#I need to be torn apart and put back together again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

allbark-no-bite · 6 months ago

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good boy.

art donaldson x reader (wc: 2.9k)

summary: as Art’s personal physical therapist, it’s your job to fix what Tashi has torn apart, by whatever means necessary. or in which Art just needs some TLC

warnings: 18+ smut, it could be worse tbh, mentions of disordered eating

author’s note: i’m back ig?? im out of uni for the summer and challengers has me in a chokehold. Art Donaldson the man that you are

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You're standing just within earshot of the doorway, passing a sanitary wipe over one of the tables in the athlete treatment room when you hear the door abruptly open. Tashi storms in with a purpose and Art trails meekly behind her. Even if you had been clueless to how the match had gone rather than on the sidelines beside Tashi not even twenty minutes ago, you could have guessed by the hard line of her mouth that Art was in for it. Not that her displeased scowl was much different from her usual scowl, but you'd been around long enough to know the difference.

She stops abruptly, and Art heels obediently as Tashi turns around to face him. "I need you to tell me when you're going to fucking get it together so that I can stop wasting my time."

Weary and sweat soaked, Art just stares at her with that pitiful look on his face and says nothing in reply. His blue eyes solemnly take in her harsh disappointment as though beyond used to it. At this point it's not all that foreign to you either.

"You may as well be fucking asleep out there," she snaps.

This time his mouth opens. "I- I'm just tired-" he begins, although there's hardly any argue to his voice at all.

"No, I'm tired, Art," Tashi interjects. "Do you have any idea how much fucking work I've put into getting you back onto the court this past year?! I've done everything! The least you could do go out there and try to act like I've done anything for you at all!"

Art swallows, the slight frown on his face deepening. "I am. I just- I don't-"

Before he can even finish his sentence. The open palm of Tashi's hand connects with his cheek as she pops the left side of his face. Art closes his mouth. You pretend to concentrate on wiping down the table. It's not the first time you've witnessed one of these conversations but it still feels private, like you shouldn't be here. You keep wiping the table.

Understanding that anything else he says is only going to make Tashi angrier, Art resigns to once again watching her in silence. His blue eyes are sad. The usually fair skin of his cheek is tinted pink where she popped him. Although it wasn't very hard, you're sure it still hurt him all the same.

"Quit wasting my time," is all she says before she finally turns and leaves, walking right past you and out the other door. You hold your breath as she passes you. Art watches her go but makes no move to follow. You release an audible sigh. It's been a frustrating day for everyone. As Art's personal trainer, physical therapist, and close friend, you felt every loss, every ache and pain, every bad play. And there seemed to be a lot of those lately.

Art is still standing there, watching the closed door that Tashi left though.

Not knowing how to break the silence, you finally pat the freshly sanitized treatment table. "C'mon," you call gently, as though beckoning to a wounded dog.

It takes a moment for him to budge, but eventually he does, his disheartened spirit apparent in the way he walks over. Used to the usual routine, he tugs his damp shirt off over his head as he takes a seat, the lean muscles of his torso flexing as he does so. You allow yourself to ogle at him, only for a brief moment before stepping in between the bracket of his knees. Gently, you cradle his chin, tipping his head back to look up at you as your thumb smooths over the redness of his cheek. His blue eyes blink up at you, sad and dog-like.

"It wasn't terrible," you reassure him. "You had surgery six months ago. You're still getting your feet back underneath you. Most people wouldn't have come back." You're right. The still-pink scars on his shoulder are still fresh on your mind. The stitches weren't even out before Tashi had him in physical therapy. Even though his medical team had released him, it was still a bit early to start doing rehab so soon after surgery, Art's comfort being your biggest concern. But when Tashi wants something, she gets it.

Wordlessly, Art sighs, the weight of his head settling into your palm as he finally lets go of the tension he'd been carrying. It was always like this. You fixing what Tashi had torn apart. You understood where Tashi was coming from. Art needed a firm voice in his training, and you had a lot of respect for the way she put her foot down and never let up, not even once. But there was only so many times you could kick a dog while he was down.

So if Art needed someone to coddle him, you would coddle him.

He trusts you. He needs you, is what Tashi had told you when she asked you to stay on as his trainer full time. The three of you had been in the same year at Stanford all those years ago, Tashi and Art on the tennis team and you helping out as a student trainer as part of a class requirement. Three peas in a pod, the trio of you were. Of course then they both graduated, leaving you to finish up your schooling, meanwhile Art set off to go pro.

A few years later, once Tashi officially took on the position as Art's coach, she began building his team, and that's where you came in. You were hesitant at first.

'I already lost to you once, Tashi. I won't come in second to you again.'

She had paused on the other end of the line. Back in your Stanford days, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that you were head over heels in love with the blonde tennis player. But loving Art was like accepting the participation ribbon for a game you knew you weren't going to win in the first place. It was like standing next to the podium, just lucky enough to be included in the picture while Tashi and tennis took first and second place. And so you let him go.

'I'm not asking you to. This is different.'

Your hand slips from his face, and he forces his eyes open.

“Have you eaten?" you ask, stepping away in order to put some distance between the two of you and look for the granola bars that you keep especially for him. The gels were good sources of quick fuel in between sets, but they were hardly enough to even begin to make up for the calories he burned while playing.

Slowly, Art shakes his head, but he makes no move to take the snack from your hand when you offer it to him. Ever since his injury, nutrition became all the more important. So much to the point that every single thing that he consumed was mapped out to the exact calorie. Although he would never admit it, any sort of change in this routine made him incredibly anxious. Some days it was better not to cause him the anxiety than to force him.

Today, you insistently hold out the bar until he begrudgingly takes it from your hand. You don't move until you've seen him tear open the package and take a bite.

"Were you still feeling tight?" you ask as you walk around the table, stopping at the slouch of his turned back. You reach out to grasp at the joint of his neck and shoulder, your thumb smoothing over the kinesiology tape that's peeling away at the base of his neck.

He half turns his head to glance back at you. "You watched the match. You tell me."

His response is meant to be snippy, but it comes out more defeated than anything. To be fair, you've been his trainer long enough to know that if something was bothering him physically, you would have picked up on it.

"I want to hear it from you."

"I felt fine."

Your left hand follows suit on the other side of his neck, and you use both of your thumbs to apply pressure to what you assume will be a tense spot along the upper part of his traps. Predictably, Art groans at the attention. The muscles of his back contract as he fights the urge to shake you off. Relaxing the muscle hurts as much as it feels good. Besides his obvious discomfort, the rest of his body has gone lax under your touch. His shoulders have dropped at least an inch, and his chin has fallen to rest against his chest.

"Finish your granola bar," you reprimand him, your firm fingers working across his back until you find another spot that nearly has him jerking away. He releases a whine but obediently takes another bite of the bar. This time he finishes it before you have to remind him again.

You spend a few more minutes torturing him before you're satisfied that a majority of the tension has left his shoulders.

"Okay, good boy," you murmur, leaning forward so that your chest is close enough to brush against his back. One of your hands trails up to squeeze the back of his neck reassuringly.

You're close enough to hear him swallow at the name. The skin on the nape of his neck shivers despite how hot he still is from the match.

"Was I?" he asks timidly. "Good today?"

'I can be his coach. Or I can be the person he cries to after a bad day. But I can't be both. That's why he needs you."

Without removing your hand from his neck, you walk around the table so you're standing in front of him. Art widens the spread of his legs so that you can stand between them. His chin is still pressed to his chest, blue eyes focused on the ground.

"Art," is all you say, shifting your grip on his neck to tug lightly at his golden blonde hair. At your voice, he lifts his head just enough to look up at you through the pale wisps of his eyelashes. The irises of his blue eyes shine are wet with uncertainty.

Your fingers loosen their grip to allow your nails to scratch at his scalp. "You're good, Art. You'll always be good."

Art twists his head to nuzzle his cheek along the inside of your outstretched arm. His lips kiss the crook of your elbow. He swallows again. "Even if I don't play tennis?"

You can tell the question's been bothering him, eating at his nerves, and messing up his game. You know him well enough to know that retirement isn't what he wants, not really. At least not right now. What he wants is the reassurance that it's going to be okay if he can't swing the comeback.

"Look at me."

He lingers a moment longer with his lips pressed lovingly against your skin before he reluctantly shifts his gaze up to you. His look is anticipatory but reserved, as if to preemptively conceal his disappointment should you choose to crush his heart with your answer.

His fear is understandable. Art's relationship with Tashi has always been entirely built off of his tennis career. By being the driving force behind his success, Tashi has vicariously lived out the life she would have had had her injury never happened. Without tennis, Art has nothing left to offer her. He knows that if he gives up tennis, he loses Tashi.

Your relationship with Art was a little less conditional. Hell, you'd been in love with him since the first time you'd laid eyes on him at Stanford. You can still picture him standing there on the court, barely nineteen, scrawny, nervous smile, backwards cap over his strawberry blonde hair. Before he was the Art Donaldson. But when Tashi had stepped into the picture, you figured that was where your fairytale ended.

"I don't love you because of tennis. I love you because you're kind, and thoughtful, and you're passionate about what you do." You smile a bit before adding, "And you're my good boy."

The name turns him bashful again, and he's quick to turn and hide his smiling face against your arm, only the flushed tips of his ears visible. "[Y/n]," he mumbles, likely meaning to be threatening, but it doesn't come out that way.

Art Donaldson lived to be praised.

You laugh, pulling him closer so that his face is held against your chest. The hand that you don't have threaded through his hair trails up the muscle of his defined quad. "You're my good boy. Aren't you, baby?"

Art whines, squirming when your hand reaches the apex of his thigh and hovers over the forming bugle of his shorts. He's not quite there yet, his dick only half chubbed up in interest, but given the day that he's had, you won't make him wait.

"Please?" he mumbles, his face still buried into your collarbone, as if attempting to curling into you, like a small child needing their parent to hold them for comfort.

You rake your nails lightly up the inside of his thigh. "What, baby?"

Not only did Art liked to be praised, but he was masochist even on his worst days.

"Want you to touch me," he mumbles, his voice muffled by your shirt. "Please."

Your hand still scratching through his hair, you press a kiss to the side of his head, unable to suppress your smile at his timid politeness and how it never seems to fail him. The only time he ever resembled anything remotely voracious was on the court.

Palm finding his tented shorts, you cup him through the fabric. Art responds immediately to your touch, his hips shifting further into your grasp. You continue to pet him through his shorts, appreciating the way you can feel him actively responding to your touch.

His nails dig into the padding of the treatment table when you give his now fully hard dick a less than sympathetic squeeze. His breath is hot as he pants against your collarbone, alternating between laving open mouthed kisses to your skin and whining when you pause fondling him just to feel his hips rut up into your palm.

Art was so in control on the tennis court, that often after a match, putting the control into someone else's hands was just what he needed.

When his hips start to stutter, you ease up but continue to stroke him through his shorts. The front of his shorts are damp with the musk of residual sweat and precum.

His breath is shallow—anticipatory.

"Gunna come?" you ask softly, speaking into the blonde mess of his hair, cradling him. He right there, you can tell by the lackluster buck of his hips, his building fatigue, and the change in his breathing.

"Can I? —Please?" Art asks breathily. He hiccups out the last part, his voice catching.

"You know you don't have to ask."

There's a brief pause, as if coming to the realization, before he meekly murmurs, "I know.

It should be sad really, his unwavering obedience, but there are two sides to Art, two polar extremes. On the court, every match, every set, every debilitating second is up to him. No one else can help him out there, and up until about a year ago, he played like it. That was the side of Art Donaldson that Tashi wanted. After the match is a different story. In private, Art needed someone to do the thinking for him, to pull him into a reality where he could believe that it didn't matter whether he won or lost. Tashi had not the sympathy nor the patience for that kind of fragility.

Art comes with a brief cry into your chest, his body arching into yours. Your hand palms at his pulsing dick until he's oversensitive and pulling away. When you relent, the front of his shorts are sticky and wet.

Finally, Art lifts his face from the safety of your chest. His blue eyes are glossed over, but it's an improvement from the detached look they held ten minutes ago. His cheeks are flushed, a mixture of his own embarrassment and satisfaction.

You can't help the soft smile that creeps onto your face at the look of him, and immediately Art is abashedly trying to hide his face again, his own smile starting to appear. Before he can, you bring your hands back up to cradle his face, thumbs wiping away the wetness from under his eyes. This time he lets you.

His eyes study your face for a second, admiring you, appreciating the love he has for you.

“I don’t want to play tennis anymore.”

You can’t tell if it’s more of a statement or a confession. Either way, you know he’s telling you the absolute truth.

“Okay,” you reply softly, not hint of judgement in your voice. Maybe some disappointment, but that was understandable.

Retirement would be a kindness. Art would finally put back on some healthy weight, start smiling again, put on a real, actual smile. You could already see it, a nice house for the two of you to settle down in, with a picket fence and a dog in the backyard, the kind of things the two of you would have never had time for on tour.

Tennis had brought the two of you together, but it wouldn’t end you.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x y/n #challengers #challengers smut #art donaldson smut #challengers imagine #challengers x reader

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violet-witch-6 · 1 year ago

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Gonna be real, my first time watching THAT scene I honestly wasn’t sure how they were ever gonna patch things up because I can’t even imagine the pain of standing in Crowley’s place after 6,000 years of loving someone in silence, trying to show them who you are at every opportunity, painstakingly chipping away at the delusion they’ve bought into since the beginning (more than you ever did) in order to show them the truth—to show them who you are (who the two of you could be together) —and then just as you’ve finally worked up the courage to lay it all out there and toss the dice hoping (with what, for the first time, you’re starting to believe are less than doomed odds) that they’ll love you back and that it will be enough—only for all of it to be dragged out from under you because they look you in the eye and all but tell you that they never understood you at all. They weren’t listening. And, sure they want what you want (to be together), they love you back (still unspoken but legible in the way they glow at the thought that they might still save you) (as if you need saving) (as if you’d want it)—but not as you are. They think the change they ask of you would be received as a grace and the betrayal of that is gut wrenching in a way that no flat out rejection could be, I think. If I were Crowley, I can’t imagine how I’d come back from that.

But then I watched the scene again. The moments after that betrayal. Once Crowley’s put his glasses back on, raised his defenses and sounded the retreat. I wondered, watching the scene again, how it could ever reach the point where the kiss made sense when they were already so torn apart. But the thing is that no matter how wrong Aziraphale was to want things to go back to the “way they were”, everything that led him to that conclusion comes from the thing Crowley loves most about him: his goodness. Aziraphale is good in a way that heaven is not, and Crowley knows that, but Aziraphale still hasn’t learned that lesson. He wants so desperately still to believe in god and heaven and the ineffable plan and even though it’s that desire that’s led him to hurt Crowley, I don’t think Crowley can completely begrudge him. By the time Crowley’s walking out of the book shop, the betrayal has already faded—not gone, but less than when compared to his sadness for Aziraphale and what his angel is going to go through when heaven lets him down (again)—assuming that it doesn’t just break him.

And the kiss—that fucking kiss (be still my beating heart)—that was Crowley planting a seed. “I know better than you do” he says and he does because Crowley has always been more honest with himself than Mr. “Master class in self delusion” A. Z. Fell. Aziraphale is about to be more alone and more lost than he has been in 6,000 years, so Crowley needed to make 100% clear to him where solid ground was. Aziraphale won’t be able to rationalize this away or hide behind propriety because it can only mean one thing and that is that he is in love with a demon whose on his own side with no interest in ever rejoining the heavenly host because heaven is not the epitome of goodness or love that he so desperately wants to believe it is. It’s not even capable of being that—no matter how hard Aziraphale tries to bend it back into what he thinks is it’s natural shape (because isn’t that what he wants so desperately to do as chief archangel? To make heaven the place he’s always thought it was?). Crowley really said “whatever you do next, do it knowing I love you”. He said “I’m done letting you ignore this.” And I get it. Cards on the table means cards on the table. No more half measures no more dancing around it—any of it. If Aziraphale wants to walk into the belly of the beast, then the least Crowley can do is make sure he’s doing it with his eyes wide open.

#good omens #good omens 2 spoilers #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #crowly x aziraphale #it’s about the pain and the love mingling so closely together that you can’t separate them anymore #the one is the other #and you’d take them both if it only meant you could have him

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aquaticmercy · 4 days ago

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Waste a Moment / Part 7

Summary : Bucky had always kept his distance, but seeing you get hurt on a mission changed everything. For the first time, he has a chance to start over with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Cursing. Memory loss. Head injury. Reader used to work in a museum.

Requested by : @remoony

Word count : 2.9k

Note : This chapter was quite nice to write. I’ve never had siblings but I’ve had people who I thought of as siblings so I hope the work translates to the reader and Yelena. Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

“How did You Find Me?”

Tuesday.

Eventually, it was time for you to move back to your apartment. You knew it was coming, but the knowledge didn’t make it easier.

You had spent far more time at Bucky’s than you intended. His presence had become a comfort to the quiet confusion you occupied.

The day of the move, Bucky was there, as he had always been.

As you stood in the foreign space of your apartment, he was there— helping you rebuild the space a version of you once called home.

The two of you worked in near silence, the kind that had become comfortable.

Every now and then, he’d ask where something should go. You wouldn’t know, so you just pointed at where you thought made the most sense.

There was something methodical about the process of unpacking and rearranging. Back at the museum, you loved cataloging, so this should have been soothing. But it wasn’t.

As you placed your clothes back into drawers and rearranged ornamental things on the shelves, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were putting together a puzzle with missing pieces.

Bucky didn’t ask how you were, didn’t try to force a conversation you weren’t ready for.

He just helped.

He dusted the shelves you hadn’t touched in months. He wiped down the counters that gathered layers of dust. Every now and then, you caught him checking to make sure you were okay.

By the time the apartment was mostly back in order, the sun had set.

This space, once yours, felt like it belonged to a stranger. This sense of detachment was unsettling, like you were an outsider looking in.

Bucky moved towards the door, though he hadn’t opened it yet. He stood there, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his slightly torn jacket.

“It looks like it used to,” he said quietly. You glanced at him, then back at the room. You nodded, trusting that it did.

Bucky took a small step toward the door. He opened his mouth as if he was about to say goodbye, but his eyes told you he didn’t really want to go.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he said finally. He stood there, one foot in your apartment and the other in the hallway.

