

“Mh.. can we cuddle a little longer? I’m… still tired.”

Affectionate biting/nibbling: 3/10

Giyu will just eye you judgmentally. Why are you doing that? It hurts.

“Ouch… why did you do that?”

Compliments: 8/10

You make him feel better about himself when you compliment him. As an acknowledgement of your words, he’d nod his head and smile slightly. Sometimes Giyu has a hard tome believing your words, but by you insisting on them being true, he began accepting them more and more.

Giyu will try to give you a lot of compliments back, but they sometimes come out a little dry and not the way he planned on making them sound.

“You did well today. I appreciate your presence.”

💠

Hope you enjoyed this! My requests are open for the hashira as well as the demons. I am very picky with requests though and will only write the ones that truly speak to me- wich is actually most of them. :P

Note: 700 NOTES?? I am very surprised this took off so well- not that I am complaining. Thank you for all your reblogs, comments and likes <3 I appreciate every single one of you <33

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!

Take care of yourselves <3

[jiminrings]

fail-safe

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: growing up, your brother's best friend always berated you for not having a passion in life outside of loving him from afar. when yoongi leaves everything he's ever known for everything he's ever wanted, trying to move on from him becomes your biggest aspiration.

alternatively, yoongi left when you needed him the most, and comes back home at a time when you love him the least.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, eventual fluff, brother's best friend AND single dad au, So Much Yearning, unrequited love (initial), jealousy, self-deprecation, a lot of talk abt passion in an empty n hurtful way that most impassioned youngest children feel (it's a specific feeling idk!!!), eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: finally got to writing a new series!!! i'm beyond excited for this + this whole new concept and flow i haven't touched on before <3 i hope u love fail-safe as much as i do :-)

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! | series masterlist

Yoongi buys atleast one scratch ticket a week.

The accessibility of buying one is top-notch considering that all he has to do is cross the street, shoot one look to the cashier, and he can either already go hunch in the corner of the road or in the comfort of his room. The moment his coin takes its first dig and he realizes that he’s won yet again, he’s satisfied enough not to buy another ticket.

He doesn’t want to risk losing the win he’s just gained, the odds of him throwing out money besting his chances in adding to his earnings. He thinks everyone’s a little greedy one way or another, but it’s the righteous part of him that thinks he’s different.

You do think that he is for all the right reasons, your vision only tunneling for him alone. He’s this fixed older figure in your life and you can’t figure out how to shrug him off — he’s this generous leech that sucks all of the rationality from your mind but returns it to you twofold, whether in the form of him saying something unintentionally endearing that it makes your chest hurt, or through him having to lightly smack the back of your head.

Yoongi’s your older brother’s best friend and there’s a novelty tag that comes with him, one that can’t be topped by any material possession to your name. He’s there for you, not in the exact way you want him to be, but nonetheless there. He’s special and unattainable at the same time, the finiteness of his love barely extending to you.

He’s there when you want him to burn the latest songs onto a CD you’ve spent all your allowance in, and he’s there when you get annoyed that he sneaked some of his own recommendations in there. You’re there when you later admit that his suggestions aren’t half-bad, and you also happen to be there when he grins at the praise.

He’s there when Namjoon won’t cough up the last slice of his cutlet, not because he’ll actually give you his, but because he’ll help your brother guard his plate. You’d only have to mope for a solid of three seconds before the two of them give up both of their last slices, and you’re there when Yoongi insists for you to try the sauce in the spirit of going out of your routine.

You don’t need Yoongi every single time but in the event that you do, he hangs back. He contemplates and hesitates and doesn’t give in to every single whim that you have, but he’ll be there. He lingers like the last holiday ornament you don’t want to remove until it’s February, his presence being oddly similar to your favorite festivities.

Yoongi’s the equivalent of a holiday you look forward to with each passing month and day; he comes around to and for you in instances, but never even in your most sincere wishes.

“I buy one scratch ticket a week — three if I’m really feeling lucky. When my palms itch, that’s when I know that I really need to buy them.”

He’s calm and collected even when you’re scrunching your nose up at him in combined worry and disbelief, humming mindlessly as you collect your thoughts. He randomly told you about his lottery routine and you’re still trying to wrap your head around how he blows his money off just easily. Yoongi has the mind to put scrap cardboard under you because sitting on the hot concrete with your uniform on can’t possible be a good idea, but you try to play off your fluster into stubbornness.

He’s just playing with his two ever-present coins (lucky charms as he calls them)— one that’s shiny and minted in the present year, the other being the oldest coin he’s ever had that happens to be older than he is — while you mutter about.

“I don’t know, Yoongs. That might be a gambling problem,” you squint, your side comment being heard clearly as day. “Might be the symptoms for hand, foot, and mouth disease too.”

“What— I do not have a gambling problem! My skin’s perfectly fine too, thanks,” he defends, the light shove he gives you doing nothing to tone down your teasing.

“That’s what people with gambling problems say.”

“Give me that-…” he mutters, trying to wrestle you for the sundae he bought you using the money he won from his scratch ticket just awhile ago. You don’t give in easily, even if your laughs that come straight from your chest suggest otherwise. “You don’t get it. It’s just this nice, fun little thing I can look forward to every week. I always buy the cheapest version anyway so when I lose, it’s not a big deal.”

You relent (like you always do when it comes to Yoongi) in understanding, waving him off after regaining your breath. “Nah. I get it. We all have to do things so we wouldn’t lose our shit,” you trail, racking your head to find the right words.“Yours is buying scratch tickets, and mine is-…”

“Yours is what?” Yoongi raises an eyebrow, lips quirked in eagerness to know where you’re going with this. He can’t pinpoint a single thing he can attach to you and neither can you, your actual interests merely reflecting those of the people whom you love.

You love cross-stitching because your mom loves doing it, the tolerance you have for accidentally being pricked by the needle growing over time.

You enjoy playing badminton because Namjoon’s obsessed with the sport, no matter how ratty your rackets and shuttlecocks have become, and no matter how much he pushes you to ring the doorbell to your neighbor’s when he’s sent it flying to their backyard.

You’re probably an imposter yet you don’t feel like it. You don’t feel bad that your life most probably and will only revolve around your mom and Namjoon (maybe even Yoongi); you don’t feel dissatisfied that your life’s mundane. 

You go where your love goes.

“Mine is watching you buy scratch tickets,” you shrug easily as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, making him laugh heartily. You’ve probably done something right because he hauls you up to your feet immediately.

“Get up. I’m buying you your first ticket,” he nudges you, grabbing you by the arm in excitement.

“But I’m not even legal!” you half-heartedly argue, internally excited that you’re finally getting to try your hand at the lottery because you’ve spent a few hundred minutes of your life tuned to the channel to pass the time, awaiting the results for something you haven’t even betted for.

“Right. Like I haven’t seen you trying to squeeze out a drop of beer from our empty cans whenever Namjoon and I drink.”

“Rude,” you roll your eyes playfully, gathering your things from the ground.

“It’s okay. I’ll give you your first sip of beer too if you want,” Yoongi offers sincerely; easily as if you’ve just asked him about the weather.

He’s here to buy you your first scratch ticket, and he’s still here to offer giving you your first sip of liquor in the future.

Your family friend for a cashier vehemently ignores the fact that you’re still underage to participate in the lottery, and instead only chuckles to herself in amusement. She’s an aunt that knows when to step in and not to, and she knows you won’t be harmed by a mere bet. In fact, she knows you won’t be harmed by anything with Yoongi in tow.

“I already used up all my change,” your frown in realization, holding the ticket in your hands in despair despite having scoured your wallet repeatedly.

“Rub it against the pavement. That’s what I do,” Yoongi lies fluidly, a scoff being caught in his throat when you actually attempt to do it.  “I was only kidding, Y/N. Jeez,” he groans, pulling out his wallet. “Ugh. Here. You can have one of my lucky coins.”

It’s the old one, tarnished beyond relief that you can barely recognize what it’s actual value is supposed to be.

“Ew. I’m giving it back. It looks prehistoric,” you narrow your eyes, knowing that you don’t even have to put your fingers nears your nose to know that it’s already left a faint stench on them.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, a habit he can’t tell he’s formed himself or got from you. “If you use your brain for one second, you’d realize that it’s actually worth more because it’s older. Collectors would go crazy for that in the future.”

“That sounds like a hoarding problem.”

He’s just had about enough of your whining so he attempts to trade in the old coin for his lucky new one, but you stop him at the last minute with a meek smile.

“Kidding. Thank you. I’ll keep it safe, Yoongi. I promise,” you rush out before he changes his mind, scratching your ticket in silence.

He waits for you because you’re scratching so politely and neatly, a stark opposite to his experienced skill of scratching the paint off in ten strokes or less.

Your face is too close to the ticket that Yoongi can’t tell what’s happening, making him part your hair like a curtain to peek.

“Did you win?”

“Nope.”

“Let me throw that out for you.”

“No!” you squeak, keeping the ticket close to your chest. It’s a bummer that your first time is a loss, but it didn’t mean that you wanted to forget the sentiment behind it. “I-I mean no, I’ll keep it. It’s memorable now that I think about it.”

“Alright,” he shrugs carelessly, a smile breaking out in retaliation. “Hoarder.”

“Gambler,” you spit, tucking the ticket into your pencil case. “Next week again?”

Yoongi agrees, wrapping his head around the fact that he doesn’t have to be alone in his little routine every Friday.

“Sure.”

( ♡ )

You don’t mind getting hand-me-downs.

As a matter of fact, you love receiving them. The wear and tear of the things that came before you is only proof that it’s been loved enough to be passed on to you.

You adore your mother’s dainty vintage watch that she wore throughout college, the hardware and sentiment behind it being pretty enough that you don’t mind constantly getting the battery replaced. You like Namjoon’s shirts that he’s outgrown, even through the numerous phases he’s had wherein only denim and tie-dye filled his closet.

You don’t mind the history behind the numerous things you have in your home, unbothered that you’re probably the only house in the block with the oldest possible rice cooker. The chips in the staircase aren’t covered up with marker ink and neither are the loose stitches in the couch quilt snipped off. It’s home to your mother and Namjoon — if it’s good enough for them, then it’s already the best for you.

Even on top of everything, you don’t mind your family almost always getting you shirts and shoes that have an allowance in them. Your mom would go to Seoul and pick out the exact pair of sneakers you wanted that are atleast three sizes bigger than your actual feet, and you’d barely bat an eye. 

You don’t mind the coziness of things that are brought to you, because even if they weren’t offered, you’d seek them yourself. 

So when Yoongi mentioned that he’s decluttering his room and needed someone (read: you) to vacuum it up for him, you jump at the chance. You take a grocery bag with you, wear the nearest pair of slippers within your vicinity, and book it to his house as soon as he finished talking.

“Go crazy, kid. Almost everything in that pile is garbage so you can take anything.”

“I feel like I should be more offended than how I feel right now,” you hum, furrowing your eyebrows at the pile in front of you. It’s a mound of Yoongi, or atleast everything he’s ever wanted up until he decided to do a general cleaning of his bedroom.

Yoongi chuckles, going through his pile of clean laundry for him to fold on the side while you scavenge for his things. “It’s either I have you take them or I get ripped off at the thrift store, then I see somebody’s uncle wearing my shirt as an added insult.”

You huff, rummaging through his heap of belongings while conveniently trying to ignore that you may look like somebody’s uncle the moment you wear his clothes. Everything is him; every distressed cap, every unfinished embroidered shirt, and every item of old significance with his initials branded on it.

The thick gray hoodie you’ve been eyeing (along with its owner) for the better part of the last few years surfaces into your field of vision, your gasp audible enough to make him jolt because he thought you’d gotten hurt.

“No way, this too? But this is your favorite,” you half-complain and half-rejoice, turning the hoodie inside-out eagerly in the fear that there’s a catch to it belonging in the pile.

“Eh. I know it looked good on me but I don’t think it’s my favorite. Besides, I’ve bulked up! Wanna feel?” Yoongi grins, his segue eerily similar to your brother’s at every given chance. A neighbor from down the block recently opened a small-time gym, and the both of them have not been able to shut their mouths about it since. From their gossiping alone, Yoongi and Namjoon have generated enough advertising already.

“You and Namjoon really have to stop asking random people to feel your biceps.”

There’s random knick-knacks throughout the clump in the middle of his bed, some being too good and actually useful that you snag them. Yoongi lets you do what you want anyways (most of the time), not having to turn his head to berate you on what you’re only allowed to grab from his stuff.

You’re not greedy — you already have his hoodie and that should be enough on its own. But there’s that handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it, then that Rubik’s cube he swore his relative got for him from New York, and even the little butterfly knife he got from a souvenir shop when his family when to the beach.

There were those and there is this, looking up at you in all of its glory.

“Yoongi.” 

“What now?” he sighs at your dramatic gasp, looking up from his folded laundry to see what you were going on about. It takes a second for him to fully realize why exactly were you so pumped.

“Are you serious? Your helmet?” you squeal, already hugging the shiny red mass close to you. “Does this mean you’re passing your motorcycle to me?!”

“Are you crazy? Fuck no,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, snatching his helmet back from you. He doesn’t miss the bratty frown that fills up your entire face; he’s not exactly the biggest fan whenever you were upset or angry; maybe even both. “Obviously I forgot I even put my helmet there when I made that pile.”

You whine, stomping your feet in exasperation. You would dramatically plop down on his bed if only it wasn’t full of his shit. “Come on! You told me you were teaching me as soon as you finish teaching Joon.”

“Teaching you how to ride my scooter is not the same as giving you it. Why would I just hand you what I bought with my hard-earned money?” Yoongi scrunches his nose, tone sharper than what he intended.

“But you still haven’t taught me,” you murmur to placate yourself and dissuade yourself from the delusion that Yoongi would even exert such an effort for you because of course — why would he do that for you?

You have an inkling that you’re being irrational for all the wrong reasons, perhaps even projecting your need to be looked after… by him.

Yoongi notices your mood that turned sour quickly, the silence between you becoming loaded. He didn’t mean to be that blunt. “I don’t think you’re even old enough to have your driving permit,” he adds in consolation, voice considerably softer.

You snicker lowly, still looking at your feet with your arms crossed. “But I’m old enough to backpack whenever you need me to carry shit that can’t fit in your carrier.”

He immediately groans at your comeback, his furrowed eyebrows mirroring yours. “You’re so stubborn.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” you retort, knowing for a fact he’s known how to drive even before he was eligible for permits and licenses and whatnot. 

Yoongi takes one, two seconds to himself to regain his composure, clearing his head in the process. You’re still not looking at him and you’re pouting and you don’t even notice the latter, making him crack a small smile.

“I will teach you next week.”

“Oh my-…”

He cuts you off, raising his hand in emphasis. “Provided that you listen to everything I say and wear full gear at all times. You clearly don’t have a job yet-…”

“Ouch.”

“And I don’t have the extra money to buy full gear for myself, so what you’ll do is bundle up with your padded coat and the thickest jeans you have,” Yoongi enunciates every word, eyes keenly on you. They’re too wide and alert, you actually feel like listening to him.

“You go on rides wearing your pajamas.”

“Just say ‘thank you, Yoongi’.” 

“You haven’t done anything yet,” you trail off, head tilting in confusion. 

You’ve had a million conversations like this with Yoongi before but of different fonts; worn, familiar, and warm.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” he mouths, nodding at you to do the same. He won’t stop until you utter them back to him, and you know you won’t go home either without giving him your gratitude as you always do.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you relent, the grin that breaks through your lips being infectious enough that he laughs lowly to himself.

He exhales all the worries he has and could possibly ever have seeing you ride the motorcycle (or for you yearning to do everything that he does), grasping at whatever sanity he has left from looking after you.

“You can have the helmet.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi knows the ins and outs of your home.

He’s been at your house too much to the point that your mom already gave him a spare key and nobody batted an eye about it. He has his own designated slippers at the entryway too, something you would only use in a hurry if you needed to sign off on a package.

Yoongi, for some reason unfathomable (not really; you can tell exactly why because your mom is an extremely warm and inviting person), also has the power of dibs on the food in your fridge. He’d put strips of masking tape with his name on food that’s neither brought in nor made for him in the first place. 

It should be off-putting — the way that for too many yet too little reason, Yoongi has become a prominent figure in your life even if you didn’t ask him to. You should be peeved that you have to set up four plates more often that you set up only three; you should be annoyed at some point that when you wake up at random times through the night, you’re not totally alone to begin with.

You shouldbe angry at Yoongi to a degree because he’s in your life and you don’t get to have a say on how he stays in it. The only problem is that you’re not, and probably never will.

“Can’t sleep?” you mutter as you look up from your strikingly clear paper, seeing Yoongi strut across the floor with a casualness that only real occupants of the house should supposedly possess. He has his brows furrowed at you as if he didn’t expect to see you in your living room, scratching his head in wonder.

“Why are you up?”

“Stressed,” you sigh, giving up altogether in attempting to make yourself look busy. Yoongi drives by your fridge to get himself a can of beer, finally seating himself beside you on the floor. 

“Stressed about what? I’m sure it’s not about studying,” he snorts, unsurprised at your paper and the clear lack of motivation behind it. You only roll your eyes at him and he has half a mind to not remind you to not do it so much, the frown in your face reminding him that you really were frustrated.

It is you to throw the occasional tantrum, but he remembers that it was only when you were young; when Namjoon would whisper gibberish to his ear and purposely not whisper to yours just so he could tease you, or when nobody would believe that you taught yourself how to ride a bike with no training wheels. You didn’t know how to do the latter at all, but what had made you throw a tantrum was that nobody believed you.

You notice Yoongi’s digs, of course. You notice each one of his more than unsubtle nods to your intelligence and whatnot, the shots at your intellect not flying over your head like he expected them to.  You admit that you’ve never been that scholastic; you weren’t born a genius and you don’t try exactly hard either.

Yoongi’s only joking but you can’t help but to think that he’s pertaining to something deeper, his constant digs at your lack of a passion making you sluggish.

“We have to write this essay,” you answer simply, your tone straightforward and unwilling for banter but Yoongi bites anyway.

“But essays are the easiest,” he trails, looking at you the whole time as he takes a sip of his beer.

You exhale heavily because no matter what, he just can’t seem to get it. Yoongi knows where you’re coming from but he doesn’t know where you’re headed. As a matter of fact, you don’t know where you’re headed either. “We have to write an essay about where we see ourselves ten years from now.”

“But that’s still easy.”

“If it’s so easy, then go write it for me,” you snicker, leaning back with a huff. He constantly undermines you and although you own up to your striking mundaneness from time to time, it didn’t mean that you liked being looked down on. Yoongi’s too used to you being yourself, he gets taken aback when you grow sick of your own.

He gathers all his willpower, far from being sleepy unlike you who would’ve been lulled to sleep if only you weren’t dead-set on arguing with him. “You know what? I actually will,” he claps, handing you his beer. “Go hold this for me.”

Yoongi grips your pen for dear life like you hold his beer, his hand warm as he works from sheer determination alone (he’s not competing with anyone except for whatever expectation you have for him and your paper), while yours was cold just holding his drink.

You’ve been so quiet that he actually gets curious, turning his head to check to see if you’ve dozed off when actually, it’s just you eyeing the can.

“No one’s watching,” Yoongi breaks you out of your thoughts, carelessly shrugging. He cares and he’s far too concerned for you, but he figures that nothing would hurt you so long as he can grasp you. “It’s okay. You can have your first sip.”

You blink owlishly at him and when he jokes about taking it back, you take your first swig of beer in a panic. Yoongi only shakes his head in amusement, pausing his writing just to see the look on your face.

“One more?” he asks right after he sees you wince, the unbearable sweetness yet bitter, stinging aftertaste of the beer making you shudder. 

You have the urge to wash off the taste with ice cold water (you’ll even drink from the tap because you’re so desperate), but you resist it just so you wouldn’t look like a weakling in front of him. You wave him off with a bitterness, upset that beer doesn’t taste like what you’ve always imagined it to be. “Just write my essay for me,” you mull over the taste in your tongue, in deep thought while you stare at Yoongi’s back ahead of you. “Do all beers taste that way?”

“Eh. Most of them do. You develop a taste for it later on,” he answers, taking the can back from you before drinking it himself. He looks too dedicated in writing your essay, only goading the curiosity in you to peek over his shoulder.

He knows you, both in heart and memory, because he shields your own paper from you when he sees your shadow hovering above him.

“Yoongi?”

“Hm.”

“I told you why I’m up. Why are you up?”

He’s silent entirely, the only indication that he heard your question being his hand pausing abruptly. Yoongi doesn’t answer, and you don’t ask again. “Don’t worry about it.”

You take his answer to heart, dozing off on the couch before you know it. You don’t remember a blanket being placed on you, nor can you remember preparing your backpack for school the next day.

Your paper’s neatly tucked into your portfolio bearing handwriting that’s clearly not yours, but with a sentiment that’s similar nonetheless. You read through everything quickly before even stepping towards your teacher, the tips of your fingers just as cold as Yoongi’s beer last night.

You’ve committed the paper into your memory, even until the last part with an excerpt you can’t forget despite having passed the paper already. You don’t know what to feel because it’s Yoongi who’s speaking for you, detailing that ten years from now, you will still be your mother’s daughter and your brother’s sister.

He wrote your essay either for you or in behalf of you, and you can’t tell which one is better.

Yoongi, who knows the ins and outs of your home and the peaks and troughs of your heart, writes in clear handwriting — Ten years from now, I will still be Yoongi’s rock.

( ♡ )

Surprisingly, Yoongi hasn’t been around that much lately.

Even Namjoon (who you consider as his Siamese twin) is clueless to why his friend hasn’t been hanging out with him lately to do either everything or nothing, confused because they’re enrolled to the same classes all the way to the same part-time jobs, yet Yoongi’s been mostly unavailable.

When Yoongi is, however, he doesn’t speak at all about his previous absences. He comes as if he’s never disappeared a few times before that, his evasion to talk about his presence being apparent even if you’ve asked him directly.

You’re getting used to his new routine of hanging out with you only when the both of you are free, no longer moving mountains for both of your schedules to line up. He’s more present this month than he was at the last, the criteria for it being how many times you bump into him in your own home.

Despite all odds and evens though, Yoongi can’t get used to your silence. He knows you hold grudges longer than your brother, and the last time that he checked, he knows you’ve already let go of your annoyance for him suddenly being unavailable without any explanation. 

It’s late, only the two of you are awake in the living room, there’s ten scratch tickets on the table for you to share, and he’s even gotten you your own glass to which he’ll put a controlled amount (a grand total of two long sips) of his own beer in. You’re not stressing about an essay this time, but the unconscious pout on your face is still the same.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

The frown on your face only goes deeper at being found out, the scratch of your lucky coin being the only clear thing that Yoongi hears. 

“My best friends want to have this slumber party,” you sigh, more upset about what you’ve just uttered than you are happy about the cash prize you’ve just won.

Yoongi takes what you say at face-value, groaning at his third straight loss for the night. “That’s great. Wear cute pajamas, snap a couple of polaroids, don’t be the first to fall asleep and last to wake up, and just keep a pocket knife with you when you’re going out by yourself.” 

The awe (and slight concern) over what he said should roll in any time now.

You should be comforted at Yoongi’s words because they’re supposed to ease the swirl of your stomach, even if what he just said is a repackaged version of what your family said before. You should let go of your worries because Yoongi, of all people, says that it’s supposed to be great.

Instead, you feel neither of what you think Yoongi wants you to.

“Was it something I said?” he mumbles after some time, turning his nose up at you as he tries to retrace his words. “I have an extra pocket knife you can borrow if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“We’re gonna be talking about boys, Yoongi,” you screw your eyes shut, sighing into the palms of your hands with a heaviness. “We’re gonna talk about crushes and experiences and all that.”

He shudders at that, his reaction mirroring Namjoon’s when you tried opening up to him. You get your brother’s reaction to a degree, of course, because you feel as if you’d be disgusted too if the roles were reversed. You want to talk about it with your mom too, but at the end of the day, she’s your parent and you just can’t talk about anything and everything with her. 

Yoongi’s your next plausible option.

“Do you want some ice cream right now? You know what, I’ll buy you-…” Yoongi tries to evade the topic altogether, his attempt of escaping feeble as you drag him down by his hoodie.

“I haven’t had my first kiss yet.”

“Heh.”

Yoongi shrugs at that, regaining his words when you deadpan at him. “So? What about it?”

You starfish on the floor at that out of frustration, the whine you’ve been bottling up coming out in the open because as usual, Yoongi doesn’t get it. “I-I’m probably the only one in my grade who hasn’t kissed someone yet! I can’t just lie carelessly because obviously, they’ll ask around.”

“So?” Yoongi chuckles, his breeze towards your state shocking you. “What’s it to them if you haven’t had your first kiss?”

“You don’t get it,” you grit through your teeth, crossing your arms so hard that it feels hard to inhale.

“I’m pretty sure I do,” he sing-songs, drinking the last of his beer. When you’re not looking though, he plans to either drink or chuck the remainder of your share because he doesn’t want you to develop a taste for it.

The anger you have for Yoongi bubbles up once again, the itch in your throat unbearable. You’re presented with the age gap between you once more, along with the raging emptiness in you that Yoongi’s reached so far and you’ve reached so little.

“You don’t get it because you’ve had all of these experiences when you were younger than my age right now,” you snap, although you don’t look at him when you do. If you do look at him though, you’ll only be reminded of how a face like his could have everything in this world — even a first kiss you’ve never had.

“Yeah, and so?” he knits his brows, growing defensive. You weren’t lying at all, but he still feels a little offended at the dig. He’s not not proud of it, but with the way you say it, it’s like you want him to burn in shame,

“Stop saying so,” you angrily mumble in frustration, a little breathless because you still don’t ease up on crossing your arms.

Yoongi straightens his posture, staring you down with his jaw set. He’s stern as he is, nostrils flaring in irritation. “No, Y/N. I’m genuinely asking — so what? What’s it to you if I had my first kiss at a younger age? What about it if everyone else in your grade has kissed someone and you haven’t? It’s not the end of the world.”

“I-I don’t know! It’s just unfair!” you let up, yielding to both the facts that Yoongi’s right with it not being the end of the world, and that you’re still entitled to feeling upset.

“Instead of spending time obsessing over your first kiss, maybe I don’t know,  try being productive? You’re heading to college soon and you haven’t even thought of a career,” Yoongi goes off on you, making you roll your eyes automatically. There he goes again with the great big push of trying to push you into your supposed passions in life. “Someone else’s luck doesn’t mean it’s already your misfortune.”

“But it is.”

You say it so definitively, you almost convince him. You have your principles and so does Yoongi, but not everyone else. You have your principles yet you don’t have the luck. You’re not getting anywhere in life just like Yoongi or anyone else who was remotely born into wealth, no matter how quiet or obvious.

You can’t pursue something that interests you in the slightest without thinking what would come out of it. You can’t think of a degree and a course you’ll stick with, enough to do for the rest of your life because the only other option is to fail completely if you don’t. You have no plan and no passion and you don’t know if you’ll ever amount to anything to anyone at all.

By all means, you don’t agree with Yoongi this time. Someone else’s luck is your misfortune, in the same way that his first kiss doesn’t mean that it’s yours.

The sidetrack to your argument is a closed case already, judging by your downcast gaze. “I just have to put myself out there, that’s all. My first kiss doesn’t even have to mean anything. I just want to have it,” you admit, shoulders relaxing.

“Don’t,” Yoongi groans, the opposite of you as his whole body tenses.

He thinks that you don’t get him at all.

“What do you meandon’t?”

Your argument’s long-over (atleast you thought it was) but Yoongi’s getting more agitated by the minute, the disbelief on his face throwing you off. “Don’t do things just because you feel like you have to! Are you even hearing yourself right now?”

“I don’t want to be left behind, Yoongi! That’s all I’m trying to get at,” you raise your hands in surrender, shrugging thoughtlessly — it makes him want yell into a paper bag in exasperation. “I don’t want to be picked last. I don’t want to not be wanted.”

Yoongi exhales, screwing his eyes shut. It stays silent like that for a little while; him calming himself down, and you scratching your tickets. The calm doesn’t stay for long because you open your mouth carelessly, again.

“Can you be my first kiss?”

“Are you insane?”

“Ugh.”

You go back to your fourth scratch ticket, pouting in disappointment. You’re unfazed about the win that’s probably the largest sum you’ve had ever since you started doing the lottery.

You’re upset and you’re sick in the stomach but you stay silent like you never asked Yoongi to be your first kiss; it’s like you haven’t indirectly admitted to him that you love him enough, more than so, to want him to be your first.

You’re about to scratch the final ticket when Yoongi juts his hand out, fingers barely brushing yours to stop you.

“On second thought, don’t scratch that. Just keep it.”

“Because you want to turn me into a hoarder too?” you snicker, heeding his suggestion regardless.

“Because I’m not going to be right about everything,” Yoongi mumbles, looking at you with a solemnness you can’t decipher.

You try until the solemnness turns into pity.

“Still don’t want to be my first kiss?”

Yoongi softly laughs to your face, smiling as he lets you down — whether easily or harshly, you can’t tell.

“You already know what I’m going to say.”

( ♡ )

You’d like to think that you’re not kept in the dark about most things.

You already know that although your mom hasn’t had any relationships since your dad left, she still has plenty of suitors. Some of them are the reason why you have random food deliveries in the middle of the dinner that she’s already cooked, some have sucked up to her by getting you and Namjoon gifts. 

You know about Namjoon’s growing love for football, even with the lessons he takes in secret because he didn’t want to trouble your mom for the money. It’s why he does his part-time job and why you’re looking for one anyways. You don’t want nor need much, so you almost always give him the remainder of your allowance by the end of each week.

Yoongi, on the other hand, you don’t know much about. You know that he’s an only child with a doting mom who works overseas and a rich but emotionally unavailable dad at home, and that’s about it. His home life is synonymous with yours, considering that your four walls have become an extension of his.

Maybe you’ve become too lenient on him — either that, or he’s become too disrespectful. It’s at times like these where your house is not his home, sickeningly so that you don’t want it to be yours either.

Yoongi is a sight to behold as he makes out with a half-naked girl on your bed, in your room. Your room has never been the neatest but with everything going on, it feels that it’s become the dirtiest that it’s ever been. Your house slippers are on the floor even if you always leave them by the entryway, and your sheets are a mess despite being one of the only things you try to keep folded in the room.

You’re angry, too much to the point that the words get caught in your throat. They catch onto bile and venom and everything at once, the strain in your voice heard when you yell.

“What the fuck?!”

Yoongi and the girl, whom you figure out to be Hyewon that he’s shared his first kiss with, jolt in unison. Hyewon’s scared shitless while Yoongi’s annoyed to death, the grunt he lets out pricking your ears further. “Sorry, sorry. She’s my best friend’s sister. She’s so annoying,” he drags you out of your room before he even gives you the entitlement to storm out of there in a fit of rage, seeing red the longer that he seems upset at you.

“What the fuck was that, Yoongi?” you grit through your teeth, the moment of you seeing red turn into white because you’re so frustrated that you could actually cry. Your chest’s heavy, not only out of rage, but out of everything that’s built up in the course of years.

“Can you keep it down?” Yoongi seethes, pursing his lips. “What, would you rather see us do it in the living room?”

“In the — what? Who do you think you are? This isn’t even your house, why are you bringing these girls here?” you point an accusing finger at him yet he doesn’t back away, his annoyance for you only growing tenfold.

He’s in the wrong no matter which way you look at it yet he doesn’t realize it, the epiphany that Yoongi genuinely thinks he’s in the right for doing this to you making your skin burn in fire.

“This is literally the first time I’ve ever done this! I can’t bring her back to my place, my dad has guests over!”

“So your smartest idea is to fuck someone in my bed?”

“Oh, you’re welcome. It’s the most action your four walls have ever seen,” he spits sarcastically, eyes narrowing at you. It takes little effort for him to dig up what you came to him for in worry and it terrifies you. The facet of Yoongi who had sternly told you that it was okay to be left behind if it means getting what you deserve, resembling nothing like him at the moment.

“I can’t believe you!” you whisper as you tremble, the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. “I told you that in confidence.”

“In confidence? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re not exactly a catch, Y/N.”

You clench your jaw so hard that it hurts, you ball your fists so tightly that it stings.

You leave your home without saying another word.

.

.

.

Namjoon’s panicked.

He came home a little later than usual because he had maximized the life out of his soccer lessons, only getting the signal to leave when the lights were turned off. He was only slightly worried at the first place because he was supposed to cook dinner for the both of you, but he placated himself by realizing that you’re not the baby that he still thinks you are — you could cook dinner for yourself if you were hungry already.

He thinks nothing of it. In fact, he just makes a quick stop at the convenience store so the both of you could indulge in a liter of ice cream without your mom urging to leave some for another night. You could think of a recipe from scratch (and it almost always works out at the end), so Namjoon walked in fully thinking he’ll get to sniff whatever concoction you have.

Except, he walks into a completely dark house, and that’s when he panics.

He can’t find your slippers by the entryway and you’re not in your room either. You’re not at the other convenience store hunched over taking your chances on scratch tickets, and you’re not out on the street either going people-watching.

The panic rises in him the more that Namjoon grasps this is the first time that this has ever happened and he doesn’t know why. He’s always made an effort to be absorbed into both your personal and academic affairs, and as far as he knows, you’re neither in a sleepover nor on a field trip somewhere.

Namjoon thinks it’s his fault someway somehow, and the guilt can’t fully dissipate from him until he sees you.

“Hey, Yoongi,” he breathlessly gasps the moment his friend answers, the latter being surprised because he thought it was you who was calling him after what happened awhile ago.

It’s his fault and he’s realized that hours too late, and the selfish part of him thinks that it’s you calling at ten in the evening begging for forgiveness.

“What’s up, man? It’s late,” he wonders out loud, thinking for a second if they were too much of the Siamese twins that you tease them to be because he can’t think of a rational reason why Namjoon would call him at this time of night.

Namjoon raggedly exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’m just wondering if you’ve seen Y/N by any chance?”

Yoongi’s heart drops so loudly that Namjoon thought for second that his friend had hung up on him, his urgency being shared the moment that he asked.

“What? Y/N isn’t home?” Yoongi asks in disbelief, immediately being filled with anxiety and disbelief. Just awhile ago, the two of you were arguing outside of your room. He did hear you leave, but he had fully expected for you to be back hours ago. He’s wracked with guilt all over, the drop in his chest amplified by the pit in his stomach.

“She’s not. Practice ran late and I-I know she’s responsible so I didn’t hurry home,” Namjoon recalls, being more and more frazzled by the second. “She left her phone here, and mom isn’t here either because she’s visiting my grandparents, a-and I don’t want to call her because I know she’ll be worried, a-and-…”

Yoongi interrupts him, the tremble in his fingers only enabling him to dig his nails into his palm deeper. “I’m coming over. Let’s look for her together.”

It barely takes a minute for the both of them to come together, not even exchanging any pleasantries with each other before Yoongi steps on the gas. 

Namjoon’s filled with guilt, the type that only a sibling could carry as a burden. He thinks he was too selfish — too accustomed to pulling your own weight that it must have given you the impression that you had no other choice but to. Whatever it was that made you leave out of the blue, Namjoon thinks he could’ve done more. He should’ve came home and made you dinner as promised, for starters. He’s guilty over the fact that he’s the only close familial male figure in your life and he let this happen, as he makes Yoongi put his headlights on high-beam, scanning for anyone that looks remotely like you.

Yoongi, on the other hand, is filled with a guilt he can’t even begin to explain. It corrodes him from the inside-out in realization that he’s to blame for your sudden disappearance, the fact that Namjoon comes to him first to help find you not helping at all. If only your brother knew what he had done to you, he’s positive that he’ll be on the receiving end of a punch — what gets him more is that Yoongi wouldn’t blame him at all.

They see you in the bus stop two cities away, dressed in the same clothes you ran out with. 

Namjoon’s relieved beyond compare while Yoongi’s fuming, his hands tucked inside his jacket to prevent himself from squeezing you into an embrace; neither of you deserve it. 

There’s an underlying anger within Namjoon, one that lies behind the back of his throat as he checks you over for any injuries. The two of you walk ahead to Yoongi’s car while he himself trails behind, his heart significantly calmer than it was the past hour, yet nowhere near normal.

“Wanna tell me what you did?” your brother hums, trying to exhale the worry that’s embedded into him with each squeeze he gives around your shoulders.

“Went to the convenience store, bumped into my friends, then we took this impromptu roadtrip to go to the night market, then we all had our first actual shot of liquor and not just beer, my friend who owns the car turned out to be a lightweight, and now everyone just has to commute home,” you narrate in recollection, squeezing Namjoon back to try and ground him.

“Okay,” he answers simply, nodding. “Wanna tell me what happened before you did all those things?”

The breathless chuckle that leaves you is empty, void of any amusement at all. You smile nonetheless, unable to placate both yourself and Namjoon. “Nope.”

You arrive in silence to Yoongi’s car, the words unsaid between the three of you generating more tension than your brief disappearance itself.

Yoongi opens the front door for you, but you settle for sitting in the backseat.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 WICKED LOVE WILL LEAVE ME BLIND

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dangerous games are played between you and dazai during one of the most important events of the year for the japanese underworld. you're never this risky, not when your reputation is on the line, but fuck being near him just seems draw out all of the worst in you.

(wordcount: 4.5k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia member!reader, jealous!dazai, possessive!dazai, public sex, spitting, unprotected sex, gagging dazai w/your panties, switch!dazai, switch!reader. lmk if anything is missing!)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: WOOWWWWWWW u all can thank tumblr user mioblobby for this one, she sent in an ask 3 days ago and this consumed me so badly that i dropped all of my wips to write this. anyway, enjoy dazai & pmreader being absolute FREAKS in public

His gaze hasn’t left you once all night. You can feel it dark and heavy from where he’s leaning against a wall on the opposite side of the room, black coat hanging around his shoulders and a cold, unapproachable expression on his face, looking every bit the wraith people claim him to be. 

Chuuya is off somewhere to your side, smooth talking two of Mishima’s daughters, surely planning to end the night in one of their beds to get those loose lips moving about the meeting that their father had with Cao Xueqin of the Red Chamber two weeks ago, something he’s been unnervingly tight lipped about when Mori pried. 

You’re entertaining two of the younger members of Mishima’s upper echelon, Abe Kimifusa and Ibuse Masuji—they can’t be much older than you, early twenties max, and they’re delighted by the attention you’re giving them. Ibuse is half hanging off your shoulders, arm wrapped around you, too many drinks in as he leans in close and laughs at some comment Abe makes about one of their fellow executives. You smile idly as you listen, resting against him as you take in their words, trying to pretend to be engaged with the conversation to not give away how you’re hyper-focused on a certain black-haired executive in the distance. 

Usually, he would join you and Chuuya in your attempts to gather some easy intel on the Sun and Steel—that’s what he’s done the past year and a half, at least, targeting some of the older members of Mishima’s upper echelon who would sell half of their organs and their soul for a night with the untouchable Demon Prodigy. The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth now, knowing what he told you, but you still can’t help but be a little surprised that he’s not even trying to put up a facade of charm and wit, rather spending his time skulking in the shadows watching you, especially when his usual targets are so blatantly staring at him, waiting for him to make a move.

You think it’s hypocritical the way you’re so pleased over the fact that he’s not entertaining anyone tonight, because the thought of him letting any of those men drape themselves all over him like Ibuse currently is with you leaves a very sour taste in your mouth.

You also think that’s why you’re letting Ibuse take it as far as he has—to see Dazai get wound up about it. You don’t typically let people get touchy with you unless you plan on taking them to bed, and you have absolutely no intention of fucking Ibuse Masuji. He’s pretty enough with dark hair and a nice smile, but too stupid for your taste—maybe that’s a good thing though, if he’s already so loose-lipped now with only a few drinks in him, you can’t imagine how much he’d let slip in a post-orgasm induced haze.

You start to reconsider your decision on Ibuse, looking up at him contemplatively as he makes a snide comment about Kamatsu Sakyo—an older executive of the Sun and Steel, one of the ones you know have spent a night, or more, with Dazai, so your smile is a bit more genuine when you hear the way Ibuse drags him for being incompetent and useless.

“The older generation has to go,” Ibuse hisses, shaking his head as his arm tightens around you, leaning back against the wall. “They’re running us into the fucking ground. That fucker Kamatsu wants us to take that deal from the Red Chamber-”

“Masuji,” Abe warns, giving you a careful look, not as drunk as his companion. You raise your eyebrows at the comment from Ibuse, looking at him questioningly.

Ibuse waves off Abe haphazardly. “The Port Mafia did it right,” he says bluntly, taking another sip of his drink. “Wiped out the whole old regime after the previous boss died. That’s what the Boss should’ve done when he took over from his father. All of these old fucks need to drop dead.”

“The meeting with Xueqin went that poorly?” you ask casually, sure to keep the interest out of your tone as you look up at Ibuse.

“Don’t even get me started,” Ibuse scoffs. “That fucker wants-”

You’re careful to keep the irritation off your face when you hear the telltale sound of Mishima preparing to give his annual ‘thank you, fruitful alliances ahead!’ speech that always bores you to tears. Next to you, Ibuse sighs and pulls his arm off of you, pushing off the wall.

“We’ve gotta go up there with him. I’ll find you later?” he asks you, eyes a bit too hopeful, voice eager as he waits for your response.

“Definitely,” you say—the things you do for information.

With most of the attendees of the ball distracted by Mishima’s speech, you slip away to make your way over to the far corner where Dazai is waiting. Still, he tracks you—from the moment you make your subtle escape from the crowd until you’re standing right in front of him in the shadows where he’s lingering, his gaze remains trained on you, intense in a way that lets you know that he’s unhappy, if the way his jaw is tight didn’t.

“You’ve been having fun tonight,” he drawls, voice low as he looks down at you, arms folded across his chest.

“Is that what it seemed like?” you say lightly, taking a step closer, casting one last glance behind you to ensure that all eyes are pinned on Mishima before hooking your fingers into his belt loops to tug him closer to you. “At least I’m doing my job properly then.”

“It’s your job to let Mishima’s whore of an executive drape himself all over you?” Dazai tilts his head to the side, one hand sliding behind you to close the small distance between the two of you, leaving your chest pressed to his.

No, you let that drag on just because you could tell how irate Dazai was becoming over it, but Dazai doesn’t have to know that. So instead, you play coy.

“I have appearances to keep up,” you say, tilting your head up with a simpering smile, enjoying the way his gaze immediately darts down to your lips, lingering there before he has to forcibly drag it back up to your eyes. “You know that.”

“Yeah?” Dazai hums, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His gaze drifts above you. “Maybe I should be making more of an effort with appearances then, Kamatsu has had his eye on me all night.”

Your eye doesn’t twitch at his words, but your grip on his belt loops tightens. “You don’t want to play that game with me, Dazai,” you warn, keeping your voice deceptively mild.

“And why is that?” Dazai drawls, looking too smug for your liking as he looks down at you as if realizing how much his threat bothered you.

“Because I’ll win,” you say easily, fingers slipping from his belt loops to slide your hands up and down his sides before settling them on his slim hips, relishing in the way his lashes flutter at your touch. “You know that. It’s unlike you to pick losing battles.”

“I won’t lose,” Dazai says with a scoff, and you walk him backward until the back of his knees hit a chair, guiding him back to sit down in it as Mishima finally starts a long-winded speech that’s going to last at least twenty or thirty minutes.

You give Dazai another teasing smile as you stand in front of where he’s sitting, lifting your hand to his chin, tilting his face up toward you. You lean down, lips brushing his as you murmur, “You already have.”

“Have I?” Dazai asks, amused. He unconsciously leans forward to capture his lips with yours but you shift just out of reach before he can, raising your eyebrows pointedly at the annoyed look he gives you.

You make quick work of undoing his tie, slipping it from his neck before wrapping it loosely around your wrist, hyper aware of the way his gaze is trained sharply on your face, studying your every move. You bring your other hand back up to his face, cupping his cheek gently, and your breath catches as he leans into your touch, eye lidded as he looks up atwith you. He tilts his head to the side to press his lips against your palm, keeping eye contact as he lifts his hand to cover yours, shifting it so he can graze his lips against the pulse point on your wrist.

“You have,” you agree, grateful that your voice isn’t as breathless as you feel from the combined intensity of his gaze and his lips on your skin.

“How so?” Dazai looks entirely too smug, probably can feel the way your pulse is racing under his touch, and you itch to wipe the smugness right off of his face.

“I’m meeting Ibuse after this speech,” you tell him, now entirely too smug yourself as Dazai expression drops and goes icy, fingers stiffening from where his hand is still pressed over yours. “Need to get him to spill about the meeting with the Red Chamber, he already started getting into it before. If I get him alone, we’ll know everything we need.”

“Go ahead,” Dazai sounds deceptively calm, you’d almost believe he didn’t care if the look in his eye didn’t betray him, cold and promising bloodshed. “I’ll kill him.”

“You’ll start a war,” you say absently, the tips of your fingers brushing through his dark hair.

“I don’t care,” Dazai replies, and you know that he’s serious—it should worry you, he could throw all of your work with the Sun and Steel out the window in a split second, but instead you only find yourself giddy, tongue pressing behind your teeth and a smile curving at your lips as you look down at him.

“Careful, Dazai,” you breathe out, “almost sounds like you care.”

He does care, you know that and he knows that, but he refuses to admit it out loud. Refuses to put a label on anything between the two of you. You think it’s his way of maintaining some semblance of control over things; he thinks that if he actually admits what’s going on between the two of you, it’ll be a loss of control over himself that he can’t afford. 

As if threatening to start a gang war with the Mafia’s most important ally because you’re planning to sleep with someone for vital information isn’t a loss of control in itself. 

You also think it might have to do with the broken gasps he’d let out over the phone during the assassination plot on you a few weeks ago, when he thought that he’d miscalculated and they called his bluff, that they were going to get to you and no one was going to be able to get there in time to protect you. 

“Everything I never want to lose is always lost the moment I obtain it.”

You wonder, maybe, if he thinks that not making things official with you is his way of protecting both you and himself. 

But it’s fucking frustrating. It’s frustrating dealing with his hot and cold—days where he’s so clearly enamored with you, spending hours laid up with you admiring you while you do work, looking at you with eyes that should only be reserved for long time lovers, and then there are days where he can hardly bring himself to look at you, avoiding you at every given chance, cold and aloof. It’s frustrating, and it’s exhausting, you just want to be with him.

His eye darkens, jaw clicking at your words, but he doesn’t respond other than that.

You’re not sure what exactly compels you to take another step forward, you watch as his gaze tracks down to the low cut of your dress, as he shifts in his seat, legs spread, clearly withholding the urge to adjust himself in his pants. A dangerous thought crosses your mind, one that you know you should toss away because of where you are, how many people are just on the other side of the room, but you find your body moving before you can stop yourself.

You watch him inhale, gaze tracking down to where your hand has slipped into the high slit of your dress, casting one last look over your shoulder to make sure the two of you are at an angle that no one would be able to easily see you before pulling down your thin black panties—the ones you know he loves and wore just to see the way the pupil of his visible eye becomes blown wide at the sight of them, breath hitching.

You shift closer to him, balling them into your fist, one hand sliding behind the back of his head, fingers entwined with his dark hair as you tilt his head back, eyes tracing the exhilaration on his face as he looks up at you, realizing what you’re going to do, where you’re going to do it.

“You’re crazy,” he breathes out. The words are reverent, he speaks them in the same way you imagine he would tell you he loves you, it makes your breath catch. “Here? What're you gonna do if one of them looks over and sees you stuffed with my cock, hm? How're you gonna explain why you're full of cum when you go meet that clown?”

“You talk too much,” you note, stepping forward. “Open up.”

Dazai’s lips part instinctively, but before you stuff his mouth with your panties, you lean over him, fingers hooking around his bottom lip as you force his mouth a little wider, watching as his breath hitches and his lashes flutter when you spit right into his open mouth, swallowing it immediately. 

Your lips curl up as you lift the hand holding your panties, taking in an unsteady breath as he lets you push your panties between his lips; he lets out a muffled groan around them, eyes sliding shut as if savoring the taste of them. You shift your dress around slightly so you can comfortably straddle his thighs. His hands immediately fly to your waist, but you click your tongue lightly, pushing them off and sliding his tie around his wrists once you’ve got them behind his back.

He tilts his head to the side, giving you a heavy, judgmental look. He doesn’t even have to speak to know what he’s thinking: “You really think this is going to stop me?”

You give him a sweet smile, leaning in to graze your lips against his jaw, feeling the shaky breath he lets out around your panties. “If you free yourself from them,” you murmur, lips brushing his ear as you speak, “I’ll stop.”

You don’t wait for his reaction, directing your attention down toward his slacks, loosening his belt and unbuttoning his pants. You ease his cock out of his briefs, weight heavy in your hand, tip flushed pink and leaky. You give it an experimental pump, using his own precum as lube, and watch as he tilts his head back, giving a full body shudder.

“You’re so easy to rile up,” you sigh softly, shifting forward so that his cock slides between your slick folds, you press your lips to the underside of his jaw to smother the moan you almost let out when his tip catches on your clit. “I love it.”

You know he’s trying to shoot you a withering look, but the effects of it are severely diminished with how his face is flushed pink and his eyes are unfocused. You give him another saccharine smile, and that’s the only warning he gets before you’re sinking down on his cock. 

You can feel every inch of him stretching you open, filling you up until the tip of his cock is nudging right up against your cervix. It takes all of your self control to bite back the loud gasp that nearly rips from your lips, not wanting to have to bury your face in the crook of his neck just yet, watching as he lets out a choked noise that’s loud even with your panties stuffed in his mouth, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“Careful,” you warn, leaning in to drag your lips up his neck to the corner of his lips. You lift one of your hands to hold the back of his head again, gripping his hair as you force him to look at you again, fingers tugging hard at his hair. His gaze is unfocused, lips parting as he heaves around your panties, throat spasming—he looks fucking divine, and for a moment, you regret doing this here because you might have to kill someone if they see him when he’s looking like this. “You don’t want them to see you like this, yeah?”

You can hear the whine that builds in the back of his throat, trying to rock his hips up into yours. The sloppy sound of his cock driving into your cunt is too loud—Mishima is still speaking loudly, drowning out any noise that could possibly be coming from your secluded corner, but it’s so risky, you almost don’t know what’s gotten into you. If anyone happens to wander over this way…

“God, what do you do to me?” you gasp, leaning in so you can graze your teeth against his neck, threatening to bite down. 

You’re never this reckless—not when it’s your reputation on the line, you’ve spent years honing it into the weapon it’s become, and here you are risking it all just because Dazai Osamu decided to give you bedroom eyes during one of the most important events the Port Mafia attends. Fuck, he drives you insane.

His head lolls forward, forehead resting against the side of yours, lips brushing your ear. You can feel his heavy pants, each one catching over a moan muffled by your panties. You rock your hips back and forth quickly, each drag of his cock against your walls making you hot and lightheaded. Whether it’s just from the sheer pleasure of it all—the way the tip of his cock pressees right into that sensitive spot deep inside of you, the way he’s so quickly coming undone beneath you, body trembling and drool pooling at the corner of his lips around your panties—or if it’s because of the way anyone could wander over in this direction, catch you fucking Dazai so brazenly when there’s a crowd of one hundred and fifty, two hundred of the most important people in the Japanese underworld just on the far side of the room, you don’t know, but heat pools in your abdomen so quickly that it’s almost impossible to control. 

You can feel his breath ragged, his body tense, each roll of your hips against his has Dazai falling apart, and you can feel the telltale sign of his cock twitching inside of you, signaling that he’s about to finish. You tug his hair, pulling his head back from where it's fallen against you, and you lift your other hand quickly up to his lips, pushing them inside of his mouth to hook your fingers around your panties, pulling them out of his mouth.

Instantly, Dazai is pushing himself forward to press his lips against yours, freeing himself of his own tie so his hands can fly to your waist. You let out a low moan into his mouth as he pushes his tongue into yours, one hand sliding from your waist to your back, keeping your body flush to his as he grinds you down on his cock hard.

“Fuck,” Dazai groans into your mouth, voice choked. You can see the way he can hardly keep his gaze steady, the way he’s gripping your dress to try to keep himself grounded. “I-ah, shit-I’m close. I’m-”

You lean in to swallow his moan, kissing him hard as his eyes roll to the back of his head, hips stuttering as he spills his cum deep inside of you. Your breath catches at the feeling of his cum filling you up, warm, heavy, so much of it that you can feel it dribbling out from where his cock is still stuffed deep inside of you; it’s the last thing you need to push you over the edge, mind blank and jaw falling slack as your body shudders in his arms.

Black dots spot your vision, your nails dragging down his black coat, your whole body consumed with pleasure—it hits you so hard that you think maybe you might’ve passed out for a split second. The feeling of your release sends a shockwave through Dazai, you can feel the way his body spasms and jerks when your walls suddenly tighten around his sensitive cock.

“God,” Dazai breathes out against your lips, eyes glazed over as the two of you come down from your high, an expression so adoring on his face that you think for a moment, you might be imagining it. “You’re so…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, leaves it to your imagination, and you want to press, but you don’t have the chance because you’re slapped hard with reality when you hear Mishima’s speech coming to an end, eyes widening. Your legs are shaky as you push off of him, hissing at the feeling of his softening cock slipping out of your cunt—you almost snort when you see how Dazai twitches and winces at the sudden movement, still sensitive.

“Clean yourself up,” you tell him sharply, straightening your dress and fixing your hair, trying to catch sight of yourself in the reflection of a nearby glass, watching from the corner of your eye as Dazai stuffs himself back in his pants, wiping your cum off of his expensive black slacks before sucking it right off of his fingers. He grabs his tie from where he’d let it fall to the ground, and then your panties, winking at you before he stuffs them in the pocket of his jacket. 

His gaze lifts to you as he rises to his feet, drifting lazily over your form, lingering on the way your skin glows with a soft sheen of sweat, the loose strands of hair that cling to your forehead—something you hope you can play off considering the air condition in the ballroom isn’t on. Then his gaze settles down on the lower half of your body, lips curling up into a slow smirk.

He takes a few steps closer to you, holding his tie out to you. “Re-tie it?” he hums, and you roll your eyes because you know he can do it himself and you know he has some sort of ulterior motive right now, but you take it from him regardless.

You quickly slide the tie around his neck, trying to tie it quickly before anyone catches sight of the two of you, but with you so focused on getting this done, you miss the way his hand sneaks forward until you feel it slip into the slit of your dress. 

“Dazai,” you warn, keeping your voice low, but your breath catches when you feel him gather up all of the cum that had dribbled out of your cunt, head falling against his shoulder as you try to force yourself not to react when he uses two fingers to stuff it right back inside of you.

You can feel the wicked grin against your ear as he leans down to tug your earlobe gently. “Good luck explaining this to Ibuse.”

Then he steps away, dark eye glittering dangerously as he looks down at you.

“I’ll find you later,” he says before turning to walk away.

You’re not sure if it’s a threat or a promise and you don’t have time to make a snide comment asking, because you hear Ibuse approaching you from behind, giddy and excited until he catches sight of Dazai’s infamous black coat retreating, swallowing thickly and eyes flickering nervously between the two of you—a common reaction to the executive’s presence, knowing how dangerous and unpredictable he can be.

You wonder if Dazai would make Ibuse half as nervous and uncomfortable if he’d known he just spent the last fifteen minutes with your panties stuffed in his mouth and his hands tied behind his back, whining and whimpering, muffling all of his sounds so people didn’t overhear the two of you. But you dismiss that thought—that’s knowledge for you to keep to yourself, you don’t like sharing.

“Let’s get out of here?” you hum, drawing him out of his thoughts before he can spiral.

He lights back up again, but you can tell he’s still nervous from Dazai’s brief appearance. “Yeah, c’mon.”

Two hours later, you wander out of one of the back rooms in Mishima’s mansion, intent on getting back to headquarters. You don’t get more than two feet before you feel a hand wrap around your wrist, tugging you backward hard until your back meets a familiar chest.

Your heartbeat stills from the brief bout of erraticness when you felt someone grab you, relaxing back into Dazai, tilting your head back and to the side to look up at him as he holds your hips, keeping you flush to him.

“Did you fuck him?” Dazai asks, voice low and expression unreadable.

You have half a mind to say yes, just to see what Dazai plans to do if you did. He can’t kill Ibuse, not even he is reckless enough to start a war with the Sun and Steel right now, but you don’t think you want to risk it.

“Didn’t have to,” you say honestly. “He was babbling out everything I wanted to know before the doors even closed.”

Dazai searches your face for a moment as if trying to decide if you’re being truthful, when he does, one of his hands slips off your waist into his coat, and you hear the familiar sound of Dazai flipping the safety of his gun back on.

“Dazai,” you snap. “You can’t just-”

“I can do whatever I want,” Dazai interrupts you with the type of confidence that lets you know he had every intention of putting a bullet through Ibuse’s head if you fucked him, regardless of the consequences. The thought of that alone makes your blood run hot, pupils dilating as you look up at him; Dazai’s lips curve up slowly as if he knows just what’s going on in your head. He looks behind you curiously before focusing back down on you asking: “Is he passed out in there?”

“Mhm,” you agree, watching him curiously as you try to figure out what he might be thinking. “Drank too much.”

“Good,” Dazai murmurs, walking you right back into the room you’d come out of, a sharp smile on his face. He closes the door behind the two of you, gaze flickering over to where Ibuse is unconscious on the couch before he backs you up until your knees hit the corner of the bed, pushing you back onto it. “Let’s see if we can wake him up then.”