You felt a flutter of panic that made your chest tighten. The thought of him leaving— of being alone in this empty space— was unbearable.

Before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out. “Do you think… Can you stay? M-maybe for a couple weeks?”

Bucky blinked, surprised by your request.

For a moment, you worried you’d said too much, that you’d crossed a line.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to be alone yet,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

The tension in his muscles melted away as he took a slow step toward you.

When he spoke again, his voice was gentle. “Of course.” He said, “I’ll stay as long as you need.”

Wednesday.

Exhaustion finally pulled you into a restless sleep, but you didn't find any peace.

It was the concrete again, heavy against your body. It collapsed around you, trapping you in a suffocating darkness. The cold scrape of rubble, the crushing weight, your muffled screams— it was too much to process. You were desperate to escape. You were struggling to breathe.

Then, you saw a tall figure walking towards you— Bucky!

But the walls began to close in completely before he could get to you.

Suddenly, you felt rough hands on your shoulders, shaking you firmly. The world around you started to dissolve.

You found yourself fighting against the intrusion.

You swung in self defense, fist connecting with something solid. A sharp grunt of pain finally pulled you back into the present.

Jolting awake, you realized you were in your bedroom. Bucky crouched next to you, clutching his jaw.

“Oh, God—Bucky! I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean—” you stammered, horrified.

His eyes softened relieved that you were awake, despite the slight bruise.

He waved it off.” It’s okay,” he murmured, taking the punch surprisingly well. “I’ve had worse.”

You looked at the clock on your bedside table that read 01.00 AM.

Had you only been asleep for two hours?

“You were having a nightmare,” he told you.

You sat up, clutching the blankets to your chest. You couldn’t remember all the details, but terror settled in your bones anyway.

“I’m gonna stay here,” he said. His voice was calm, almost casual, almost waiting for your permission. “Just in case.”

Maybe you should just tell him to go back to the guest room, brush it all off with a forced laugh, or apologize profusely for punching him.

But the idea of being alone again, left to wrestle with the dark corners of your mind, was unbearable.

You managed a nod.

He eased himself beside you. He stayed above the covers, respecting the boundary between your space and his.

For a while, neither of you spoke. Bucky simply leaned back, propping himself on one arm, his other hand close to yours but not quite touching.

Eventually, he broke the silence. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head. It was too soon to put the fear into words. Bucky nodded, and you were grateful for it. He leaned back, his head resting against the headboard.

After a few moments, you let out a shaky breath.

“Close your eyes,” he murmured. “I’m right here.”

Slowly, hesitantly, you let your eyes shut, listening to the calm, reassuring sound of his breathing. Each rise and fall of his chest became an anchor, something to focus on beyond the remnants of your nightmare.

The bed dipped slightly as he adjusted, inching closer. His human hand laid next to yours, a quiet offer of comfort if you wanted it.

Finally, you shifted closer, curling into the warmth of his presence. His arm wrapped around you, gentle and protective.

You didn’t think you could fall asleep again, but with him there, the crushing weight in your chest began to ease.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered.

Saturday.

You started feeling at home again.

As your eyes drifted to the former winter soldier readjusting flowers in your vase, you started to think that maybe home didn't mean a place. Maybe home, to you, was a person.

Each morning he made you coffee, handing you a mug without a word. He offered to help with laundry. Slowly, he started moving his things here. His clothes. His toothbrush. His shoes.

He didn’t hover, but he was always around, as if he could tell when the walls began to feel like they were closing in. Sometimes, he’d catch you staring out the window, lost in thought, and he’d nudge you gently. Other times, he’d suggest small things to keep you anchored—a walk around the block, a stop at the corner store for groceries, or a quiet evening watching old movies.

Today, you had trailed your fingers on his jaw, looking at the spot you had punched him in your sleep several days ago. You were amazed at how the bruise that formed was no longer there. Guess it made sense— super soldier healing and all.

If only the bruises in your mind healed that quickly.

The nightmares didn’t vanish, but they started to lose their edge. When they came, they didn’t feel quite as suffocating, partly because when you’d wake, he’d be there.

He stayed in the guest room most nights, but if you needed him, he’d be there without question, laying with you until morning.

He tried to act as if he was happy with this being casual, being platonic.

Sure.

Sunday.

Today, you found yourselves on the couch after a long day of training. Bucky had brought over a couple of old records he’d picked up from his storage room, and you both took turns picking the next one to play.

At one point, you caught him watching you.

When you looked over, he didn’t look away, didn’t try to hide the way he was studying your how your eyes lingered on his.

After a moment, Bucky’s expression grew thoughtful.

“You know, that nightmare you keep having... with the concrete ?” He paused, meeting your eyes, weighing whether he should continue. “That’s actually what happened during the mission.”

You felt your chest tighten. "What do you mean?"

“I was part of the rescue team that went in to get you out.” He took a steadying breath. “I was the one who found you underneath the rubble.”

“You… saved me,” you whispered, trying to piece everything together. “I must’ve hit my head before you got there. I think I— I’ve lost them by then..”

He nodded, “You said you see me in your dreams sometimes,” His voice softened. “I was probably the first person you saw after hitting your head.”

Oh.

Bucky had been your first new memory in four years, the first face you’d seen after the darkness. All the quiet pull you’d felt toward him suddenly made sense.

The strange safety you felt with Bucky—finally made sense. For once, something made sense.

It’s been so fucking long since anything made sense.

Tears slid down your cheeks, slow at first, then everything spilled over.

The sobs came hard. When your shoulders shook, Bucky pulled you into his arms without hesitation. His hand moved gently along your back as the record skipped quietly in the background.

He didn’t say a word. He just held you, knowing how much you needed this release.

When the tears finally eased, you managed a weak, watery laugh. “So,” you joked. “I basically imprinted on you like a little gosling.”

He chuckled. “Lucky me.”

Monday.

The museum was unusually quiet, just the soft hum of ventilation and the muffled steps of a few wandering visitors. Maybe the laugh of a couple school kids pointing at the Homo Erectus display.

You said hi to Alex before making your way in.

You and Yelena moved through the halls. She had suggested the museum for your post-training catch-up today, knowing how familiar this place was to you.

As you strolled through the Ancient Greek exhibit, you pointed at a sculpture that caught your attention.

"That's Mnemosyne," you said, "The goddess of memory."

Yelena looked at the statue with a curious squint. “There’s actually one for that?”

You nodded, feeling a faint sense of purpose as you explained. “In Orphism, which is this really interesting ancient Greek tradition, they believed the newly dead would drink from the River Lethe, which would make them forget their past lives. But if you drank from the river of memory—Mnemosyne—you’d remember everything and be free from the cycle of reincarnation.”

She turned to you, giving a small, almost mischievous smile. “And here you are, teaching me about memory after you’ve lost four years of it. Irony’s got a sense of humour.”

You chuckled, though the joke stung. “Drinking from Mnemosyne’s river would be pretty useful right about now.” Your tone was light, but the longing was unmistakable.

Yelena looked back at the statue. “Maybe you’re not supposed to get those years back,” she said thoughtfully. “Maybe… they’re not important.”

There was a comfort in her words, as if forgetting allowed you to live in the present. To be new. To be whoever you decided you wanted to be.

After a while, you both settled on a bench in a quieter part of the gallery. The moment felt calm, with only the gaze of painted portraits and ancient relics to overhear you.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” you started, the words slipping out quietly. “It’s about Bucky.”

Her brow lifted slightly, leaning in. “Oh?”

“He’s been staying with me.” You took a deep breath. “Sometimes he stays in my room. He’s been helping me regulate my nightmares.”

Yelena listened, her features falling as she gave you a small nod of encouragement.

"I think…” you trailed off, heart fluttering nervously, “I think I’m falling in love with him.”

Yelena’s expression stayed steady, but her eyes sharpened a bit. She nodded, but her face was unreadable.

“I’m happy for you,” she said, though there was a hint of hesitation that you didn’t catch. “You sound… at peace with him.”

Relief washed over you in waves. Yelena’s support mattered to you in ways you didn’t quite understand.

“I feel safe with him,” you admitted, a smile spreading across your face. “I don’t know how to tell him yet, but… it’s just nice to feel… something real.”

She reached across, giving your hand a small squeeze. “You deserve to feel safe.”

Her fingers lingered hesitantly before she let go.

An edge flicked behind Yelena’s eyes, a tension you couldn’t quite place. You thought it was just worry, the way she’d been looking out for you ever since everything went blank.

But her mind was piecing together things she knew about Bucky that you’d forgotten— that she wasn’t sure you were ready to hear.

As you shared more— about how Bucky had held you through the worst of your nightmares, how he stayed without ever asking anything in return— she listened.

She didn’t want to shatter the peace you’d found, not when you were finally beginning to reclaim your life.

Still, she knew there were parts of Bucky that could change everything if they came to light.

She had thought, naively, that Bucky would tell you. Maybe he was just waiting for the right moment

But the way you spoke about him made it clear he wouldn’t.

Wednesday.

Yelena found Sam in the gym, his back to her as he worked through the last of his reps.

Sam took a seat on the bench, ready to hear her out.

She didn’t waste any time. She said your name, voice barely above a whisper.

Sam knew Yelena was protective of you, especially now, after everything you’d been through. "Go on," he coaxed.

Yelena’s hands clenched into fists.

"She’s falling in love with Barnes, Sam." Her voice wavered, and she looked away for a second, like the thought of you being hurt was something she couldn’t bear. "But she doesn’t know what he was like before."

Sam’s shoulders slumped.

“I know,” he started. “But I don’t think he’s just pretending to care."

“But she doesn’t know.” Yelena’s voice cracked. "She doesn’t know he’s… he’s just trying to undo the damage he caused in the first place. I can’t let her fall for someone who’s hiding her own past from her." She took a shaky breath, blinking back the tears.

You were the first person who came as close as a sister to her since Natasha... and losing the last four years you had together had been harder on her than she'd like to admit. Losing you to grief, losing your trust? That would break Yelena. "She deserves the whole story. She deserves a choice.”

“It’s not that simple.” Sam looked away, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "I saw him. In the hospital, before she woke up. He was there, holding her hand, talking to her for days as if she could hear. He wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t let her be alone."

Bucky had faced what she couldn’t bring herself to — he’d seen you at your lowest, at the brink of death. When Yelena first heard what had happened, she had locked herself to waste away in her apartment, sinking to the floor as sobs destroyed her body.

She couldn’t go to see you— how could she?

She couldn’t bring herself to see even a hint of bruising on you. Couldn’t bear to witness the blood pooling on your head, the cuts on your limbs.

Hearing Sam tell her what happened to you had reminded her of losing Natasha.

The fear had paralyzed her. She couldn’t bear to see you unconscious, clinging to life by a fragile thread.

She hadn’t been there then, but Bucky had.

"It doesn’t change what he’s hiding.” She murmured, barely audible. “If he really cares about her, then he should be brave enough to tell her the truth.” Her voice trembled. “If she finds out he’s only with her to make up for his mistakes, to… to fix some guilt inside him, it’ll destroy her.”

No one’s allowed to destroy her, she thought, not after everything she had been through.

“It's not just guilt.” Sam insisted. "Every time I see them together, it doesn’t look like he’s trying to atone. I know Bucky much better than you do. It looks like he’d finally realised what he’d— that he’d… that he loves her.”

No, Yelena thought. She knew he always had feelings for you but there's no way he loves you more than I do.

She’d been there first; she knew you better than anyone, knew the sound of your laughter and the quiet sadness you tried to hide. She had loved you, the way she’d loved Natasha—like family. You were her sister in every way but blood.

But now, watching the way you talked about Bucky, the way he seemed to carry your pain as if it were his own...

Maybe he did love you more, in ways she couldn’t, in ways she’d never even considered.

“He still needs to tell her the truth,” her voice was much softer now, though no less fierce. “He owes her that much."

“Then talk to him,” Sam nodded. “Make him see what’s at stake.”

“And if he doesn’t tell her?” Yelena blinked. "I can’t watch her fall apart. Not again."

“Neither can I.” Sam’s voice strained as he packed his things into his duffel bag, "But let him try. Give him more time.”

Time.

Yelena knew better than most people that time was just a cruel joke running circles around mortals like her.

And she was getting impatient.

-to be continued…

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levisjinchuriki · 3 months ago

Text

forever yours

summary: you and gojo have been separated for six months due to his troubles. you try to juggle co-parenting your young son and moving on, but gojo makes it obvious he’s not ready to give you up on your relationship yet

warning: just angst

word count: 2.3k

the separation of you and gojo was hard. you had devoted so much of your life, time and energy to him only to feel like you weren’t a priority. it was a terrible feeling you could push past during the first few years together, but after your wedding and the birth of your son, you started to realize how unfair it was.

gojo’s job kept him away from home a lot, leaving you to take care of your son, haru. when he did manage to get some time off- things just didn’t feel the same as they once were. he always seemed distracted.

he still loved you, of course. you were the only woman in his life he had ever truly been in love with. that will never change. and he didn’t realize how much he was slacking until you served him divorce papers one night- looking so defeated. it caught him off guard, and he was surprised that you had taken such a step.

you were steadfast as gojo tried to convince you out of your decision. and when you didn’t budge he realized how many mistakes he’d made leading up to this moment. he couldn’t blame you, but he also couldn’t force you to take him back.

he didn’t sign the papers. there’s no way in hell he’d do that. delusional or not, he’d convinced himself you’d be together again and going through the motions of a divorce would just complicate everything. he did reach a compromise with you, though. he was forced to accept the reality that he had lost you as his wife. gojo had enough money to take care of both you and haru so you could focus on raising him without having to work. per your request to live separately, gojo moved into an apartment on the other side of town.

and when gojo put the last of his belongings in the moving truck haru ran up to him, sobbing as his small body clutched at gojo’s legs.

“don’t go daddy” haru cried against him. it broke gojo’s heart. not only was he losing you as his wife, but his actions had torn his family apart. haru, the light of his life, was forced to be in the middle of his parent’s separation. it wasn’t fair to him and the guilt ate at gojo everyday.

your son loved his father, and if there was one thing gojo prioritized- it was haru.

you had to turn away as tears slipped down your cheeks. it was almost too much for you to handle. you tried to stick through your marriage for haru’s sake, but you couldn’t keep up the act anymore. and although you were the one pushing him away, it hurt so much to see satoru leave. but it was the best decision for you, both mentally and emotionally.

he had moved out six months ago now and still, the house felt all too empty.

—

the sound of Haru’s footsteps echo as he moves from room to room, looking for something to occupy his mind. he's become used to his dad not always being around, but he’s just a boy and he still needs his father in his life. gojo is still present, though only on the weekends when he has most of his free time. you would never completely take either of them away from each other.

you sit on the couch, staring blankly at the screen in front of you- not sure what you had been watching as you aren’t paying attention. haru had been quiet tonight, spending most of his time drawing or playing alone. he’s almost four, now. he’s bright and everything you need.

you smile as haru walks into the living room, clutching his favorite stuffed animal and rubbing his eyes.

“mommy,” he yawns softly, “can i call daddy?”.

even after all these months the question is like a knife to your heart. you’ve tried to protect him from the worst of the separation, but the longing in his eyes is something you can’t ignore. you nod, forcing a smile. “of course, baby”.

the phone rings a few times before gojo answers. his voice always has a warmth to it that makes you melt every time.

“hey,” he greets. “is it bedtime?”. haru would talk to his dad every night before bed, a ritual that he tries his hardest not to break, even if he is busy with work.

“yeah, he wants to speak to you”, you say.

haru’s small hands eagerly hold the phone to his ear, his face lights up at the sound of his father’s voice. “daddy! it’s me!”, he says excitedly. your heart melts at how much he loves his father.

gojo’s tone immediately softens. “hi, sweet boy. how’s my little guy doing?” he coos. gojo cherishes every moment he has with haru. it means so much to him to talk to him every night and make sure he’s okay, even if he isn’t around anymore.

haru babbles about his day and gojo eagerly listens. he loves it when his son gets excited.

haru clutches the phone tightly after he finishes, suddenly becoming upset. his small voice trembles slightly at his next sentence. “i miss you, daddy. when are you coming home?”.

the silence on the other end of the line is heavy. gojo’s breathing is a mixture of sadness and regret. he wishes he could be there with the both of you.

“i miss you too”. he’s not sure how to answer the little boy’s question. it all depends on you and if you are willing to sort through your issues together or not. he hopes you will decide to, but your relationship hasn’t improved much since he moved out. he’s not even sure if you still wear your ring.

you can see haru’s eyes welling up with tears as he tries to hold back his emotions.

“why can’t you come home? i want you here with us.”. he didn’t understand why his father had left in the first place. he’s too young to understand the concept of separation, even though you and gojo have explained it to him before. in his mind, if you both love each other then you should all be living together as one. he can’t grasp that even if you love someone so much, sometimes you have to let them go.

gojo clears his throat. “i know, precious. things are complicated right now, but i promise i’m working on it”. whether he’s successful or not, gojo intends to try to mend things with you in any way he can.

“i’m coming to pick you up tomorrow and we can spend the whole weekend together. how does that sound?”. he tries to cheer haru up.

the boy sniffles and wipes his eyes. “okay, daddy. i love you”.

“i love you too, haru,” gojo says softly. “more than anything”.

after a few more exchanged words and assurances, haru hands the phone back to you before climbing in your lap. you rub his back comfortingly as you bring the phone to your ear.

“you still there?”, gojo asks. without needing to mask his tone for his son, you can hear just how defeated he sounds.

you confirm you’re still on the line. the conversation is short- you and gojo discussing when to meet at the park tomorrow for him to pick up haru. in the last few months you’ve stopped having personal conversations with him- just trying to focus on co-parenting. it was easier for you that way.

you look down at your son and brush his hair from his face. he’s a spitting image of his father- same ghostly white locks and stunning eyes that held all the potential of the world within them. every time you looked at him, it was like seeing a smaller, more innocent version of satoru. and that made it harder to move on.

“daddy loves you very much. we’ll see him soon, okay?”, you assure him with a kiss on the head.

haru nods against your shoulder, his small frame cuddled up to you. “okay, mommy”.

you hold him tightly, wishing you can offer more than just words of comfort. the house is still big and empty, but you try to fill it with all the love and reassurance you could muster. for haru’s sake, you hope that someday soon, this will all be behind you.