[seeingivy]

casual

suguru geto x f!reader

**loosely based on casual by my beloved chappell roan

—

in the three months that you spend with suguru geto, he leaves a sour taste in your mouth and it’s not only because he tastes like black coffee. and in the two months that follow, before your deeply unfortunate circumstantial reunion, the last five words that you uttered to him, the sentiment behind them, only seems to grow. 

you can go to hell. 

and it’s all you can think when he shows up to the emergency room – a pinkish sunburn across his nose, his hair messily tied back – and eyes dripping in a concern that fills you with a rage. and it’s a deep sigh that he gives you, before reaching for your hand. 

“what happened to you, peach?” 

--

the general education class that you choose to satisfy your values and ethics inquiry is the sociology of religion. counting all the stakes – a stellar review on rate my professors, a night class at the start of the week, and minimal homework – it makes for the most ideal choice. 

“so what’s your major?” 

the downside? the midterm and final project are group assignments. and on any other occasion, you would have appreciated it – getting to split the work, taking some of the load off and sharing the work with someone, except for the fact that you didn’t know anyone in the class – and for the most part, you were expecting some half-brained idiot that would make you do all the work. 

you suppose it’s at least fair that he’s not horrible to look at. in the dimmed lights of your apartment, there’s something almost off putting about your partner, suguru geto. you count seven piercings across his ears – dangling silver pieces almost shining in the glint of the light – and the smallest rim of purple around his eyes. harsh cheekbones, a hard jaw, and wrinkles by his eyes. 

“educational studies. what’s yours?” you state. 

“computer science.” 

you hum in response, filling the two glasses with water and snatching one of the peaches from its container before taking your seat across from him, noting that he has a dimple on the left side when he smiles in response to your gesture. 

“did you want some?” you ask, holding the peach in between the two of you. 

he shakes his head, slumping against the counter in what seems an almost unnatural pose – his long limbs spreading into the space underneath your chair. you wonder if he always had an unusual way of taking up space. 

and it seems that as time goes on, he gets more and more unusual. quietly working through the portions that you split up, except for a few deep breaths here and there, though he would stop once in a while and would almost ask for approval of what he had written, waiting for some confirmation from you that it was okay with you. 

“you’re comparing adam and eve to…orpheus? i’m not really familiar with that.” you state. 

suguru nods, before turning towards you to explain. his eyes waver in the slightest as he turns over to you, his gaze flitting down to your lips, before looking back up at you. 

“you don’t have to be polite. you really can have some if you want, it’s really sweet.” you state. 

suguru smiles. 

“maybe later.” 

you shrug. 

“so orpheus…” 

“it’s a really old greek myth. orpheus and eurydice. to kind boil it down, eurydice is in the underworld with hades. and orpheus is trying to convince hades to let her return to the mortal world, with him.” 

he scoots his chair a little bit closer to you and you’re able to note one thing – that there’s a resonance in his voice, that it hums in his chest when he talks. 

“hades tells him that he’ll let him take eurydice with him, but on one condition. she has to walk behind him.” 

“that’s not that hard.” 

suguru grins. 

“isn’t it?” he asks. 

you pause. 

“you’re being told by this big, all powerful god, that she’s walking behind you. but you can’t look. you wouldn’t even consider the fact that you were being fooled? that maybe she had decided not to follow?” 

“i mean, i guess. i don’t think it would really cross my mind, i…i think i’d just follow out all the way til the end because i’d kind of have faith if that’s what i was promised. and that she’d want to come with me too.”  

suguru pauses, like he’s almost taking in what you’ve said – like it’s the first time he’s heard it – and responds rather slowly. 

“you’re rather trusting, aren’t you?” 

you roll your eyes. 

“is that such a bad thing? what do you think about it?” 

suguru shrugs. 

“it was a worthless pursuit in the first place. there was no way that he wouldn’t have turned around and looked back.” 

“what do you mean?” 

“it’s simple. he loves her. if he hears something that deceives him – like the sound of her tripping over a rock – he doesn’t think. he looks back. if he thinks that she isn’t there, he won’t be able to get over it and he’ll turn around.”  

you pause, mulling the thought over. and you suppose it’s true – that if you really did love something, it would be almost impossible not to check for the promise of their presence. 

“i guess. so what? she goes back to the underworld?” 

“yeah. it’s one of the most tragic love stories.” 

“i guess it’s kind of romantic. that he loved her so much that he had to look back, like it was almost an instinct.” 

and in the split second that the two of you stare at each other, he leans forward, pressing his lips to yours, with the strong taste of coffee lingering on his lips. 

you’ve kissed three people before in your life – the boy you sat next to in the seventh grade, your date to the prom, and now suguru geto. 

the first was overwhelming. a quick locking of the lips, that at the time, made you nearly erupt into a puddle of butterflies. the second was lackluster. waxy from too much chapstick, abrupt from the fact that he was quick to shove his tongue in your mouth. 

and the third was indescribable. only because you could feel it – something lingering under his demeanor that you couldn’t exactly place. there wasn’t a word for the feeling it gave you – though there was one that was close enough. 

curiosity. about what that feeling is, about who suguru geto was, and why he felt so inclined to kiss you upon your third meeting. 

you wanted more of it. 

“you’re right, you know?” he murmurs, breath warm against your lips. 

“about being trusting?” 

he laughs. 

“no. about the peach. it really is sweet.” 

he leans back, eyes fixed on the reading in front of the two of you again, as you reach up to touch your lips, the sticky sweetness of the fruit gone from your skin. 

--

suguru comes around often after the fact. always here and there, an almost abrupt and concise text testing the waters. 

[suguru]: is your roommate home? 

[you]: nope. she’s at the district. 

[suguru]: can i keep you company?

[you]: okay! 

and he always arrives promptly twenty minutes after the fact, to the point where you wondered if he lingered around just to get there as fast as he could. and never empty handed – with dinner, dessert, or a flower that he plucked out of the cement in his hands. 

that was the thing that confused you about him. 

after the very first time you kissed, he had made one thing very clear. 

no attachments. you’re not together. 

but yet, he’d show up sometimes and do nothing but kiss your forehead and sleep in your bed next to you. or make you do something entirely mundane – like watch toy story three with a sheet of cookies in your oven – or watch you study. 

and in the two weeks you had known him, you knew better than to question. your curiosity never stopped you, but you found that you were always left with more questions than the vague answers that he gave you.  

“hey peach?” 

“yeah?” 

“your mom is calling.” 

you widen your eyes, immediately snatching the phone from him, and giving him a weary smile. and you side shuffle into the walkway between the laundry and your bedroom, pressing the phone to your ear and murmuring under your breath. 

“hi mom.” 

“hi doll. how are classes?” 

you pick at the loose thread of your sweater, nearly breaking the seams of the sleeve, noting suguru’s curious eyes – that he’s very poignantly trying to hide – from the kitchen. 

“they’re good, ma. what’s up?” 

“right. i’m so sorry to do this to you, my sweet, but i won’t be home when you get back.” 

“what?” 

“we’re going on a trip to see sheila in new york. and well, her vacation is only during those dates and we want to spend as much time with her as we can.” 

you sigh, the frustration tempering in yoru chest. 

“i already paid for the tickets. i saved up for a month trying to buy a flight back.” 

“darling, i know. i’m really sorry, but you know how it is. she just gets so stressed out that we just wanted to go out there and make her holiday nice.” 

“and what about my holiday? you don’t want me to have a nice christmas with my family?” 

you can feel it burning in your cheeks – that embarrassing feeling that’s been simmering in your chest since you were kid. a mix of an insurmountable amount of envy and dejection, from trying to vie for attention from the second that you realized you never had it. 

“don’t try to make me feel guilty.” she scolds 

“i’m not trying to make you feel guilty! i just wished you would have thought about me too.” 

you hear an irritated sigh on the end of the line, which is your first sign that you had made a mistake. because if there was one thing you knew how to do, it was push your mom’s buttons. 

you wonder if it’s because she sees herself in you – and that utter hatred that she has for herself was now placed on you instead. 

“do you always have to be so curt with me?” 

“i’m not being curt, i just…” 

“maybe when i die, you’ll think back and wished that you had appreciated me more. been more understanding that i’m not just your mother, i am someone’s friend too. that i have my own life. and that at the very least, my friends like to call me here and there. acknowledge me while you do god knows what wherever you are.” 

“okay, well, i –” 

“enjoy your christmas. we’ll see you in the spring.” she states. 

there’s a static on the other end of the line and you drop your phone, staring at the dark screen in your hands for the few seconds that follow. and you must have been standing there for too long, because a few minutes later quiet footsteps accompany you in the dimly lit hallway, suguru’s head obscuring the light from the bulb. 

“hi peach.” 

“did you hear all of that?” 

“no.” he responds. 

you look up at him and glare. and he reaches forward, hands soft on your cheek wiping away the wetness that you hadn’t noticed. you’re not sure when you started crying. 

he leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek.

“you’re a liar. if you’re one thing, it’s nosy.” you respond. 

he smiles. 

“maybe when it comes to you. what happened, pretty girl?” 

you shake your head, his grabby hands coming around your waist as he presses you closer to his chest. you can hear his heart thumping against your ear, the metal of his necklace cold on your cheek, as you heave a sigh. 

“nothing.” 

“oh, come on, peach.” 

you look up at him, expectant and full brown eyes waiting for an answer, as you give in. 

“i just thought i would be going home next week for break. but i think i’m just going to stay here.” 

“because your parents are going to…” 

“see their friends in new york.” 

suguru frowns. you can’t tell if it’s pity in his eyes. 

“it’s not a big deal. i just was expecting to go home, that’s all. and it’s not that big of a deal that i’m going to stay here, the weather is nice and it’s probably frigid cold there.” 

suguru pauses. 

“you’re going to be here alone?” 

“yeah. my roommate is from the east coast.” 

“you should come home with me, for break.” 

you look up at him, eyes wide. 

“what?” 

“s’not that far from here, i usually just make the drive. there’s a nice coffee shop on the way that i always stop at for some energy. and my mom is really nice.” 

you shake your head, almost too violently. 

“i can’t just go home with you. i wouldn’t want to impose.” 

suguru pulls back, his fingers fast on the screen, as he murmurs under his breath, his voice uncharacteristically soft. 

“you’re not an imposition to me, peach. i can’t leave my baby here alone.” 

“sure. but to your parents, and…and staying rent free in your house.” 

suguru grins, handing over the phone to you, as you read the texts on the screen. 

[suguru]: can my friend come home with me for break? her name is y/n. 

[mom]: YES!!!!! 

[mom]: A GIRL! 

[suguru]: not like that

[suguru]: but she’s sweet 

[mom]: I’M GETTING EVERYTHING READY 

you look down at the phone, noting the sweet heart emoji that he has near her contact name, the contact photo a picture of the two of them when he was considerably younger, hugging cheek to cheek. 

“and i stay rent free in your apartment all the time.” 

“suguru, this is…weird. i can’t just come home with you, that’s…that’s too much.” 

he shakes his head. 

“it’s casual. we’re just friends, you’re just coming home with me for break so you won’t be here alone.” 

right. you’d almost be inclined to believe him – if it wasn’t for the fact that the time you spent around him, the more curious you got. 

the more that feeling festered in you, wanting to know anything and everything about him, wanting to crawl deep into his skin and memorize everything and make sense of why he was the way he was. 

“you promise?” 

“for sure.” 

--

“you’re a loser.” 

mei mei is never one to mince her words. and you’re grateful for it – because it’s something that you need when you return from your two weeks stay in long beach with suguru over the break. 

because despite the words that he told you, the ones that you didn’t really believe anyway, you come back in a worse state than you expected. 

you think you love him. 

because in the days of uninterrupted time that you spend together, you let your mind wander too far. because in the quiet moments that the two of you had – knee deep in the passenger seat outside the stupid coffee shop you stopped at, giggling in the bathroom when you went to dinner, and tangled in the bed sheets with him every night – you let yourself taste too much. 

let your mind run a little too wild. thinking about meeting his friends at the pier he showed you, of living together in an apartment in the following year. 

and the two of you teeter a dangerous line. putting each other as emergency contacts, swapping your wardrobe in between your flats, and showering together every morning – his soft hands massaging the shampoo into the roots of your hair.  

“don’t be mean.” you state. 

“i’m not being mean, i’m just saying that…” 

mei mei sighs, cheeks in her hand, with an almost irritating look in her eyes – wholeheartedly judgemental. she just didn’t get it. 

“look, he’s friends with todo. that guy i know from the finance club? and i asked around about him, apparently he loves to brag about how he gets girls off all the time. now either he’s talking about you – clearly not the way you talk about him – or he’s talking to someone else.” 

you sigh. because you can’t even put it past him. because in the months you had known him, he was impossible to understand. a futile effort to read. impossible to touch. 

“look, i’ll just ask him later.” 

and when he comes around your apartment, well after mei mei has left, he brings a slice of peach cobbler that his coworker insisted that he take home with him. 

“peach cobbler for my peach!” 

you wince. 

“that was corny. even for you.” 

“i saw an opportunity and i took it.” suguru responds, shrugging as he loops his arms around your waist, chin resting against the top of your head as he eyes the pot of boiling ramen on your stove. 

and you bite the bullet as fast as you can. 

“do you see other girls?” you ask. 

“huh?” 

you swallow hard, dry patch in your throat, as you feel the sweat tickling the top of your forehead. it’s from the heat of the stove. 

“do you see other girls? or guys?”

“no. do you?” 

you shake your head. and you’re unsure how to word the next question – because there was something humiliating, too bare about having to admit that you want more to him – when things were so sweet as they were. 

perhaps you should have known better. coffee was always bitter at the end. 

“why do you ask?”

you shrug. 

“dunno. was just thinking about us. and how we spent break together and all that.” 

suguru presses a kiss to your hairline. 

“yeah? did you have fun?” 

you hum in response. 

“yeah. i really liked the city. and your mom and your sister. it was really sweet of you to take me.” 

you pause, wincing as you decide to be as blunt as possible. 

“and i like you.” 

he laughs. 

“well, i like you too.” 

“no, no, i like you. well, i more than like you, but i…i can’t say those words.” 

there’s a silence. and his arms feel like loose limp noodles around you. and you realize now, that you made the wrong choice. you turn around, only to find hollow brown eyes staring at you, the makings of a frown on his face. 

“suguru?” 

he winces. 

“i can’t.” he whispers. 

“why not?” 

and you’re not sure what it is, but it throws him into a panic. with his facial features scrunched up, eyes hollow, and nervous hands running through his hair. 

“i just can’t.” 

you cross your hands over your chest, the bitter contempt of rejection blooming in your chest, as you look down, picking at the scab on the inside of your palms as you ask again. 

“i said i didn’t want any attachments.” he adds. 

“i know. but can you blame me for being confused? you took me home to see your family.” 

“as a friend.” 

“you didn’t act like my friend while we were there.” 

suguru groans. 

“and that’s my fault, i know that but –” 

that one stings. admitting that he regrets it. 

“okay, well. that’s alright. maybe you should leave now, then.” you state. 

“wait peach, no. i don’t want to leave, i just..” 

you scoff. 

“you don’t want to leave?” 

“no?” 

it comes out meek, almost timid when he utters it. a question. like he can’t even admit it fully – that he wants to stay. and it fills you with anger, searing red hot anger on the heels of being cast aside so nonchalantly, that it comes to a head then and there. 

“do you really think so little of me?” 

“what? 

“i’m not good enough to be your girlfriend. but whatever else you want, that’s fine. i…i thought you thought of me better than some girl you just fuck around with.” 

suguru sighs. 

“you’re not some girl i just fuck around with.” 

“am i not, though?” 

suguru shuts his eyes, the look on his face is so pained – so miserable – that it irritates you. 

“you’ve made it abundantly clear. that you like me a decent amount, but not enough to care about whether or not you’ll lose me.” 

you bite down so hard on your lip that the taste of metallic blood fills your mouth, coupled with warm tears in your eyes. 

“and for that, you can go to hell.” 

--

“what happened to you, peach?” 

you scoff, curling your nose at the old nickname, as he yanks the closest stool – his legs still too long to even be comfortable on the thing as he leans forward, noting the dried blood on your forehead. 

“a car accident. you can leave now.” 

suguru frowns, almost resembling a kicked dog, as he shakes his head. there’s something softer about his expressions now – something you’re sure is a byproduct of the time you spent apart or the fact that you have a broken rib – and you choose to ignore it for the time being. 

“i can’t just leave.” he whispers. 

“and why not?” 

suguru shakes his head. 

“you have a broken rib. and a deep cut on your forehead. forgive me if i’m concerned about you.” 

“i can’t. knowing you, you’ll casually linger around here for a few days, and when you figure it’s appropriate to leave, you’ll be gone with the wind.” 

the two of you sit there in silence, the harshness of the words hanging in the air between the two of you. 

and yet again, suguru geto leaves you with a never ending pit of curiosity. about what he was doing here, to ask how he is – to make it a note to him that his cheeks look fuller, that his eyes aren’t rimmed red anymore, and that he looks good. 

that you like the new hairstyle. that it killed you when he wasn’t around anymore. that you still want him to go to hell. 

suguru twists the silver ring on his pointer finger a few times – a fourth, a fifth, and a sixth – before you break the silence, your curiosity getting the best of you another time. 

“why are you here?” 

“they called me. i’m your emergency contact still.” 

“no, i gathered that. why are you here?” 

suguru pauses, swallowing hard before responding. 

“if orpheus hears something that deceives him – like the sound of eurydice tripping over a rock – he doesn’t think. he looks back.” suguru states. 

you scoff. vague again. 

“right.” 

“no, really. i got the call. and i didn’t think and just showed up. i just…just had to see you.” suguru states. 

he pauses. 

“it’s kind of romantic, don’t you think? that he loved her so much that he had to look back, like it was almost an instinct.”

you turn to glare at him, at the audacity of him repeating your own stupid words back to you. 

“is it? because his carelessness left her in hell with hades.” 

suguru scoffs. 

“i never did tell you the end of the story, did i?” 

you roll your eyes. 

“orpheus becomes so distraught that he uses his lyre to charm death – just so that he can return to the underworld to be with her. and people debate how it happens, him being ripped apart by irate women or getting killed by the menades, but it does happen. he dies and goes to the underworld. and in some versions, people think that he reunites with her in the underworld. and she forgives him.” 

“and why would she do that?” you ask. 

“because he tried his best to do right by her. he was asked to do one thing – to stay away. and that’s what he did, because…because i know you’re right. because you do deserve better, i do think the world of you and think you deserve to be with someone who wants to be with you, the way that you want.” 

suguru pauses. 

“it’s not my fault that i can’t help but look back. i can’t do anything about the fact that i love you.” 

you swallow hard, an embarrassing amount of regret – mixed in with that deep longing that he left in your chest – searing through you. 

“in the casual way, right?” you respond, sarcastically. 

he groans. 

“it’s not casual at all. it wasn’t casual when i leaned forward to taste the sweetness of the peach on your lips – especially when i fucking hate peaches. and it wasn’t casual when i took you home with me, it was…i just couldn’t stand the thought of you being alone. and it’s not fucking casual that i drove three hours when i was supposed to be home this weekend just because i the thought of you sitting in this room alone, in pain, was driving me crazy.” 

you wince, turning to look at him. and it seems that in the mere acknowledgement of his presence by locking his eyes, it seems to fill him with something – something that puts the whisper of a smile on his face. 

“what?” 

“i turned around for you. i didn’t know i would, but now that i have, i…i realize that i probably always would have.” 

“okay?” you whisper. 

“are you going to forgive me for it? not doing it earlier, for…for not getting it right the first time?” he asks. 

you pause, mulling the thought over. and the silence, he takes it as an invitation to plead his case. 

“i’ll beg. i’ll get on my hands and knees if that’ll do something to make it better.” 

you turn to look at him. 

“you…you’re special. i haven’t forgotten about you and…and i know we had something. just let me fix it? i’ll get you a hundred gifts, i’ll tell you a hundred times and i’ll - oh!’ 

he reaches into his bag, shoving his arms into the depths of the pockets, before yanking out a little napkin and reaching forward, opening your hand and placing it in your palm. 

“a tissue?”

“open it.” 

and you oblige, unfolding the tissue to see four little gummy peach rings in the napkin, before turning back to him. 

“peach rings?” 

“for my peach! i eat them all the time now, even though i fucking hate peaches. i only had a few left so i grabbed what i had left when i ran out. and i ate some on the way on accident because i was nervous, worried about you and all..” 

you look down, the sugary crystals on the candy almost sparking in the light, as you look back at him. and he's wholeheartedly different - not the cool, cold guy you left behind, but a weird mess of awkwardness and jitters, and maybe even the tiniest hint of desperation.

he seems wholeheartedly more touchable this way.

“you make no sense.” you state.

suguru frowns. 

“i know. but i’m trying.” he responds. 

and you sigh, wiping your hands at your side, before eating one of the candies. bitter at first, but sweet at the end. 

“suppose that’s my problem then. i’ll have to figure you out.” you respond. 

suguru’s face splits into a smile, his motions so eager as he leans over the railing of the bed, the angle entirely off as he leans forward to kiss you. and it’s entirely different from every other time you’ve kissed him – full and whole, a warm and tender promise behind it. 

“you’re wrong, you know?” you whisper. 

“about what?” he murmurs. 

“the peaches. they taste good.” 

he laughs. 

“is that right?” he whispers, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips, as he wavers his eyes up again, to the cut on your forehead. 

he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the bandages, before pulling back, lips lingering over yours. 

“i think i need one more to decide.”

--

an: idk.

taglist: @porridgesblog @k0z3me @sugu-love @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea  @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @timmytimmytuckyy @dreamxiing @mamamamamarga @skunabby @meisque @hoseokslefteyebrow @yoontaedotin

[kirbysorbet]

One thing that I find absolutely hilarious about mdzs is how flippantly the cultivation setting is treated and how little it actually means for the characters. Esp compared to mxtx’s other works.

Like, svsss has the more typical style of cultivation with formal levels (qi gathering, foundation establishment, core formation, etc). It’s slightly bullshitted thanks to Airplane’s writing style, but it’s implied that it takes decades of hard work to move between stages and it’s also implied that cultivators can and do live for centuries because they are cultivating towards immortality

And tgcf literally focuses on people who cultivate into godhood. Like we see ‘regular’ cultivators as well, but we also know that people in this setting are capable of becoming literal gods, and we know that it typically takes a lot of hard work to do so as well

But mdzs? Forming a golden core is nothing. Everyone has one. They’re handed out like candy. Wwx is lauded as a prodigy for forming one as young as he did, but his peers still seem to form theirs in their teens. And having a golden core means little to nothing for the characters except boosted strength and stamina, and that they can use magic

Putting aside the literal war killing people off and affecting the average cultivator’s lifespan, we see almost no evidence of anyone cultivating to immortality aside from Baoshen-sanren, who is an outlier. These characters all have golden cores! Granted, every xianxia-style story has different rules for how cultivation works, and in mdzs the focus seems to be more on using cultivation for practicality (night hunts) rather than any sort of ascension, but usually having a golden core will at least extend your life beyond the normal length

Not in mdzs! Jin Guangshan dies in his…sixties, maybe? Possibly younger, even! But he’s generally thought of as ‘old’ and everyone readily accepts that he died from ‘overexerting himself’ in that orgy. A sixty-year-old cultivator with a fully-formed golden core is considered old and decrepit! That’s a young’un in other cultivation settings!!

The other ‘old man’ we see is Lan Qiren, who could ostensibly be as young as his thirties during the Cloud Recesses study arc (bc keep in mind that he’s Qingheng-jun’s younger brother, and given the general lifespans of all the mdzs characters, it’s not unreasonable to assume qhj married and had his kids in early adulthood). Granted, to my memory wwx is the only one who thinks of him as an ‘old man,’ and anyone above, like, twenty would be seen as old to a fifteen-year-old, but still. Wwx continues to consider him an old man post-timeskip when it’s entirely possible he’s only in his late forties or fifties.

I don’t really have a conclusion or any sort of deep analysis for this, I just thought this difference in setting was an interesting/funny departure from mxtx’s other works and wanted to ramble. Feel free to leave thoughts/observations in the notes!

[kaitlynpcallmebeepme]

Sea Sickness

Sea Sickness

Luke Hughes x fem!reader (established relationship, but still new)

Idea: Reader gets nauseous from being on the boat at the Hughes’s Lake House and snuggles up to Luke.

Requested: Nope. 

Author’s Note:  I know I’m bouncing around who I’m writing for, but I’m on a NHL spree right now. I also get nauseated if I'm on a boat or in the ocean for too long. Fun Fact: I wrote the beginning part of this on a note card while working by myself in the OR today. We had a really long case where I just had to check up on people during the middle of it (hence why I wrote this on a card because I don’t like going on my phone when I’m in the OR. It's unprofessional). I don’t know any of these people personally. The closest I’ve gotten to the team (that wasn’t just playing in the band at the games or when they were walking past us down the 2023 red carpet in tampa) was a tuba was talking to some of them in his plane row on the ride back from that trip (he ended up being the tuba you see in the senior picture from 2024) and one of the coaches had to share our bus on the way back from the 2023 frozen four game with his wife and two young daughters (I kept trying to get the younger one to smile at me unsuccessfully).  Someone from my hotel room also shared the elevator ride up with the entire Fantilli family the night they lost that game in 2023 (I think Adam also won the Hobey Baker award that same night). I’ve also been playing my lego lord of the rings game. Anyway, enjoy this little blurb.

Tagging some of my favorite Hughes/NHL writers, love y’all.

@wineauntie @thedevilrisen @winterbarnesblog @sc0tters 

I forgot to mention that this is kinda based on the cute stuff @bedsyandco writes

I'm now sad when I'm uploading this because a friend from college drumline has an incurable brain cancer. Please keep him in your thoughts and prayers (he's only 19 or 20).

Requests are still open.  Feedback is always appreciated.  Also, tell me if you want to be part of a Tag List and I’ll tag you when I upload something new. If you want to only be tagged when I upload something for a certain character or shows, let me know as well.  

Warning: None, just general fluff. Feeling sick on a boat. 

Word Count: 488

Being on a boat wasn’t your most favorite thing in the world, mainly because the last time you were on a boat, it got stuck in the middle of the laek and had to be towed back to shore (true story), but when your boyfriend Luke invited you to spend the weekend at the lakehouse with ihs brothers and friends, you weren't going to say no. The weekend had been filled with lots of eating, playing outside, and the boys being competitive at every game they pick up (even the old board game you brought to teach them how to play).  Just trying to keep up with them all was exhausting, so that’s how you ended up on the back of the boat enjoying the warm air instead of diving into the water again.  The boys had been going back and forth between wakeboarding and chatting on the boat deck. With them supplying the lake with plenty of waves, the constand up and down was starting to make your stomach sick.  You scooched over and made yourself comfortable laying your head on Luke’s shoulder.  He then opened his arms and wrapped you in his warm embrace so you could crawl on his lap and snuggle closer to his chest. 

“You feeling ok?” 

“Yeah, just want to stop the constant movement.” It was getting to a point were you just wanted to stop the constant movement.  It being really hot out didn’t help either. 

“We’ll head to shore soon. Then we can cool off inside.” 

Being wrapped up in Luke’s embrace with his fingers gently carding through your hair or down your shoulder leaving goosebumps in their wake and shading you with his fit body definitely helped keep your mind off of your stomach and the boat’s ever shifting movements.  Luke wasn’t much of a pda person, but you always encouraged him to show little bits of it at least in front of his family or close friends.  

Little did you know, that’s exactly who was eyeing the interaction.  Jack, Quinn, Trevor, Cole, and Dylan all had stopped what they were talking about in favor of watching the interaction between you two.  Eventhough they were not all related, they felt like proud older brothers seeing Luke be so considerate and affectionate in front of them.  Of couse they’re all going to tease him relentlessly later about this, but they were gentlemen in regards to respecting the timing and the moment.

“Just lay down and close your eyes. We’ll be on shore soon.”  You snuggled deeper into Luke’s neck keeping your eyes closed and focused on his soft skin, his natural scent, and the way his warm body curled around yours. He even tugged on your legs to pull you fully into his lap as his large frame wrapped around your body fully encasing you in his warmth and comfort. 

Nothing better than enjoying the summer with those you love.

[hopelesswrites]

Music Boyfriend part 1

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Eddie is an anonymous frontman of Corroded Coffin and meets his long-time pen-crush while on the run from the law.

Notes: This is HEAVILY inspired by movie Dinner in America, I was obsessed with the dynamic and felt it fit Eddie and Reader so well. general plot similarities but not a complete retelling of the movie.

Eddies POV

Sweat dripped down the nape of Eddie Munsons neck, chest raising and falling at a rapid rate, his hooded reflection an image of fierce rage as he attempted to calm down his heart and mind after the show. It was the biggest crowd they had played for. At least 100 sweaty bodies mashed together screaming his lyrics. Eddie was in a euphoric state the whole set, Corroded Coffin was finally making it in the scene, people were actually taking them seriously.

“Great show tonight dude” Gareth the bands drummer spoke as he walked past smacking his palm against the skin of Eddies exposed back.

“Owners talking about getting us back next weekend”

Eddies heartbeat was still pounding in his ears when he roughly ripped off the black ski mask from his head, damp curls sprawling out from their confinement.