—

haru’s laughter rings out as he chases a butterfly through the empty park, the pure sound filling the air with a sweetness that tugs at your heart. you watch him, torn between the joy of his innocence and the ache of the life you once dreamed of with satoru. the butterfly flutters just out of haru's reach, and he giggles, his happiness a stark contrast to the storm of emotions brewing inside you.

the crunch of footsteps on gravel snaps you out of your thoughts, and though you don’t look up, you know who it is. satoru’s presence is unmistakable, a force that commands attention even without a word. he slides onto the bench beside you, close enough that his warmth seeps into your skin without touching you. he watches haru play for a moment before turning his attention to you.

“i missed you”. his voice is sweet like honey, the words slipping out effortlessly. it’s that natural charm, the way he makes even the simplest phrases sound enchanting, that drew you to him in the first place.

you turn to face him, finally meeting his gaze. those damn blue eyes–deep and endless like the ocean—have always been your weakness, pulling you in no matter how hard you try to resist. they hold a mix of emotions, swirling with the memories of a past you can’t quite let go of. his eyes search yours, and for a moment, it feels like time stops, as if the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you and the unspoken feelings hanging in the air.

“what we had was a life full of complications,” you respond, not allowing yourself to get pulled into his trap. “you’re still in that world, satoru. and i can’t be a part of it anymore. haru can’t be a part of it”.

his jaw tightens as a flicker of determination flashes in his eyes. “just because you’re pushing me away doesn’t mean i’m gonna give up”, his voice is low, laced with a quiet resolve. “i haven’t given up on us”. the weight of his words hangs between you, thick with emotion, as if he’s daring you to believe him, to see the fight still left in him.

your heart aches at his words. you want to believe him, to let yourself fall back into the warmth of his promises. there is still so much love in your heart for satoru, but love alone isn’t enough to mend the things that had broken you apart. the dangers he faced daily, the secrets he kept hidden away, the growing distance that had slowly stretched between you until it became an uncrossable chasm—it had all become too much. the memories of what you once had clash with the reality of what you've lost, leaving you torn between the past and the painful truth of the present.

“don’t make this harder than it already is.” you plead, feeling your resolve weaken. he reaches out, gently taking your hand in his.

i’m not ready to let you go,” he admits, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “i don’t know if i’ll ever be.”

the confession hangs between you, heavy and unresolved. it would be so easy to slip back into old habits, to let him back in and pretend that everything could be okay again. but you deserve more than that. and deep down, you know the truth. satoru isn’t ready to change, and you aren’t ready to keep living in a world where he could be taken away at any moment. the weight of his unfulfilled promises and the uncertainty of your future press down on you, a reminder of the painful reality you can’t escape.

“haru needs stability,” you say softly, pulling your hand away. “he needs a life that doesn’t revolve around waiting for his father to come home in one piece”. gojo doesn’t miss a beat

“and what about you?” satoru asks, his voice laced with a vulnerability that he rarely showed. “what do you need?”

for a moment, silence envelops you both, the weight of the question hanging heavily in the air, unspoken yet profoundly understood. you look at him, at the man who once meant everything to you, and feel the tears well up in your eyes.

you need to move on. it’s been half a year, and you’re still in the same place, still foolishly hoping that satoru will change overnight. still waiting for him to burst through the door, fall to his knees, and apologize for everything that’s gone wrong in your relationship. the reality of your stagnant situation presses down on you, a painful reminder that hope alone isn’t enough to mend the fractures that have grown too deep.

haru’s laughter rings out again, drawing both of your eyes to him as he runs toward you, blissfully unaware of the tension between his parents. satoru stands up as haru reaches him, lifting him into his arms with a grin that makes your heart clench. he showers haru’s chubby cheeks with kisses, telling him how much he’s missed him this week, making haru giggle with delight.sSatoru is such a good father, and that only makes everything harder.

“ready to go?” he asks, holding haru close. the boy nods, and satoru tells him to say goodbye to you.

“bye, mommy!” haru waves enthusiastically. you kiss his cheek and tell him you’ll pick him up soon.

“i’ll see you sunday?” satoru confirms, his gaze searching yours.

you nod, unable to trust your voice. with one last wave at haru you watch as they make their way toward his car. as they disappear from view, the weight of what you’re leaving behind settles heavily over you. moving on was never easy, but with satoru, it feels almost impossible.

----

>> ch 2

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ thank you for reading!! everyone is welcome to leave feedback and requests in my inbox!! please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist! ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

#jjk x reader #jjk au #jjk #jjk smut #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo saturo #gojo jjk #jjk satoru #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu satoru #satoru gojo #jujutsu kaisen #gojo #levisjinchuriki #my works

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loversmantra · 7 months ago

Text

LOCK YOUR PHONE!

synopsis. a secret relationship. a fantasy.

content. itoshi sae x cisfem!reader. aged up characters (+20). fluffy but suggestive. implied sexy times. profanity. secret relationship. sending and receiving nudes. sae's kinda possessive in this but there's nothing crazy. lowercase intended.

wc. 1.3k

message from noe. i adore him i fear... listen to billie nossa nova by billie eilish for a better experience. been wanting to write something based on this song for a while and i thought sae fit perfectly! enjoy.

there’s a warm body in sae’s bed.

his still asleep brain takes a second to make the connection; the softness of you under him is no longer a feeling he’s used to. he puts two and two together, eventually, and wraps his arms tighter around you. awake, but unwilling to let the moment end, he buries his face into your neck.

too late. you stir, push yourself away from him. he can’t bring himself to blame you: it’s hot in the room, hot under the sheets.

there will be no more sleeping for him, but it isn’t too late for you — with that thought in mind he too rolls away, blinking once, twice, context coming back to him as his surroundings do.

the bed is neither his nor yours, though he could have put that together himself — the satin sheets gliding on his skin in such an alien way.

creams and soft pinks blur before his eyes, pale under the early morning’s light. paris. the hotel room he booked for you in a haze, almost feverish in his longing for you.

the downside of keeping a relationship under wraps, he supposes: his noose-tight schedule and the hawk eye of the public force meetings to be few and far in-between, the secret protected like crown jewels. he knows you’re tired of it; he knows because he is, too. it’s exhausting, constantly looking over his shoulder when taking you to his place, or on his way to yours. it’s exhausting, always having to find a different hang out spot, for fear of the media figuring him out. it’s exhausting, waking up and wondering: is today the day the world sinks its teeth into you?

sae’s never cared to keep secrets, at least never willingly — he says things as they are, does things as they need doing, full transparency, if it’s up to him.

it’s exhausting, it is. but that’s just one more thing on the list — and it’s so. damn. worth it. every downside comes with an upside, or else itoshi sae wouldn’t ever bother.

these hidden moments sae shares with you, no one else is privy to them. only he gets to know you like this, love you like this, warm and soft underneath him. no one knows because no one needs to know. just you and him.

no one gets to see you in your entirety: the shine of your eyes when they land on him; the loving curve of your mouth as you smile at him.

everything that belongs to you. for him only.

the face you made when you first entered today’s suite will stick with him for a while, he thinks. the pure delight and adoration shining in your eyes. your lips parting in wonder. all for him. all because of him. your princess room, that’s what you’d called it. a child’s dream, delicate in its simplicity, crushed and torn apart by the cruel world’s sharp, sharp teeth. stitched back together by him.

he knows how it feels, to be ripped to shreds. he’s glad he can do this for you, at the very least.

the world awakens and so does he; slumber slipping through his fingers as he rubs it away from his eyes, tiny sand grains leaving a small sting behind. he slept well. better than usual.

his phone is still on do not disturb. he doesn’t bother checking the time.

sae sits up, covers dropping to his thighs. beside him, you stir again, whine a little. maybe you can feel him leaving, even now in your sleep, feel the shadow of his absence. maybe you’re just bothered by his movements rocking the mattress. either way, you sleep. finding his pants in the mess of the suite bedroom, without the aggressive light of his phone’s flashlight to aid him, proves to be no easy task, but he manages eventually. he slips them on and slips away, closing the bedroom door softly.

it isn’t much brighter in the living space. the lazy sun is barely rising, only the idea of it permeating the gradual brightening of the sky.

phone still clutched in his hand, sae lets himself drop on the abnormally large leather couch, massaging the tender spots you viciously bit into his neck. with just a few swipes, he’s opened his camera roll. time to collect the prize: the surprise you leave for him after every passionate encounter.

the first time you did it, he didn’t even notice until a few days after the fact, when he went browsing through his pictures for a home screen-worthy photo of you.

there it was: a beautifully crafted souvenir of the time spent together. the flash of his phone camera punctuating every shot, barely noticed in the heat of the moment. the red of the set you wore that day.

selfies of you before, and after. your lingerie still intact — and the canvas of your chest painted purple by his loving mouth. not a single video, but at least a dozen pictures: of you, of him, of the two of you together.

a gift from you to him — one that had his blood boiling, had him flushed, aching, yearning all over again.

he sent you his favorite of the bunch — a mirror selfie of you, chest painted purple, a teasing finger pulling your bottom lip down — followed by a question mark. a wordless interrogation.

finally, thought you were never gonna see them, 11:22pm

-is the answer he got.

want more? 11:23pm

and he did. and he got more.

it’s been a while, since then — long enough for it to become a tradition, a little present left in his phone after a secret rendez-vous. so you don’t forget me, you joke.

but how could he?

he’s learned a lot, since that first time. the most important: you’re a fucking tease. lighting, cropping, outfit, pose, it’s an art form to you, down to the time it is for him, when you press send. more often than not, he gets the pictures in the middle of the day, when he can see but can’t do anything.

you’re decent enough to warn him beforehand, at least.

you better lock your phone ;)

and then the raunchiest picture he’s ever seen — you outdo yourself every time — is all over his screen. he’s had many, many close calls. you don’t stop. he never asks you to. he loves the damn pics.

always pictures, never videos — they’re not your thing, he’s learned. not that it matters.

sae would’ve never guessed you’d be such a great soft porn photographer.

the couch’s leather sticks to his skin as he moves, trying to get just a bit more comfortable. he’s about to open his camera roll, ready to unwrap his present, when shuffling near his head startles him out of his reverie.

“why’d you leave?” you murmur, voice still rough with sleep.

you’re completely wrapped in a thin sheet, the only barrier between his hungry eyes and your soft, soft skin. the only glimpse he gets is that of your ankles. a small golden chain rests there, snug. his name is spelled out among the links, hidden. for his eyes only. his chest constricts, almost painfully.

he doesn’t answer; only opens his arms so you can take your rightful place tucked against him. you lay down, covering the both of you with the sheet.

the sun finally peeks from below the horizon, warming your face. it’s peaceful.

“i didn’t want to wake you,” sae decides to say.

you shrug. “more time with you.”

he feels the same — still, your sleep and your comfort take precedence over anything, for him. over anything.

you look so beautiful, like this. waking the sun, blessed by its gentle glow. for his eyes only.

it won’t last. he knows it won’t — secrets never stay secret for long. but for now, simply living like this is enough, more than enough. enjoying the sun. enjoying you.

sae slept well. better than usual. you’re warm on his chest, traces of you warm on his skin. there’s a present waiting for him in his camera roll.

it won’t last — but it won’t hurt to enjoy it while it does.

you fall back asleep quickly, lulled by his steady heartbeat. he follows easily. his dreams are swaddled in creams and soft pinks, and the warmth of the sun on his chest.

#☆ — by noe #❥ — sae #bllk #blue lock #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x y/n #blue lock x reader #blue lock scenarios #blue lock x you #itoshi sae fluff #itoshi sae smut #blue lock fanfiction

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sinkovia · 8 months ago

Text

-`♡´- ANON ASK -`♡´-

Anon requested that the ask be posted after the fic.

Pairings: SImon Riley x GN!Reader

Warnings: Angst.

As the days passed by, your once perfect relationship with Simon began to fracture. It seemed as though the idyllic days you once shared were slipping away, replaced by a constant tension that hung heavy in the air.

The source of the arguments seems to stem from your "nagging," as Simon puts it. But to you, it's an expression of love and fear - a desperate attempt to hold onto something precious in a world where loss and danger lurk around every corner.

From the beginning, you both understood the risks in your line of work, but it's only recently that the reality of those risks has begun to weigh heavily on your heart.

You've voiced your fears to Simon, your desire to retire together and find solace in a life far removed from the dangers of combat. But each time you broach the subject, Simon's reaction is the same - cold, defensive, and laced with hurtful words that cut deep. It's a cycle that plays out time and time again: he pushes you away with his sharp words, only to come crawling back the next day, remorseful and apologetic.

In those moments of reconciliation, he speaks to you with tenderness and warmth, promising that he's always careful on missions and that this is the life he wants. He reassures you that perhaps, in a few years' time, he could think about settling down. And each time, you find yourself giving in, desperate to believe that his words hold truth.

But as the fear and dread of losing him creep back in, the same arguments resurface, and the cycle repeats itself endlessly, leaving you trapped in a loop of hope and despair.

The tension in your life reaches a boiling point when you're summoned to the briefing room, where Captain Price lays out the details of a harrowing mission. Your heart sinks as you realize the gravity of the task at hand - infiltrating the heart of Makarov's forces, your fluency in Russian making you the only person who could do it. It's a suicide mission, with slim chances of success and even slimmer chances of survival.

As Captain Price outlines the high-risk, high-reward nature of the operation, your mind races with conflicting emotions. On one hand, success could mean a significant blow to Makarov's forces, potentially saving countless lives and shifting the tide of the war. On the other hand, the thought of risking your life - and potentially throwing away any chance of a future with Simon - fills you with fear.

You weigh the options carefully, torn between duty and personal desire. The stakes couldn't be higher, and the choice before you feels like a cruel test of loyalty and sacrifice. As you leave the briefing room, the weight of the decision hangs heavy on your shoulders, uncertainty clouding your thoughts as you grapple with the choice before you.

You step into your shared apartment, the weight of the impending conversation heavy on your shoulders. Simon is seated on the couch, absorbed in the television. With a heavy sigh, you make your way over and take a seat next to him, steeling yourself for what's to come.

"We need to talk, Si,"

Simon sighs and reaches to turn off the TV, a resigned expression crossing his features. "Here we go again," he mutters under his breath.

Your heart sinks at his dismissive tone, but you push forward nonetheless. “Price gave me a solo mission,” you watch his reaction closely.

Simon quirks a brow but remains silent, prompting you to continue. “He wants me to infiltrate Makarov's forces,”

“Sounds risky,” Simon comments, his tone neutral as he leans back on the couch, crossing his arms. You take a deep breath, "It's a suicide mission," you confess, locking eyes with him, searching for any sign of understanding or concern.

Silence hangs in the air as you wait for his response, “When do you leave?” he asks, his response devoid of the emotion you had hoped for.

Does he even hear you? Does he even care?

“Did you hear what I said? It’s a suicide mission. Do you even care Simon?” you press, desperation creeping into your voice.

Simon releases a frustrated breath, irritation evident in his demeanor. “Of course, I fucking care, y/n. But like I've said a million times before, we chose this profession. We know the risks that come with our job. Any of our missions could easily turn into a suicide mission.”

Your heart sinks at his callous response, the weight of his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “And if I died on a mission, would you be okay with that? With living without me? With going on with life without me?!” you challenge, tears welling in your eyes.

“Seeing how you're always fucking nagging me, yeah, maybe I’d be okay with that!” Simon's harsh words cut through you like a knife, leaving you reeling in disbelief.

Your lip quivers, and you shake your head, unable to comprehend the cruelty of his words. “You're being mean. You don’t mean that Si, I know you don’t,” you protest, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I do. I mean every fucking word,” Simon retorts, his voice rising in anger. “Do you know how easy it would be to find someone else who will give me what I want? I can never get peace when you're around. We are done, y/n. Don't bother coming home after your mission.”

The finality of his words crushes you, leaving you speechless and broken. With tears streaming down your face, you cover your mouth with your hand, muffling the sobs that threaten to escape. Simon turns on his heel and storms out of the apartment, leaving you alone in the wake of his harsh words.

With a heavy heart, you rise from the couch and make your way to your room, your mind consumed by the weight of the decision ahead. As you gather the necessities for the mission, a wave of despair washes over you.

If Simon wasn't in your life, what else did you have to live for? There had been multiple missions you had turned down in the past, knowing they were nothing but one-way trips. But now, without Simon by your side, there was nothing holding you back.

Stepping into Price’s office, you steel yourself for the conversation ahead. You inform him of your decision to go through with the mission, his surprise is evident, but he and Laswell offer words of encouragement, instilling in you a sense of hope. With your skills as an infiltrator and your Russian background, they assure you that you stand a fighting chance. After all, who would suspect one of their own?

Despite the uncertainty and the weight of the task ahead, a glimmer of hope begins to flicker within you. Within a matter of hours, you find yourself on a plane headed to Russia, the gravity of your decision weighing heavily on your mind. Simon however remains oblivious to your departure, unaware of the path you've chosen.

Back at home, he returns that night with your favorite takeout and a bouquet of flowers, his heart heavy with remorse and determination. With each step, he replays his apology in his head, rehearsing the words he's been meaning to say. He knows he's messed up, and he's desperate to make things right. He wants to change, to be a better man for you.

Simon's mind swirls with thoughts of seeking therapy, of learning to control his temper and his sharp tongue. He knows he's hurt you deeply with his words, words he never truly meant. He loves you more than anything, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to prove it. But as he steps into the house, the atmosphere is heavy with silence. The air feels cold and unwelcoming.

“Y/n?” He calls out for you, his voice tinged with concern, but there's no response.

Worry gnaws at him as he wanders through the darkened rooms, searching for any sign of you. Finally, he enters the bedroom, and his heart sinks as he sees a note lying on the bed, illuminated by the faint light filtering in through the window. With trembling hands, he picks up the note, his heart pounding in his chest as he reads your words.

Simon,

By the time you read this, I'll be on a plane to Russia. I've made the decision to go through with it, despite the risks, and I wanted you to know why.

I've heard your words echoing in my mind, the ones about finding someone else who will give you what you want, about never getting peace when I'm around. And so, I've decided to honor your wishes. Once I finish this mission, I'll find my own place, and you won't have to deal with my constant nagging anymore. Your life will finally be at peace, just as you've always wanted.