Shouting could be heard from outside before the door to the small green room slammed open. “They’re looking for you man” Jeff ran in. Eddie could hear the police outside the door, their voices getting closer.

“Quick get out of here and lay low, whatever you did this time they’ll forget in a few days”

Eddie cursed before haphazardly putting his mask back on and shrugging his leather jacket on his shoulders before entering the cold night air.

The cops were looking for Eddie, and with the mask on he was no longer Eddie, he was Vandal, Van for short, but he made a run for it just to be safe.

Eddie knew back at the bar his band will be getting interrogated right now. But their story was always the same “we don’t know no Eddie; the lead singers name is Van”

He liked to keep his real identity a secret on stage. It was easier due to all the trouble he gets up to during the day and he just preferred the anonymity of it, he could be anyone once that hood came on.

Down the street now Eddie slowed to a brisk walk, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and lighting one, taking a long drag once he finally got a breath. He smiled at the irony of that, thinking of ways he could incorporate that into a lyric, connect it back to the bands rebellious non conformity message.

After a few more minutes of walking Eddie made it to the nearest service station, pulling his hood off and stuffing it in his jacket pocket before entering. He beelined straight to the confectionary section ripping off a chocolate bar and stomping down the aisle for a packet of chips. At the counter he watched the bored clerk perk up at the sight of him, adjusting her shirt to show off more cleavage.

“What can I do for you” she asked in the most flirtatious voice she could

“Uh, cheapest bottle of bourbon please” Eddie answered giving the girl a wink before she turned around to grab the bottle.

“What time do you get off?” Eddie leaned his elbows on the counter so his eyes were in line with her chest, noticing the way she pushed her chest out more and stood with her hand on her hip.

“I’m here all night, but it’s pretty dead, I can lock the door” She replied seductively. Eddie considered his options. Try to go home to his uncle who likely already received a visit from the cops, or hole up here with a pretty lady until the authorities cool off for the night.

The answer was obvious.

-

Eddie was rudely awoken by the zip of his leather jacket hitting him in his eye socket. Groaning he stretched in the plastic chair he had curled up on, flinching when he pinched a nerve in his back. Uncle Waynes couch would have been a better option.

“You have to leave now my supervisors going to be here” A voice spoke above him.

Eddie squinted open one eye to see a dishevelled version of the girl he met last night. On the floor to his right was an empty bottle of that bourbon and a plastic cup with the remnants of his last few cigarettes.

“Get me another packet of Marlboros would ya” Eddie resumed his stretch, rubbing the eye that he could already feel a small bruise forming around.

He heard movement and a small box hit him in the chest.

“Out! Now!”

Eddie scrambled to his feet shrugging on his jacket realising he still had no shirt underneath.

“Can I pinch a shirt?” Eddie asked the girl frantically cleaning up the back room they spent the night in.

“They’re next to the drink fridge, hurry” she answered, uninterested in Eddies company by now.

Eddie walked out the back entrance of the service station clad in a shirt saying, “Warning, Choking Hazard” with an arrow pointed downward, he chuckled to himself, pleased with his selection before lighting up another cigarette and making his way in town. He was starving and could use a greasy cheeseburger to soak up some of the alcohol still swirling through his system.

If he was lucky, the police had forgotten about Mr Wheelers stolen car and Mrs Norris’s once perfectly manicured lawn (he didn’t see the pot hole, he was trying not to pop Mr Wheelers tyre obviously).

Down the main strip of Hawkins Eddie kept his head down trying not to draw any attention. He was on 80% of these peoples hit list, been done dirty by Eddie one way or another. This was why he was so eager to blow up with the band and get the hell out of this shit hole. He approached the record store, interested in this week’s new releases. Him and the band had been trying to get Corroded Coffins album in store for months. Keith the asshole kept saying they weren’t selling amateur garage band shit, so Eddie deeply despised the place.

Like a magnet Eddie found his way to the metal section, browsing the albums he already knew and loved when one cover up the back caught his eye. It was Corroded Coffin, he had hand drawn that cover himself, he recognised the charcoal smudge scanned onto the left edge of every album they printed. It cost him a fortune, only two existed in vinyl format and 50 cassettes, all the copies they hand out at shows now are hand scratched mixtape style covers. This was one of those 50 official cassettes.

“Its limited edition, hence, the markup” A soft voice spoke from behind Eddie. He turned his head and scowled at the girl stood behind him. She was twiddling with a sticker that read ‘SALE’ a crooked name badge on a too big shirt with ‘Hawkins Records’ printed on the opposite side.

“Yeah, I know its limited edition, its one of 50” Eddie spat back protectively. Who was this girl telling him about his own band?

“Its one of my own copies. I bought two because I’m such a fan and wanted a backup but Keiths been pushing back their request to sell in the store, so I sacrificed my spare to put out, they deserve to be in stores, have you heard of them?” The girl rambled, seemingly forgetting her own surroundings once she had started talking.

“Of course, I’ve heard of them” Eddie grumbled putting the album back. “Better question is how have you heard of them”

Eddie turned fully now to look at the girl. She was nothing like the people who come to his shows, she radiated too much of a cautious, anxious energy. She looked uncomfortable in her own skin and ashamed of her own actions, but Eddie was no psychoanalyst, he couldn’t make those kinds of conclusions. She looked up at him but a little to the left, never making eye contact and she had a twitch in her leg that looked a little like Gareth tapping a kick drum.

“My friend Jack showed me their album, he works here Monday to Thursday, he’s really into metal”

Eddie looked her up and down as he tried to work this girl out, she was fucking weird, and that was saying something coming from him, the towns resident freak.

“Did you know the bands lead vocalist Vandal wears a mask?” Her leg began to twitch more as she continued to talk about Eddie, to Eddie.

“He stays anonymous when he performs, I find it so hot no one knows who he really is” Her twitching turned into a small bounce and Eddie stepped back away from her.

“Oi! Nutcase, stop harassing the customers, get back to work!” Keith yelled from the front of the store, shutting down this girl’s excitement. This didn’t sit well with Eddie at all.

“Does he always talk to you like that?”

The girl looked down at her shoes nervously. “Yeah, he does”

Eddie grunted, “He’s an asshole, you know that?” The girl only nodded back.

Her submission to the asshole up the front only enraged Eddie more. “Hey! Keith!” He shouted across the store, stomping up to the counter.

“Find someone else to pick on” He growled before planting one hard punch to Keith’s face, definitely breaking his nose. Other customers in the store looked up, curious about the commotion.

“And treat your staff better”

Keith groaned in pain, “She’s fucking useless man, what the fuck”

Something in Eddie felt protective over this girl, and he wasn’t sure why. She was a fan obviously and a part of him felt indebted to her for her devotion to his art, whether she knew it or not.

“Come on” Eddie grunted, pulling the strange girl by her arm and out of the store. He knew it wouldn’t be too long before Keith calls the police and they’re hot on his trail again.

“Where are we going?” She asked still being dragged by Eddie.

“To your place”

Surprisingly it didn’t take any convincing at all for this girl to lead Eddie in the direction of her house, taking backstreets to avoid attention. Eddie added this to her list of traits that made her a freak, who the hell takes a guy like Eddie home after that?

“Hey, stop” Eddie interrupts once they were far enough away, he thought they’d be safe from authorities. “Fuck this shit” he said ripping off the name badge from her uniform. “You don’t need that shithole” The girl looked at Eddie now, analysing him.

“Am I fired?”

The question baffled him, how does he answer that. Did he just get her fired?

“Like I said, you don’t need that shithole” He punctuated, motioning for her to continue walking, he was still fucking starving.

-

She led him up to a plain white house, perfect coverup assuming Keith doesn’t talk. Inside, it was as plain at the exterior, perfect picture of boring suburbia. Eddie couldn’t help comparing it to somewhere they’d send him to torture him.

“My Dads on a trip and my Moms working a late shift, no one will find you here” The girl said, practically reading Eddies mind.

She walked him through and into the kitchen offering him a glass of water, which Eddie rejected as he pushed her out of the way to scan her fridge.

“Where’s the beer?”

The strange girl shrugged, “Dad doesn’t like beer”

“Is there any booze in this house?” He asked, already getting irritated.

“Well, dads got a special bottle of whiskey he saves for Christmas each year in his study, he says its vintage”

“Perfect” Eddie answered, “Go get it”

He continued to rummage through the fridge, pulling out bread, turkey meat and cranberry jelly. The girl stayed put, not answering Eddie. “Is there a problem?”

“Its Dads special Whiskey, he only drinks it on Christmas”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Whatever”

Once his sandwich was made Eddie began to look around the house, looking for anything valuable he could snatch on his way out tomorrow. “What’s your deal then?” Eddie called from a gallery wall near the front entrance, viewing a series of boring family photos, this family didn’t even go on vacation, every photo looked like a Macys photoshoot.

“What do you mean?” She asked sneaking up next to Eddie, causing him to jump and hold his chest.

“Fucking creepy, don’t do that” He hissed before composing himself, “I mean, what do you do besides work at the record store, did you go to college? Actually, how old are you?”

“I’m 20, I did one year at college, but mom thought I’d be better working and getting some life experience and going back later when I gained a bit more confidence”

Eddie noted the way she spoke to the wall rather than to Eddie, so he turned to face her directly, encouraging her to do the same.

“You think you’re getting life experience getting yelled at by Keith?”

“Not really”

Eddie crossed his arms, “what do you want to be doing then?”

The girl took a moment to consider her next words, biting her lip in thought. “Follow me” She led him up a flight of stairs and into a bedroom with the most contradicting aesthetic Eddie had ever seen. Her bed was cutely decorated with girly blankets, a pile of stuffed animals in the corner. Cascading over the bed was a frilly canopy covered in fairly lights. To the opposite wall was a white traditional vanity with a pretty jewellery box decorated with glittery stickers, and various lip glosses and juvenile makeup products. The walls however were covered in aggressive Metal band posters. Eddie spotted a concert advertisement poster they had put up around town for one of Corroded Coffins gigs. She had a stack of cassettes beside her bed that Eddie imagined didn’t contain a single Madonna album.

“I want to start a band” She spoke quickly, rummaging through a cardboard box of letters, papers and various craft equipment.

“I don’t have anyone to join the band, but I’ve been writing songs” She pulls out one envelope generously decorated in stickers. “I sometimes send the love songs to Vandal from Corroded Coffin” she explains turning around to show Eddie the letter she had, addressed to his uncles PO box.

Eddies stomach dropped, face void of any blood as he stared at the familiar envelope connecting the dots between this girl and the girl he’d been fantasizing about for over a year now.

This was fucking bad.

[mononijikayu]

red wine supernova — ieiri shoko.

“Hey, Shoko.” you began, your voice low, deliberately smooth. “Can I say something?”  She glanced over, one eyebrow quivering in mild curiosity. “Hmm? About what?” “I like you. Wanna make out?” “Huh?”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence!;

WARNING/S: afab reader, fluff, romance, nsfw, r-18, making out, kissing, love, humor, domestic, light-hearted, slice of life, love at first sight, falling in love, cuddling and snuggling, sensual acts, slight jealousy, lesbian romance, pining, lgbtqia themes, underage smoking, depiction of making out, misogyny, harrassment, depiction of under age smoking, depiction of sensual acts, depiction of canon related violence, mention of making out, mention of implied sensual acts, usage of they/them pronouns for reader, sorcerer! shoko, geto's sister! reader ;

WORD COUNT: 10k words

NOTE: i know i said there would be geto's younger sister, but i realized i think its more interesting if they are one year older. shoko was born november 1989, geto's older sister was born february 14, 1989 and suguru was born february 3rd, 1990. he's formal about his elder sister too, despite one year distance. but he's also very playful with them. they were recruited a year earlier than suguru and went to kyoto because they wanted to explore the culture. there's stuff i thought about them, so this might end up being a series. but we shall see!!!

masterlist

if you want to, tip!

IEIRI SHOKO DOESN’T THINK SHE’S KNOWN LOVE BEFORE. But she likes to think that it all changed when she met you for the first time. It was almost like fate, it was almost like there was no avoiding it. But she was happy about that. No, she was grateful that it was the case. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have had the pleasure of knowing life for the first time.

The first time Ieiri Shoko met you, it was entirely by accident. Nothing about it was designed to her liking. Or her wishes. But she was glad it happened. Because she met you. That's why it was worth it to her.

She had been wandering through Tokyo’s vibrant streets, relishing her rare day off from the usual chaos. She found herself near a cozy outdoor café, its quaint tables scattered under the shade of trees. From the corner of her eye, she spotted you: sitting alone, sipping iced coffee and nibbling on a croissant.

The scene was peaceful, the kind she usually ignored, but for some reason, she lingered, her gaze flitting back to you now and then. Then she noticed the disturbance.

A man had approached you—a smug, overbearing presence that seemed out of place in the otherwise tranquil atmosphere. His voice carried over the quiet hum of the café, his tone laced with a sickening blend of arrogance and entitlement.

“Come on, sweetheart. Just give me a chance. You don’t have to sit here all alone.” he drawled, leaning closer to you than was polite.

Your response was calm at first, measured. You weren’t even looking at him. “I’m not interested. Please leave me alone.”

But he didn’t listen. He leaned in further, his grin widening as if he thrived on the discomfort he was causing. Shoko hated men like that. Well, she hated men in general. That was just how it was.

But perhaps a slight difference when it came to Gojo and Geto. But that’s besides the point. She didn’t like men. And she didn’t like this man in front of her most, at least in that moment.

But she promised herself that she was going to take a break, dealing with men. She earned it after dealing with those two. But she kept staring. And staring. The man would not stop talking.

Shoko sighed, annoyance bubbling under her skin. It wasn’t her business, she told herself. She had no reason to get involved. She kept repeating that to herself, almost like a mantra. 

But the way you stiffened under his presence, the look of frustration mixed with unease on your beautiful face. No one was moving about to tell of the creep. Not a single one. And that sparked something in her. A bit of annoyance, a dash of anger and a hefty amount of disgust. 

She told herself she wouldn’t do much today. But she didn’t know how to do that. Not with men like these around. Not when you looked like you were ready to cry out against this creep. Without even realizing it, she readily stood up, abandoning her little cafe treats and her matcha before she started walking toward you, her fingers curling into fists.

“Hey, jackass—” she began, her voice sharp and dripping with venom. But before she could finish her sentence, your fist connected with the man’s jaw in a blur of movement.

The crack of impact echoed through the café as the man stumbled backward, careening into a nearby tree with a satisfying thud. Shoko froze mid-step, her eyes wide as she processed what just happened.

Everyone in the cafe now paid attention, when they didn’t earlier. They looked at you, face stone cold with disgust and anger. And your fist, brutishly brushed with redness with how hard you had hit him.

You shook your hand out casually, muttering under your breath. “Persistent types like you are the worst, you know that? Ugh, this is why I can’t stand men.”

Shoko blinked, her annoyance at the man replaced by a mix of admiration and surprise. But then, she felt it. It was quite easy to feel, even if it was just a faint pulse of cursed energy rippling from you, subtle but unmistakable. Her brow furrowed briefly, but it wasn’t the cursed energy that captivated her. It was you. And you were good at controlling your cursed energy. Too good.

“You better leave me alone, got it? Actually, for the matter of fact, leave every woman alone!” You retorted back to the man, getting nearer to him. He cowers, like the actual coward he is. “Now scram! Don’t ever come back here, you creep!”

The man started to cry wolf as he scrambled to his feet and started to leave. You snicker, looking at your red fists. You pout for a moment. You had fresh nails put on, Shoko saw. You must have chipped them. Shaking your head, you move to leave for your table once more. She walked the rest of the way over, stopping beside you as you calmly picked up your croissant like nothing had happened.

“That was quite impressive.” Shoko drawled, her tone laced with amusement. “Didn’t even need me to step in.”

You looked up at her, slightly startled but composed. “Step in? Were you planning to? Also….who are you? I’ve never met you in my life…..but I suppose, thank you.”

You seemed to be quite adorable to her, with the way you seemed to look at her with this clueless gaze. Your purple eyes were beautiful, brighter than anything she’d ever seen. Shoko thinks she could get lost in them quite often, if she continued to stare at you. But she quickly cleared her throat, slightly flustered.

“Maybe. I was just there.” she said, shrugging. “But I think you handled it just fine. That punch was... something.”

You smirked faintly, tilting your head. “I appreciate the thought, stranger. But I’ve dealt with worse.”

Shoko chuckled softly, stuffing her hands into her coat pockets. “Stranger? That’s a first. But clearly. Still, you might’ve gone a bit overboard. He might’ve cracked a rib or two on that tree.”

“Good.” you said simply, taking a sip of your iced coffee. “The more, the better. That way, he won’t have to cause more trouble for women.”

Shoko’s lips curled upward despite herself. There was something about your nonchalance, your quiet strength, that made her chest tighten in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. You were a breath of fresh air in her rather nonchalant, dull everyday. And she had just met you.

She shook her head, more at herself than anything else. “Name’s Shoko, by the way. Ieiri Shoko.”

You raised an eyebrow but offered a polite nod. “Nice to meet you, Shoko. And thanks... I guess.”

“For what?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“For caring enough to try.”

And just like that, Ieiri Shoko knew she was in trouble. Because in the space of a few, genuinely, tender sentences and one well-placed cursed energy punch, she was done for.

Ieiri Shoko thnks that she had fallen for you—completely and irrevocably, right then and there. And there was no going back. That moment, fate had decided that you both were made for each other.

══════════════════

SHE KNEW SHE MISSED SOMETHING. God, that was frustrating. God, Shoko hated it. Absolutely hated it. Not the idiot who got himself punched into a tree—that part was satisfying. That part was great. And hearing you talk and seeing you smile as you both conversed after that, everything about that was just phenomenal. 

But, everything after that, she hated. She hated how she’d been so utterly struck by Cupid’s arrow that she forgot to ask for your name. Or where you were from. Or what your phone number is.

Or anything that could’ve prevented her from obsessing over you like some lovesick teenager. She had all the chances and she blew it. She absolutely made it a mess even before she met you.

Now, here she was, groaning into her coffee at Jujutsu High’s cafeteria, replaying the scene for the hundredth time in her head. Everything was so vivid and bright and yet she was distracted by the entire time.

Nothing was entering her head when she listened to you speak. But in her defense, you were just….you were just everything. And she breathed and lived you for a moment. She couldn’t help it.  

It was like the sun had come out for the first time. The clouds had parted. The birds were singing a melody to life once more. And it was because of you. You, sipping iced coffee like a goddess, croissant crumbs on your lips, while she just stood there gawking. She might’ve drooled. She wasn’t proud. But she couldn’t help it. Not when it was you.

Across the table, Shoko hadn’t noticed the tall white haired man before her. Gojo Satoru was staring at her with a growing grin, like a cat that had just found a mouse to toy with. This is the first time, he was certain, that Ieiri Shoko had been fazed in the entire time he’s ever known her. And it was all too interesting, all too fun. But also all too curious.

“You good there, Shoko?” he asked, poking her cheek with his finger. “You’ve been sighing like a drama queen all morning. Let me guess. Hungover?”

“Yo, Satoru.” Geto interjected behind him, his voice calm but firm. “Leave her alone. She must be exhausted from her healing courses with Ami–sensei.” 

“Ha? She also drank a lot of the contraband we brought in—” Suguru rolls his deep purple eyes at him. Gojo Satoru frowned. “Yah, don’t ignore me like that, Suguru!”

Geto Suguru, did in fact, ignore him like that despite his protests. Suguru turned to Shoko, his dark purple eyes full of genuine concern. “Seriously, though. What’s wrong? You’ve been acting weird.”

Shoko groaned louder and slumped further into her seat, refusing to meet their eyes. “It’s nothing. I just… I messed up, okay?”

Satoru’s eyebrows shot up, his smirk widening. “Oh-ho, Ieiri Shoko messed up? This I gotta hear. Did you botch a surgery? Or maybe—”

“Shut up, you stupid Gojo.” she muttered, glaring at him. “It’s not like that.”

Suguru shushed Satoru, who rolled his eyes back at him. Suguru looked back at Shoko once again and raised a brow. “Then what’s it about, Shoko? Any trouble? You know you can tell us anything. We’ll help you out.”

Shoko hesitated, her face flushing red slightly—a rare sight that immediately caught both of their attention. Suguru looked at Satoru, who looked back at him, just as curious. She sighed, realizing there was no escape, and finally confessed.

“I met someone the other day, during my day off.” she mumbled, barely audible.

“What? Who?” Satoru leaned closer with a sly grin on his lips, his sunglasses sliding down his nose. “What was that? Didn’t catch it.”

“I met someone!” Shoko snapped, sitting up straight and glaring at him. “Happy now?”

“Ohhh, Shoko’s got a crush!” Gojo Satoru crowed, clapping his hands. “This is gold! Who’s the lucky person? Wait, don’t tell me….it’s the nurse intern in the infirmary, isn’t it? She’s cute, I’ll admit. But she’s no Waka Inoue—”

“It’s not the nurse, you idiot.” Shoko groaned, burying her face in her hands. “It’s… someone I ran into in Tokyo. Literally perfect in all the ways I can think of. Strong, gorgeous, punched a guy into a tree—”

“Wait, wait, what?” Suguru cut in, his eyebrows furrowing. “They punched someone into a tree?”

“Yeah, and it was beautiful, Geto. You have no idea.” Shoko sighed, her bright hazel brown eyes glazing over as she got lost in the memory. “I think I blacked out for a while, but she was drop dead gorgeous!”

“So what’s the problem?” Suguru hummed as he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“The problem is I was too stunned to function.” Shoko admitted, groaning again. “I didn’t ask for their name, their number—nothing! I just stood there like an idiot, making heart eyes at them.”

Geto Suguru looked away. Gojo Satoru stared at her for a moment. Shoko sighed, leaning back against her chair. Suguru bit his lower lip. But almost too happy to not keep it in, Gojo Satoru bursted out laughing, clutching his stomach. 

“Oh my god, this is amazing! The mighty Ieiri Shoko, reduced to a lovesick fool! This might be the best day of my life.” He nearly fell off a chair, trying to balance himself.

“Shut up, Gojo. It’s not funny.” Shoko grumbled, throwing a napkin at his face. But he kept laughing. 

Geto Suguru cleared his throat and looked back at her. The threat of laughter disappeared, at least for now. “Okay, let’s think this through. Did they say anything that could help us figure out who they are? Maybe they frequent that café?”

“Maybe……” Shoko admitted, her face lighting up with a sliver of hope.

Satoru grinned wickedly. “I’ll help you track your future wife down. But only if I get to witness round two of you turning into a blushing mess. Like, a little met cute and I get to watch you both fall in love.”

Shoko groaned again, louder this time. “Why do I even talk to you two?”

“Because you love us, Shoko.” Satoru said, flashing a cheeky smile. “We’re your best friends, aren’t we? You loooooveeeee us!”

Shoko feels like she regrets even being alive. She groans lowly. “You’re making yourself not be my best friend right now.”

“Oh, come on! Don’t you think this is great? We’re your support group!”

“I’d rather not have that right now, thank you.”

Suguru grinned. Sometimes, Shoko forgets that he’s Satoru in a different font. “As if you aren’t glad we’re here for you right now. Your dear best friends are helping you get a girlfriend!”

“I’d rather not get that from you both, thanks. You’d ruin it.” Shoko retorts back, with a pointed glare.

“But isn’t that only because we’re the only ones who’ll put up with your nonsense, don’t you think?” Suguru quipped, adding a smirk for good measure. “Actually, that should be for Satoru more than Shoko.”

“Excuse me? My nonsense is what makes life fun!” Satoru shot back, feigning offense. “Besides, Shoko’s nonsense is way worse than mine. She just hides it better.”

Shoko crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. “And yet, I’m still the sane one here.”

“Which is why you need us, don’t you think?” Suguru teased, leaning back with a knowing grin. “To balance things out. Otherwise, you’d be too sane. Boring even.”

Satoru clapped his hands together dramatically. “Exactly! We’re the chaos to your calm, the sprinkles to your plain vanilla. Without us, you’d just... exist!”

Shoko sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “And here I was, thinking I’d have a peaceful day. Big mistake.”

“But that would be sooooo boring.” Gojo Satoru scowled, almost like a five year old not being given candy. “The peace and quiet should be fun and booming!”

Suguru grinned, crossing his arms. “Just like Shoko’s love life soon enough!”

Satoru and Suguru shared a small high five and laughed. Ieiri Shoko scowled at both of them but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips.

Maybe they were annoying, but she knew they’d have her back—even if it meant enduring Gojo’s relentless teasing along the way.

══════════════════

SHOKO THINKS SHE’S DREAMING. But no matter how she pinched herself, she knew this was reality. You were real. This was real. Everything about this was real. This next time Ieiri Shoko saw you, it felt like fate had finally decided to stop playing with her heart. It happened rather fast, faster than any prepared for. 

Only two months later, the yearly Sister School Exchange Event between Tokyo Jujutsu High and Kyoto Jujutsu High happened. And if Shoko was being honest, she wasn’t expecting much.

She wasn’t even going to participate in the way that Satoru or Suguru were going to. Everything about the two day event was just the usual chaos of students beating each other up under the guise of “training.” 

But Shoko was still required to attend. Thus far, she was the only student with the appropriate knowledge to heal wounds and treat damages. With her cursed technique, she was the only one who could help out the school’s physician and nurse with the amount of damages that may come between the students. No matter how bored she’ll get, she’ll still have to be here.

That’s what Ieiri Shoko expected for her experience this year. That she’ll be stuck watching kids like her with freakishly strong abilities fight each other to win. And she didn’t like that.

Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru would give her much trouble with how they could end up defeating all of the representatives from Kyoto if they wanted to. All those unnecessary patients she didn’t need or want to heal at this moment. 

And then, you were there.

Just among the people in the front.

You were there, right in front of her.

Her mouth went agape with shock.

You stood among the Kyoto students, your uniform pristine, your posture confident. The moment Shoko’s eyes landed on you, it was like falling in love all over again—only this time, it hit harder. She froze, her heart doing that ridiculous thing where it skipped a beat, and she thought, Oh no. It’s her. It’s actually her.

As if sensing her gaze, you looked up, and your face lit up with recognition. A bright, radiant smile spread across your lips, and for a moment, Shoko could have sworn that the world stopped spinning, with all of that. But then, your gaze shifted.

“Suguru!” you called out, waving enthusiastically as you jogged over to him. “Suguuuuu!”

Ieiri Shoko’s smile faltered. Her brain screeched to a halt.

Oh, no. Oh, god. Are you straight?

Her stomach twisted. Were you... interested in Suguru?

Oh my god, you were already calling him Sugu?

Before she could spiral any further, Gojo Satoru —ever the opportunist—sidled up next to her, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Hey, Shoko. What’s with the face? You look like someone just kicked your puppy.”

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Kill me now, Gojo.”

“Oh, this is rich coming from you.” he said, cackling. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for that Kyoto girl? The same Kyoto girl who’s now ogling Suguru? Shoko, you know we can’t trust them, let alone fall for them! What if they cry if we win?”

“I hate you. So much.” Shoko muttered, her voice muffled.

“Aw, come on, Shoko. You gotta admit, it’s funny—”

“Shut up, Gojo. Please!” she snapped, glaring at him. “I’m having a crisis here!”

Satoru snickered lowly, clearly enjoying her misery. “So, what’s the plan? Are you gonna confess your undying love before they elopes with Suguru? Or—wait—” He gasped dramatically. “Are you gonna challenge Suguru to a duel for their hand? I have to see this.”

Shoko was about to tell him off when she heard you laugh, your voice light and familiar. She glanced over and saw you standing next to Suguru, chatting animatedly. Then she caught Suguru’s expression: a rare, soft smile that he reserved for a select few.

Something clicked.

Wait. That smile wasn’t flirty. It was fond. Familiar.

…..One could say even familial in nature.

Then Suguru said, “You’ve grown, nee–chan! When was the last time we saw each other? Two years?”

And just like that, it hit her.

“Oh my god.” Shoko muttered, staring at you in horror. “They’re Suguru’s sister. Suguru’s older sister!”

Gojo doubled over, laughing so hard he nearly fell over. “This just keeps getting better! Shoko, you absolute idiot! All this time, and you didn’t realize they're Suguru’s sister?!”

“Shut up!” she hissed, her face burning as the pieces fell into place. 

Satoru blinked, “They even have the same eyes with different color palettes! One look and it’s obvious—”

“Gojo, not the time!”

Satoru started to lose it once again. “Oh shit, you fell for his sister!”

“Gojo—”

Meanwhile, you had turned toward Shoko, your smile as bright as ever. You waved, your joy uncontainable as you called out, “Hey, Shoko! Long time no see!”

Her brain short-circuited again. But this time, it wasn’t because of panic—it was because she realized she had an in. And Gojo? He just kept laughing. Oh, this was something new to him. He’d never seen Ieiri Shoko be this down bad, or at all be defeated in such a way someone smiled or greeted her. This was incredible.