I want you to know that I've always turned down these types of missions in the past. This isn't the first time Price has offered them to me. But if I had known sooner that you didn't care whether I went on them or not, I would have gone sooner. I'm sorry for making your life so miserable, for not realizing sooner that I was the problem.

I hope that you find peace now, Simon. I hope that you find someone who can give you what you want, someone who can make you happy. You deserve that much, at least.

Take care of yourself.

Yours always, Y/n

With each word, his heart sinks deeper, the weight of your words bearing down on him with crushing force. Tears blur his vision as he reads your farewell, your words cutting through him like a knife. The realization of the pain he's caused you hits him like a tidal wave, leaving him gasping for air as guilt gnaws at his conscience.

When he reaches the part where you promise to honor his wish and stay out of his life after your mission, Simon's heart shatters into a million pieces. The thought of you willingly walking away from him, all because of his own hurtful words and actions, is almost too much to bear.

He crumples the letter in his trembling hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs as he struggles to come to terms with the magnitude of his mistakes. The weight of regret hangs heavy in the air as he realizes the depth of the love he's lost, the love he may never have the chance to regain if you don’t come back from the mission.

The suicide mission.

In that moment, he breaks down completely, the full weight of his actions crashing over him like a tidal wave. Seeing how much he's hurt you, how much he's pushed you away to point that you accepted the mission, shatters him to his core.

With each tear that falls, Simon's resolve crumbles, replaced by a deep and profound sense of regret. He wishes he could turn back time, take back the hurtful words he's spoken, and hold you close, promising to never let you go. But it's too late now, and all he can do is sit in silence, praying to a higher form to keep you safe, to let you come back to him alive.

The next day, Simon walked into Price’s office, his heart heavy with worry and anticipation. He needed to know more about your mission, to find any shred of information that could ease his growing anxiety.

Price informed Simon that you had landed in Russia in the early morning hours. However, he delivered the news that communication would be sparse for at least a month. They had scheduled calls planned for updates on the mission status, but they would have to wait until the designated time for you to radio in.

Simon listened intently, understanding the protocol, but inside, fear and dread gnawed at him. The thought of you out there, alone and potentially in danger, filled him with a sense of helplessness.

As the first month passed, Simon waited patiently in the room with Price, every passing minute feeling like an eternity. But as the hours stretched on, there was no sign of communication from you. No Morse code, no call, no comm. Just silence.

Panic began to set in as Simon grappled with the uncertainty of your situation. He couldn't shake the feeling of unease, the nagging worry that something had gone terribly wrong. But Price remained steadfast in his confidence, assuring Simon that these things happened often, that perhaps you hadn't found the right opportunity to relay a message.

Despite Price's reassurances, Simon couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that gripped him. With each passing day, his fear for your safety only grew stronger, overshadowing any hope he tried to hold onto. But he knew he had to stay strong, to keep faith that you would return safely from your mission.

Month after month passed, and still, there was no word from you. Simon waited patiently by the phone in the comms room center, his heart heavy with worry and uncertainty. He refused to give up on you, clinging to the hope that you would come back to him, despite Price declaring you M.I.A.

Even as Price tried to reason with him, pointing out that none of your mission objectives had been completed in the time you had been gone, Simon remained steadfast in his belief that you were still out there, somewhere, fighting to return to him.

Even as the years passed Simon couldn't bring himself to accept the possibility that you might truly be gone, vanished from his life and the world forever. The thought of living in a world without you was unbearable, and Simon couldn't bear to entertain it.

The last words he had spoken to you echoed in his mind, haunting him with their cruelty. How could he have been so callous, so blind to the pain he was causing you?

Was this fate's cruel work, forcing him to confront the consequences of his actions? Was this punishment for his harsh words, for pushing you away when he should have pulled you close? Was this what he truly wanted, to be left alone in a world without you?

But even in the depths of his despair, Simon clung to a sliver of hope, refusing to let go of the belief that you would come back to him. He would wait for you, for as long as it took, holding onto the hope that one day, you would return to him and his world would be whole again.

Anon Ask- simon x reader but they are both in the military and reader gets assigned on a suicide mission but has a choice to go or not. reader and simon fight and then they decide to go. feel free not to do this no pressure!!! but if you will dont post the ask until after to make it a little angsty surprise!

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signed-loni · 2 years ago

Text

Makeout session with sally face after he found out he liked you

⚠️Warnings⚠️

Cussing ofc

slight angst?

fem reader

make out sesh

ever so slight nsfw

ONESHOT VERY SHORT

You, sal, and larry were all just hanging out and about in nockfell trying to figure out what to do since there was jack shit to do there.

You all decided that ding dong ditch was the best way to go

First house, a man in his mid 40s, a very very mean man.

You decided you would go first to ring the doorbell

Ding dong

“Who is it!? What do ya want!?!?” You heard a man yell from inside. You ran away behind a nearby bush along with Sal and Larry. The man swung the door open and cursed under his breath when he realized what happened.

Seven doors later

You all decided it got boring and you all basically got the same reactions so you stopped.

You three went back to the apartments and you wanted to go to sals place since your mom wasnt back yet. You greeted sals dad and alerted him tha you were there, which he didnt mind, you were basically family

You and sal headed towards his room and you grabbed gizmo

“Sally, i can never get over how cute your fucking cat is” you said “thats what you say, u til you realize all he does is sit around and watch T.V.” You heard sal respond and a hiss from gizmo.

You jumped onto sals bed and adjusted yourself. You flipped on your back and put gizmo on your stomach. Soon enough, you were alseep

Sal barely noticed how much he was staring at you. He thought for a moment. He knew he liked you as a friend, maybe a bit to much. He liked whej you came over, even more so when you fell asleep like this, and he liked how you complemented his posters and art he made, it made his heart flutter when you complemented him in general. Then it hit him.

Sal fisher, was in love with you

he thought again

maybe he just really, really, really liked you as a friend

But nope, he liked you

His gaze fell back on you, lying there with gizmo cuddled up on your stomach.

God you had no idea how you made this boy feel

He sat next to you, and reached his hand to your cheek, feeling how warm it was

What he didnt know, was that you were awake, and you knew how he felt.

You opened your eyes and locked eyes with sal

a slight blush crept on his face

“I- i- uh- its not- i didnt- im sorry” he finally uttered

you moved closer to him and his blush grew brighter

you reached your hands behind his head to take off his mask and before you did, you gave him a look that said “is this okay?” Sal nodded and you proceeded

his mask fell and you admired his scars. The cartilage on sals nose was wiped clean off, and part of his mouth was torn up so that you could see his teeth. His jaw was an uneven shape, but you really didn’t mind. All you wanted to do was kiss the boy

Your faces grew close and you could feel his breath. You pressed your foreheads together and finally kissed. It didn’t take long for the kiss to escalate into a make-out session. Sloppy kisses covered you and sals face. You grabbed onto his hair and he moved his hands down your hips and got on top of you.

The kiss was cut short due to sals dad calling you both for dinner. “Shit” sal said panting. “So does this mean were… a thing then?” He asked. You chuckled softly and said “only if you want to be sally”. “I do, I really ,really do” he responded “ok lover boy , you dont need to ask twice” you chuckled out.

#sally face #sal fisher x reader #sally face hcs #sal fisher #sally face x reader #larry johnson

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mononijikayu · 2 months ago

Text

dearest, darling, my universe — gojo satoru.

"He… he always knew what to say, didn’t he?" Megumi murmurs, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah." you reply, your voice thick with tears. "He always did." The weight of Satoru's absence presses heavily upon you, but the words on the paper offer a strange comfort, like a hand reaching out through the dark. You hold the letter tightly, almost as if you could draw him back with the force of your grip.

GENRE: post shinjiku showdown (spoilers for jjk chapter 268)

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

WORDS: 11k words.

NOTE: my brothers caught a cold so i caught it too because that's just how it sometimes goes when you're always together. i've been writing a bunch of stuff in the mean time, cause i'm strong enough at least. but i hope you enjoy this. it took me a while to write this, but it's finally done. also, listen to iu's song love wins all while reading this. love you all!!!

masterlist

u s and t h e m

if you want to, tip! <3

IT’S BEEN A WHILE, BUT THINGS HAVE CHANGED. The world feels quiet now, almost unnaturally so, as if it is holding its breath, waiting to see what comes next. The grounds are empty, unlike how they used to be. The sky is heavy and dulled gray and the wind carries a strange stillness that presses against your skin.

Everything seems suspended, caught in a moment that refuses to pass, a calm that feels more like a warning than a relief. It’s the kind of quiet that settles in after a storm — not the peace that follows resolution, but the heavy, fragile silence that comes when everything has been ripped apart, and nothing has been put back together.

Your gaze searches for someone as you look towards the horizon. It takes you a while, but you smile when you find that figure again. You sighed, he’s been there awhile. But you don't blame him. You think that Fushiguro Megumi feels like he’d find peace, if he sits there to wonder what had been before. You find him sitting on the bench your husband had loved to sit on years ago, his back turned to you. He is still, his head lowered, shoulders slumped, and you can see the way his body trembles with each ragged breath.

He’s still recovering, as most are after the battle with Sukuna. But for Megumi, the wounds are deeper, more insidious. After being imprisoned by Sukuna, after having his body and mind twisted and torn apart from the inside out, he’s struggling to find his footing again. His physical scars may heal with time, but the ones etched into his soul are a different story.

You approach slowly, hesitant to break the fragile stillness that surrounds him. He doesn’t turn to look at you, but you know he’s aware of your presence. You can see it in the way his shoulders tense, the slight shift of his head as if he’s listening, waiting. You move closer until you’re standing beside him, close enough to see the bandaged bruises that still darken his skin, the way his hands are clenched tightly in his lap, knuckles white with the effort of holding himself together.

“Megumi.” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper, careful not to startle him.

He doesn’t respond at first, his gaze fixed on some point in the distance, his blue green eyes shadowed and hollow. You can’t tell if he’s looking at the ruins or something beyond them, something only he can see. You wait, giving him the time he needs, the space to decide whether he wants to speak or remain silent.

Finally, he lets out a breath, slow and heavy, his shoulders sagging further. “I couldn’t sleep.” he murmurs, so quietly you almost miss it. “I could still feel it. Like he’s still here… in my head… in my body. And then my dreams…. My hands and Gojo–sensei’s eyes….”

The words hang in the air, raw and unsteady, as if they barely have the strength to escape his lips. You hear the tremor in his voice, the way it quivers with each syllable. It’s a sound you haven’t heard from him before, a vulnerability that he rarely shows, and it cuts through you like a knife. Your heart aches at the sound of his voice, so broken and raw, a far cry from the stoic, determined young man you’ve known for so long.

You can see it in the way his eyes stare ahead, unfocused, as if he’s searching for something he can’t quite grasp. The way his hands tremble slightly, even though they’re clenched tightly on his knees. He sounds lost, like he’s still fighting a battle that has no end, still trying to claw his way out of a darkness that clings to him like a second skin. His whole body seems to sag under the weight of it, the invisible chains that bind him to a past he can’t escape.

“I see.” you whisper, your voice gentle, but firm. You reach out, hesitantly, resting your hand on his arm, feeling the tension that coils beneath his skin, the way his muscles are taut and ready to snap. “I’m sorry for that, Megumi.”

He flinches at your touch, just a little, his gaze flicking to yours for a brief second before darting away again. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he’s torn between wanting to believe you and the insidious doubt that’s been planted deep inside him. There’s a flicker of shame, of fear, as if he’s afraid of admitting just how much he’s struggling, how much of himself he feels he’s lost.

“It’s going to take some time for all of this to go and change.” he finally admits, his voice low, almost inaudible. “It feels like… like he’s still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, waiting for a chance to come back. And then Gojo–sensei’s voice echoes sometimes, whispering… and Sukuna just….It’s like he’s a part of me now, and I don’t know how to make him leave.”

His words are laced with a quiet desperation, a plea for some kind of reassurance that you’re not sure you can give. How do you tell someone that the ghost in their mind will eventually fade when you know that kind of pain never truly leaves? How do you promise a tomorrow free of shadows when the past clings so fiercely to the present?

You tighten your grip on his arm, just a little, enough to ground him, to let him know you’re here. “He won’t win. Satoru knew that too.” you say, your voice is firmer now, more certain. “Not while you’re still fighting. And I know you, Megumi. You’ve fought through worse. You’re stronger than you think, even when you feel like you’re falling apart.”

His eyes meet yours again, and you can see the doubt there, the fear. But beneath it, there’s a spark of something else, something fragile and faint, but alive — hope, maybe. A glimmer of belief that he can pull through this, that he can find himself again. His lips part, but he seems to hesitate, as if afraid of saying something he can’t take back.

“I’m tired.” he confesses, and it feels like the weight of the world is in those two words. “I’m so tired of fighting. I don’t know how much more I can take.”

You swallow hard, feeling the sting of tears in your eyes, but you blink them back. “I know." you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I know you are. And it’s okay to feel that way. It’s okay to be tired, to need a break. But you don’t have to do this alone. I’m here, Megumi. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

He exhales, a shaky breath that trembles with all the emotions he’s been holding in, and for a moment, he looks like he might break, like the walls he’s built around himself might finally come crashing down. His shoulders slump further, and he leans forward, just a fraction, as if testing the waters, as if trying to decide if it’s safe to fall.

“I….” he starts, his voice breaking, “I keep thinking about him… and about everyone we lost. And I wonder if it’s even worth it, to keep going… if I’m even worth it. I…I helped cause all this pain.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you feel your breath hitch in your throat. You tighten your grip on his arm, leaning closer, your heart breaking for him, for everything he’s endured, for everything he’s still enduring.

“Megumi.” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “You are worth it. You’re worth every fight, every tear, every moment of pain. You’re worth it because you’re here, and you’re trying, and you haven’t given up. And that… that’s everything.”

He looks at you, his eyes searching, as if trying to find the truth in your words, as if he wants to believe you but doesn’t know how. His lips tremble, and for a moment, he seems like he might speak, might say something that could change everything.

But then he just closes his eyes, a tear slipping down his cheek, and he lets out a breath, long and shuddering. “I don’t know.” he whispers, but he doesn’t pull away from your touch. He stays there, his body tense but close, and you know that for now, that’s enough.

You feel the slight tremor in his shoulders, the way he fights to keep himself together, and you wonder how many times he’s had to do this — how many times he’s been forced to stand tall when everything inside him was falling apart. You can see the exhaustion etched in the lines of his face, the dark circles beneath his eyes. He’s so young, but he looks older now, like the weight of the world has been pressing down on him for too long.

You don’t say anything, just keep your hand on his arm, feeling the faint, steady beat of his pulse beneath your fingertips. You know that words won’t fix this, won’t make the shadows in his eyes disappear. But you want him to know he’s not alone, that he doesn’t have to carry this burden by himself.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leans into you, just a little, his head bowing as if the strength he’s been holding onto is slipping away. You don’t move, don’t flinch, just let him take whatever he needs from you, let him find some solace in the contact, in the warmth of another human being who understands, who has lost as much as he has.

“I’m scared.” he admits, his voice so soft you almost miss it, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m scared that I’ll never be… me again. That I’ll never be whole. That I’ll always feel… like this.”

Your heart aches at the confession, at the way his voice breaks, the way his words tremble with an uncertainty that shakes you to your core. You feel a tear slip down your own cheek, and you quickly brush it away, not wanting him to see, not wanting to add to his pain.

“It’s okay to be scared.” you whisper back, your voice rough with emotion. “I’m scared too, Megumi. Every day. But you don’t have to do this alone. You have people who care about you, who love you. And we’ll get through this… somehow. Together.”

He nods, just barely, and you can feel the tiniest bit of tension ease from his frame, as if your words have given him something to hold onto, even if just for a moment. His tired eyes remain closed, and he takes another deep breath, his lips pressing into a thin line, his brows furrowing like he’s trying to muster some strength from within.

“I miss him.” he confesses, almost like he’s ashamed to say it out loud. “I miss Gojo–sensei. Tsumiki, I…I still can’t…”

Silence engulfs you, heavy and unrelenting, settling like a thick fog between you and Megumi. He opens his eyes. You couldn’t help but see the light of devastation in his eyes, a light that flickers and fades like a dying star. It’s a look you’ve seen before, a look you’ve felt etched into your own reflection every time you’ve caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The eyes that have stared back at you have been hollowed out, drained of their usual spark, carrying the same weight that now rests in Megumi’s.

You see it in the way he looks down, his gaze fixed on some invisible point on the ground, as if he’s afraid that meeting your eyes might shatter whatever fragile composure he’s managed to hold onto. The devastation is so clear in his expression, so raw and exposed, like an open wound that hasn’t begun to heal.

But you share the same look, you think. Because you’ve both lost the dearest people in your lives. The ones who held you together, who gave you strength when you needed it most. You knew that too well — the pain, the grief that seems to expand with every breath you take, filling the space around you, making it harder and harder to breathe. Tsumiki, taken from him so suddenly, so cruelly. And now Satoru, your husband, the man who was everything — your light, your laughter, your reason to keep fighting even when the world felt like it was falling apart.

How much more can you both bear?

It feels like there’s a weight pressing down on your chest, an invisible force squeezing the air out of your lungs. Your heart aches with a pain that’s deep and unyielding, a pain that you’ve grown accustomed to, but that never seems too dull. It’s the kind of pain that lingers, that finds its way into every corner of your being, that refuses to be ignored no matter how hard you try.

You think of Satoru — his smile, his ridiculous jokes, the way he could light up a room just by being in it. You think of Tsumiki — her quiet strength, her gentle kindness, the way she could make Megumi laugh even when he didn’t want to. You think of how much they meant to you, to both of you, and you wonder how you’re supposed to go on without them. How do you keep moving forward when the ground beneath you has been ripped away? How do you find the strength to keep fighting when the people who gave you that strength are gone?

You feel a tear slip down your cheek, hot and heavy, and you quickly brush it away. You don’t want Megumi to see, don’t want him to think that you’re breaking, that you’re crumbling under the weight of your own grief. But maybe he already knows. Maybe he can see it in the way your hands tremble, in the way your shoulders sag just a little, in the way your breath catches in your throat like you’re fighting to keep from sobbing.