Shoko froze like a deer caught in headlights. You were walking toward her now, that same radiant smile plastered across your face. Her heart raced as a thousand thoughts flew through her mind, but one screamed the loudest: Play it cool, Shoko. For the love of cursed energy, play it cool.

But then, right behind her, Gojo Satoru wasn’t helping. “Oh no, Shoko.” he snickered innocently. “Please don’t faint now. You’ll ruin the moment. Should I start humming the wedding march?”

She shot him a glare that could’ve dropped a special grade curse. “Gojo, I swear, if you don’t shut up—”

Before she could finish, you were standing in front of her, looking just as beautiful…no, even more beautiful than the last time she saw you. Your bright purple eyes sparkled with recognition as you clasped your hands together, grinning.

“I can’t believe it’s you!” you said, your tone light and genuinely excited. “I’ve been wanting to get a hold of you. But I didn’t know your contact info! I also forgot about asking Suguru here. That one was my fault!”

“Nee–san took too many missions this time around again.” Suguru retorted with a slight frown as you rolled your eyes, playfully. “You know you get forgetful when you get too exhausted! Take less work load! Mom already tells me to tell you! I can’t keep telling you, nee–san!”

Your younger brother was cute like this, you thought. He was always concerned about you, and even though you were the one older by one year—your little brother was the one between the two of you who was always more protective and caring. Perhaps that’s why you love your little brother a lot. You smiled at him, waving him off.

“Don’t worry too much, Sugu! I get to rest too!”

He frowned. “How many coffees did you drink today?”

“.....Just a little bit!”

“Nee–san!”

“Anyway, Shoko. Thank you again!” You ignore your younger brother’s lectures once more, giggling. “I was grateful for having you there.”

“Oh, uh...it’s fine, by the way. What happened.” Shoko cleared her throat as she once more stammered, her usual cool demeanor crumbling under your gaze. “It was nothing. You handled it yourself, readily. Brilliantly. Properly—” 

“You’re talkative!” You say to Shoko, causing her to blink.

She stops herself. “I’m sorry.”

You giggle. Oh, that was music to her ears. “No, no. It was just an observation. You have such a way of speaking, it’s rather nice to hear.”

Shoko could feel her cheeks turn red, brighter than before. She lowers her head. “A–ah…that’s fine. You…you still did much of the work, as I said.”

“Well, yeah….” you laughed, rubbing the back of your neck. “But I saw you coming over, and it meant a lot. It’s not everyday someone is willing to back you up like that.”

Shoko’s brain screamed: THEY REMEMBERED ME. THEY WERE THINKING ABOUT ME.

But before she could say anything remotely coherent, Geto Suguru once more joined the conversation, completely oblivious to the tension with a smile. You know that smile too well. You think you’ll get another lecture about this later. You sighed, you really should be more careful with yourself. You didn’t want to worry your little brother too much.”

“Since you know nee–san, we might as well make it more formal.” he said with a fond smile, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Shoko, this is my elder sister. They’re in their second year at Kyoto Jujutsu High. Nee-san, this is Ieiri Shoko. She’s one of the only healers who can do RCT properly.”

You beamed at her again, extending your hand. “Nice to formally meet you, Ieiri Shoko. My little brother talks about you all the time. You’re his…more sane friend, he tells me.”

Oh no, Shoko thought, panic setting in. She’s polite. She’s sweet. And she likes Suguru enough to listen to his rambling. I’m doomed.

Meanwhile, Gojo Satoru because of course, Satoru leaned into Shoko’s ear and whispered just loud enough for you to hear, “Shoko, do you realize?”

“Realize what, Gojo?”

 He grins at her, his glasses falling slightly from his eyes. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m not!” she snapped, swatting at him.

You tilted your head, curious but amused. “Blushing?”

“She’s totally blushing, nee–san!” Satoru teased, now openly grinning. “Rare sighting, don’t you think?”

Shoko groaned and ran a hand through her hair. “Please go on and ignore him. He’s an idiot.”

Satoru started to frown. “Shoko, not fair!”

“Then stop being so annoying!”

“I’m not being annoying, take it back!”

“No!”

You laughed again, the sound warm and genuine. You started to realize how animated they were the more you saw them argue. Suguru was right about them. They were fun. Perhaps especially to you – Shoko. Well, at least to you.

The doe eyed young woman pursed her lip onto a tight line as she felt the warmth of her cheeks deepen. She started to feel it in her ears and her neck. This was so bad. Right in front of you too. Ieiri Shoko felt like she could die right there and it would be fine. But then you said something that nearly killed her on the spot.

“So, Shoko......” you began, your voice tinged with curiosity. “How do you feel about dinner after the event? Maybe you can tell me more about how you and my brother became friends.”

Shoko blinked. “Dinner?”

“Dinner.” you repeated with a smile that made her knees weak. “Unless you’re busy, of course.”

Satoru gasped dramatically, butting in once more. “Is this a date? Oh my god, Shoko, you’re getting asked out—”

Suguru frowned, hitting Satoru’s arm. “Satoru, shut up.”

“But, Suguboo, our kid’s all grown up already! Flying out of the nest and spreading her wings out there in the wild, to find a mate—”

“Shut up, Gojo!” she barked, her voice cracking slightly She turned back to you, her cheeks burning. “I—I’m not busy. Not tonight…..Dinner sounds great, if you’d like it.”

“That sounds lovely!” You clapped your hands. “I don’t know many restaurants here in Tokyo, well the great ones. I’ll leave myself in your care!”

“Y–yeah….”

Geto Suguru arched an eyebrow at the interaction, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “Looks like you two are getting along already. Nee–san, I’m sure you’ll get along really well.”

You smiled at him. “That makes me happy, very much happy!”

Satoru couldn’t help but cackle. “Oh, they’re getting along great! Better than I ever imagined.”

As you laughed at their antics, Ieiri Shoko continued to think that all she could ever want in this moment was to go on and  sink into the ground. And yet, all at once, she felt the enjoyment of these warm feelings inside of her.

At the same time, she couldn’t help the tiny, shy smile tugging at her lips. Because you were here. And you were with her. Shoko couldn’t help but think that maybe fate wasn’t so cruel after all.

═══════════════���══

EVERYTHING FROM THAT DAY WAS ONE OF THE BEST OF SHOKO’S LIFE. That dinner turned out to be a game-changer. Well, at least that’s what she thinks. Ieiri Shoko, despite her usual aloofness, found herself opening up to you in a way that surprised even her. Perhaps in more deeper ways than he’s ever found himself honest with Geto and Gojo.

But perhaps it was because you were easy to talk to. You just knew what to say to people. You just knew how to make them laugh. You were everything in one. You were funny, sharp, and undeniably kind. And Shoko was quite sure that all her feelings quickly realized themselves as more than what she thought it was.

Initially, she knew it was a crush and that had only been scratching the surface. That she knew all too well. But by the end of the night, she was right.  There was more than what she felt on the surface.

She was utterly, quite honestly down to the depths of the earth smitten with you. But with the way you were looking at her, smiling ever so widely, even more than her — the stage was set for Ieiri Shoko. It was clear you felt the same way for her too.

Geto Suguru, sitting across from you two, watched with quiet amusement. He was pleased, almost proud, even. Seeing his best friend and his sister getting along so well warmed his heart. Seeing both of them happy and falling in love? He likes to think that could make his entire year. He liked seeing his nee–san happy, after all.  

“It’s nice to see you laughing like that, Shoko.” he teased lightly as the three of you wrapped up the meal. “I’ll have to thank nee–san for pulling it out of you.”

Shoko rolled her eyes, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. “Shut up, Geto.”

The Sister School Exchange Event ended with Tokyo’s team taking the win. Kyoto’s students were graceful in defeat—well, only mostly—but the sting of competition was softened by the relationships that were fostered during the event. Still, when the time came for you to return to Kyoto, Ieiri Shoko found herself uncharacteristically reluctant to say goodbye.

“Take care, Shoko.” you said with a soft smile as you stood by the school gates. “And don’t be a stranger, okay? Call me!”

Shoko gave a lazy wave, trying to mask the twinge of sadness in her chest. “Yeah, yeah. You too. You have my number, no?”

“I do, I do.” You grinned, showing her your contacts. Shoko leaned forward and saw her name saved rather nicely on your contacts. “Is it the right number?”

Shoko smiled. “It’s correct. Don’t worry.”

“Okay.” You smiled back at her too, putting your phone away. “I’ll call you. I’ll text you too.”

Shoko smiles at you. “You better, okay?”

You grinned back at her. “I promise you, I’ll set it all up!”

As you boarded the car, you gave her one last fond look and grinned at her waving. Shoko waves back at you. Soon enough, Shoko watched the cars move and drive off towards the train station. Shoko was about to return to her dorms when she heard her flip phone ring. Shoko took it out and smiled.

You: Hey, just checking in. Did Suguru manage to keep Satoru out of trouble after we left?

Shoko couldn’t help but laugh as she began to reply. That first text turned into a conversation that lasted hours. Then another the next day. And the next. Soon, it became a daily thing.

Shoko tried to keep it casual at first, but she was uncharacteristically shy about texting you. She’d stare at your messages, overthinking every word before typing a response.

Still, despite her hesitations, she found herself looking forward to your texts. And when you started sending little snapshots of your day—a picture of a training session, a particularly stubborn curse you had to exercise, or just the Kyoto campus in full bloom. She couldn’t help but smile. She was learning so much about you. And vice versa too. But most of all, it was making Shoko’s heart flutter like a little butterfly in flight.

But it didn’t take long for Satoru and Suguru to notice. It was easy to do that. Shoko hadn’t realized how distracted she had truly been until those two came by her dorm. Shoko lounged in her bed for a moment, her phone buzzed with another message from you. She picked it up immediately, a small smile creeping onto her lips as she read your latest story about Kyoto’s high’s antics. 

Satoru, who had been watching her from across the room practically pounced. “Ohhh, there it is again! That look on your face, Shoko!"

Shoko glared at him. “What look? Also why are you both here? Isn’t this the girl’s dorm? You can’t just go here without telling me!”

Suguru laughed, leaning against the wall. “Oh now you suddenly care for the rules, Shoko? We came by to check on you.”

She glared back at him, sighing. “I don’t need you to check on me.”

“That look really goes with the one from earlier. You know, the ‘I’m hopelessly in love and can’t stop texting them.'" Satoru teased, grinning like a maniac.

“Leave her alone, Satoru.” Suguru said, but even he was smirking. “Although, you’re not wrong. She’s been on her phone more than usual lately. Nee–san must have kept you up with their stories, no?”

Shoko groaned, slamming her phone face-down on the table. “I hate both of you.”

“No, you don’t.” Satoru said, leaning over to peek at her phone. “So, what did they say? Are they confessing their undying love yet?”

Shoko shoved him away, her cheeks flushing. “None of your business.”

Suguru chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. “You know, I’m happy for you, Shoko. Nee–san deserves someone good, and so do you. So, if my sister ends up with someone, I’d be happy if it was you. You’re good when you want to be, after.”

Shoko blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. Shoko really hadn’t expected that from her friend. He was overprotective over his elder sister.  So, she had expected to. But Suguru only smiled and wished her the best. 

“Thanks, Suguru.” she muttered, her voice softer than usual. “That means a lot.”

Gojo Satoru clapped his hands together dramatically. “Oh, this is too sweet! I’m gonna cry. Someone hand me a tissue.”

Shoko threw a pen at him. “Shut up before I exorcize you.”

But despite her protests, she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips as her phone buzzed again. She’d never admit it out loud, but Gojo and Suguru were right—she was falling for you more every day.

══════════════════

SHE HADN’T EXPECTED THIS. The news hit Ieiri Shoko like a thunderbolt. It wasn’t just shocking; it was disorienting, cutting through the quiet rhythm of her evening like an unexpected slap. She stood frozen, her fingers slack, causing the glowing ember of her cigarette to slip through her grasp and sizzle faintly against the wet, dark pavement.

Her usually composed face betrayed her emotions for once—eyes wide with disbelief, her brows knitting together in a rare show of genuine confusion. The faint glow of a nearby streetlamp caught the slight tremor in her lips as she spoke, her voice low and disbelieving.

"What do you mean they’ve been expelled from Kyoto Jujutsu High?" she repeated, as though saying it aloud would make the statement less surreal.

The words hung heavily in the air between you both. Shoko's thoughts were already racing. There were too many questions blooming as quickly as they were silenced by her instinctive understanding that there was more to this story than she knew. Kyoto Jujutsu High wasn’t known for rash decisions, especially not ones involving someone like you.

“What?” she exclaimed, with such a concern on her face. “Geto, this can’t be real!”

Suguru sighed, rubbing his temples as he delivered the news. He looked just as concerned. “Apparently, nee–san got into a fight with a higher-up.”

Gojo Satoru didn’t look too bothered. He was lounging casually in a chair grinning like a mischievous cat. “Not just any fight—they decked the guy. Apparently, he was being rude to one of their upperclassmen. Because their senpai's refusing to send out one of the injured underclassmen to the field again. And they didn’t take it well.”

Shoko’s heart dropped. “They... what? They’re going to be a civilian now?”

Suguru nodded, his expression weary. “That’s the official line from the higher ups. Nee–san’s being expelled and cut off from jujutsu society entirely. Honestly, I get it, but—”

“Get it?!” Shoko snapped, standing up. “That’s insane. They didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Technically, nee–san broke the rules.” Suguru said, his tone placating. “But I’ll admit, it’s harsh. Nee-san’s not the first student to lose their temper over something like this. The kid’s going to die if nee–san didn’t step in.”

“Harsh? It’s ridiculous!” Shoko ran a hand through her hair, trying to process what this meant. If you were expelled, you’d go back to civilian life. No more cursed energy training, no more missions. And worst of all—no more being together.

“I can’t believe this. This is so stupid.” she muttered, sitting down heavily. “They’re going to disappear.”

“Disappear?” Satoru interrupted, his grin widening. “Who said anything about disappearing?”

Shoko blinked. “What are you talking about, Gojo?”

Satoru leaned back in his chair, his signature smirk firmly in place. “Let’s just say I pulled a few strings. Do you really think I’d let Suguru’s nee-san—and your big fat crush, soon to be lover—get kicked to the curb? Please. You should never underestimate who I am.”

“What did you do, Satoru?” Suguru asked, narrowing his dark purple eyes. “Please tell me it’s nothing stupid.”

Satoru waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, nothing major. Just convinced a few people that expelling your nee–san was a waste of talent. They’ll be transferring here instead.”

“Satoru, you did what?”

“What? I did nothing wrong!” Satoru argues, a pout on his lips. “It’s not my fault they cower and listen to my words really fast!”

Shoko’s jaw dropped. “Wait…..This means then…..they’re coming here?”

Gojo winked. “That’s right. Tokyo Jujutsu High just got itself a new student. Although, they’ll demote them to the first year. So, the newbies will be working with them. But the best news is that Suguru’s nee–san stays with us!”

Hearing the news was like a weight lifting off Shoko’s chest. Relief flooded her, followed by an uncharacteristic wave of excitement. You’d be coming to Tokyo. You’d be closer. And you wouldn’t have to give up your life as a jujutsu sorcerer.

Suguru, on the other hand, looked less impressed. If anything, he looked more stressed out than ever before. “So, what’s the catch? You don’t do favors without an ulterior motive, Satoru.”

“Catch?” Satoru said, feigning innocence. “No catch. Just being my usual amazing self. Though...” He leaned in with a grin. “Maybe now Shoko won’t be moping around all day texting her new Kyoto girlfriend.”

“Shut up, Gojo. Oh my god.” Shoko muttered, though her blush betrayed her.

“Hey, Suguru gave you his approval! Take the step, they like you too!”

The next morning came with a mixture of dread and resignation. As you trudged towards Tokyo Jujutsu High, your mind oscillated between embarrassment and a faint flicker of relief. At least this mess had one upside: you’d get to see your brother Suguru more often—and Shoko too.

When you finally arrived at the gates, the sight awaiting you almost made you turn around and head home. There they were, your welcoming committee: Ieiri Shoko, casually leaning against the gatepost with a cigarette dangling from her lips.

Your brother Suguru, arms crossed, looking amused and intrigued all at once; and, of course, Gojo Satoru, sunglasses perched on his nose, holding a handmade sign that read: “Welcome Back, Loser!” in bright glittery letters.

"Finally!" Gojo called out dramatically, waving the sign like a flag. "I was starting to think you got expelled again just walking here."

Shoko rolled her eyes and exhaled a cloud of smoke, but you caught the hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. “Took you long enough. Thought we’d have to send out a search party.”

Suguru’s expression was softer—teasing, but warm. "So, how does it feel being demoted? Does it sting less knowing you’ll be stuck with us now?"

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "Please, can we not call it 'demoted'?”

“Oh, but it’s perfect, isn't it?” Gojo interjected, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “A whole extra year of us tormenting you! And by ‘us,’ I mean mostly me.”

"Speak for yourself, Gojo." Shoko quipped, flicking her cigarette into a nearby ashtray. “I’m just here to enjoy the show. And maybe your suffering... a little.”

Her eyes twinkled mischievously, but the corners of her mouth softened, betraying a hint of fondness. Despite their teasing, there was an undeniable warmth in their presence. This wasn’t just punishment—it was a chance to start fresh, closer to the people who mattered most. You straightened up, brushing off the weight of your earlier shame.

"Okay, okay. I get it. Laugh it up. But let’s see who’s laughing when I outscore all of you this year.”

Gojo threw his head back in mock laughter. “Oh, they’ve already got jokes! This is gonna be fun.”

As you all started walking toward the school, Suguru nudged your shoulder. “Welcome to Tokyo, nee–san. Try not to enjoy being around Satoru too much, okay? You’ll end up with a bad lifestyle!”

“Hey! I am not a bad influence!” Satoru glared at Suguru, who couldn’t stop smirking anyway. “I’m the best one!”

Shoko, walking beside you, added with a sly grin. “But if you do, at least make it entertaining. I’ve got high expectations.”

“Well…I do know one or two.” You grinned back at Shoko. 

“Nee–san, please don’t! I’m a good boy!” Satoru retorted, pouting like a child. 

“Suguru, is he always like this?” You pointed at Satoru.

Suguru sighed. “Unfortunately, nee–san.”

“HAH!? What do you mean unfortunately? Suguru!”

“Now, now.” He continues to smile at her, ignoring Satoru’s tirade before he turns to Shoko. “Okay, let nee–san go and settle everything. Shoko, show my nee–san around!”

“Alright, come with me.” She smiled back at her.

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

“That’s nothing. Welcome to Tokyo!” she said, her tone casual, though the corners of her lips twitched into a small smile.

You grinned back at her, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “Good to see you again, Shoko.”

Her heart skipped a beat, but she played it cool. “You’re stuck here now, so don’t make me regret letting Gojo pull those strings for you.”

“Letting him?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure he didn’t need your permission.”

“Don’t push it now.” she replied, but her smile softened.

You smile back at her. “Oh, what a challenge.”

The female dorms were on the other side of the main gate. So, Shoko took her time introducing you to the whole building. It’s a bit more modern than Kyoto Jujutsu High, and perhaps even more breathable than most.

You should have joined Tokyo from the beginning, you like to think. At least there, no one would have been breathing down your neck about everything and anything. 

The rest of the school was cloaked in quiet, save for the rhythmic hum of grasshoppers and the occasional distant laughter of upperclassmen still lingering outside. They must be going on a mission, watching them gather supplies at one of the weapon stores. 

You both walked a bit more before you both reached the dorms. Shoko guided you to the female dorms, her steps unhurried, her cigarette faintly glowing in the dim light. She handed you your key and you thanked her. For once, she wasn’t rushing. She wasn’t deflecting. She was just… here. Enjoying your company. 

"You’ll be in this room. Just next to mine." she said, pushing open the door with a faint creak. The space was modest but clean, the faint scent of freshly polished wood lingering in the air. “It’s not exactly luxury, but it beats Kyoto’s dorms, doesn’t it?”

You nodded, setting down your bag with a relieved sigh. “Honestly, I don’t care where I sleep right now. I just want to survive tomorrow’s lectures and the scrutiny of it all.”

Shoko chuckled softly, leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Gojo doesn’t derail everything. Well, I’ll try—no promises.”

But as she watched you unpack a few essentials, she felt something shift inside her. It was subtle, like the way dawn crept into the night—quiet, yet unmistakable. She hadn’t realized how heavy the silence around her had been until now. 

With you here, it felt lighter, less suffocating. Shoko had always been fine being alone, or so she thought. But this? This felt better. Her thoughts were interrupted later when she returned to the common area, only to find Satoru and Suguru waiting for her like mischievous foxes who’d just sniffed out a secret.

She glares. “Why the hell are you guys here again? It’s the female dorm building!”

“Just wanted to go and help nee–san clean up.” Suguru says in his defense. “My nee–san’s a germaphobe.”

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. You become flustered. “Sugu, I would have called you about it.”

“I know, I know. But it would get done quicker. And I know how you like it.” He smiles at his elder sister and then at Shoko, who seems to be annoyed that her time with you was broken. “Sorry if we came by this quickly.”

“It’s fine.” You smiled at your brother and then at Satoru. “Come in.”

“Hey, Shoko.” Satoru started, leaning casually against the arm of the couch. His grin was far too smug to mean anything good. “You’ve been awfully chipper today. Something you wanna share with the class?”

Suguru smirked, arms crossed as he added, “It’s almost like you’re… happy or something. Suspiciously happy.”

Shoko didn’t even flinch. She calmly lit another cigarette and exhaled a plume of smoke with an almost zen-like air. “Wow, groundbreaking observation. Maybe I’m just relieved the dorms didn’t burn down while you two were around.”

“Uh-huh.” Satoru pressed, leaning in closer, his sunglasses slipping down his nose. “Or maybe you’re just glad someone else is here to put up with us.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quivering upward. “You’ve been downright pleasant, Shoko. What’s the occasion?”

Normally, she’d roll her eyes, deliver a sarcastic retort, and walk away, but this time, she surprised herself. She looked at you, but you had your back turned to check on your bathroom. She grinned at the two of them.

“Maybe I am.” she said simply, her voice soft but firm.

The boys blinked, clearly expecting more resistance.

Satoru recovered first, his grin widening. “Oh, this is gonna be fun. She does have feelings!”

Suguru chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t push your luck, Satoru.”

Shoko just took another drag from her cigarette, smirking faintly. Their teasing didn’t bother her tonight, not when it came from a place of familiarity and care. Because for the first time in a long while, Ieiri Shoko didn’t feel so alone. And even if she’d never admit it aloud, she knew it was because of you.

You came out of the bathroom. “You know, I think we should get some dinner. So on the way, we can go and get cleaning supplies.”

“Alright, alright. I know the best place!” Satoru says, taking out his phone. “Let me get a driver here.”

You looked at Suguru, confused. “Do we need a car?”

Suguru smiled at you. “Let him be, nee-san. He likes small pleasures of us commoners.”

Ieiri Shoko sighed.

It’s going to be a long night. 

But at least, she'll be with you.

══════════════════

DAYS WERE PASSING BY WAY TOO QUICKLY. Adjusting to life at Tokyo Jujutsu High wasn’t without its challenges—for both you and Shoko. You were repeating your first year, waiting for the other incoming students to arrive, which left you with a lot of free time around the dorms. And as much as Shoko tried to focus on her responsibilities, your presence made it nearly impossible.

You were, in Shoko’s mind, too beautiful for her own sanity. Every morning, you’d greet her in the dorm hallway, always looking effortlessly stunning. A white oversized shirt seemed to be your go-to, and Shoko could never help but notice the lack of a bra beneath it. Your long hair, still slightly messy from sleep, flowed freely, catching the soft morning light.

“Morning, Shoko!” you’d say brightly, your voice warm and cheerful as you padded barefoot past her toward the kitchen.

Shoko, leaning against the wall with a cup of coffee, would nod, trying desperately to maintain her composure. “Morning, morning.” she’d reply, her voice as nonchalant as she could make it. But inside, her thoughts were anything but calm.

Are you doing this on purpose?

Then there were the days you decided to dress up a little more, usually when you ventured outside or had meetings with Yaga to discuss your uniform adjustments. You’d toss on a cute mini-skirt paired with some casual top, and Shoko had to fight the urge to openly gawk. The skirts suited you far too well, and she found herself glancing a little too long when you weren’t looking.

“You’re staring at them too much, Shoko.” Satoru teased one day, catching her mid-gaze as you walked across the courtyard in your mini-skirt and go-go boots.

“Shut up.” Shoko muttered, sipping her coffee with a forced air of indifference.

“Can’t blame you, though.” Satoru said with a smirk. “They do look good.”

Shoko shot him a death glare, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t argue with him.

“Hey, hey….can you not talk about my nee–san like that in front of me?” Suguru frowns as he downs his coffee. “Too early for this.”

And that, Ieiri Shoko can agree with him too.

But she can’t help it either way too, her eyes rising back up.

You looked too good, ever so good that she wants to eat you whole.

That wasn’t the only time. If anything, it was only the beginning. One lazy afternoon, you strolled into the common area wearing yet another oversized shirt—this time paired with short shorts that barely peeked out beneath the hem. You flopped onto the couch next to Shoko, your long legs stretching out as you scrolled absentmindedly on your phone.

Shoko glanced at you briefly, trying not to focus on how close you were. “Waiting for Yaga–sensei to get back to you about the uniform again?” she asked, keeping her tone casual.

You sighed dramatically. “Yeah. I just want something comfortable, you know? But also cute. I’m tired of the basic uniforms.”

Shoko smirked slightly. “Cute, huh? Isn’t the point of a uniform that it’s... uniform?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Oh, come on, Shoko. Life’s too short to not look good while fighting curses.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Fair enough.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, and Shoko allowed herself to relax. But then you turned to her, resting your chin on your hand. “You’ve been really kind to me, you know.” you said softly, your eyes meeting hers. “I’m glad I ended up here.”

Shoko’s breath caught for just a second. “It’s nothing,” she replied, a little too quickly. “You’re family to Suguru. That makes you family to me.”

You smiled at her, warm and sincere. “Still, thanks.”

As you returned to your phone, Shoko leaned back, trying to suppress the fluttering in her chest. Every day with you felt like a dream—one she never wanted to wake up from. 

Ah, she thinks to herself. I really am in love with you.

══════════════════

SHE CAN’T HELP BUT FEEL THIS WAY. Lately, Shoko had been feeling... off. She’d always been good at brushing things aside, compartmentalizing, and moving on.

But this was different. You weren’t around as much anymore, and it wasn’t even your fault. It was just the life of a Jujutsu sorcerer.

Between missions with Nanami and Haibara—your new classmates who Shoko grudgingly admitted seemed like good people and the way Suguru and Satoru always managed to monopolize your time, there wasn’t much left for the quiet moments she had come to treasure.

At first, she told herself it didn’t matter. You were busy. That was life at Jujutsu High. Everyone had their own path, their own responsibilities. But that logical voice in her head was steadily drowned out by the gnawing feeling in her chest.

Jealousy wasn’t something Shoko indulged in often, but here it was, creeping in and making her unreasonably annoyed at things that shouldn’t matter.

She missed the late-night chats, the way you’d flop onto the dorm couch after a long day and fill the silence with stories, complaints, or even just your presence. And now? Now it felt like you were slipping through her fingers.

That’s why, when she caught sight of you one evening by the dorm entrance, her heart skipped a beat. Who would have thought that fate would surmise that both of you were going to smoke here today. She could feel her heart pounding against her chest faster as she approached you.

You looked exhausted, your uniform slightly wrinkled, a faint smudge of dirt on your cheek. Yet somehow, you still looked radiant, your hair catching the faint light from the hallway. Shoko froze for a moment, torn between her usual nonchalance and the strange surge of emotion threatening to bubble over.

“Didn’t know you smoked.” she said casually as she stepped outside, lighting her own. 

You turned to her with a small smile, blowing out a plume of smoke. “Don’t tell Suguru. He worries too much about me.”

Shoko chuckled. “My lips are sealed.” She reached into her pocket but frowned. “Forgot my lighter.”

You held up your empty hands. “Didn’t bring mine either. I’m sorry.”

For a moment, you both stood there, the soft sounds of the night filling the silence. The silence somehow felt awkward. And that was the first time this ever happened. But well, there was a first time for everything. But Shoko didn’t like it. And neither did you.

You take a moment to look at her, as though to study her face. There was disappointment in the corner of Shoko’s eyes. She must have been just as stressed out too. And a smoke was her release.

You purse your lips into a flat line, tightening your lips against the smoke. You closed your eyes, as though to gather courage. Then, without a word, you stepped closer to her. Shoko froze as you closed the distance, your movements slow and deliberate.

“Come here.” you murmured, your cigarette still against your lips.

Before she could react, you leaned in, pressing your body gently against hers to steady yourself. The faint warmth of your skin seeped through your shirt, and Shoko’s breath hitched.

Your eyes, calm and unreadable, locked onto hers as you tilted your head slightly to angle the glowing tip of your cigarette towards her own, locked against her lips.