Megumi finally looks up, and when his eyes meet yours, you see the reflection of your own sorrow staring back at you. His eyes are tired, so very tired, like he hasn’t slept in days, weeks even. There’s a hollowness in them, a void where there used to be determination and fire. He looks older than he is, worn down by the battles he fought, by the losses he’s endured. And you wonder how much more he can take, how much more you can ask of him when he’s already given so much.

“I’m… I’m not sure how to do this.” he admits, his voice barely more than a whisper, his words trembling on the edge of breaking. “I don’t know how to… keep going.”

Your heart tightens, and you feel a fresh wave of grief wash over you, cold and sharp like a blade. You want to tell him that it will get easier, that the pain will fade, but you know it’s not true. You know that some losses never heal, that some wounds never close. All you can do is reach out and take his hand in yours, squeezing it gently, letting him know that you’re here, that you’re not going anywhere.

“I don’t know how either.” you whisper back, your voice thick with emotion. “But we have to try… for them. For ourselves.”

He nods, but it’s a slow, uncertain nod, like he’s still not sure if he believes you, if he believes in anything anymore. His grip tightens around your hand, almost desperate, like he’s holding on for dear life. And maybe he is. Maybe you both are, trying to keep each other afloat in a sea of loss and uncertainty, trying to find something solid to cling to when everything else has been swept away.

For a long moment, you stand there in silence, feeling the weight of everything you’ve lost, everything you’re still losing. And you realize that there’s no easy answer, no simple path forward. There’s only this — the two of you, standing together in the midst of all the broken pieces, trying to make sense of a world that no longer feels whole. And maybe that’s enough. For now, maybe that’s enough.

"I… I keep thinking he’ll walk through that door too, you know?" you finally manage to say, your voice catching on the last word. "With that grin of his, like it's all been a bad dream."

Megumi’s gaze drops to the ground. “Me too.” he whispers. "I keep hearing his voice, like he's about to make another joke… or ruffle my hair." His hands curl into fists, and he swallows hard. "I don’t know if I want to laugh or scream."

You reach out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on his arm. "It feels wrong, doesn't it? For him to be gone."

He nods, his shoulders slumping further. "I hated how he made everything a joke, how he never took things seriously… but I’d give anything to hear him laugh again." His voice cracks, and you see the tears he's been holding back start to gather in his eyes.

Your own tears brim over, and you don’t bother wiping them away. "I don’t know what to do." you admit. "I feel lost without him. I thought we’d have more time… that we could…"

"To live together?" Megumi finishes for you, and you nod, grateful that he understands.

For a moment, you both stand there in your shared grief, the silence punctuated by the distant sounds of the wind moving through the ruins. Finally, Megumi reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, worn and slightly crumpled, as if it’s been handled many times. You look at him and then to the paper. You could feel the air knocked from your lungs.

"He… he left this for you." he says, handing it over. “Ieiri–san gave this to me. He told Ieiri–san to give it to you.....if something happened, you’d be the one to need it most.”

You take the letter with trembling hands, the weight of it almost too much to bear. For a moment, you can’t bring yourself to open it, terrified of what it might say, of the finality it represents. But then you unfold it, the familiar scrawl of his handwriting dancing across the page, and his little drawing of himself on the side. You don’t know whether you were going to laugh or cry. Because, almost immediately, you can almost hear his voice speaking the words.

𝑯𝒆𝒚, 𝒚𝒐𝒖! 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕, 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒎𝒚 𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆,

𝑰’𝒎 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒃𝒚𝒆𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒕’𝒔 𝒃𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕, 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒕, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏’𝒕 𝒈𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒅. 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒕’𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏’𝒕… 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒎𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒘.

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌, 𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒓… 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆. 𝒀𝒐𝒖, 𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒊, 𝑻𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒊𝒌𝒊 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 — 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒚. 𝑩𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒘, 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒆, 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚?

𝑻𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒊. 𝑻𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒌𝒊𝒅𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚’𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑬𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒊, 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒇 𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏’𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒕. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓, 𝑰’𝒎 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔. 𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕… 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒖𝒑 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆, 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚?

𝑻𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊, 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒘𝒏, 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔. 𝑷𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒔, 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚? 𝑰’𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒚.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓, 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 — 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒕, 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒖.

The tears spill over again, as they have these past few weeks and you clutch the letter to your chest, your heart aching with a mix of love and pain. You look over at Megumi, who’s watching you with a mix of understanding and his own quiet grief. He didn’t say a word for a while. He just let you cry, to let out the grief that you had been holding in for so long.

"He… he always knew what to say, didn’t he?" Megumi murmurs, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah." you reply, your voice thick with tears. "He always did."

The weight of Satoru's absence presses heavily upon you, but the words on the paper offer a strange comfort, like a hand reaching out through the dark. You hold the letter tightly, almost as if you could draw him back with the force of your grip.

Megumi shifts beside you, his gaze distant. You sense he’s been wrestling with his own demons, carrying a grief he doesn’t quite know how to articulate. You remember the nights Satoru would tease him, ruffle his hair, and declare with exaggerated fondness that he was the son he never had. And you remember how Megumi would roll his eyes, always with that begrudging smile, the one that said he was secretly happy to have someone who cared so much.

"I don’t know what to do." you confess, your voice barely a whisper. "I don’t even know where to begin."

Megumi looks at you, his eyes softening in understanding. "Neither do I." he admits. "But… I think Gojo–sensei would want us to keep going. He’d hate seeing us like this, stuck in the past."

You nod, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. "He was always moving forward, wasn’t he? Never stopping, not even for a second."

Megumi’s lips twitch into a faint smile. "Yeah, always dragging everyone else along for the ride." He hesitates, and then adds, "But… it wasn’t just him. You kept him grounded. You gave him a reason to slow down, even if just a little."

Your breath catches in your throat. You never thought of it that way — always felt like you were the one chasing after him, trying to keep up with his boundless energy and insatiable curiosity. But maybe, in your own way, you had been his anchor.

Megumi takes a step closer, his hand hovering near your shoulder, as if unsure whether to reach out. "He always talked about you, a lot. Even when you weren't around." he says softly. "Not in the way you'd expect. He’d get this look in his eyes, like… like he couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to have you."

You nod, finding some solace in his words. The two of you stand there for a moment longer, letting the silence settle around you, a cocoon of shared understanding. Then, with a deep breath, you fold Satoru’s letter carefully, as if it were the most fragile thing in the world, and tuck it into your pocket.

“I know.” you say gently, a faint smile on your lips. “I was the luckiest person alive too. To have loved him. To have been with him. To…To have a life with him.”

He turns his head slightly, just enough to glance at you out of the corner of his eye. There’s a flicker of something there — a mix of pain and doubt, hope and fear. He looks exhausted, like every breath, every moment, is a battle in itself. His hands unclench slowly, his fingers twitching like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them.

He closes his eyes for a moment, a pained expression crossing his face. “I don’t know if I can ever be what I was.” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

"That's okay." You whisper back. "You don't need to be whole to be yourself, Megumi. It's...enough. Being like this, for now."

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and you see the tears gathering in his eyes, threatening to spill over. He’s still so young, you think, still so young to have been through so much, to carry so many burdens on his shoulders. You didn’t want this from him. You don’t want him to live with this for the rest of his life.

“Do you think it’ll ever stop hurting?” he asks, his voice so soft it’s almost a plea.

You pause, considering your words carefully. “I don’t know.” you admit honestly. “I think… I think it might always hurt a little. But I also think that one day, the pain won’t be the first thing you feel. One day, you’ll wake up, and it’ll be a little easier to breathe. And then another day, and another… and eventually, you’ll find a way to live with it. To carry it without letting it crush you.”

He nods slowly, as if trying to absorb your words, to find some semblance of comfort in them. “I hope so.” he says quietly. “I really hope so.”

As you purse your lips into a tight line, Fushiguro Megumi turns his head slightly, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the strain in his eyes. They’re the same eyes you’ve known for years, dark and brooding, yet now they seem dimmed by a weight too heavy for any young man to bear. His expression is weary, etched with the lines of battles fought not just against enemies but against the relentless tide of grief and responsibility that threatens to swallow him whole.

You pause, taking in the sight of him. Megumi, who has always seemed so strong, so unyielding, now stands with his shoulders hunched, his frame pulled inward like a fragile fortress protecting a fragile heart. His hands, usually so sure and steady, are clenched tightly at his sides, fingers twitching with a nervous energy.

The boy who faced curses without flinching now looks lost, as if he’s unsure of where to place his feet or how to hold himself together. You notice how his posture has shrunk into itself, his form smaller, more fragile than you remember. For a fleeting moment, he is not the stoic young man who bears the weight of the Zen’in name, but the boy you raised, the one who used to look up at you with a defiance softened by hope.

Memories rush in, unbidden and raw. You remember the first time you took his hand, how tiny it seemed in yours, and the way he stiffened, wary of your touch. It took time for him to trust you, to accept the safety you offered in a world that had been anything but kind. He was so guarded, so determined to prove that he didn’t need anyone, but you had seen through the cracks in his armor, glimpsed the boy beneath who craved comfort and understanding.

Now, as you stand before him, you see that boy again. The boy who hid his hurt behind curt words and narrowed eyes, who watched the world with suspicion, waiting for it to turn on him. You see the boy who wanted to be strong, not just for himself but for those he cared about, who believed that if he could shoulder enough pain, he might somehow spare others from it. That same boy stands before you now, but the weight he carries has only grown heavier, pressing down on his shoulders until they sag with exhaustion.

You move closer, slowly, careful not to startle him. Megumi’s gaze flickers to you, and for a moment, something in his eyes softens, just a fraction. He looks at you as if he wants to say something, but the words catch in his throat, stuck behind the fear of vulnerability. You can see the battle waging within him — the need to be strong, to keep it all together, and the desperate longing to let someone in, to share the burden that’s breaking him apart.

“I…I’m sorry for putting you through what I did.” he whispers, so quietly you almost miss it. His voice is thick, strained with the weight of everything left unsaid.

It was hard seeing Megumi this way, you think. If anything, you still weren’t prepared to seek him out. You felt ashamed that you couldn’t do much for him. As much as you were also worried that he’d put himself at your feet, kneeling and in tears. Now your worst fear came to pass, that he would be apologizing to you for something that was not his fault. And so, you took that time — a long time, to just be alone and grieve. To let your husband’s soul rest in peace.

So your heart aches at his confession, and you step closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, drawing him into an embrace. At first, he resists, his body stiff and unyielding, but you hold firm, refusing to let go. Slowly, he relents, and he collapses against you, his head resting against your shoulder. His hands clutch at the fabric of your clothes, and you feel the tremble in his fingers, the suppressed sobs caught in his chest.

“It’s okay, Megumi.” you murmur, stroking his back in soothing circles. “You silly boy. Why are you apologizing for things that aren’t your fault, hm?”

His shoulders shake, and you feel the tears that he’s fought so hard to hold back finally spill over. He buries his face in your shoulder, his body wracked with silent sobs, each one tearing at your heart. You hold him tighter, as if you could somehow shield him from the pain, as if you could gather all the shattered pieces of him and put them back together.

He cries quietly, like he doesn’t want to be heard, like he’s afraid of what his grief might sound like if he lets it out. You just hold him, letting him take the time he needs, giving him the space to be the child you know he still is, beneath all that strength and stubbornness.

And for that moment, you are back in time, comforting a boy who tried so hard to be brave, to stand tall in a world that felt too big and too cruel. You feel the years slip away, and you whisper to him like you did then, telling him it’s okay, that he’s safe, that he’s loved.

Slowly, the tremors in his body begin to ease, and he pulls back slightly, just enough to look up at you. His eyes are red, and there’s a vulnerability there that you haven’t seen in years. “I’m sorry, Gen–san.” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. “I….It must be harder on you.”

You shake your head, cupping his cheek with one hand. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” you say firmly. “You’ve been so strong, Megumi. But you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

He nods, his eyes closing for a moment as he takes a shaky breath. “I just… I miss him, Gen–san.” he admits, his voice breaking. “I miss them. Tsumiki…..I…I miss them both. And it’s…It’s my fault. If I had…”

“I know you do.” you whisper back. “I miss them too. And it’s okay to feel that way. But it was never your fault. You understand? This is not your cross to bear, hm?”

He looked at you, as though he was still unsure. But he nods again, and this time, when he opens his eyes, there’s a spark of something new there, a flicker of resolve. “Thank you.” he murmurs. “For… for being here.”

You smile softly, brushing his hair back from his face. “Always.” you promise. “I’ll always be here for you, Megumi.”

And as he leans into your touch, you realize that maybe, just maybe, he’s beginning to understand that he doesn’t have to face the world alone. That he has a family, even in the darkest of times, and that you’ll always be there to catch him when he falls. When he finally calms down, you look at him with a tender gaze. You rub the small of his back and coo towards him. You tell him over and over again that it’s going to be okay.

THINGS HAVE CHANGED IN THESE MANY YEARS. But all the same, you were still just trying to get by without your husband. Just as you have done in the past fourteen years. Sometimes you can’t believe that it has been that long. Fourteen long years without his voice, his laughter, his warmth beside you in the dark of the night. Fourteen years of waking up every morning and remembering all over again that he’s gone.

Some days, it feels like he was just here, like you can still hear his footsteps in the hallway, the sound of his voice calling your name, teasing you with that easy smile that could always make your heart skip a beat. Other days, it feels like a lifetime has passed, like his memory is slipping further away with each breath you take, each step you take forward.

And sometimes, all you have to do is look at the world around you and see how much it has changed, even without Satoru. The world didn’t stop for his absence — it kept moving, kept spinning, kept evolving. The streets are filled with new faces, new buildings rise where old ones once stood. The skyline of the city looks different, the energy of the people has shifted, and even the quiet corners where you used to find solace now feel foreign and unfamiliar.

You think about the way he would have laughed at the way the world has moved on without him, how he would have been amused at the thought of being left behind by time itself. “Can’t keep up with me, huh?” he would’ve jokes, that mischievous grin spreading across his face, his bright eyes twinkling with that endless, boundless spirit of his.

But he isn’t here to see it — he isn’t here to laugh or joke or comment on the little changes that make up this new reality. And that’s what hurts the most, you think. The small moments that go unnoticed, the daily routines that feel emptier without him, the tiny, insignificant details that made life with him so full.

You were certain that today was one of those days — a day where the past and present seemed to blur, where the weight of what came before felt particularly heavy. The morning sun filters through the kitchen window, casting a soft glow across the table. You watch as the young clan leader, Gojo Satoshi, sits across from you, his posture a mix of youthful excitement and a hint of nervousness that he tries to hide. His eighteenth birthday has finally arrived — a day you’ve both been anticipating with a blend of joy and bittersweetness.

For years, you’ve marked this date on the calendar, circled it with a smiley face as Satoru used to do. You remember the way he’d talk about this day like it was a grand milestone, his eyes lighting up with that familiar spark as he imagined all the things Satoshi would accomplish. And now, here it is — the day that seemed so far away, so impossible to reach, yet somehow arrived faster than you ever thought it would.

Your son had taken some time off from his responsibilities, from the pressures of the Gojo clan, just to be here with you. He’d insisted on it, saying he didn’t want to spend this day anywhere else. There’s a maturity in him that catches you off guard sometimes, a quiet strength that reminds you so much of Satoru, and yet he’s entirely his own person, shaped by all the experiences and lessons that life has thrown at him.

At times, you catch yourself taking a moment to look at him. He was the spitting image of his father. Every bit of him was Satoru. From the way his eyes gazed at you, to the way he laughs. Everything was him. You think if your husband would be here now, it would have been hard to tell them apart. But, he was all you have of Satoru. And you were still grateful for it, even if it makes you cry sometimes.

“Mom.” he begins, and there’s a softness in his voice, a vulnerability that he doesn’t show often. “I… I’m glad I could be here today. I know it’s… a lot. For both of us.”

You smile, a warm, gentle smile that you hope hides the ache in your chest. “I’m glad too, Satoshi. I’ve been waiting for this day. Your father would have wanted it to be special.”

He nods, a small smile tugging at his lips, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes — a shadow of the loss you both carry, the empty space that Satoru left behind. You know this day is as much about celebrating as it is about remembering, about honoring the promise that Satoru made to him, to all of you.

And that’s why you’re here, sitting at the kitchen table, a letter in your hand — a letter you’ve kept safe for years, one with Satoru’s handwriting on the envelope, his familiar scrawl that brings a sting of tears to your eyes. The letter he wrote for Satoshi to open on his eighteenth birthday, a letter he wrote knowing he might not be here to read it himself.

You hold it out to him, your fingers trembling slightly, and Satoshi’s eyes widen. He recognizes it immediately, having seen it once before when he was a child, when you tucked it away with a promise that it was for another day, a day when he was older, stronger.

“Is this…?” he asks, his voice trailing off, almost afraid to finish the question.

You nod, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “It’s from your father.” you say softly. “Megumi found it cleaning your father's office. It seems....your father wanted you to have something special when you're older."

For a moment, Satoshi just stares at the envelope, his fingers brushing over the edges, tracing the curve of his father’s handwriting. You can see the emotions flicker across his face — curiosity, sadness, a deep, yearning love. He looks up at you, and there’s a silent question in his eyes, one that asks if you’re okay, if you’re ready for this.

You give him a small nod, even though your heart feels like it might break all over again. “Go on.” you encourage. “Open it.”

With a deep breath, Satoshi carefully tears open the envelope, his hands steady despite the tremor you know he must feel. He pulls out the folded paper inside, and as he begins to read, you watch his face, the way his expression changes, softens, as he takes in the words that his father left for him.

There’s a chuckle, soft and low, that escapes his lips, and for a brief moment, it’s like Gojo Satoru is in the room with you both, his presence lingering in the air, his laughter echoing in the corners. Satoshi’s shoulders shake with silent laughter, and he shakes his head, murmuring, “Of course he’d say that…” under his breath.

You can’t help but smile, a tear slipping down your cheek as you remember Satoru’s sense of humor, his way of making light of even the heaviest moments. You wonder what he wrote, what silly remark he must have made, what words he left behind to make his son laugh on this day.