The moment seemed to stretch into eternity. Shoko’s bright brown eyes widened slightly, her usual composure slipping as she focused on the heat between you.

The warmth of your cigarette lighting hers, the closeness of your body, and the intensity of your gaze. Everything about it was something Shoko wasn’t prepared for.

“There, it’s lit.” you said softly, pulling back just enough to blow out a trail of smoke.

Shoko exhaled slowly, both to test her lit cigarette and to steady her suddenly racing heart. Her face is redder than before. Shoko did not expect it at all. How could she? You acted rather meek and different.

Even if you meet her cheekiness, she never expected that you would be so straigh forward and cool about it. You smiled at her, continuing to smoke soon after, the smoke blowing through the cold winter air. She clears her throat, trying to stay calm.

“Thank you.” she manages, her voice steady but quieter than usual.

“No problem.” you said with a small smile, stepping back to your spot. You leaned against the railing, the cool night breeze rustling your hair.

Shoko took a long drag from her cigarette, her eyes lingering on you as you stared out into the night. For someone so effortlessly chaotic during the day, you had a calmness about you in moments like this, a stillness that drew her in like a magnet.

“Didn’t take you for the jealous type, Shoko.” you said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Shoko nearly choked. “What?”

You smirked, glancing over at her. “You’ve been avoiding me lately. I figured you were mad about something.”

She raised an eyebrow, trying to play it cool. “I’m not mad. Just busy.”

“Busy, huh?” you teased, your tone light but knowing.

Shoko rolled her eyes, taking another drag to mask her growing flustered state. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But the truth was, she was jealous. Jealous of the time you spent with everyone else, jealous of how effortlessly you seemed to fit in everywhere. And after that moment, so close she could feel your breath—Ieiri Shoko realized something else.

She wasn’t just jealous about it all.

She was falling even faster, even harder.

And you noticed every bit of it from her.

The night was quiet, the cicadas the only witnesses to the two of you standing outside the dorms. Shoko leaned against the wall, exhaling a slow, practiced plume of smoke, her usual unbothered air firmly in place.

You, on the other hand, had been gearing up for this moment all day. The cigarette between your fingers was barely lit now, more for show than anything else. Taking one last drag, because it felt dramatic, you plucked it from your lips and turned to her with an almost too-casual smirk.

“Hey, Shoko.” you began, your voice low, deliberately smooth. “Can I say something?” 

She glanced over, one eyebrow quivering in mild curiosity. “Hmm? About what?”

“I like you. Wanna make out?”

“Huh?”

For a second, Ieiri Shoko froze. And then it happened: she sucked in sharply at the wrong moment, and her cigarette turned traitor. She coughed—no, she hacked—doubling over as smoke puffed out like she was a malfunctioning chimney.

“WHAT?” she rasped, her voice half an octave higher than usual, her face rapidly turning the color of a ripe tomato.

You, far too pleased with yourself, stepped closer, arms crossed and smirking like you’d just won the lottery. “You heard me. I said, I like you. Wanna make out? Need me to repeat it slower?”

“Don’t,” she wheezed, holding up a hand as she fought to regain her composure. “I heard you the first time, you idiot!”

But her reaction was gold. For all her usual coolness, Shoko looked genuinely flustered, her cigarette forgotten as she glared at you with wide eyes. The sight alone was enough to make you laugh—not mockingly, but with genuine affection.

“C’mon, you’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” you teased, leaning just a little closer.

She recovered quickly, though, because of course she did. Shoko straightened up, tossing her cigarette to the ground with a flick of her wrist and stepping into your space.

“You’re lucky I don’t deck you for that.” she said, her voice a little rough but her lips twitching like she was trying not to smile.

“Uh-huh.” you replied, meeting her gaze without backing down. “But you don’t want to, do you?”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a second, you thought she might actually slap you. But instead, Shoko surprised you. She grabbed you by the collar, pulling you down to her level in one quick motion. You slyly smiled at her, almost like a fox. Your purple eyes meeting her own.

“You’re insufferable.” she muttered—and then she kissed you.

The kiss was warm, soft, and a little fierce, like she was trying to prove a point. You blinked, momentarily stunned, but quickly melted into it, your hands finding her waist as you kissed her back with equal enthusiasm. 

You pushed even harder, your palms pulling her face closer as your tongue pierced through. She moans against your lips, meeting your challenge as you both end up resting against the wall of the dorms.

Both of you didn’t care about what happened next or if people caught you both. It felt good to make out like this. It’s good to have desires about each other like this. When you finally broke apart, her cheeks were still flushed, but her signature smirk was back in full force.

“There. Happy now?”

You grinned, your confidence bolstered by the way she was still holding onto your collar. “Very. Wanna do it again?”

Shoko rolled her eyes, the very picture of exasperation, but the slight tug on your collar betrayed her. Her fingers lingered there, warm and steady, as though letting go wasn’t even a consideration. She wants to taste more of you too. She wasn’t done with you, not just yet.

“You’re so annoying, you know that?” she muttered, but there was no bite to her words—just the faintest waver that gave her away. “Just like your brother.”

“Yeah, but you like me anyway.” you teased, your grin growing wider than before. "More than my brother."

“Don’t push it.” she shot back, but her smirk was impossible to hide. 

And before you could come up with another witty retort, she silenced you with another kiss, this one slower, deeper, and entirely deliberate. The world around you seemed to fade, the distant hum of cicadas blending into the background like a symphony meant just for the two of you. 

Her hands slid from your collar to your shoulders, her touch grounding yet electrifying. You didn’t know how long you stood there, tangled up in each other, but time didn’t seem to matter. Nothing else matters when it comes to loving you well with everything she can.

The world around you seemed to blur, the cicadas fading into the background, the soft hum of the night becoming a distant melody. Her hair smelled faintly of smoke and something floral.

And her hands, usually so clinical and precise, were surprisingly tender as they brushed against your neck. It wasn’t rushed or frantic, just... real. Like the two of you had been waiting for this moment far longer than you’d realized.

When you finally pulled back for air, your foreheads pressed together, both of you breathing a little heavier than before. You smiled at her. Shoko’s face was still flushed, her usual cool composure thoroughly unraveled.

“Well…..” you said, your voice barely above a whisper but laced with satisfaction. “I’d say this went better than expected.”

She huffed a laugh, swatting your shoulder lightly. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“No promises, Shoko.” you quipped, leaning in again, only for her to place a hand on your chest, stopping you with a mock-serious glare.

“Okay, but if we’re doing this….” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “You better not tell Gojo or your brother.”

You snorted. “Oh, sure. Like they won’t figure it out the second they see us together. We’ve been obvious with the will they won’t they, don’t you think?”

Shoko groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Ugh, they’re going to be unbearable.”

“Probably. They’ll always be annoying.” you agreed with a grin. “But worth it, don’t you think?”

Her eyes softened, the smallest smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah.” she said quietly, almost like she didn’t mean for you to hear it. “Yeah, it’s worth it.”

“Hey, I’ve got to ask.” you began, your tone deliberately playful. “You know, back in my dorm…. I got a new bed. California king. Wanna try how soft it is while making out?”

Ieiri Shoko blinked, and for a split second, she looked genuinely caught off guard. Then, she threw her head back in laughter, the sound light and unrestrained, echoing through the quiet courtyard.

“You are unbelievable, you know that?” she said finally, shaking her head, though the smile tugging at her lips softened the words. “I can’t believe I love such a sly fox.”

That made you pause, your grin morphing into something softer, more genuine. You raised a brow, leaning in just a little closer. “Oh, you love me now? That’s quite the upgrade.”

She rolled her eyes, but the way her fingers lingered on your arm betrayed her. “Of course I do.”

For a moment, you just looked at her, your heart doing a little flip at the way her usual cool exterior had melted away tonight. Then, with a sly smile of your own, you reached for her hand.

“Well then, Shoko....” you said, your voice warm and teasing. “Let’s go see if that California king lives up to the hype.”

This time, she didn’t roll her eyes. Instead, her fingers slipped easily into yours, warm and steady, as if this was where they were always meant to be. The sound of her laughter, rich and unrestrained, danced through the night air as you led her back to your dorm.

The walk wasn’t long, but the teasing was relentless. “I can’t believe you’re this smug,” she said, though her cheeks were still flushed, her eyes bright with amusement.

“Oh, I’ve earned it,” you shot back, glancing over your shoulder with a grin. “And wait until you see the bed. You’ll be impressed. Trust me.”

By the time you reached the door, Shoko was already laughing again, her free hand pressing against her mouth to stifle the sound. But the moment you unlocked the door and stepped inside, all pretense of restraint was gone.

The second the door clicked shut, you pulled her in, her laughter bubbling up again as you stumbled backward together. You both giggle against each other warmly. 

“You’re really not wasting any time, huh?” she teased, but her arms looped easily around your neck, her body leaning into yours.

“Not when it’s you, baby.” you murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face before capturing her lips in a kiss.

Her laugh melted into a soft sigh as her hands slid down your back, and from there, the rest of the night became a blur of warmth and closeness. You kissed her until your lips ached, your hands tracing lazy, teasing patterns along her arms, her back, anywhere you could reach. 

And Shoko? She was louder than you’d ever imagined—not just her voice but her reactions, the way she laughed against your mouth when you tickled her side, the way she gasped when your fingers grazed the sensitive spots she hadn’t realized were there.

“Quiet, huh?” you teased at one point, grinning as she smacked your shoulder lightly.

“Shut up. You’re too sly with this.” she muttered, her voice breathless but full of humor. “You’re the one making me like this.”

“All me, huh?”

“Don’t get used to it.” she shot back, but the smirk tugging at her lips betrayed her.

The California king bed, as promised, lived up to the hype—spacious and comfortable, it became a playground for stolen kisses and tangled limbs. The two of you didn’t bother pretending this was anything but indulgence, letting the hours slip by as you explored the newfound closeness between you.

For once, there was no need for pretense or restraint. There was just her, and you, and the quiet freedom of the empty dorm building. By the time the early hours of morning began to creep in, it was still pretty dark. Ieiri Shoko was sprawled across the bed, her hair a mess, her lips swollen from too many kisses. Of course, a lot of love bites. 

You were no better, shirt slightly open as you lay on the side of the bed. Sweat was still permeating throughout your body, your dark hair in a tangled mess. It was as long as Suguru’s own hair, but perhaps darker than his own hair. You wanted to tie it up, but you were a bit more exhausted. 

You run your hands through her hair as you lean forward to kiss her once again. She moaned as she kissed you back again. She surrendered rather quickly about that too. And that had made your grin more smug than before. Both of you part away from one another, but still remain close, skin to skin.

“Remind me to thank everyone for being out all throughout, okay?” you said, your voice low and playful, breaking the comfortable quiet of the room. Shoko, sprawled lazily against your chest, let out a soft, tired laugh, her breath warm against your skin.

“I’ll buy gift packs for them.” you added with a grin, the thought clearly ridiculous but fully committed to your usual dramatic flair.

“You’re ridiculous about this.” she replied, shaking her head, though the warmth in her tone made it clear she didn’t mean it. Her fingers idly traced circles on your arm, and her lips curved into a soft smile as she glanced up at you.

“You don’t have to do it.” she said, her voice quieter now, like the intimacy of the moment had softened the sharp edges of her usual sarcasm.

“Hmm?” You tilted your head, raising a brow. “Why not?”

She rolled her eyes, that familiar exasperation laced with fondness, but before she could reply, you leaned in closer, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

“I liked being able to make you feel good without people complaining.” you said, your tone surprisingly earnest beneath the teasing grin.

Her face flushed again, a faint pink dusting her cheeks as she looked away, her lips twitching as though trying not to laugh. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Maybe, maybe.” you said, letting your grin soften into something more genuine. “But you didn’t seem to mind.”

Shoko let out a breathy laugh, burying her face against your chest for a moment. “I hate that you’re right about that.” she muttered, though the way her arms tightened around you betrayed just how much she didn’t mean it.

“I’m always right.” you teased, earning a playful shove from her.

“Don’t push your luck.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence after that, her hand still lazily tracing patterns on your arm, your own fingers gently brushing through her hair. The warmth between you was palpable, the kind of connection that didn’t need words to fill the spaces.

Eventually, she spoke again, her voice softer this time. “You’re ridiculous. But... thanks.”

“For what?”

“For this, all of it.” she murmured, gesturing vaguely at the two of you tangled together. “For making me feel... cared for and loved.”

Your grin widened, your chest swelling just a little at her words. “Anytime, Shoko. Anytime. You’re my girl now, aren’t you? I’ll always make you feel good and cared for, okay?”

Shoko smiled back at you, her cheeks turning warm scarlet. “Okay. Look forward to the same from me, okay? Since you’re mine now.”

“Then I’ll leave myself in your care.” You giggled, happily. Shoko adored that. 

And for the first time that night, you both fell into a quiet, peaceful stillness, her smile lingering long after her eyes closed, content in a way neither of you had felt in a long time. Ieiri Shoko will let this live in her mind for a long, long time. 

She rolled over, resting her head on your shoulder, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your chest. No complaints. No awkwardness.

Just the two of you, lucky in the quiet glow of the darkness, enjoying each other in every way you could. Both of you were just happy. 

[alwaysonthemend]

Author's Note: Inspired by this wonderful post. Thank you so much @tripthelightfandomtastic for some incredibly sexy dialogue and @edgingthedarkness for calling it to my attention 🤭

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. Jake x fem!reader / rough sex / sir kink / unprotected p in v sex / digital penetration / oral / brief overstimulation / use of gag / some name calling (brat, slut) / minor cock warming at the end / begging / possessiveness (nothing too major) / please let me know if I missed anything.

Apologies for any typos/ spelling mistakes.