But then, the laughter fades, replaced by a softer look, a look of longing. Satoshi’s eyes grow misty, and his smile wavers, his breath hitching in his throat. His hands clutch the letter a little tighter, his fingers pressing into the paper like he’s holding onto a lifeline.

“I miss him, a lot.” he whispers, his voice breaking, and in that moment, he looks like the little boy he used to be, the one who would climb into your lap and ask when his father was coming home. “I miss him so much.”

Your heart breaks all over again, and you reach across the table, pulling him into your arms. He doesn’t resist, burying his face in your shoulder, and you feel his tears soak through your shirt, hot and heavy. You hold him close, your hand running through his hair, whispering soothing words even as your own tears fall.

“I know, Satoshi.” you whisper back, your voice thick with emotion. “I miss him too… every day.”

He clings to you, his body shaking with quiet sobs, and you let him cry, let him mourn, let him feel all the things he needs to feel. You know that this pain will never truly go away, that there will always be a part of both of you that aches for the man who isn’t here, for the father and husband who left too soon.

But in this moment, you also feel a deep, abiding love — a love that stretches across time and space, that binds you together even in the face of loss. You know that Satoru is with you, in every laugh, in every tear, in every beat of your hearts. And as you hold your son, feeling the strength of his embrace, the warmth of his love, you know that Satoru’s spirit lives on, in him, in you, in all the days to come.

You feel Satoshi’s grip tighten around you, his shoulders still trembling with the force of his emotions. You hold him closer, pressing your cheek against the top of his head, breathing in the scent of him, so familiar and comforting. He’s grown so much, become a young man with so much of his father’s spirit, and yet so much of his own unique strength.

“He would’ve been so proud of you, little dawn.” you whisper into his hair, feeling your voice catch in your throat. “Every day, he would’ve been so proud. I know he is… wherever he is.”

Satoshi pulls back just enough to look up at you, his eyes red-rimmed and wet with tears, but there’s a light in them — a spark of resilience, of determination, of love. “I hope so, mom.” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I hope I’m making him proud… and you, too.”

You smile, cupping his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs over his damp cheeks. “You are, Satoshi. You’re everything he could have hoped for… everything I could have hoped for.”

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes, and you can see the way his expression softens, some of the tension easing from his features. “I just… I wish he were here,” he admits, his voice a broken whisper. “I wish he could see this… see me now.”

You nod, swallowing back your own tears, feeling the ache in your chest grow sharper, deeper. “Me too.” you confess. “Every day, I wish for that. But he’s still with us, Satoshi. In you, in me, in all the love he left behind. And as long as we remember him, he’ll never truly be gone.”

Satoshi nods slowly, taking in your words, letting them settle in the quiet space between you. You know it’s not enough to fill the emptiness, to ease the pain that sits heavy in both of your hearts, but it’s something — a small comfort, a small truth that you can hold on to.

“Happy birthday, Satoshi.” You greeted him with a small smile on your face. “You and your papa. Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, mom.”

And so, you sit together in the soft morning light, holding onto each other, holding onto the memory of the man you both loved so dearly, trying to find your way in a world that has changed so much without him. You know it won’t be easy — it never has been — but you also know that you have each other, that you have the love he left behind, and maybe, for now, that’s enough to keep moving forward.

Just as you have for the past fourteen years.

Just as you will for the years to come.

YOU DECIDED TO VISIT THAT AFTERNOON. The pond is quiet, save for the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind, the soft murmurs of the water lapping against its edges. You stand at the edge, looking out at the calm surface, watching as the light dances across the ripples. The air is thick with the scent of earth and pine, and there’s a serenity here that you haven’t felt in a long time — a stillness that settles into your bones, grounding you in the moment.

This was land that Satoru bought a long time ago, back when the world was still full of possibility, when dreams felt tangible and within reach. You remember the day he brought you here for the first time, the way his eyes sparkled with excitement as he talked about the future, about all the things he wanted to build, all the memories he hoped to create.

He’d stood right where you’re standing now, his hands on his hips, looking out at the same pond with a boyish grin on his face. “This is it.” he’d said, his voice full of conviction. “This is where I’d be glad to build a family… a place to call home when everything’s said and done.”

You could hear the hope in his words, the unspoken promise of a life filled with love and laughter. He had dreams of children playing by the water’s edge, of long summer evenings spent under the stars, of a sanctuary away from the battles, away from the chaos.

And you had made that happen. For a while, you had built that family, that life, just as he’d wanted. You shared quiet mornings and loud, joyous evenings. You laughed, you loved, you lived. The memories still linger in every corner of this place, like echoes of a time that now feels so distant, so far away.

This is the place where you buried your husband — here, by the pond where he once stood dreaming of the future. It felt right, felt like honoring that dream of his, of giving him the home he’d always wanted, even in death. You wanted him to be where he’d always hoped to be, to rest in the place he had chosen for his family, his sanctuary. So you laid him to rest here, in the earth he once walked upon, beneath the trees that whisper his name in the wind.

But you chose this spot for a reason. So that he’ll always be home, so that he’ll never be far from the place he loved most. You wanted him to have peace, to feel the tranquility of the land he cherished so much. And maybe, in some way, you wanted him close, wanted to be able to visit, to sit by his side and feel his presence, even if it’s just in the whispers of the wind or the quiet ripple of the pond.

You sit back, closing your eyes, breathing in the fresh air, and you imagine his laughter, his voice, his hand in yours. You can almost hear him now, teasing you about being sentimental, about spending so much time talking to a patch of earth. But you know he’d understand. He always understood you, even when you didn’t understand yourself.

You look out over the pond, the way the water reflects the sky, and you wonder what he would think of the world now, of all the things that have changed. You wonder if he’d still choose this place, if he’d still find it as beautiful as he once did. You like to think he would, that he’d still smile and say, “Yeah, this is home.”

One day, you think. One day, maybe you’ll be here too, resting beside him, sharing this place forever. Maybe one day, you’ll find your way back to him, and you’ll get to hear his voice again, feel his arms around you, and you’ll be whole again. Until then, you’ll keep coming back, keep whispering to the wind, keep holding onto the memories that this place holds.

And as the sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the water, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. Because here, in this quiet place, he is still with you. Here, by the pond he loved so much, he is still home.

You’ve walked this path more times than you can count, but today feels different. The air is heavy, thick with the weight of unspoken words and memories that cling to you like shadows. It has been fourteen years now, and in a few days, it will be official. But it was your husband’s birthday today too, and you think that maybe that’s why. Satoshi is eighteen and your husband isn’t here to see it.

When you reach their graves, you pause, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. The air is cool, the wind gentle against your skin, but there is a weight in your chest that feels heavier than any burden you’ve ever carried.

Two simple stones lie before you, side by side, as if they were always meant to be together — Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru. Their names etched in the granite are stark against the soft earth, the bold characters cutting through the silence of the space around you. The sight is almost too real, too final, as if the reality of their absence is etched into the stone itself.

It was what Satoru wanted, you remember. He had told you that a long time ago, in a quiet moment, his voice uncharacteristically soft, almost pleading. “Promise me, if anything ever happens… that Suguru will be laid to rest too. That he’ll have peace.”

You’d nodded then, not thinking much of it, not wanting to entertain the thought of losing him. But now, standing here, you understand why. You understand why it mattered to him, why it was so important that they be reunited in the end.

They were best friends once — closer than brothers, bound by a shared past, by dreams of changing the world together. Even when their paths diverged, even when they became enemies in the eyes of the world, there was always something unbreakable between them, something that tied them together beyond the choices they made, beyond the mistakes and the betrayals. They were always two halves of a whole, two sides of a coin that could never be separated.

And now, in death, they are together again. You think it fitting, think it poetic in a way that only Satoru could have imagined. They both found their peace here, in this quiet place, far from the chaos and conflict that shaped their lives. And maybe, just maybe, they have found each other again, wherever they are.

You kneel down, your knees pressing into the soft grass, feeling the dampness seep through your clothes, grounding you, connecting you to the earth, to this place where they both now rest. You reach out with trembling fingers, tracing the characters of their names etched into the cold granite. The letters feel rough under your fingertips, each line a reminder of what was lost, of the lives that were lived with so much intensity, so much passion, so much pain.

“Satoru.” you whisper, your voice catching in your throat. It feels strange to say his name out loud, to speak to him as if he could still hear you. But you hope he can. You hope he’s listening, somewhere out there. “I’m back, my dearest.”

“I miss you… so much. Every day. I don’t know how to do this without you.” Your fingers move to Suguru’s name next, tracing the familiar curves and lines, remembering the way Satoru used to talk about him, the fondness in his voice even after everything that happened.

“And Suguru.” you add softly, “I hope you found peace too. I hope… wherever you are, you’ve found each other again. That you’re not alone. Stay together, hm?”

The wind picks up, rustling the leaves around you, and for a moment, you almost think you hear their voices — Satoru’s light and teasing, Suguru’s deeper, quieter, both of them laughing together like they did in the old days, when things were simpler, when the world hadn’t yet shown its darker side. It’s a sound that cuts through the quiet, a memory that tugs at your heart, bringing a fresh wave of tears to your eyes.

You press your palms flat against the grass, feeling the cool earth beneath your hands, grounding yourself in the present, in the reality of this moment. You close your eyes, letting the tears fall freely now, feeling the ache in your chest grow sharper, deeper.

“I’m sorry.” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you… either of you. I’m sorry it came to this.”

But then you take a breath, slow and steady, and you remember what Satoru always said — that life goes on, that the world keeps turning, even when it feels like it’s falling apart. And you know he wouldn’t want you to stay here forever, trapped in the past, in the grief that feels like it might swallow you whole. He would want you to keep going, to keep living, to find joy again, even if it feels impossible right now.

You sit back on your heels, wiping at your eyes, feeling the cool breeze brush against your cheeks. “I’ll keep going.” you promise, your voice is stronger now, more certain. “I’ll keep living, for both of you. For all of us. But… one day, I hope I get to see you again. I hope we can be together again, somehow.”

The wind blows softly, carrying your words away, and you imagine them reaching Satoru, reaching Suguru, wherever they are. You imagine them smiling, together at last, watching over you, waiting for the day when you’ll be reunited. And in that thought, you find a small measure of comfort, a small piece of hope to hold on to.

So you stay a little longer, just sitting there in the quiet, in the space between what was and what is, letting the memories wash over you, letting yourself feel everything — the love, the loss, the longing. Because here, in this place, they are still with you. Here, by their graves, you are not alone.

You swallow, trying to keep your composure, but it’s hard. The memories rush back all at once — the sound of Satoru’s laughter, always so full and carefree; Suguru’s quiet, thoughtful gaze as he watches you both, always the more grounded of the two. You close your eyes for a moment, letting those memories wash over you, trying to hold on to the feeling of them, even as it brings a fresh ache to your heart.

“I miss you.” you say, your voice breaking on the last word. “Gods, I miss you both so much.”

Your hand drops to your lap, and you feel the sting of tears in your eyes, blurring your vision. You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but it’s no use. The tears spill over, hot against your skin, and you don’t bother to wipe them away. You’re tired of pretending to be strong, tired of holding back the grief that’s been eating away at you ever since you lost them.

“I still can’t believe you’re gone, Satoru.” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I keep thinking… I keep waiting for you to walk through the door with that ridiculous grin on your face, like this was all just some terrible joke. I keep thinking I’ll hear your voice, calling out to me, asking me if I’ve missed you. Fourteen years and I still think like this.”

Your shoulders shake with a quiet sob, and you press a hand to your mouth, trying to stifle the sound. You feel the ache in your chest, the hollow emptiness that’s been there since the day he died. Every day without him feels like a wound that won’t heal, a pain that won’t lessen, no matter how much time passes.

“I miss you so much.” you repeat, your voice raw and broken. “I miss the way you used to make me laugh, even when I didn’t want to. I miss the way you’d wrap your arms around me, like you could protect me from everything. I miss your voice, your smile… I miss everything.”

You take a deep breath, your fingers curling into the fabric of your clothes as if to ground yourself. “Sometimes… sometimes I don’t know how to keep going.” you admit quietly. “I don’t know how to keep living in a world where you’re not here.”

Your gaze drifts to Suguru’s grave, and you feel another pang of sorrow. “I miss you too, Suguru.” you murmur. “I know you and Satoru are probably driving each other crazy up there… but I wish… I wish you were both here with me.”

You let out a shaky breath, your tears falling more freely now. “I’m trying to be strong, to be the person you both believed I could be.” you say, your voice trembling. “But it’s so hard without you. It’s so hard to keep going when all I want to do is just… just give up.”

You close your eyes, bowing your head, and let the tears fall, your shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The grief feels like it’s drowning you, pulling you under, and for a moment, you don’t know if you have the strength to keep swimming.

But then, through the haze of your tears, you feel a small flicker of warmth — a memory, a feeling, a sense of Satoru’s presence. You can almost hear his voice, playful and light, telling you to keep going, to keep fighting, to keep living. And you know, deep down, that he wouldn’t want you to give up. He’d want you to keep smiling, to keep finding joy, even in a world without him.

You lift your head, wiping at your tears with the back of your hand. “I promise I’ll keep going.” you whisper. “I’ll keep living, for both of you. But… one day…”

Your voice catches, and you swallow hard, forcing the words out past the lump in your throat. “One day, I can’t wait to see you again.” you say, your voice breaking on a sob. “I can’t wait to be with you again, Satoru. I can’t wait to hold you and tell you how much I’ve missed you.”

You reach out, placing a hand on his headstone, your fingers trembling. “Until then… I’ll keep you in my heart.” you whisper. “I’ll keep you both in my heart.”

The wind picks up once more, rustling the leaves, and for a moment, you feel a strange sense of peace, as if they’re both there with you, watching over you, telling you that it’s okay to grieve, to cry, to miss them. And as you sit there, letting the tears flow, you realize that they’re not really gone. They’re still with you, in every memory, every laugh, every tear.

“I love you so much.” you whisper, your voice carried away in the wind. “I always will, my love. Happy birthday.”

And for the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of hope, a small, fragile thing, but there nonetheless. A hope that one day, you’ll see them again, that one day, this ache will be replaced by the joy of being with them once more. Until then, you’ll carry them with you, every step of the way, until your paths cross again.

epilogue

In the ethereal expanse of the afterlife, Gojo Satoru was causing a celestial commotion that even the most seasoned spirits couldn’t ignore. The gates of heaven, grand and imposing, were currently the scene of an unusual spectacle. Satoru was, quite literally, throwing himself against them, trying to push his way through the ornate barriers with a determination that bordered on absurd.

Suguru Geto, Nanami Kento, and Haibara Yuta were standing a few feet away, watching with a mix of amusement and exasperation. Suguru was leaning against a nearby pillar, his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. Nanami was rubbing his temples in frustration, and Haibara was trying very hard not to laugh.

"How long has he been at this?" Nanami asked.

"Since yesterday." Haibara snickered in response.

"I haven't had peace these past two days." Suguru sighed.

Satoru, his face pressed against the gates, was shouting, “GAH!? Let me out! I need to get back to Earth! They need me! I can’t just sit here while they’re struggling!”

Nanami, stepping forward with a calm yet firm tone, said, “Satoru, this is not a joke. You’re dead. You’re not supposed to go back. We’ve been over this.”

Satoru turned his head, giving them a pleading look. “But they’re my family! They need me! Can’t you see? I’ve got to be there for them!”

Haibara, trying to defuse the tension, added with a smirk, “Gojo–senpai, you know you can’t just break the rules. Besides, you have to admit, your dramatic exit would probably cause a cosmic mess.”

Suguru, barely containing his grin, stepped forward with a more practical suggestion. “Look, Satoru, there’s a much better way to be there for them without causing a ruckus. You can appear in their dreams. It’s a lot less disruptive and doesn’t require you to break through any divine gates.”

Satoru’s eyes lit up with realization. “Wait, really? I do that? Why didn’t anyone tell me sooner?”

Suguru shrugged nonchalantly. “You didn’t want to listen to me at all. Plus, you were too busy trying to create a celestial catastrophe.”

Satoru paused, considering the idea. “I suppose appearing in their dreams is a bit more civilized. But—” he added, frowning, “—can’t I just pop back in for a quick hug or something? A kiss, more preferably.”

Nanami shook his head, still trying to keep his composure. “No, Gojo. That’s not how it works. You’ve got to accept that you can't do what you want now that you're dead.”

Satoru, with a resigned sigh and the roll of his eyes, finally stepped back from the gates. He still looks like a child when he pouts. “Alright, alright. I’ll do the dream thing. But I want to make sure they know I’m there for them.”

Haibara chuckled. “Great. Just try not to turn their dreams into a circus act. They need comfort, not more chaos, Gojo–senpai!”

Satoru grinned, his spirits lifting as he envisioned his new plan. “Got it. I’ll keep it heartfelt and fun. And maybe I’ll sneak in a few tricks here and there. You know, just to keep things interesting.”

As Satoru prepared to set off on his new celestial mission, Suguru, Nanami, and Haibara exchanged looks of weary amusement. They knew that, despite his antics, Satoru’s heart was in the right place.

“Good luck,” Nanami said dryly. “And remember, no cosmic disasters.”

Satoru gave them a thumbs-up. “You got it! And thanks for the advice, everyone. I’ll make sure they feel my love, even if it’s just in their dreams.”

With that, Satoru faded into a swirl of ethereal light, heading toward the dreamscape to reach out to you and Satoshi. Meanwhile, Suguru, Nanami, and Haibara watched him go, their expressions a mix of relief and amusement.

“Do you think he’ll actually follow through?” Haibara asked, still grinning.

Suguru smirked. “If anyone can turn a dream into a grand spectacle, it’s Satoru. But I have no doubt he’ll manage to bring some comfort, too. Well, somewhat."

Nanami sighed, shaking his head. “Well, at least we’ve managed to keep him out of trouble, for now. Let’s hope he sticks to the plan.”

And with that, the trio returned to their celestial duties, knowing that despite Satoru’s chaotic tendencies, his heart was always in the right place.

And just as promised, Gojo Satoru did indeed make his grand reappearance in your dreams and Satoshi's, weaving a spectral thread through the fabric of your nightly slumbers. The dreams, much like Satoru himself, were a mix of whimsical chaos and heartwarming moments.

In your dream, the scene was set in a familiar place — a cozy, moonlit garden that felt both nostalgic and surreal. There, amidst the soft glow of fairy lights and the gentle rustling of leaves, was Satoru, his usual nonchalant demeanor softened by a warm, affectionate grin. He was seated on a bench, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sparkled with the same mischievous gleam you remembered so well.

"Soooo." he began, stretching out the word as if he were about to launch into one of his signature lectures. "Miss me much? I bet you didn't expect me to show up like this."

You could only laugh, feeling a mixture of relief and joy. "Satoru... this is incredible. I wasn’t sure if you’d actually come."

Satoru’s grin widened, and he leaned closer, as if sharing a secret. "You know me, always keeping my promises, even from beyond. Besides, I couldn’t let you and Satoshi have all the fun without me."

He gestured to the garden around you, which seemed to glow with a gentle, ethereal light, transforming it into a place of comfort and tranquility. It was as if he had crafted this dreamscape himself, blending his penchant for the whimsical with the tenderness of his love.

As you sat together, talking and laughing, the conversation flowed effortlessly. He shared stories from the afterlife, which he portrayed with his characteristic humor and flair, recounting celestial mishaps and the amusing antics of his fellow spirits. It was just like old times, but with a surreal twist — his jokes seemed to float in the air like bubbles, and his laughter was a melody that danced through the night. And then when it was time, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close into an embrace and a kiss.

Satoshi’s dream was equally enchanting. He found himself in a fantastical setting, a blend of his own memories and Satoru's imaginative touch. The scene was a vibrant carnival, full of colors and laughter. Satoru was there, dressed in an elaborate magician’s costume, complete with a top hat and a flowing cape. He was performing tricks, pulling stars out of a hat and making cosmic confetti rain down on the crowd.

Satoshi watched in awe as Satoru performed, a look of wonder on his face. When Satoru finally noticed him, he winked and gave him a grandiose bow. "Hey, kiddo! Did you miss me? Hope you're enjoying the show!"

Satoshi’s heart swelled with a bittersweet mixture of joy and longing. He approached Satoru, who enveloped him in a hug that felt strangely warm despite being a dream. Satoshi felt tears well up in his eyes, but he laughed, feeling a sense of comfort he hadn’t experienced in years. “I’ve missed you so much, Dad.”

Satoru ruffled his hair affectionately, his voice filled with genuine warmth. “I know, kiddo. I’ve missed you too. But you’ve grown so much. I’m proud of you. And I know your mom is too. You both are doing great.”

The dream continued with a playful sense of magic and wonder, filled with laughter and joy. Satoru’s presence, though fleeting, was a gift — a reminder that his love and spirit continued to be a part of your lives, even if only in the realm of dreams.

As the night drew to a close and the dreams began to fade, Satoru gave one last, heartfelt wave. “Remember, I’m always with you. In every laugh, every moment, and every starry night. I’ll be cheering you on from here.”

When you and Satoshi woke up, you immediately texted each other about the dream. And back in heaven, Gojo Satoru was pleased.

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steddiehyperfixation · 11 months ago

Text

don't you forget about me (part six)

(part one)(part two)(part three)(part four)(part five)

Steve allows himself a brief mental breakdown in the shower when he gets home. He lets the water mix with his tears as he curls his arms around himself and wishes with everything he is that they were Eddie’s. There’s nothing he wouldn’t give right now just to be held by him again, just to feel Eddie’s arms around him one more time. All it took was a tiny kiss on the back of his hand for Steve’s skin to remember just how much it missed that feeling. Now Steve’s entire body craves Eddie’s touch, and he shakes in its absence like an addict in withdrawal.

Then he puts himself back together, gets dressed and styles his hair and heads off to work.

They’d defeated Vecna before he could split the world into pieces or whatever his diabolical plan had been. So while Steve’s whole world may have been torn apart, while Steve’s whole world lays bruised and bandaged and amnesic in a hospital bed, the rest of the world carries on none the wiser. The rest of the world still rents VHS tapes and has movie nights and date nights and no fucking clue that they were seconds away from being dragged down into a hell dimension a couple weeks ago, so Family Video is still open for them. Fuck that.

“You’ve gotta handle the customers today because if someone starts asking me stupid questions I can’t promise I won’t snap at them,” Steve tells Robin as he drives them to their shift.

“Aw, but it’s so funny when you snap at them,” Robin quips.

“Robin.” He gives her his best I’m so fucking serious look.

Her humor dries up immediately and she nods solemnly. “Alright, yeah. I got it.”

Steve sighs, pulling into the parking lot. “Thank you.”

He busies himself with cataloging and reshelving and rewinding returns while Robin takes over the customer service part of the job. It’s mindless - mind-numbing - the monotony of the tasks exactly what Steve needs to dull out the thoughts in his brain and distract himself from the way the back of his hand still tingles from Eddie’s kiss.

When the afternoon rush dies down after a few hours and the store is all but empty, Robin sidles up next to him where he’s putting away a stack of fantasy films. “Hey.”

Her voice cuts through his focus and nearly startles Steve out of his skin. “Jesus! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Sorry.” She grabs half the stack of tapes and starts helping him shelve. “Just wanted to check in with you, we haven’t gotten much of a chance to talk today. How are things going with Eddie?”

“It’s fine. He’s fine,” Steve grumbles, glaring down at the tape in his hands. It’s got a dragon on the cover. He thinks Eddie would probably like it. “He still doesn’t remember me, but he’s starting to see me as a friend now at least, so.” Steve shoves the movie into its spot on the shelf. “That’s something, right?”

Robin raises her eyebrows at the sharp bitterness in his tone and how forcefully he put the tape away. “Okay. Yeah. So I see we’re in the anger stage of grief now,” she comments.

Steve scoffs. If this is a stage of grief, he thinks he’s been going through them in the wrong order, or maybe all at once - a neverending ebb and flow of denial and anger and depression all swirled together into one fucked up cocktail of grief. “I’m not angry,” he says, rubbing his hands over his face. “I’m just tired- emotionally burnt out, I don’t know. I just miss him and it’s not fair and I’m so fucking sick of feeling like this.”

“Yeah, that’s anger, Steve,” Robin says, infuriatingly blunt. She slides the last tape in her stack into its place and then leans against the shelf. “Did something else happen to set this off, or are you just generally overwhelmed?”

Steve sags against the shelf beside her. “Both. I don’t know. It’s stupid, it’s so fucking stupid. He just- he kissed my hand this morning, that’s it, and it wrecked me.”

“He what?” Robin questions, curiosity widening her eyes.

“He kissed my hand,” Steve repeats. He sighs and adds context, gives her a full recount of the events of that morning.

“Oh my god?!” Robin practically squawks as she backhands Steve’s arm, which is definitely not the comforting words or touch he needs from her right now.

“Ow!” he yelps, rubbing his arm. “What the hell was that for?”

“Dude. He was flirting with you,” she tells him, eyes even wider now like she’s trying to explain to him something obvious.

“What? No.” Steve shakes his head, looking at her like she’s crazy. “He definitely wasn’t.”

“Ughhh,” Robin lets out a long, dramatic groan, dragging her hands down her cheeks and pulling down her eyes. “I cannot do this with you two again. He totally was.” She drops her hands from her face so she can use them to illustrate her point as she starts to lists off, “First of all, he literally called you daddy-”

“As a joke,” Steve interrupts to protest.

“Yeah, a flirtatious one,” Robin retorts. She continues, “Then he said you have a magic touch, and then his heart literally started racing for no reason-”

“Because I was stressing him out!”

“Only after his heart rate went up in the first place, which, as I was saying, was for no reason other than the fact that you were smiling at him and holding his hand-”

“That literally doesn’t-”

“And then, he kissed your hand - pressed his lips to your skin - and told you that you were his good luck charm,” Robin finishes, looking smug like she’s said something novel and not just completely reiterated exactly what Steve had just told her only with more emphasis.

He sighs wearily. “Your point?”

“He likes you, dingus,” she says, whacking his arm again. “Don’t you get it? His mind may not remember still, but his heart is starting to.”

Steve doesn’t know what to do with that. A lump rises in his throat, a rush of jumbled emotions chafing against his already frayed edges. “Don’t say that. You don’t know that.”

“I think you should tell him what you were to each other,” Robin suggests.

“Right, yeah, okay, sure,” Steve scoffs, somewhere between sarcastic and hysterical. “And while we’re at it, I think you should tell Vickie that you like her. Because telling people things like that is so easy, isn’t it?”

Robin gives him a withering stare. “That is not the same thing at all, and you know it.”

“No, yeah, you’re right,” he agrees. “Because I know Eddie, and he would not take that news well. He already gets a little weird whenever I seem to know too much about him - if I tell him I know him biblically too-”

“Ew, don’t tell him like that!”

“Doesn’t matter if I tell him like that; I say we’ve been together for 9 months, he’s going to assume we’ve-”

“God, okay, I get it!”

“See? It would freak him out,” Steve concludes, crossing his arms. “Even if he does…like me again or whatever, he definitely wouldn’t anymore and it would just generally make him uncomfortable. So I can’t tell him. I just have to keep waiting for him to remember on his own, even though it’s fucking killing me,” he says, his voice harsh as he tries to keep it from breaking. “It’s what’s best for Eddie.”

“Steve-” Robin starts, frowning like she’s only just beginning to realize she may have pushed him too far, but whatever it is she was going to say is cut off by the ringing of the bell that announces the front door being open.

“Customers.” Steve points his chin towards the couple who just walked in, a bitter jealousy boiling in his stomach as he watches them walk hand in hand towards the romance aisle. It’s not fucking fair. He shoves himself away from the shelves and mutters, “I’m taking my break.”

He stalks to the breakroom, closes the door, and sinks to the floor with his back against it. The tears in his eyes feel like they’re made of acid, like they would carve tracks into his skin if they were to spill down his cheeks. He wraps his arms around himself again. The thoughts in his head are made of acid too, bitter and burning and cursing everyone who gets to enjoy their lover's touch while he suffers without his.

Steve’s brain feels corroded, corrupted. “He likes you,” Robin’s words echo there too, “his mind may not remember still, but his heart is starting to.” Would Eddie touch him now if he asked? Would he trace his fingers across Steve’s skin, kiss more than just the back of his hand? Steve digs his own fingers into his sides. He feels gross, he feels rotten. It wouldn’t be right to ask that of Eddie without him knowing the truth, to take advantage of him like that. It wouldn’t be the same, anyways. The superficial touch of a boy with the beginnings of a crush is not the tender lover’s caress that Steve craves.

That is if Robin is even right about Eddie redeveloping feelings. Which she probably isn’t.

Steve’s just being stupid and selfish again. He wants to remove his brain from his skull so he can stop thinking, tear his heart from his chest so he can stop feeling; both so burned and decayed he thinks if he held them in his hands they would dissolve and crumble to dust and ash and sludge between his fingers.

Fifteen minutes pass, and Steve forces himself to be fine. He peels himself off the breakroom floor and returns to work, continues the tedious tasks that he hopes will numb him out again.

Robin catches his eye from across the room where she’s sorting a customer’s cash at the register. I’m sorry, her expression says, I didn’t mean to make you upset.

Steve gives a tiny shake of his head and a small smile. It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault, his own expression reassures her. You meant well. I’m not mad at you.

They don’t talk about Eddie again that day. The next time there’s a lull in customers and they’re able to chat again, Steve tells Robin he honestly just needs a distraction right now, and he lets her ramble on about Vickie and band and school and her impending graduation and the movie she watched last night and whatever other random thoughts are bouncing around that hyperactive head of hers. Her voice fills in the cracks in Steve’s brain, keeps it from falling apart completely. She’s always been good at that, and he’s grateful for it.

Then he drops Robin off after work and he drives away alone in silence because all the songs on the radio are love songs, and he drives back to the hospital - back to the source of his grief again and again like some sort of fucking masochist - because Eddie needs him. Because Steve loves him.

Eddie cannot help the way his face all but beams the second Steve walks back into his room that evening. “There you are, Stevie! How was work?”

Steve returns the smile, genuine, but there’s a tiredness to it. “It was alright. Bit boring, really, uneventful. How are you doing?”

“I’m good,” Eddie says, adding with a jaunty grin, “All the better now that you’re back.”

It comes out a bit more flirtatious than he intended, but thankfully Steve just laughs it off. “Alright, smoothtalker,” he scoffs through a chuckle as he takes his usual seat by the bed. “It’s nice to see you again too.”

“Oh, the actual doctor came in to talk to me today. Good news, don’t worry,” Eddie tells him, the last bit tacked on quickly before that concerned crease can appear between Steve’s brows. “She says I’m healing up nicely, and I might be able to be discharged soon. A few more days’ observation and then they're gonna see how well I can actually move since, you know, the bats chewed through half the muscles in one of my legs. But, yeah, I could be out of here by the end of next week.”

“That’s great, Eddie!” Steve brightens.

“Yeah.” Eddie smiles. “I can’t wait to be somewhere familiar, feel normal again. Or, well,” he amends, smile falling a little as he realizes, “as normal as I can feel given that I’ll probably be walking with a limp for the rest of my life and be covered in nasty scars all over.”

A strange expression crosses Steve’s face then, something happy and sad and sympathetic all at once, and his voice is soft as he says, “We’ll match.”

Eddie blinks at him. “What?”

“The scars,” Steve clarifies. “The bats got me too, you know. I was lucky, it wasn’t as bad for me as it was for you, but, uh- yeah, we’ll match. See?” He stands and pulls his shirt up a bit.

Eddie’s heart rate immediately kicks up again, blood growing warm, as his eyes snap to Steve’s stomach, to skin and muscle and body hair and- oh. Two giant, jagged red scabs cover Steve’s sides, the edges fading into skin bumpy and pink and white with the beginnings of scarring. The bite on Eddie’s own side twinges in sympathy. “That’s-” He swallows back the word hot, and breathes out instead, “Holy shit.” Without really thinking, he finds himself reaching out to skim his fingers over the ridges of Steve’s scars.

Steve gasps - full body shudders - at the touch, and Eddie instantly pulls his hand back, afraid he’s hurt him. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“No, it’s fine,” Steve manages, though it sounds a bit shaky. “You didn’t hurt me, I just- I wasn’t expecting it.”

Eddie tentatively starts to reach back out; Steve nods. He slowly traces the outline of the wound again, every uneven edge, feeling the evidence of hurt and the evidence of healing and the ripple of each breath Steve takes - breaths that echo in the quiet that falls between them. Eddie doesn’t realize just how intimate this silence has become as he runs his hands across Steve’s skin, until he glances up to find Steve just…watching him. It’s impossible to tell exactly what emotion is behind his eyes, but it’s intense and it’s devastating, and Eddie suddenly feels like he can’t breathe.

“Uh-” A nervous laugh stutters out of him. He rescinds his touch. “Twin scars, huh?” he remarks, cracking a crooked smile and attempting to change this strange, suffocating energy with a joke. “Hell of a matching tattoo. Next time let’s just exchange friendship bracelets like normal people do, yeah?”

Steve huffs, a short burst of laughter that escapes from his chest like it’s been punched out of him. “Since when have you ever done anything like a normal person?” he teases in return as he pulls his shirt back down.

Just like that, blown away by Steve’s playful smile, the weird tension lifts. Eddie grins back. “Alright, fair point.” He adds, “Those are gonna be some pretty metal scars, Stevie.”

“Not as metal as yours,” Steve says warmly, settling back in his chair and kicking one leg over the other. “You’re the one that literally survived death, Ed. It doesn’t get any more metal than that.”

“Now who’s the smoothtalker?” Eddie smirks, and he hopes he isn’t blushing. Steve Harrington calling him metal with so much pride and affection in his voice is doing numbers on his heart. Curse this stupid fucking crush.

Steve eyes divert briefly to the heart monitor, which has not once calmed down since the second he’d lifted up his shirt, and Eddie is so sure that he knows then, that he’s finally made the connection between what’s got Eddie’s heart racing, but he doesn’t say anything, just laughs it off again, smiling like everything’s completely normal as he looks back at Eddie and rolls his eyes and mutters in return, “Shut up.”

“Make me,” Eddie mumbles, not quick enough to bite back the words before they fall from his mouth, only managing to lower his voice enough that maybe Steve didn’t hear him.

“What?”

“TV?” Eddie grabs the remote, pretends like that’s what he’d said in the first place. Real smooth.

“Oh, sure.” Steve shrugs. If he noticed Eddie’s slip, he gives no indication of it.

Eddie turns on the TV and they spend the next hour or so laughing and making fun of the bad acting on the show that’s playing. Easy, normal, platonic. Eddie’s heart rate stabilizes, remaining even so long as he doesn’t look too long at Steve’s smile.

When sleep starts lapping at Eddie’s consciousness, he doesn’t fear it anymore. Silently, he holds out his hand, and Steve takes it, wrapping him in the warmth and protection that allows Eddie to let himself drift off undaunted.

And in his dreams his hands skate across Steve’s skin again.

(part seven)

taglist (CLOSED): @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @lolawonsstuff @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy @hotluncheddie @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @emsgoodthinkin @alyelf @warlordess @stevesbipanic @lil-gremlin-things @rockandrolodex @badcaseofcasey @bat-outta-hel @fandomcartographer @manda-panda-monium @littlewildflowerkitten @giopandaonice @mightbeasleep @queenie-ofthe-void @krazyperson @worldofshea @marvel-ous-m @tartarusknight @a-little-unsteddie @xenon-demon @goodolefashionedloverboi @xxsky-shockxx @mc-i-r @bookbinderbitch @aspenshade88 @slowandsteddie @thedragonsaunt @daydreaming-mood @space-invading-pigeon @irregular-child @a-lovely-craziness (taglist continued in replies; please lmk if you'd like to be removed from this list. if you didn't make the taglist but still wanna follow along, you can follow the tag #dyfamsteddiefic to keep up with new updates!)