Enjoy <3

~~~~~~~~~~~

“I think I need to sleep for at least 12 hours tonight.” Jake tells his twin, patting his pockets for his wallet to pay the bill. “I’m exhausted.” 

“Oh is that why you were being so pissy today?” Josh’s grin is smug as he finds his own wallet first and fishes his card out and tosses it onto the waiting bill before Jake can. “Makes sense.”

Jake’s eyes narrow and you fight a tiny smile, trying not to let your amusement show. Jake can be a little moody when he’s tired. And just… in general. 

“I’m the pissy one?” Jake counters, flicking Josh’s card off the bill and placing his own there instead. “I seem to be remembering things a little differently.” 

Jake’s tone is snarky – just a tiny bit more accusing than Josh’s had been. You already know that Jake had a… rough day today. He’d told you about it in the car – Josh had been demanding retake after retake and Sam had quote on quote, “disagreed with every fucking thing I said just for the hell of it.” In all honesty, knowing the Kiszkas, it had probably been all three of them being more difficult than necessary while Danny had to play mediator… Not that you’d said that to Jake. God, no. You’d only listened, allowing him to vent; nodded and frowned at the right moments. Clearly, tonight’s meal and a few drinks with Josh had done little to help Jake’s temper. 

Josh opens his mouth to retort but you interrupt. “I’m going to run to the restroom.” Both sets of matching eyes flash to you as you speak. Josh grins and Jake nods, sliding out of the booth to allow you to exit.  

In addition to his sour mood, Jake has been jittery the whole night. You’d noticed from the moment the two of you stepped into the bar that he had other things on his mind – whether it was a new song or riff or lyrics you couldn’t quite tell. But he was distracted. You know already how common it is that he grows restless, as if there’s so much energy buzzing beneath his skin that he’s hardly able to stand still. At first, it had almost been hard to be around when he got like this. His restlessness so palpable you could practically feel it coating your skin. At first, you would simply move to another room, allow him to sort himself out on his own. But after a little while, it became easier to tune him out – to still navigate around him when he gets like this. His aura has gravity of its own, you’ve come to discover. It’s hard to be apart from him for too long. 

He’ll deny it if you ask him if something is wrong. He’ll say he’s fine – that he’s not upset about today anymore and that he’s acting perfectly normal. So you don’t bother asking. Instead, you simply allow his energy to wash over you as you watch him interact with his twin at the booth. 

By the time you return, they seem to have momentarily put their little dispute on hold as they both turn to look at you as you approach the booth. 

“Are you ready, love?” Jake’s voice is smooth – neutral. Betraying nothing of the chaos that you know lies within. “We paid the bill while you were gone.” 

“Halfsies.” Josh supplies and Jake’s eyes cut to him for a moment before landing back on you. You nod, smiling at the two of them as they exit the booth in almost complete unison, each twin now holding himself in the exact same manner as the other as they prepare to leave. “It was nice actually getting to see you.” Josh continues as the three of you walk through the restaurant and to the door. “Jake always keeps you to himself when we’re home.”

Josh is teasing; you can tell by the slight dimple that has appeared on his left cheek as he speaks. But Jake tenses ever so slightly beside his twin as you all come to a stop on the sidewalk outside. The night air is warm – humid enough that it makes your skin feel sticky. The joys of a Tennessee summer. 

“He can be just a little selfish, I suppose.” You answer back, thinking nothing of it. But again, that energy around Jake seems to increase, his chocolate eyes flashing in the light spilling out into the air from inside the bar. 

“Am I not allowed to miss her when we leave?” Jake queries, slipping a heavy arm around your waist in such a way that it almost feels possessive. “Plus, I’m always stuck with you.” He says to his twin, grinning a little. “Who would blame me for wanting her to myself when we are home?”

Josh’s brow raises, a knowing glance shot towards you before he regards his twin. He senses Jake’s energy – the restlessness; senses that he could easily poke the bear and start a senseless argument that would no doubt descend into an actual fight. But he holds himself back, metaphorically biting his tongue as he gives Jake a little grin. 

“Can’t blame you at all, brother. Not at all.” His grin turns a little wicked. “But maybe you should share her more often – she was my friend first, afterall.”

So perhaps he hadn’t decided against poking the bear afterall. You fight the smile that threatens to overtake you, realizing that now might not be the time to pick sides by agreeing with Josh. He had been the one to know you first. He’d been the one to introduce you to Jake, even. But Jake needs no reminder of that little fact right now. 

“I see you plenty.” You offer, feeling the pointed squeeze of Jake’s fingers into your hip, “Plus, you constantly blow my phone up with texts. We talk plenty, Joshua.” 

Josh grins and shrugs his shoulders, looking pleased anyway. 

“Great seeing you.” Jake offers. “But I’m sick of you already.” 

Josh laughs, completely unaffected by his brother’s words. He’s used to it. He knows deep down Jake doesn’t mean them… too much.  

“Love you too, Jakey.” Josh grins at you – the exact same grin that Jake gave him just a moment ago. “Lovely to see you as always, Y/n. Hopefully someone lets me see you again before we leave.”

“I hope so, too.” You answer him, laughing just a little despite your best efforts.

Josh gives a theatrical sweeping bow before turning on his heel and disappearing to his Jeep, laughing the whole way. Jake scowls and tugs you away towards his own vehicle, that heavy arm still pointedly around your waist. 

He opens your door for you, a soft “Princess” leaving his lips as he dips his head a little. You grin and climb into the car and he closes the door behind you. 

Jake playing guitar is sinful. But Jake behind the wheel of a car? It’s downright indecent – something that no matter how many times you see it, it still gets you just a little. The thick muscles of his forearm twitch and move beneath his newly tan skin (thank you Europe tour) and the clench of his jaw as he watches the road has you clenching your thighs. To your credit, you only stare a little bit as he drives the two of you back to his house (His house, not yours. Something that once again feels pointed.) Neither of you speak much, the silence between the two of you just as comfortable as idle chit chat. Fleet Foxes flow softly from the speakers, filling the air between the two of you that seems to grow thicker and thicker with each passing moment. 

“See something you like?” 

You startle, eyes cutting up to see the curve of Jake’s lips as he continues staring out at the road ahead. Apparently you had been staring too much – enough for him to notice, anyway. Cheeks flushing, you shake your head in denial. 

“Just thinking.” 

His brow raises and it does nothing to quell the heat pooling in your lower belly.  “About?” He urges you on, tilting his head as if to hear you better.  You open your mouth to give a bullshit answer but he interrupts. “And don’t say work or the weather. I already know what you’re thinking.” Your jaw snaps shut. The fucker.  

“If you know, then why did you ask?” Your tone comes out a little brattier than you meant it to and Jake’s fingers tighten on the wheel. Seems that Josh isn’t the only one who’s going to poke the bear tonight. 

“Because I wanted to hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

A sharp exhale is the only evidence you have that Jake heard you. Refusing to give you a response, he flicks on the blinker to turn onto his street in a way that somehow seems snarky. It doesn’t take long before he’s pulling into his driveway and putting the car in park. Dark eyes turn to you, looking almost black in the dim light of the car. 

“Get out.” 

His tone leaves no space for arguing and you quickly unbuckle and stumble out of the car. Jake doesn’t wait on you – crossing the driveway to the front door in long strides, fishing for his key from his pocket. As you follow, you admire the broadness of his shoulders, the dominance within his gait alone, and yet another thrill of anticipation curls down your spine and settles between your thighs. He opens the door, not even sparing a glance backwards at you. He knows you’re following, knows you’ll follow him into the very depths of Hell if he asked. 

You expect him to pounce as the door closes. But instead, he merely slips his shoes off and places them neatly by the door. His keys and wallet are placed on the foyer table. Your shoes join his by the door. Then your purse on the hook. You walk deeper into the house, making your way into the kitchen – one eye on Jake as he moves about the space, orbiting you but not yet taking the step to touch you. It puts you on edge in an odd, delicious sort of way. He’s like a shark who’s scented blood; not yet going in for the kill, but instead waiting for the right moment to strike. You grab a glass from the cabinet and pour yourself a glass of water from the sink. The cool liquid doesn’t at all soothe the fire running through your veins. 

Not a second after you place the glass on the counter, you finally feel the heat of him pressing up against your back. His arms circle your waist and his lips hover over the sensitive skin of your ear. 

“I don’t mean to be so possessive.” He murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin. “Or pissy. ‘m sorry.” He mumbles, voice low. The heat in your belly simmers just a little, easing into something softer for a moment. 

“You have nothing to apologize for.” You answer him, tilting your head to the side as his kisses trail softly down your neck. 

Using his grip around your waist, Jake pulls you tighter against him. You tilt your head back towards him and he kisses you – soft but urgent. His hands caress your sides, your hips, then come up to cup your jaw as his tongue slips through your parted lips. He’s thorough, kissing you as if he’s savoring a meal. 

“Why are you being so sweet?” You’d been fully expecting a night of Jake using you to get all his frustration and energy out – an occurrence that you were more than looking forward to. His sweetness is a welcome surprise, though not at all how you saw this night going. 

He kisses along your jaw before seizing your earlobe between his teeth, nipping delicately before his mouth trails lower. His hips press into you and there’s no hiding the hard line of him in his pants, hot and pulsing against you. 

“I just want you to know how much I love you,” He whispers against your neck, giving you more kisses, “and how much I respect you,” another kiss. “because I'm gonna fuck you like I hate you.” 

All the air leaves your lungs and your heart feels like it might beat out of your chest. The earnestness and simplicity with which he utters such vulgarity is the sexiest thing you’ve ever experienced, leaving your brain empty of anything beyond your desire for him. But he’s taking too long now, his sweet kisses no longer enough and leaving you hollow and aching for him to fulfill the promise of his warning. The words slip out from your lips unbidden. 

“Why don’t you get the fuck on with it, then?”

His body goes rigid for one beat, maybe two, and then he spins you impossibly fast, a hand against your stomach, pressing you back into the wall. He captures your wrists with the other, holding them prisoner above your head. 

“Fuckin’ brat.” He groans against your mouth and the rough timbre of his voice floods your veins with a wave of primal need for him. “This is the thanks I get for trying to be sweet to you?” His shoulders are tense, the muscles taut with pent up energy and frustration. You aren’t sure what it is that’s got him in such a state but you want to replace it all with lust. You want him to take it out on you – to give you the overwhelming pleasure that you know he’s capable of delivering. “Well?”

“Fuck me.” You demand in lieu of answering him and his eyes seem to come alive as his nostrils flare at your tone. “Sir.” You add, the word dripping with sarcasm, making a mockery of the title that he’s more than earned in the bedroom. 

His breathing changes and there’s a war in his eyes that you’re determined to win. He leans down, his face only inches from yours. “I don't think you know what you’re asking for, Princess.” The nickname, the growl of his words rumbles up through his chest and every nerve ending in your body flares to life. 

His mouth collides with yours in a kiss – a rough, demanding thing as he plunges his tongue between your lips, seizing your mouth as his. Lust strokes down your spine and wetness floods your panties as he takes your ass in his hands and hauls you up against his hips. Your back presses into the wall as you use it for leverage to get closer to him. You lock your legs around his waist as your hands settle on his shoulders, the muscles quivering beneath your touch. 

Heat floods your body in an addictive rush, setting every inch of you aflame as his lips trail down the column of your throat, nipping and biting as he goes. But they aren’t gentle as they had been before – no, the sting of his teeth lets you know that your neck will be a mess in the morning, a painting of swirling purples and reds that will stand as testament to how far you pushed him tonight. The hedonistic, lecherous part of you is only excited further by the thought.

With your legs still wrapped around his waist, Jake walks backwards and turns you. Before you can even open your mouth to ask him where he’s going, your back hits the kitchen table. He hadn’t used as much force as you know he could have, but Jake had placed you hard enough onto the wooden surface that the breath in your lungs freezes for a moment as you glance up at his looming figure above you. He presses in close, roughly gripping your knees and shoving them apart so that he can walk forward and take up the space between them. 

“Hands above your head.” The words are rough – more of a growl than anything and you instantly comply, suddenly feeling unable to do anything other than what he asks of you. His fingers trail down your torso, his touch searing your skin even through the fabric of your blouse. His fingers trail underneath, slipping up your stomach and then behind your back. He tugs the blouse off you and onto the floor. With impressive skill, he then unhooks your bra behind your back and tosses it away as well, eyes now trained on the hard peaks of your nipples as you lay there exposed for him. He pauses, as if drinking in the sight of you, and impatience has you speaking before thinking once again. 

“You just going to stand there and stare?” As soon as the question leaves your mouth you know that you’ve really done it now. Jake’s gaze turns wicked, his grin devilish, as he shakes his head at you. 

“Y’know you’re lucky,” He begins, stepping back from you and unbuckling his belt. His fingers work slowly to pull it from his belt loops. When he at last gets it free, he reaches down and grips your hands where they rest obediently above your head, “that you’re so pretty. Otherwise I wouldn’t put up with that fucking mouth of yours.” Slowly, teasingly, he wraps the leather of his belt around your wrists and then cinches it tight, securing your wrists tightly together and then placing them back down onto the table above your head. 

Your body tingles with sinful pleasure and excitement at the feeling of being bound, at being kept where he wants you. Despite your mouth saying things before you can think them through, you desperately want to please the man above you. You want to worship him, to give him anything and everything he could ever ask of you. You begin to respond to him but he silences you with a heavy hand over your mouth. 

“Careful, Princess. Before I make you shut up with my cock, yeah?” Eyes wide, you nod and Jake lifts his hand with a satisfied nod. “What do you say to me?”

“Yes sir.” The words are shaky, thick with lust. It takes all your focus to make your brain form the words, to make your lips form the correct sounds. You can hardly think beyond the lust swirling inside your head. 

Jake doesn’t reward you with praise for your compliance as he normally would and disappointment trickles through you for the briefest of moments. But then his mouth is on your nipple, his fingers digging into your hips to hold you still. He bites down and you whimper, core pulsing as his tongue swirls around the hard bud to soothe the sting. Then he’s trailing lower, searing kisses working their way down your belly until he reaches the waistband of your skirt. Jake bunches the fabric up around your hips, exposing your damp panties for him to admire. You wish desperately that he would take the damn skirt off completely but you know that you’re in no position to be making requests. 

“Look at you.” His words are honey sweet, dripping with thinly veiled desire. You can feel his hot breath on your clothed heat, his white teeth flashing as he grins up at you smugly. “You’ve ruined these poor things, haven’t you?”

You whimper as he trails the pad of his finger over your clothed clit, causing your hips to jump up towards his hand. Jake hooks his fingers in your panties with his left hand, shoving the fabric to the side – clearly unwilling to even take the time to pull them all the way off you. Then his other hand is hovering over your center, fingers running through your slick as he hums in approval. Without any more warning, he plunges a finger inside of you, curling upwards deliciously and instantly finding that spot inside of you that drives you crazy. 

You cry out, back arching up off the wooden table. Your hands lift up off the table and then slam back downwards, anything else feeling uncomfortable thanks to Jake’s belt keeping them bound.

“So responsive.” Jake shows no mercy, quickly sinking another finger inside of you. Distantly, your foggy mind realizes that – even though he promised to fuck you like he hates you, you know that he would never do anything without properly prepping you first. If you were able to focus on anything other than his fingers, you might have thanked him. Instead, all you can do is moan as he works you masterfully with his fingers. 

“Jake.” You plead as he abuses your sweet spot over and over, keeping you hovering over the edge of release. “Jake, please.” You beg again as he gives no indication that he’s heard you other than grinning devilishly. “Jake, I can’t- I need-” The words won’t form right no matter how hard you try, the agonizing pleasure proving to be too much. 

“I know exactly what you need.” Jake answers darkly, “But you’re not asking nicely, are you?”

Eyes clenched shut, you shake your head frantically. “Please, sir?” You try instead, hips bucking forward to try and find some sort of friction. “Please make me cum? Please, please, sir.” Even to your own ears you sound pathetic but you can’t be bothered to care. All you can think about is how badly you need to cum, how incredible his fingers feel. All you can think about is Jake. “Sir, please-” 

“Enough.” Jake’s fingers leave you, and you whimper loudly in protest. But you’re silenced as Jake suddenly tugs even harder on your panties. The fabric digs harshly into your skin, and then you hear the sound of fabric tearing. Jake rips them from you, and then he’s shoving the ruined fabric into your gaping mouth, silencing you as the taste of your own arousal floods your tongue. Wide-eyed, all you can do is stare at him. 

Jake, looking entirely too smug and pleased with himself, eases his fingers back into your aching cunt and has you back to the edge in mere seconds, your whimpers and cries muffled by the panties shoved between your lips. Finally, Jake’s mouth descends onto your clit, his fingers never once slowing or faltering as he sucks your clit mercilessly. Your orgasm swoops in – quick, overwhelming, the pleasure white hot as it rocks through your body. Muscles quivering, you scream through your make-shift gag as Jake moans into your pussy, his eyes closing as if the taste of you is a gourmet meal. 

When at last he pulls away, you're left there in a daze – aching for more of him already. Clearly just as desperate to feel you fully, Jake grips your hips and brings your ass to the edge of the table. With impressive speed Jake rips his shirt off over his head and then even quicker has his trousers off and discarded to the floor.

His cock – achingly hard and the head glistening with precum, has your mouth watering. He steps between your legs once more and instinctively your legs wrap around his waist, bringing your slick pussy to rsst his beautiful cock. Jake hikes your skirt up higher to your belly and then his left hand finds your hip – his grip bruising. Gripping his length in the other, Jake runs his cock through your folds, gathering your slick before nudging the blunt head against your entrance. 

“Fuckin’ take it.” He growls, sheathing himself fully inside of you at last. Jake groans deeply and you moan the best you can through your gag. Giving you no time at all to adjust, Jake’s pace is immediately brutal. After three hard thrusts, his cock brushing against your sweet spot each time thanks to the angle of your hips, the sting of him quickly bleeds into pleasure. The table creaks and groans beneath you, the legs screeching against the kitchen floor as Jake pounds into you.

"Such a slut." Jake groans, but somehow he makes the word seem like a compliment. The wet squelching sound coming from between your legs would be embrassing if Jake didn't look like he could fall apart already. "You like it when I treat you like this?"

You nod frantically in answer, loving every second and still wanting more.

"'Course you do." The words escape through gritted teeth, his voice shaky despite the hard persona he's putting on. "Shit, Y/n."

Jake’s gaze falls down between the two of you, eyes trained on where he moves in and out of you, his skin growing shiny with sweat. His hair sticks to his temples and the side of his neck, his necklaces swinging and clinking in the air between the two of you. “Look so fucking good stretched around my cock.” 

You can’t answer, the feel of him moving inside of you too perfect to think of anything else. Jake’s hips slap against yours, his impressive stamina allowing his pace to remain fast, mercilessly, without faltering for even a second. It doesn’t take long for the heat simmering in your lower belly to rise, your body plummeting once again, head first, towards your second orgasm. Jake’s mouth is open, his brows furrowing as his own release draws nearer and nearer. His hand reaches up and pulls your ruined panties from your mouth at last and instantly your cries – once muffled, echo throughout the room along with the sound of Jake’s skin slapping against yours.  

“Say my name when you cum.” Jake orders, his thumb finding your clit and circling the swollen bud. His touch isn’t gentle – the pace just as brutal as the pace of his hips slamming into yours. Your orgasm hits you like a freight train and you scream Jake’s name, the muscles in your body convulsing violently. 

“Oh fuck. Fuck, Y/n.” Jake’s pace finally begins to falter as your walls clench around him. Jake’s left hand braces against the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip. A litany of curses and groans fills the air as Jake spills inside of you, the feeling of his hot release making your eyes roll back. Your body burns with pleasure – pleasure that is dangerously close to bleeding into hot agony from overstimulation. 

Finally, Jake stills, his cock softening inside of you as he breathes out shakily, one hand coming up to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Still staying inside of you, the feeling of him there somehow comforting, Jake reaches up and unbinds your wrists. He brings each one to his lips in turn, kissing the red skin where the leather had been digging into you. 

“I love you.” He offers, his brown eyes now regarding you with a soft, almost sympathetic look. “My princess.” His fingers gently trace over your lips, his touch reverent.

“Love you more.” You murmur tiredly,

“Impossible.”

<fin>

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[arachine]

♡ ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ｡･* . . . their firsts .ᐟ

ᥫ᭡ featuring :: neteyam, lo’ak and kiri sully

ᥫ᭡ includes :: their first kisses & times !!

ᥫ᭡ genre :: mature

ᥫ᭡ general tags :: sexual content (nothing explicit), fluff

ᥫ᭡ content warnings :: characters are aged up, dry humor

ᥫ᭡ note :: depending on the attention this receives, i may or may not make a part two with spider, tsireya, and a’onung >_<

♯ first…kiss with neteyam .ᐟ

+ neteyam’s got that older brother charm. a real gentleman, through and through—which isn’t the least bit surprising because he’s neytiri’s son, after all. and given this, he just…naturally excels at most things, even kissing. when it happens, it’s kind of almost unreal, sort of like a fairytale. he’s just so…good at it, doesn’t rush you, or force his tongue down your throat, or do anything that would even slightly make you uncomfortable. 

no, he’s slow—methodical. takes his time with you because he wants to taste you, and commit it to memory. i’d like to think he even makes you laugh before he goes in, because he’s just like that, you know? like, yeah, he’s got neytiri’s whole face but he’s still his daddy’s son—he’s got the smugness and attitude to prove it. 

♯ first…time with neteyam .ᐟ

+ god, i don’t even know where to begin. every fiber of my being believes that he’d make it the most comfortable, painless experience ever. usually, most people dread their firsts—simply because their partners didn’t: 1) prep them properly, 2) make sure that they finished, or 3) provide aftercare—but neteyam? yeah, he’s going above and beyond, and checking off every single one! you being in pain and miserable was simply never an option.

as previously mentioned, i’d like to think he’d try and calm your nerves by making you laugh. just a few jokes here and there, just to get your mind off of the initial stretch of his fingers working you. 

— “who’s the prettiest girl on pandora?” he teases, leaving zephyr-light kisses all over your face. you think he’s so corny, but giggle anyway, shoving lightly at his chest. 

“stop it!” but he’s relentless, still peppering your face with kisses, still prodding your slit. you’re so distracted by his attempts to calm your nerves, that you don’t even notice his finger is all the way in. not until he pulls it out and praises you for opening up for him.  

— “see, look at you,” a gentle hand rises to caress your cheek, “so pretty.” 

♯ first…kiss with lo'ak .ᐟ

+ the concept of patience is entirely foreign to him. patience and him are like oil and water. they just don’t mix. he’s a here, now, and fast type of guy, always has been. and when the moment arises between you two, he’s the first to initiate it—however, it’s no fairytale moment. it’s toothy, wet, and inexperienced. 

i’d like to think it’s you who has to take the initiative when it comes to kissing. and through this, he begins to get a sense of the things you like: how slow he should go, how much tongue, where he should hold you, and how he should move his lips. eventually, he gains enough confidence to kiss you the way he’s been wanting to kiss you—which is hard, and rough, and passionate—just a lot less toothy and wet. 

♯ first…time with lo'ak .ᐟ

+  it’s all baby steps and hand holding with him in this department too. this is the one instance in which i don’t think he’d charge into. i think after kissing you for the first time, he’d use some of that knowledge to decipher how he’d go about it. at first, he’s like incredibly scared to touch you, just hovering over you like a sheet of paper, scared that if he uses just the slightest amount of strength, you’ll break or something. 

— “does that hurt?” / “can you feel that?” / “maybe if we try it this way…” / “am i in?” 

the sentiment is cute, thoughtful even. because don’t get me wrong, a man that takes the time to ask you how he should touch you, where he should touch you, and how you’re feeling during sex is amazing. bravo to any guy who does it (it’s the bare minimum), but lo’ak does it to the point where you’re questioning if he’s scared of pussy. overall, i think this is something you’ll have to take the initiative for too.

— “lo’ak if you don’t touch me right now, i swear to god i’m going to kill you and then myself.” 

♯ first…kiss with kiri .ᐟ

+ my sweet girl. my bestest girl. i just know it’d be so fucking cute. like actually, the type of kiss where your leg slowly springs up (i.e. the princess diaries). yeah, it’d be that good. girls just do everything better anyway, and it’s kiri, so the expectations were already high (duh). the thing about kiri is, when she kisses, she really commits to the kiss. she doesn’t do half-assed, because kissing is like dessert. 

it’s supposed to be (especially first kisses) sweet, and airy, and dizzying—and it is! the amalgamation of her tender touches, and the little giggles in between, and the teasing ‘run and follow’ your lips do…are all things that add to the experience. a kiss with kiri will literally have you on speed dial with uhaul, trust and believe!

♯ first…time with kiri .ᐟ

+ like neteyam, she’d be so attentive. just making sure you’re comfortable, reassuring you, whispering words of encouragement, and checking in on you mentally. she knows that sex can be exhausting (both physically and mentally), so i’d like to think she’d spend extra time on foreplay and aftercare than she would during the actual act itself—not that she had to spend much time on you anyway, because getting you to finish wasn’t something she considered to be much of a feat. 

also, kiri is a princess, she’s literally the first born daughter. she may often appear to have a tough exterior, but…it’s just a front. dote on her and shower her with the same affections she showered you with, treat her like a little doll and watch her crumble underneath your fingertips from the smallest of praises. 

— “such a sweet girl, staying open for me.” / “could watch you do that all day.” / “nobody touches me the way you do.” 

© arachine 2023

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ slashers scenarios | your first time together is…your first time (part 2)

♡ fandoms; Friday the 13th, House of Wax, Black Christmas, Scream, Dead by Daylight, Hannibal (TV) /Silence of the Lambs, Texas Chainsaw Massacre (og), slashers (general)

♡ characters; Jason Vorhees, Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Danny Johnson, Billy Lenz, Hannibal Lecter, Bubba Sawyer

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; graphic sexually content!!, mentions of vouyerism, documentation kink (yay Danny), manipulation, breeding kinkish content, lots of cumming inside, light pet play elements

♡ notes; seven babes in one post wowowowow! i’m just trying to get caught up with everyone else before i start doing new prompts. but! i have a big list of new ones do not fear

these weren’t written in one sitting like some of my other fics so i’m sorry if the quality wildly varies

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Jason Vorhees

> It’s been gentle coaxing towards each step of the relationship with Jason

> And while you have the patience of a saint when it comes to that man, you’re also incredibly pent up. You’re just as much of a virgin as him and starting to wish he’d fix that.

> But you keep it to yourself, not wanting the pressure him into anything and getting yourself off when he’s not there. It worked well enough before after all.

> One day he comes home when you’re in the middle of mastrubating and you quickly scramble to hide the fact

> He knows somethings up right away, you’re covering yourself with a blanket and red faced…He’s repressed, not stupid.

> You apologize meekly and expect him to walk away - instead he grabs the blanket and pulls you forward by your thighs

> “J-Jason- baby? Are you going to-?”

> He pushes his mask up and goes down on you like a man starved… he may or may not have been home earlier than you realized, listening to you whimpering and moaning his name

> And getting you off ends up getting him very excited- excited enough that he doesn’t care about anything but doing it again

> And if you want him inside you, he’s more than happy to oblige.

> You shyly straddle him and sink onto his cock, holding onto him tightly

> He hides his face in your neck as you slowly move, murmuring sweet words of encouragement to him

> “Jason, it’s so good- you feel so good-“

> After a bit he holds your hips, fingers digging in as you get him closer and closer

> You gasp as he comes inside by accident, too shy to admit you liked the feeling

> He doesn’t even pull out as he holds you, knowing that as soon as he can, he’ll be helping you ride him again

Bo Sinclair

> It slips out when you’re cuddling and watching but not watching some silly movie with copious sex scenes

> “What’s your favorite position, darlin’?”

> “Hm? Oh, I dunno?”

> “Top three then-“

> “Bo I haven’t even-“. You blush bright red as he slowly grins

> He doesn’t leave it along the rest of the day- he has cute little innocent virgin partner

> He likes it way too much- and you like his fixation on it too much

> When you get him alone again you huff and straddle him “Stop teasin. Show me your favorite position, then.”

> You don’t have to tell him twice- and he’s a gentleman, letting you ride his face before he finally fucks you

> He’s got chest against your back and hand between your legs as he slowly uses you

> “Fuck- you’re squeezing my cock so tight- pretty little fucking virgin-“

> His dirty talk gets you both off…again, and again, and again…

> He doesn’t stop until you start whining and pushing his hand away, overstimulated and sore

> “Fine, fine…we’ll try the other top two tomorrow,”

Vincent Sinclair

> Honestly, Vince isn’t huge on sex

> When you offhandedly mention you haven’t done anything before he doesn’t mind and he doesn’t get overly excited like some people.

> He let’s you make the first move

> …or at least he’s going to, but you don’t say anything about it for a long while

> He finally asks softly if you want him to touch you.. and meekly you say yes

> You’re not sure who’s happier- you as he makes you come with just his hand, or him getting to watch you

> After a few days of this you finally get the nerve to ask to do more- his good side goes bright red at the idea of you touching him and you giggle and praise him the entire time.

> But about halfway through he makes you stop and pins you- still gentle but very daring for him

> You giggle again “…wanna go all the way?”

>He nods eagerly and he positions you- very gentle missionary with his forehead against yours

> Even inside you he stops so he doesn’t cum, coaxing you over the edge twice before he gets too close

> The third time you cum you wrap your legs around him and make sure he can’t pull out

> He’s so apologetic after he cums inside- but quite pleased in the same breath

Danny Johnson

> The conversation comes up when he asks you to model for him- a boudoir shoot, naturally

> You’re his muse already- but he wants to shoot more than just your pretty face and the hickies he leaves

> He’s surprised when you’re shy and look away, mumbling that you aren’t pretty enough for that

> “Course you are babydoll- no way no one’s ever told you that. Unless you were screwing them with the lights off-“

> “Danny I haven’t screwed anyone.” You pout

> He tries his best to hide his perverse excitement and looks determined- he’s got an idea…Those usually don’t end well

> Next thing you know he’s pulled a mirror to face the bed and has you on his lap, kissing at your neck and feeling you up.

> He spreads your legs and makes you look as he starts to touch you- you’re not sure if it’s the lewd situation or just him that makes you cum faster than you have ever before

> He makes just as much of a show of cleaning up the mess you’ve made on his hand, and you can feel how hard he is against your ass

> You pull yourself together enough to pout and grind down on him- that’ll show him

> Your revenge quickly backfires as he manhandles you to your hands and knees, grinding against you in a much more expert manner

> It doesn’t take long before you’re babbling beneath him, begging to take him

> He takes his sweet time teasing you- once he’s finally inside you’re pushing yourself back against him, fucking yourself with him

> He lets you do the work- it makes it easier for him to enjoy the show

> At least until he’s about to cum

> Then he pulls you up, making you watch in the mirror with one hand and holding you against him with the other

> “Fuck- look at you- that’s my good fucking baby (/girl/boy)!”

> When he pulls out it splatters across the mirror and he grins and gets a picture- just your bodies in the reflection

> If you thought you’re getting away to rest though…you were mistaken- he had a lot more pictures to take, and a lot more methods to get you to make pretty faces for them

Billy Lenz

> Billy takes things fast. He’s depraved an eager man.

> You aren’t very far into the relationship when he lets his hands wander while you’re cuddling

> He frowns when you push his hands away insistently- you’d talked so confidently about this on the phone…

> “I wanna touch my pretty toy-“

> You mumble something he can’t hear- making you pout as he tilts his head and leans in closer curiously

> “You’ve never- oh.” His grin is huge and excited

> After some convincing you make it a game- how long can you two go without going too far?

> While you want to have sex with him, you’re nervous, so you figure that’ll buy you time to muster up enough courage

> But Billy being Billy, it isn’t long until he finds a shortcut- he bites and kisses and laps your neck and grinds up on you every single time he gets the chance

> If it was PG-13 before, you were heading fast to an R rating

> Finally you can’t stand it any more as he’s got you on his knee, pushing it up as he oh so innocently rubs your hips and kisses you

> “Billyyyy- please — I need it-“

> “Need what?” For once he’s acting coy- so you quickly show him as you undo his pants

> He’s all giggles and moans when you blow him- cumming down your throat quickly

> And before you can move he flips you, going down on you and to your chagrin already hard before you cum once

> But he’s not a monster- or maybe he is, because before he’s even got it in you you’re whining that it’s all too much

> He licks away your overwhelmed tears as he slowly pushes in, cooing softly for once

> Though as soon as your comfortable he’s saying the filthiest things in order to coax louder and louder moans out of you

> Without warning or real permission he cums inside, grinning at the mess and finger fucking whatever leaks out back inside as he coaxes you to another orgasm

> Once he’s finally done late into the night, he holds you tight and continues to coo praises - Billy’s baby was so good! -and he knew they’d be just as good for him in the morning

Hannibal Lecter

> Hannibal knows almost everything about you, especially if you ever began as his patient

> Even if you don’t tell him expressly, he has his theories- but he’s not trying to be too forward

> It’s going to be your idea when he shamelessly uses you :)

> He has it planned to the T as well- you’re having a sweet little date night in and he’s admiring you on the couch

> Perched on his lap you giggle and shiver as he gently brushes your neck, and your thigh, and your stomach- each a little “accident”

> Not that you’re complaining or he’s apologizing for the increasingly lingering touches

> “…darling? Ah- we’ve never done anything before but…”

> “But what my love?”

> “Can you pretty please touch me?”

> He’s so proud of his little pet and tells you as much as he lays you down right there, going a step forward and using his mouth

> Of course he wants, needs to taste you

> But he doesn’t let you come- not yet

> No, he makes sure you’re already riding him slow and deep by the time he makes you come for the first time

> He stops and showers you in praise before helping you move again

> He wants you to crave him inside- and by the way you’re already whimpering with every little move he thinks it’s working

> He’s territorial- coming inside isn’t even a question, even if he pretends it it

> “Good puppy…Very good. Master’s going to cum- are you going to let me cum in that pretty little hole?”

> As you manage a blissed out sound, you’re sent over the edge and he takes the moment to cum inside

> You only hum an acknowledgment as he pulls out and lays you down, practically tucking you in with him

> What a good pet you made…

Bubba Sawyer

> Bubba is so scared of sex at first…Well, small correction- he’s scared of having sex with you.

> I mean Drayton’s idea of sex ed was simply not telling him about it because he didn’t ask “Sex is- well nobody knows!”

> And from what he’s read in books and heard on the radio, it’s sinful and dirty and ruins you

> And he’d never want to dirty you. You were the nicest, cleanest thing in his life.

> So when you ask him if he’s had sex he vehemently shakes his head and you tell him you haven’t either. Good!

> “Well- ah- would you want to? With me, I mean?”

> He’s absolutely shocked- didn’t you know it was dirty?

> “We don’t have to- I just- I really like you. I wanna make you feel good.”

> Maybe he had some details wrong. That’s what he tries to reason as he lets you take his mask off and undo his pants. He’d try it, but if he felt wrong, he’d stop so you both stayed clean…

> It takes all his will not to immediately buck up into your throat when you put him in your mouth.

> You’re sloppy and clumsy and he’s just the same, groaning and whining and gripping the sheets. Before he can finish you pull off and he pouts.

> “C-can we- I mean- can I-“ You huff and get frustrated at your own embarrassment, starting to slip your shirt off and hoping he gets the message.

> He goes red and nods quickly, practically tackling you and kissing you sweetly before he moves into position

> You help him ease himself into you , whimpering and making sure he’s comfortable too

> “Oh my god- that’s it baby- just like that,”

> The praise makes him move harder than he means to but god you’re grateful

> When he does come he pulls out and paints your stomach- and as soon as he realizes you haven’t done the same he uses his hand to correct that.

> He holds you tight and doesn’t let go the rest of the night, keen on trying more in the morning

[softspiderling]

think you're a genius (you drive me up the wall) | r.c.

summary: it wouldn't be an outer banks party if there wasn't at least one fist fight. also, rafe is trying to turn over a new leaf.

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

word count: 3,8k

warning: mention of blood, violence (reader gets punched in the face, but there are no graphic details), shitty topper (sorry top)

author's note: long awaited (at least by me) rafe fic, whoop whoop!!! no usage of Y/N, happy reading, don't forget to reblog!!! also tagging @sunderlust bc i borrowed some of our conversation in this fic😘love you sol

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“Since when do you drink beer?”

Barely pausing at the words, you continued to stack cold beer cans in your arms, the condensation dripping onto your skin. You didn’t have to turn around to know who the voice belonged to, having heard it so many times. And this was his house after all.

“Wasn’t aware you kept track of my drink of choice,” you retorted, turning around to face him, while simultaneously trying to balance the cans.

Rafe raised an eyebrow at you before his gaze lowered to the beer in your arms. “… You trying to tell me that all that beer’s for you?”

“You calling me a lightweight?”

The corner of Rafe’s mouth ticked up and he took a sip from his drink, the ice clinking in the glass.

“I think we both know I’m not.”

If someone had told you that one day you’d be standing in the parlor of Tannyhill, having a mostly civil conversation with Rafe you’d have them institutionalized. But things have changed. When Sarah returned with the news that Ward has died protecting Sarah, Rafe imploded at first. Blaming her for his death, the downfall of their family and generally being ungrateful for Ward’s love for her.

Everyone avoided the Cameron estate for a while, hearing stuff crash and yells from a mile away. No one dared to step close. A few days after, the disturbances stopped, being replaced with complete silence.

It was so silent, you actually grew concerned until Rafe turned up at Heyward’s setting up a weekly grocery delivery. Pope had dumped the stuff he was holding as soon as Rafe had stepped into the store, storming outside, with Cleo hot on his heels, leaving you to set up the standing order.

“Can you tell Sarah I’m sorry?”

“What?”

You looked up from the register and Rafe clenched his jaw, giving you a look.

“You really gon’ make me say it again?”

“How about you call her yourself instead of making me deliver your message like a post boy?”

Rafe exhaled deeply, knitting his eyebrows together like he was really trying not to explode and honestly, you had to respect him for that. You know how impatient he could be.

“I tried, okay? Don’t you think I’ve tried? I’ve tried to call her, she’s not picking up. Fuck, I don’t even know if she still has the same phone number,” he said, like the words physically pained him. “I don’t even know where she’s staying. Is it at John B’s new place?”

Somewhere between his words, Rafe had started pacing up and down the stairs, making you antsy.

“Hey,” you said, coming around to slowly, carefully - like you were trying to pet a stray cat - curl your hand around his wrist. Rafe immediately stopped, eyeing his wrist where you were touching him.

“Sorry, I’ll take my hand off,” you quickly said, but before you could, Rafe stopped you.

“’s fine,” he muttered, meeting your eyes for a second before looking away again. “Physical touch grounds me… Y’know… When my thoughts get too… Much.”

You swallowed thickly, nodding at him and staying in place, for god knew how long, until Rafe had seemed to calm down.

“Thanks.”

“Sure.”

You drew your hand back, crossing your arms over your chest and leaned against the counter to put some distance between you and him, wildly overwhelmed with this situation. Rafe didn’t seem like he knew what to do either, turning his ring on his finger, his eyes cast on the floor.

“If you really want to apologize to Sarah,” you started, making him look up. “Maybe I can talk to her. Ask her if she’s willing to meet up with you.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow at you, clearly surprised. “You’d do that for me?”

“Don’t let it get to your head. I’m mostly doing it for Sarah,” you scoffed and Rafe only smirked, shaking his head.

“Sure, tough girl. Gonna ring me up now or what?”

Rolling your eyes at him, you returned to the cash register, finishing up his order. You still felt his eyes on you as you worked away.

“Thanks,” he finally said, and you lifted your head, briefly meeting his eyes.

“Don’t mention it.”

And he never did.

Miraculously, you had managed to get Sarah to agree to talk to Rafe and while you had accompanied her to the beach, where she had met up with Rafe, you stayed behind to give them privacy. You weren’t sure what they had talked about, but you didn’t press her about it either when she came stomping back to you with tearstained cheeks. Whatever they have talked about must have helped though, because even though Sarah still stayed with John B of the the times, she went home every odd night, returning with sandwiches and drinks the next day like a soccer mom. It went unsaid that Rafe had provided her with everything and Sarah avoided talking about him, mostly because Pope still got that distant look in his eyes whenever she mentioned her brother. Which is why you were surprised that he was the first one to agree to go to a party Rafe had invited Sarah to, forwarding the invite to her friends.

“What?” Pope had said everyone gave him an odd look. “He stole a family heirloom of mine. The least he can do is invite us to a party of his.”

“Okay then,” JJ jeered, beating on Pope’s back with his opens palms. “Let’s go to a Kook party.”

You had to admit that it was nice to see that the two tribes of the island coming together. The fact that Pogues were invited to a party on Figure 8 was huge. Granted, it was just you and your friends, but still. It was a start.

Loud cheering from outside brought you out of your thoughts, you and Rafe both looking towards the dimly lit backyard, where the main attraction of the party took place.

“JJ and John B are destroying a group of Kooks at Rage Cage right now,” you then explained, lifting the beer in your arms. “Hence... You know.”

“Right right, I was starting the wonder what all that yelling was about,” Rafe mused.

“So how come you’re not out there?”

Rafe shrugged. “Needed some quiet.”

“What, you having your private party in here?” you teased and Rafe smirked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Why? You jealous?”

You rolled your eyes, shifting the beer cans in your arms, the weight slowly getting to you.

“In your dreams, Rafe,” you scoffed. “I got to go, get these beers to the boys before they’ll get warm. You should come down, when you’re done brooding and shit.”

Throwing your last words over your shoulder, you returned to your friends, being welcomed with loud cheers as the empty cups get filled rather quickly. You dropped down into your empty chair, taking your drink from Kiara who had been holding onto it during your absence.

“Pope was about to send a search party because you were taking so long,” she said and you gave Pope a look over the brim of your cup.

“You’re such a mother hen. I was talking to Rafe.”

“Why the hell were you talking to Rafe?”

“You talked to Rafe?”

“Jesus, guys relax,” you groaned, leaning your head back. “He’s fine. He didn’t even do anything. We just talked.”

“It’s never just anything with Rafe,” Pope muttered.

“I get that,” Sarah started, rolling her empty cup in her hand. “But he’s different.Like… He regrets a lot of the thing’s he’s done and trying really hard to make up for his mistakes,” she paused, pressing her lips together tightly. “I’d be the last person to defend him, but I feel like he’s trying to turn over a new leaf.”

Before Pope was able to list all of the bad things that Rafe has done in the past, your conversation was interrupted, angry yells ringing over the music.

“So now you’re just all buddy buddy hanging out here, huh?”

The new voice wasn’t really new and everyone looked at Sarah, who paled, slowly pushing herself up from her chair, looking towards the disturbance, the rest of the group following her.

“Shit. What the hell is Topper doing here?”

The sudden intrusion of a rather inebriated Topper had immediately tanked the relaxed and laid back atmosphere; suddenly, everyone was tense, not daring to make a move in fear of making the wrong one.

“What? Aren’t we here to party?” Topper cajoled, waving a half empty bottle of whiskey around. “Let’s get rid of these Pogues and party!”

The rest of the Kooks looked between themselves, not really wanting to follow Topper’s request but also not wanting to defend your friends. Even if they just had fun together, the Kooks wouldn't go as far as openly defend Pogues, you knew that.

“You should leave, Topper,” John B said, his hands curling at his sides, which was fair, honestly. Even though you had rebuilt the Chateau, bigger, better and most importantly more fire resistant, Topper burnt down John B’s home. His safe space. Topper only widened his eyes at John B comically, snorting.

“Who are you to tell me to leave?”

Sarah pushed herself to the front, pressing herself to John B’s side, which was probably not the smartest thing she could have done, as it only aggravated Topper even more to see her next to John B. You and the others stood right behind her, ready to step in as soon as it escalated.

“Leave, Topper,” Sarah snapped at him. “Nobody invited you.”

“Yeah, as far as I know, you don’t even live here anymore, Sarah,” Topper said, spitting out her name like it was venom in his mouth.

“I didn’t invite you.”

You hadn’t even noticed Rafe having joined you, not really standing on your side, but not on Topper's side either. Suddenly, the tension had grown even thicker and by now, you realized this could go wrong in about a 100 ways.

Topper stared at his friend, mouth agape, before he collected himself, pulling a face.

“Seriously, Rafe? Weren’t you the one who told me that I’m better off without your bitch of a sister and now you’re taking her side?”

“Watch it, Top,” Rafe only said, not even moving an inch.

Not that he had to. Everyone knew what Rafe was capable of, if he was angry enough. Topper only narrowed his eyes at his friend, weighing his options.

“Topper, just go,” Sarah yelled, walking towards him for good measure, trying to offer some sort of olive branch, but Topper only pushed Sarah roughly, causing her to stumble to the ground.

“Jesus, fuck, Topper,” you snapped, rushing to get Sarah back on her feet again, making the fatal mistake of getting between him and John B, as you received a sickening punch to the side of your face.

“Fuck!”

“Holy shit, Topper are you insane?”

You had toppled over your feet to the grass, not having expected the punch at all. Disoriented, you touched your throbbing cheek, your fingers stained red when you looked at them.

“Fuck,” you moaned, feeling like you were about to pass out. Your friends quickly crowded around you, helping you up.

“Shit, girl, you alright?” Cleo asked, carefully pushing your hair to the side to assess the damage.

“Is Sarah okay?” you only asked, pausing to spit out some blood, leaning on Cleo, your legs still shaking.

“Dude, I’m fine!” Sarah said, wrapping an arm around you, still shaking herself.

Your vision was still dizzy, and the voices were not helping, but it seemed like most of the party goers had dissipated as the argument had started. As your eyes adjusted, you could just see Rafe holding Topper by the collar of his shirt and saying something you couldn’t quite understand, before he tossed his friend on the ground. Topper didn’t take long to get back to his feet, fleeing from the scene.

Rafe turned around, his eyes scanning over you before turning to Sarah.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a bruise,” Sarah said, her eyes fixated on you. “But you should definitely get checked out. I can't believe Topper punched you."

“Come on, I got a first aid kit upstairs and some ice for the swelling.”

Rafe reached out to grab you under the arms, but Cleo was reluctant to let you go.

“Maybe I should help.”

“Seriously?” Rafe asked, incredulously and you only watched with narrowed eyes, your reaction time still limited.

“We should just take her home,” Pope chimed in, grabbing you by the shoulder gently, jostling you around.

“Guys, I’m gonna be sick if you keep handing me around like a joint,” you groaned, shutting your eyes, in the hopes of making the dizziness better.

“Pope, it’s fine. Rafe’s not going to hurt her. And he knows a thing or two about patching up wounds,” Sarah said, Pope’s grip on you loosening.

“Fine. But you even look at our girl funny, and you got another thing coming, you hear me, Rafe?”

“Yeah yeah, I got it,” Rafe grunted.

You peeked an eye open, when your friends let go of you, Rafe looping his arm around your shoulder, pausing to look at John B. “You got Sarah, right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about her.”

Rafe nodded his head in thanks, before leading you towards the house.

"Hey, just call if you need anything!" Kiara called after you, which you only replied with a weak "Okay!", your focus on putting one foot after the other. Rafe had his arm around your waist, taking most of your weight.

“Can you walk alright or do you need me to carry you?”

“If you pick me up right now, I will vomit on you,” you moaned and Rafe snorted.

“Right, and neither of us want that.”

It took you guys an embarrassing amount of time until you reached the house, since you kept making Rafe stop because you thought you were going to throw up. When you finally walked inside, Rafe lead you upstairs, instead of steering you towards the living room.

“Where are you taking me?”

“First aid kit is in my bathroom,” Rafe replied, mostly supporting your weight as you climbed the stairs.

“Ugh, your bathroom? Am I gonna get infected with herpes or something?”

“Is it the smartest idea to insult me in your position right now?” he asked dryly, and you almost sighed in relief when you reached the second floor.

“Just take me to your bedroom Rafe.”

“Alright, Princess,” Rafe sighed, a hint of exasperation in his voice as he guided you to his bedroom, carefully depositing you on the bed. While he went to the bathroom to fetch the first aid kit, you took a second to catch your breath, hoping the world would stop spinning.

Rafe returned with the first aid kit, moving slowly so as not to startle you. He set it down on the bed and then looked at you, concern flickering in his eyes. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you mumbled, pressing a hand to your throbbing cheek. "Just a little dizzy."

"Right." Rafe opened the kit and began to rifle through it, pulling out a bottle of disinfectant and some cotton pads. “This is probably gonna sting,” he warned you.

“Do your worst.”

You managed to flinch only slightly as the cool, yet burning liquid hit your skin, with Rafe’s surprising gentle touch as he cleaned your wound. He put a small bandage on the cut, before sitting back to inspect his handiwork.

“I’ll go grab you some ice for the swelling,” Rafe then said, standing up. “No dozing off, though, a’ight?”

Without waiting for an answer, Rafe left the room, leaving you by yourself yet again. Even though he explicitly told you not to doze off, you laid down on the bed, figuring that it might make the pain a little less bad. As soon as your head hit the pillow, Rafe’s scent engulfed you, and you weren’t sure if you lying down in his bed was too... Intimate? Then again, he was the one who had left you in his bedroom by himself. Before you could sit up again, Rafe reappeared in the room, holding a bag of in his hand, an unreadable expression on his face as he took you in on his bed.

“Sure, go ahead and make yourself at home,” he huffed, but you could see the frown on his face. Rafe sat down on the bed next to you, carefully wrapping the ice bag in a small towel and pressing it against your bruise, his other hand cradling your face. Despite the ice on your skin, you felt your cheeks heating up.

It was odd. You’d never have expected that Rafe could be able to be so gentle, so caring, and you suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to kiss him.

“What’d you say to Topper?” you blurted out instead, breaking the silence. You reached up to hold the ice bag, and Rafe pulled his hands back, raising an eyebrow at you.

“What?”

“After he hit me. What did you tell him to make you leave?”

Rafe sighed, leaning back a bit, staring at the wall as his eyes hardened. “I reminded him of what he did to me when I… Hurt Sarah. Asked him if he was willing to beat me to a pulp for my sister, what he thought I’d do to him for hurting her.”

His eyes flickered back to you.

And you.

You let out a breath at the pregnant pause, scared he’d say something he couldn’t take back. Something real. Maye you had been flirting with him, but so what? There was no harm, they were just words. Right? But admitting something real? That was a whole other story.

“Who would’ve thought Rafe Cameron could be so nice?” You said instead, a teasing lilt in your voice.

Rafe snorted, shaking his head with a laugh, the moment dissipating. “Yeah yeah, don’t get used to it. It was a one time thing.”

“Right, right, we wouldn’t want people to think that Rafe the Kook prince actually has a heart.”

“Does that make you the Pogue Princess then?”

“What?” you asked, flushing. “Where’d you get that idea? That’s obviously Kie.”

“Come on,” Rafe huffed, rolling his eyes. “Kie’s half Kook. And don't even start with my sister. Sarah’s… Half and half, at least.”

You eyed him in amusement. It was clear that he’d spent a good amount of time on that analogy.

“What about Cleo?” you asked, humoring him.

“Ehh. She would’ve made a good Pogue princess, too bad you’ve already taken the spot,” Rafe said with a shrug. “Pogue Princess. Flirts with everyone, heart of gold, never hesitates to get right between a brawl to help out a friend and to call people out on their bullshit…. Should I continue?”

“Please don’t,” you laughed, pressing the ice bag to your cheek. “You’re talking shit out of your ass right now.”

“I’m talking shit out of my ass? You’re the one saying everything that comes to your mind to stop yourself from kissing me right now.”

What?

“What?”

You never thought he’d actually say it out loud. Mention the elephant in the room. The tension you had been trying to ignore all this time. The silence that followed was deafening as you tried to find the right words, your heart beating in your chest.

“In your dreams,” you muttered hotly, repeating your words from earlier in the evening, looking everywhere but at him. It didn’t take long for Rafe to grab you by the chin gently, forcing you to look at him, his eyes piercing yours.

“In my dreams, yes,” he said quietly, inching so close that his warm breath was fanning across your face. “What about yours, princess?”

Gaping at him, speechless, you knew you didn’t have long until Rafe would take your silence as rejection. Your mind was racing, but ultimately, you leaned in, closing the gap and finally kissed him. Rafe let out a soft grunt, dropping his hand from your chin and cupping the back of your head instead to press even closer to you. The kiss deepened, becoming more passionate, as you finally admitted the attraction you felt to another, but you pulled away, when you felt a tad too dizzy.

“Right, shit,” Rafe cursed, knitting his brows together, examining your cheek. “Got too carried away.”

You flushed, handing him the small ice bag, that was more or less a bag of water now. Rafe dumped it in the trash next to the nightstand, before turning back to you with a smirk.

“Took you long enough.”

“Shut up,” you huffed and Rafe only grinned, pushing your hair out of your face, where it stuck to your wet cheek. You leaned in for another kiss, only for Rafe to stop you, holding you back.

“Nuh-uh. You get better first. Next time, I want you to get dizzy because of my mouth and not because you just got punched in the face.”

“You sound real confident there will be a next time,” you pointed out.

Rafe sighed, faux-exasperation. “Princess, don’t act dumb, it doesn’t suit you. You really think I’ll let you go after you’ve professed your love for me?”

“After I did what?” you shrieked in laughter, and Rafe only laughed. It was nice seeing him laugh for real for once, not the smarmy, smirk he used to do. After your laughter subsided, your pursed your lips, serious.

“You know my friends won’t take this well, right? Especially Pope.”

Rafe ran his hand over his buzzed hair, exhaling softly. “I know. But I won you over, didn’t I? Rest will be a piece of cake.”

“I’m serious, Rafe.”

You gave him a look and he leaned down, clasping his hands in his. “So am I. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have been trying to make things up to him, to Sarah. To everyone. It might take a while… And I don’t blame him.”

“As long as you’re aware…. Now, can we get back to kissing?”

“Didn’t you just hear what I said?”

Pushing your lower lip forward, you pouted at him. “One kiss.”

Rafe stared at you for a hot second, frowning. “Fine. One.”

But when he leaned down to give you a chaste kiss true to his words, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down on top of you.

"Jesus, are you trying to kill yourself?" Rafe hissed, but you only cackled, almost taking your bandage off in the process.

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠂⠄☆

author's note: pls leave a comment/reblog/like if you liked it🥹

[zegrasdrysdale]

[ photograph ] j. drysdale

paring : Jamie Drysdale x fem!reader

summary : (Y/N) decides to fly out to Philly for Valentine’s Day after watching Jamie say in an interview that he’ll probably be spending the day alone

warning(s) : just some tooth rotting fluff with no angst for once, a heavy makeout

author’s note : this is just a (not so) lil fluff filled thing bc i wanted to write something for belated valentine’s day. sorry or you’re welcome (idk)

༺═──────────────═༻

“Yeah, uh, I don’t actually have any plans tomorrow,” he explains to a reporter through the screen on her phone. “Everyone I know here does have plans and everyone else I know is across the country so I’ll most likely spend the day putting together furniture in my new apartment.”

That was the moment she decided that she was getting on the first flight she possibly could to Philly so Jamie didn’t spend Valentine’s Day alone. No one should have to spend the day alone. She doesn’t have any plans and she’s off from work for about two weeks because they’re doing renovations so a little trip to Philadelphia doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.

Last year he spent the day with Trevor on the couch and watched movies in their shared apartment. This year, he is in Philly and Trevor actually has a girlfriend. Not very ideal for Jamie.

She isn’t Jamie’s girlfriend, but she is one of his best friends and could never let him be alone on Valentine’s Day. Especially not after hearing what his actual plans are for tomorrow. She’s going to at least help him put furniture together in his apartment.

A flight out of LAX is scheduled for 10 that night. It’s six so she has about two hours to pack for a week long trip to Philly. She even buys a ticket for Saturday’s game at MetLife since she wants to see Jamie play a game while she’s in Philly.

By eight, she’s out the door with a suitcase that’s packed full of clothes and non-liquid toiletries. The jersey Jamie sent her about a week after the trade is neatly folded with the rest of her clothes. She orders an Uber to drive her to the airport.

While in the Uber, she debates texting Jamie and telling him that she’ll be at his new apartment early tomorrow morning since she’ll be landing a little before six in the morning. It’ll probably take about 45 minutes after she lands before she’s on Jamie’s doorstep.

Maybe a surprise wouldn’t be the worst thing so she puts her phone away until she has to pull out her plane ticket.

Getting on the plane takes an hour between getting past TSA and buying snacks for the nearly five hour flight. She boards the plane twenty minutes before it takes off so she has time to get comfortable.

She’s asleep before the plane even leaves the ground.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

All the snacks she bought before the flight are going to be the snacks she eats while she’s in Philly because she slept for the entire flight. It didn’t feel like she slept for 5 hours but she did.

By six, she’s at baggage claim and grabbing her suitcase. She orders an Uber to Voorhees while she waits for her things. The car is waiting for her when she get outside.

It’s a lot colder out than she thought it was going to be. All she has on is a Ducks hoodie that Jamie gave to her the year before and a pair of leggings with Uggs on her feet. Her feet are warm. The rest of her is not. She shakes as she puts her things in the trunk of the car.

She gives the driver Jamie’s new address and she’s off to surprise her best friend.

The closer she gets to Jamie’s, the more nervous she gets. What if he found someone after moving to the Philly area? What if the whole putting furniture together comment was a lie so he didn’t announce to the entire world he was in a relationship? What if he doesn’t want her there in general?

Maybe a spontaneous trip across the country without at least letting Jamie know she was coming wasn’t the best idea she’s ever had.

A call comes through from Trevor. Confused, she answers the phone. “Good morning?”

“Are you in Philly?” he asks.

“Maybe,” she slowly replies as she watches the Philly skyline pass. “Why? It’s like three in the morning.”

“Not for you apparently,” he retorts. “I looked to see where you were because Mason said you weren’t replying to his texts so I wanted to make sure you were okay and I see that you flew across the country.”

She smiles and shakes her head. The way Trevor would find out she’s in Philly is by checking her location. He and Jamie are the only ones that have her location because she’s closest with them.

“Just wanted to surprise Jamie,” she tells Trevor. “That’s all. Tell Mason I’ll call him later because I’m about ten minutes away from Jamie’s apartment.”

“You gonna tell him you love him?” Trevor questions. She opens her mouth to object but he keeps talking. “It’s so freaking obvious so don’t even lie to me.”

A nervous laugh passes her lips. “We’ll see,” she replies. “I’ll talk to you later, Z.”

“Tell me how he’s really doing,” he tells her. “I worry about him sometimes.”

“Will do,” she says as the driver pulls up to Jamie’s place. “Talk soon.”

The line goes dead and she looks out the window at the apartment building. Jamie’s somewhere in there asleep and she’s about two minutes away from calling him to come let her into the building.

She gets her things out of the trunk and thanks the driver before he drives off to pick someone else up. She sighs and pulls up Jamie’s contact.

When she presses the ‘call’ button, it rings about four times before Jamie answers. The entire time, her hands are shaking and she isn’t sure if it’s because of the cold or if she’s nervous to see Jamie for the first time since the trade.

“It’s like four in the morning,” he croaks when he picks up. “Are you okay?”

She smiles at the sound of his morning voice. “Actually it’s almost seven in the morning and I’m currently freezing my ass off outside your apartment building so if you could come let me in, that would be great,” she says.

It sounds like Jamie falls out of bed when she says that she’s outside of the building. If he broke anything then she’s going to have to explain to Torts why Jamie will be out for six weeks.

He isn’t holding any body parts when he swings the door open and blankly stares at her from the top of the steps of the building. He blinks a few times like he’s trying to decide if he’s still dreaming or if he’s awake. She waves and a barefoot Jamie runs down the stairs to hug her.

A laugh passes her lips and she wraps her arms around his torso. “You’re actually here,” he says against her ear. “I thought you were lying to me.”

“Nope,” she replies. “I’m here. I didn’t have anything else to do so I thought I’d come surprise you. Help you put together some furniture for Valentine’s Day.”

Jamie pulls back from the hug just enough to look at her. “You saw that interview?” he asks.

With a nod and a smile, she replies, “It sounded like a very boring way to spend Valentine’s Day so I thought I’d come keep you company. Maybe watch you play at the outdoor game this weekend. I have another week off from work and spending it in the Philly area with my best friend didn’t sound like the worst idea.”

“You are actually insane for buying a plane ticket without knowing if I’d be here or not,” he tells her. “I could’ve left for Toronto before you got here since we play them tomorrow.”

“Yeah I know how your travel schedule works,” she retorts. “That’s how I knew you’d be here.”

He shakes his head and grabs her suitcase. “You have some of the best timing because I took a maintenance day today so I have a day off from practice, but I leave tomorrow morning for Toronto,” he says to her as they walk into the building together.

“Listen, I’m spending a week in the area,” she replies. “I get to watch you play at the outdoor game on Saturday when I wasn’t planning on being on the east coast at all. If you’re gone for a day or two then it’s fine.”

The smile that forms on Jamie’s face makes her heart do somersaults in her stomach.

She can tell how excited he is that she decided to visit him. She knows how much he has been missing Anaheim so she brought Anaheim to him for a week.

When Jamie opens the door to the apartment, she is very surprised by how decorated it is and how much of the stuff he had in his Anaheim apartment has made its way to this one. It still needs some work done, but that is why she’s here. She’s here to help him finish putting it all together.

“I need to build some shelves,” Jamie tells her. “And put together the guest bedroom. The frame still needs to be built for the guest bed too. This is what my plans were for the day.”

She turns her head to look at him as he closes the door behind them. “So it wasn’t come ruse so you didn’t have to admit to the world that you had a secret girlfriend?” she questions.

If she should expect Jamie to have a girl over then she might as well get the girlfriend question out of the way early on in her visit.

“Uh, no,” he replies. “No secret girlfriend. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had any time to find a girlfriend. Yorky has tried but he’s not the best wingman.”

She can’t help but laugh. Jamie smiles and rolls her suitcase to the unfinished bedroom.

She decides to make some coffee for the two of them so they can get started on the day’s plans. They have to put together the guest room and build some shelves. It can’t be very hard to do either of those things. Right?

Wrong.

It turns out that Jamie can’t follow simple instructions to save his life. She has had to refrain from throwing whatever is in her hand at him so many times because he can’t read a piece of paper.

“Jamie, what am I supposed to do with this screw?” she asks as she holds up an extra screw. “Do I have to put it in your head so you can use your brain or something? You missing one in there? Do I need to get Trevor on the first flight out of LAX to come help you figure out how to read the instructions?”

Jamie looks up from his spot on the floor and throws the instructions at her. “Here, you try to read this and tell me if it makes any sense,” he retorts. “It’s all confusing. My parents helped me build shelves when they came to visit a few weeks ago. I didn’t have to do this. Maybe it’s just an extra.”

She grabs the pamphlet and reads the directions. The screw was supposed to be put in when putting the shelves in place. A shelf is missing a screw.

“You dumbass,” she says. “It’s not an extra screw. It was supposed to be put in on the bottom shelf to make sure it is secure and even. You now have an unsecure shelf in your guest room.”

Jamie flattens out on his back on the carpeted floor with a groan. “This is why I’m a hockey player and don’t work in home improvement,” he says as he rubs his eyes. She laughs and tries to keep her eyes on his face instead of on the sliver of skin that peeks out between what is a new Flyers t-shirt and pajama pants. “This is so dumb. I am not about to take that whole thing apart to put one screw in.”

She walks over and slaps the pamphlet on his stomach. He gasps and sits up with the paper in his hands. “Then get it together, Drysdale,” she tells him. “We have a bed frame to build.”

“Fuck the bed frame,” he sighs as she grabs the box in the corner and drags it into the center of the room. “You don’t need a bed to sleep in tonight.”

With a light laugh, she teases, “If we don’t get it set up then I’m gonna be sleeping in your bed until we get it put together.”

Jamie mutters something that sounds like “would be okay with me” but she pretends she doesn’t hear it. She can’t hear it or else she will just say “fuck it” and sleep in Jamie’s bed the entire time she’s here instead of putting the bed together.

The mattress is sitting up against the wall next to where the box with the bed frame was. He has everything he needs to put this bed together and he hasn’t done it yet. Not even over the All Star break when he had a few days off before going to Mexico with the Flyers.

Putting the bed together takes less time and a lot less arguing back and forth. Within an hour, the mattress is on top of the bed frame. Five-foot-eleven 185 pound Jamie flops on the mattress to make sure it’s secure and won’t fall apart if someone were to jump on it.

They do not need to have another shelf problem with the bed that she will most likely be sleeping on while she’s in the area. If it is like the shelf and it’s not safe to sleep on then the couch is in the living room for a reason.

The two of them stand in the doorway and look at their work when they decide the bed is secure. “We make an amazing team,” she comments. “Aside from the shelf.”

Jamie groans and walks down the hallway to his own room. “Shelves are stupid anyway,” he replies. “Who is actually going to use them in this room aside from me just putting a handful of books and pictures on them?” She laughs and goes to unpack her stuff now that it’s safe to do so without stepping on wood, metal or a screw on the floor.

The Flyers jersey that he sent her gets hung up in the closet along with her shirts, hoodies, and nicer pants. She’ll pull bras, panties, and socks out of the suitcase as needed. The beanie she brought to wear on Saturday is put on the bedside table.

Then she pulls out the gift that she brought for Jamie. It isn’t much but she’s hoping that it means as much to him as it does to her. The pictures she brought were taken at such important moments in Jamie’s career and she hopes that he doesn’t mind having a few pictures of his best friend around the apartment.

She walks down to Jamie’s bedroom and knocks gently on the door. There are footsteps behind it before the door swings open. “I, um, had these printed and framed in case I ever came to visit you,” she tells him as she holds out the three picture frames. “Thought you might need some décor.”

Jamie looks down at the pictures and shifts through them.

One of them was taken on Jamie’s Draft Day. He has on a Ducks jersey and she has on his Ducks hat. He looks so happy. He has an arm around her shoulders while he holds up six fingers and is smiling at the camera. She has a smile on his face and is looking up at him with a proud look on her face. Messy ponytail and all.

The second one was taken the day Jamie made his NHL debut and scored his first goal. It’s a selfie she took of her, Jamie, and Trevor at dinner that same night. They’re both holding their pucks because they went right from the arena to a restaurant to eat.

The third one was taken during the 2021 World Juniors tournament where Canada placed second. She’s putting the silver medal back around his neck after he had given it to her. “Silver just means you lost” is what he had said to her a moment before this was captured. She had told him that she was a winner to him and put the medal back around his neck. There is heavy eye contact between the two of them in their matching jerseys.

It was as the third picture was being taken she realized that she loved Jamie. The first two pictures, she knew she had feelings for him, but the third was when she realized that she wanted to be there for him as more than just a friend.

“I had no idea you had any of these,” he says after he’s done looking through them. Jamie looks up at her. “All at different points of my career.”

“Been with you since day one,” she replies with a smile on her face. “You didn’t think that I wouldn’t be here with you while you succeed in a whole new city, did you?”

Jamie laughs and shakes his head. “Absolutely not,” he tells her. “You always make sure you’re a presence in my life.” He pauses and looks right at her. “It’s one of the things I love most about having you in my life.”

She could almost cry when he says that.

There have been so many times over the years where she thought she was annoying or that he wanted her out of his life. She followed him to California when he started playing with the Gulls then the Ducks. He asked her to come with him, but she thought for months it was out of pity.

He has erased years of insecurity with one comment.

“Thanks for keeping me in your life,” she replies after a brief moment of silence.

“You’re like Trevor,” he teases. “You’re always around. It would be hard for me to get rid of you.”

She smiles up at him. “Except he would never fly across the country to see you,” she retorts. “Especially without at least telling you he was coming to see you.”

Jamie laughs. “No, he wouldn’t.”

They look at each other for a second before he walks past her. He has the picture frames in his hand as he walks into the living room. She follows him even though she is confused with what he’s doing.

He puts the picture of himself, Trevor, and (Y/N) on the coffee table under the lamp next to the couch. It’s the most public place in the entire place so it makes sense that that’s the picture that is put in the living room.

The picture of the two of them on Draft Day goes on a little table that leads to the hallway with both bedrooms and bathrooms. The table is under a little mirror that’s been hung up. A little less public but it also joins the other pictures that were taken that day. It looks like it belongs.

Jamie glances at her and walks back into his bedroom. She follows right behind him and stands in the doorway of his room. Her eyes are on the picture of the two of them at the 2021 World Juniors as it’s placed on Jamie’s bedside table.

“This one means the most to me so it deserves a little more privacy than the others,” Jamie tells her without a look in her direction. “You were there for me and picked me up when I was down. I didn’t want anyone else there but you. You were the one that convinced me silver was okay. The team worked hard to get to that moment. The medal was very well deserved because we did everything we could to make it to that game. I did everything I could to get the team to that game. We just came up a little bit short.”

She pouts and walks further into the room. He finally looks over at her. “I didn’t know you felt that way,” she softly says to him. “I didn’t know that I was the person that convinced you it was okay to wear silver around your neck.”

“I needed silver because my gold medal was you,” Jamie shakily admits. His voice is soft. “You’re my gold medal.”

His words have her speechless. Her jaw drops in surprise. She has no idea why he’s saying this to her now.

He reaches out to her and brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She takes a step forward and feels her heart race in her chest as she looks up at him. Her body shakes as she realizes that their relationship is changing.

A line that she never expected to cross is about to be crossed. She can see it in Jamie’s eyes as they examine her face, landing on her lips.

“Can I kiss you?”

She nods because she doesn’t trust herself to speak. She is afraid that she’s going to admit how long she’s been in love with him if she says a single words.

So she nods, and Jamie leans down to capture her lips in a soft, hesitant kiss. He’s testing the waters to see if she’ll push him away.

She’ll never push him away.

Not when she finally has him like this. Not when she finally knows what it feels like to kiss Jamie Drysdale.

When she feels him begin to pull away, she wraps her arms around his neck and leans more into him to deepen the kiss instead of Jamie breaking it. Her fingers find a home in his hair.

She is scared he will regret it if the kiss breaks, and she doesn’t want that. She doesn’t want to see that look. It might break her if he looks at her like that if the kiss breaks.

Jamie cups her cheek and brushes his thumbs over her cheekbone. She melts against him with a sigh.

“(Y/N),” he mumbles after a second. “I need to breathe.”

That’s when she lets him pull away. The sight of his red, swollen lips and unruly hair is almost too much for her. There’s a hint of a smile on his face and something overcomes her.

“I love you,” she tells him. “I’ve loved you since that was taken.” She points in the direction of the picture on his bedside table. “It’s always been you, Jamie. That’s why I flew across the country on Valentine’s Day. I wanted to be with you today because I miss you and I love you.”

Jamie smiles and brushes his thumb over her own lips that are as red and swollen as his are. “I love you too,” he says. “I think I’ve been in love with you since I saw you at my first NHL game in my jersey. I’m very happy you came to the east coast to watch me play in the Stadium Series game this weekend. I was going to probably fly you out anyway.”

She laughs and shakes her head before burying her face in his chest. They’ve been in love with each other for years and are only now saying something about it after Jamie was traded to Philly and she’s stuck in Anaheim for right now.

“Only took me bringing you pictures to finally kiss me,” she teases.

He rolls his eyes. “Shut up and come here.”

Their lips meet in a heated kiss. Everything they’ve been feeling is coming out in the kiss. Jamie tugs her until she is sitting on his lap while he’s sitting on the mattress. She drapes her arms over his shoulders.

It’s that moment when she realizes they put together a whole bed for no reason because there is now no way she is getting in that bed now.

She pushes him down until Jamie is lying flat on his back and their chests are flush against each other. Her hair creates a curtain around their faces despite his fingers curling in her locks.

“Wait, hold on,” Jamie says. She pulls back from the kiss. “Have something to ask you before we get distracted.”

“Hm?”

“Will you come to family skate on Friday before the game at MetLife?” he asks. “As my girlfriend?”

The biggest smile forms on her lips. “You’re going to have to give me skating lessons because despite watching you play hockey for years, I have no idea how to skate,” she tells him.

“I will give you skating lessons,” Jamie laughs. “You’ll come though?”

She nods and kisses him. “I’ll come.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

yourusername

liked by jamie.drysdale, philadelphiaflyers, and 193,872 others

yourusername life recently w my 🤍

view all 15,982 comments

fan1 JAMIE HAS A GIRLFRIEND ????

masonmctavish23 ig i forgive you for not answering my texts last week

yourusername we can hang out when i get back into cali on wednesday

masonmctavish23 good. i’m mad that jamie stole you from us

fan2 oh my god. this is so cute

fan3 you were at metlife ??? i think i walked past you at one point

yourusername i had on the drysdale jersey

trevorzegras oh this is all i’m gonna hear about when she gets back

leocarlssoon it’s about time. i was praying this would happen bc the way jamie talked about you was insane

jamie.drysdale let me live !!

philadelphiaflyers Thanks for coming out

jamie.drysdale skating w my girlfriend for the first time was the best feeling 🩵

yourusername being your girlfriend is the best feeling

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