#giving steve mental breakdowns is my favorite hobby actually can you tell #one or two more parts i think i can't decide #should i resolve it in the next part or drag it out an extra chapter and write out some more of eddie's dream memories???#steddie #steddie angst #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #fanfic #mine #dyfamsteddiefic

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ereawrites · 1 year ago

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Hey gurl✨ I’m in my wife era rn so maybe some Shisui and/or Tobirama husband/jealous husband hcs?🫣 I loooovee your writing and tbh your thoughts are my thoughts so no pressure😩 If you not feeling it feel free to ignore me babe🧚🏻‍♀️

YOU HAVE FED ME SO GOOD MISS GIRL! under the cut for length

shisui

this isn't too relevant but I have to include it. it's too cute. I definitely see shisui getting married pretty young, like early 20s. if he finds his person he's going for it. probably gets a lot of shit for it from his family, but he doesn't care

loooong honeymoon period. in part because they're still a young couple but also... shisui is just a really devoted husband. he loves the married life. insists on kissing her goodbye every morning, eating together every night, stuff like that

LOVES DECORATING THEIR HOUSE are u kidding me. let's say they get a kinda shitty place right after they get married, and put a tonne of work into doing it up. he gets so into painting, building the furniture, even starts up a little herb garden in their kitchen

finds so many ways to drop his wife into conversation lol. he's down bad even after the honeymoon period ends, so he wants to show her off. his FAV is when she swings by his workplace to bring him his 'forgotten' lunch. he turns around to the rest of the guys like. yeah. that's my WIFE. isn't she hot.

very much a believer in keeping the romance alive. he wants to keep making the effort with her until the day he dies. veryyyy good at remembering anniversaries, scheduling regular date nights, etc. always makes sure she has fresh flowers in the house

obviously it isn't all perfect though. especially while they're young (and presumably both still active, high-ranking shinobi) their schedules keep them apart a lot. and this hits shisui really hard tbh. he hates coming back to an empty home after a long mission, knowing he might not even see his wife before he has to leave again

work is probably where most of their arguments stem from, actually. I don't see it being a regular thing, but it's easy for resentment to build in those kinds of situations. shisui is very torn between his love for his village, and his love for his wife, and the fact he can't prioritise both. thankfully shisui is a good communicator so they make things work.

in terms of jealousy... I don't see it being a common thing. maybe before they get married he tends towards it a bit more, but once she's his wife, why would he worry? she's his entire world and he knows she loves him just as much

the only way I rly see him getting jealous at all is if they're going through a bit of a rough patch for the reasons mentioned above. maybe they haven't seen each other in weeks, and they both get back from a mission on the same day. and there's some kind of event/function that evening that they have to attend

so they barely have a chance to acknowledge each other, before they're pulled apart again by the crowd. so if shisui sees some random guy getting a little too close and flirty with her, he gets more annoyed than he'd like to admit

even then though.. he's not necessarily jealous as much as he is upset. like goddamn just let this poor man have his beloved wife to himself for a night. in this situation he's more likely to behave more rashly than usual, and he might just make some excuses and take her home lol. he gets a little bit pouty until she gives him some attention

overall, though, he's very chill. he trusts her implicitly, and expects the same from her. they need to have a very honest, respectful relationship if he's going to wife her up

god okay and in old age they're so cute together. I bet they have a bunch of kids (probably accidentally tbh lol) so then they end up with a whole squadron of grandchildren. he's that fun grandpa who sneaks them sweets when the parents aren't looking. all the grandbabies want to sleep over at their house. and they LOVE it.

to sum up: very good husband. very relaxed, communicates well, makes her feel loved every day. why did he have to die I want to throw myself off a bridge.

tobirama

first of all. good job to this woman. wrangling tobirama into marriage is not an easy job. he's so fucking ANNOYING. it probably takes him years to confess he even has feelings for her, let alone ask for her hand in marriage

but once he gets there. it's pretty cute. he doesn't really act very differently for the most part - he'd already decided his heart belonged to her well before they married, and wholly committed. so his behaviour doesn't change much, and there isn't much of a honeymoon period. sorry. he's like marriage is just a contractual agreement why would it change anything between us

he does make a few little indulgences though. he gets this smug little look every time he introduces her as his wife. he's actually just a lot more prone to 'showing her off' in general, and more likely to show some physical affection in public. for tobirama that's maybe a peck on the cheek lol. but it's progress

he's definitely a lot.... gentler?idk. with her once they're married as well. he makes an effort to be more patient and less snippy, and shows his appreciation for her in a lot of quiet little ways. for example, he'll be sure to leave work on time no matter how busy it is if he knows she's putting a lot of effort into dinner that night. or if she spends a second too long looking at a new dress in the store, he's buying it for her

on that note. tobirama is such a provider once they're married. he does have that traditional idea of providing for his wife. he'll probably ask her if she wants to become a stay at home wife tbh. if she says yes, he still expects her to get out in the community of course. he'd love if she did volunteering work, maybe at the hospital or with kids or something. but he's also equally happy for her to keep working. power couple vibes very strong

they have a nice, quiet little house away from the village where no one bothers then and they loooove it. especially tobirama, his wife and their home are his sanctuary. everyone else gtfo

other than that, not much is really different from before their marriage. they probably actually lead quite independent lives, to the point where people don't even know they're married until tobirama drops it into conversation a few months later. they're very private and lowkey.

unfortunately for her, tobirama's paranoia also persists. he's a bit delulu sometimes lol and she knows this going in. but it does inevitably cause some issues, especially if she's headstrong (which is definitely the type of woman he ends up with)

he trusts his wife more than anything. he would never doubt her for a second. but other men? the enemy. not to be trusted. they're all dogs. it drives him absolutely batshit crazy to watch them ogling her, or god forbid trying to flirt with her. which is actually kinda common bc they're such a lowkey couple, so people assume she's single

tobirama isn't one to make a scene per se, but this definitely leads to a few awkward situations in public, and she probably ends up embarrassed a few times. and there's 10000% arguments behind closed doors. I don't see either of them being good with this lol. he acts like she's his political enemy he's ridiculous

but because he loves her so much, and he actually really wants to put work into the longevity of their marriage, he'll come around. he's a lot softer and more willing to compromise when it comes to her. but she can't point that out because he's mortified

over time, he chills out a lot more. they're one of those couples that just get stronger and better with time. they grow a lot together, and although they probably continue to disagree a lot throughout their marriage, it's always in a way that leaves their relationship stronger. and he only gets softer for her. people (hashirama) even start to point out how devoted he is and he can't even deny it. cute

overall a kind of difficult husband, because he is an exceptionally difficult man, but my god he loves her so much. he would do anything to make her happy.

#this was so much fun #I HAVE TWO RING FINGERS MY BEAUTIFUL BOYS #naruto #naruto x reader #shisui #shisui uchiha #shisui x reader #shisui uchiha x reader #tobirama #tobirama senju #tobirama x reader #tobirama senju x reader

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yoongiseesawmp3 · 2 years ago

Text

all things end - mingyu

summary: you grew up with mingyu. he was your first kiss. your first boyfriend. the first man you ever loved. some things just aren’t meant to last, but during some time apart you struggle to forget mingyu, and he does his best to get you back. because who could ever love you as much as he does?

word count: 12.7k

warnings: afab reader, some gendered terms. ex!mingyu / childhood friends to lovers so plenty of fluff and angst, uhhhh scheming cheol too

masterlist

“what?” cheol groans, answering the phone despite being in the middle of a workout.

“can i come over?” you ask meekly on the other end, and his heart twists.

“bad day?”

“yeah.”

“sure, i’ll be there in 20. come by whenever.”

“thank you,” you sniff, and he hangs up, finishing his last few reps before rushing to get back to his apartment. this is your third bad day this week. your breakup is, understandably, hitting you hard. cheol can’t help but wonder, if you’re so torn up about this, why did you leave mingyu at all? maybe one day he’ll finally ask, but for now he just heads home and shoots you a text asking what kind of ice cream you’ll need tonight.

“so i was walking my dog,” you say, scooping a spoonful of ice cream into your mouth before you continue, “and you know how gyu always liked taking him by that lake at sunset?”

“sure,” cheol nods. “was it sunset when you walked by and it made you think of mingyu?”

“well. yeah.”

“and that’s what prompted today’s spiral?” he asks, grabbing the ice cream from your cold hands so he can hack at it with his spoon.

“i am not spiraling,” you say, trying to swoop your spoon in but getting knocked away by your best friend. “rude.”

“you spiral every time something reminds you of mingyu,” he says, “or when someone mentions him, or, the most idiotic part, when you see him because someone thought you should stay friends despite the messy breakup.”

“i hate when you try to be the voice of reason,” you complain.

“i’m not trying, i am.”

“it’s annoying.”

“stop having problems then,” he says with a mouthful of ice cream. you get up and toss the blanket in your lap back onto the couch, and cheol whines, “where are you going?”

“you’re obviously no help so i’ll just go back home and cry myself to sleep or something.”

“no fair! don’t make me feel bad for you! you put yourself in this situation! i don’t even know why you and mingyu broke up in the first place!”

“i’ve told you a million times,” you whine, sitting back down and tossing your head into the armrest of the couch. “we just weren’t meant for each other anymore.”

“god, why does your answer get more vague every time?” cheol teases, kicking you lightly with his foot. “am i ever gonna get the real reason? did you have a big fight? he doesn’t want kids? you called his mom a hoe?”

“we didn’t fight, i didn’t call mrs. kim anything mean, and we definitely didn’t fight about kids,” you reply, and cheol smiles like the cheshire cat.

“lemme guess. you’ve both already agreed on baby names?”

“shut up.”

“is one of them at least seungcheol? cheol junior? come on, i deserve it,” he pleads, finally getting a laugh out of you.

“if by some act of god mingyu and i get back together and decide to have kids we will consider naming a potential child after you,” you say just to appease him, your heart twisting because you know you and mingyu won’t be together again for that to even be a possibility.

“i’m holding you to that,” he says smugly, and you roll your eyes, leaving it at that. you’re both quiet for a while, passing the ice cream back and forth. you like that cheol doesn’t take you too seriously when you’re like this, because you need the break from your own thoughts. but it’s nice like this too, just being around each other. you decide to break the silence when you notice what time it is, getting up for real. “where are you going now?”

“home,” you sigh. “i have to get up early tomorrow to take fred to the vet, so i should go to sleep.”

“ok,” cheol nods. “text me what flavor you want tomorrow night and i’ll pick it up on the way home from work.”

“i’ll try my best not to need this tomorrow, but thank you,” you say. “i appreciate it more than you know.”

“anytime y/n,” cheol smiles. “let me know when you get home!”

“will do. night cheol.”

you’re up bright and early the next morning to take fred in for his appointment before you have to go to work. it’s allergy season, and no one warned you that your sweet little man could have allergies worse than any human you’ve ever met. fred has a rash on his back that he keeps trying to lick, bite, and scratch, so your vet gave him some medicine and a cone of shame to keep him from bothering the area for a while. you’re laughing to yourself as you take him home, eager to put the cone on him, just to see what it looks like. once you have it on, you laugh again and snap a picture because, yes, he looks silly. you post it to your story and forget about it as you go about the rest of your day.

a little after lunch, mingyu is taking a break from staring at his computer and goes to check his phone. after refreshing instagram, his heart leaps when he sees your icon at the top of his page, alerting him to what you’ve posted. yeah, yeah, he shouldn’t still follow you technically, but he can’t help himself. he only lets his conscious stop him for a couple seconds before he’s tapping your icon and viewing your story, which is fred in his cone of shame. mingyu, who loved you so much but quite possibly loved fred more, freaks out. something must be wrong, and before he thinks better of it he texts you to ask what’s wrong.

you’re in a meeting when you get the text. you’re bored out of your mind, otherwise you would’ve just let it be. but your mind keeps wandering and now that you’ve heard the buzz of a message come through you can’t help yourself. you lift your phone just slightly to take a look, and you slam it back down when you see mingyu’s name lighting your screen. you do your best to ignore it through the rest of your meeting, but your mind keeps wandering back to him.

your lack of a reply has mingyu freaking out even more. he texts a couple more times, asking questions so hopefully when you do reply mingyu will get the information all at once. but all of those go unanswered too, and he can’t take it anymore. he calls you, biting his lip anxiously as he waits to find out what’s going on.

your phone rings as you’re leaving your meeting, and your heart drops when you see that it’s mingyu. you haven’t had time to read his texts, but if he’s been bothering you this much it must be serious. you take a breath, preparing for the worst, and then you accept the call.

“hello?” you ask meekly, and you hear mingyu sigh on the other end.

“y/n,” he says, relieved. “finally. what’s going on?”

“uh, nothing?” you reply. “i’m at work.”

“huh? why?!”

“it’s a wednesday? most people with jobs work on wednesdays,” you explain.

“no, i mean what’s going on with fred?” mingyu clarifies, and that’s when you notice the worry in his voice. you used to be able to pick up on his emotions instantly, and it sends a jab to your chest that it took you this long to realize he was upset.

“oh, he has allergies,” you laugh. “he uh, he was bothering a spot on his back so the vet gave him that collar to stop him from licking it.”

“so he’s ok?” mingyu asks, and you nod as you respond.

“he’s fine, just inbred probably,” you joke, earning a little nose snort from mingyu. “listen, uh, i’m at work, so-”

“yeah, yeah, go, sorry for bothering you,” mingyu replies. “give fred a hug for me.”

“will do. bye mingyu.”

“bye baby,” he says without thinking. he hangs up, realization hitting him a second too late. he thinks about texting you to apologize, but he’s bugged you enough today. maybe you didn’t hear it? he can just ignore it, right? it’s not like you’ll be talking to each other soon anyway, so maybe you’ll forget it eventually.

the first time mingyu called you baby was an accident, too. you were really close friends, but nothing more. you’ve known mingyu since you were five, when his family moved in next to yours and your parents made you play together because you were both around the same age.

for you, he was the stinky neighbor boy who would make your heart flutter when he pulled up weeds and handed them to you like a bouquet of flowers. for mingyu, you were the pretty neighbor he wasn’t quite sure how to talk to, so he did things like pull up weeds for you. he usually showed his love for you like that, in more physical ways than verbal. one time, when you were about ten and he was almost twelve, you told mingyu you really liked another neighbor’s bike and you wished you had one like it for yourself. he still remembers asking poor dokyeom if he could borrow it, and he also remembers how much his parents yelled at him when they found out he had given it to you as a surprise. you teased mingyu about that constantly, still laughing over the memory of him walking the bike back to dokyeom’s house with the saddest look on his face. that was the first time he realized he only wanted to do things that made you happy, and it was the first time you realized mingyu was more sweet than he was stinky.

the first time he called you baby was late one night at his house. you had been friends so long your parents weren’t worried about leaving you alone together (secretly hoping you would wipe the idiocy from your eyes and fall in love already). you were in the basement at mingyu’s, sitting comfortably next to him on the couch and watching a scary movie, despite your protests. mingyu wasn’t usually a scary movie guy either, but your friends at school had talked about this movie so much that mingyu got teased for not watching it.

he had summoned you like he always did, standing on the fence in his backyard and shouting your name until you opened your bedroom window. your houses were so close you didn’t have to yell once the window was open, so you spoke normally as you told mingyu firmly that you would not be watching that with him. it only took a few seconds of him pouting for you to cave, and once you were settled on the couch he said passively, “don’t worry baby, i’ve got you if it gets too scary.”

that one little word had haunted you for days, by far scarier than the movie you watched that night. mingyu had called you baby. that’s not what friends call each other, that’s boyfriend/girlfriend stuff. and that definitely wasn’t you and mingyu.

at least to the two of you it wasn’t. to everyone else, you were an item. it was so obvious you liked each other that guys wouldn’t approach you, and girls knew not to fall for mingyu because he would never fall back. it took ages for you two to notice, but once you did, your life had never been more lovely. to love mingyu and be loved by him is one of the best things you’ve ever done. his love is deep and he loves hard, and for some people that kind of passion can be a little scary. it was definitely scary for you, even if took a while for you to notice.

just like the first time he called you baby, that one slip up on the phone stuck with you. you couldn’t tell cheol about it, because he’d just question the whole break up again, so you sat with it quietly as you played the sound of mingyu’s voice over and over again in your head.

days later, mingyu had already forgotten about it. he was worried at first, but when the world didn’t implode immediately after he basically let it go. you’d assume it was a mistake, not him still pining for you despite what happened. so he pushed it to the back of his mind.

that weekend, you found yourself at hoshi’s for a party. his apartment was packed, so you were prepared to get tipsy and then head home. cheol wasn’t there yet so you were bothering seungkwan instead, and he was doing everything he could to get rid of you. that includes pushing you into someone’s firm chest on accident, and you almost fall through the floor when you look up and see mingyu staring back at you in shock. you’re just drunk enough that you want to have a little fun with him, a mischievous smirk slowly forming on your face.

“hey, baby,” you emphasize, watching as mingyu’s face starts out hopeful and then falls slightly.

“oh, haha,” he laughs nervously. “hey. um, so you noticed that the other day.”

“i did.”

“s-sorry,” he stutters. “old habits die hard.”

you nod in agreement as you take a sip of your drink, not so sure now, with his big brown eyes staring you down, why you thought talking to him was a good idea. you usually spent these parties pressed up against mingyu’s chest, back to front, his arm wrapped around you lazily. suddenly you’re cold just at the thought, and you ache to feel mingyu wrapped around you again.

“how’s fred?” he asks, trying to keep you next to him for as long as possible.

“he’s good,” you nod. “doesn’t need the cone anymore.”

“aw, lame, those pictures were funny,” mingyu pouts, and you have to look away so you don’t have the urge to kiss him.

“yeah, well, i still have it so i can put it back on him if he ever gets annoying.”

“that’s good,” mingyu nods now, awkwardly looking around for a way out of this conversation without being rude. he misses you, and he was totally aware of that, but it’s easier to push it away when you’re not standing so close, your perfume encasing him in memories of when you were his. now you’re not, and mingyu wants to go home. he’s searching the room for someone to talk to so this moment won’t be so pathetic, but cheol comes to the rescue.

“hey ex lovebirds,” cheol teases, bumping into you enough to make you stumble. mingyu reaches out to steady you, but cheol grabs you by the waist to keep you in place, and mingyu has to look away or else he might light on fire with anger. it’s a simple touch, he knows cheol doesn’t mean anything by it, but it always bothered him when other people tried to take care of you. that was his job, and he didn’t like anyone getting in the way of that. “why do you both look so miserable? it’s a party. drink, have fun, maybe kiss a little-”

“i do need another drink,” you say, taking the first chance to leave this situation. you look to both guys before asking, “do you need anything?” they shake their heads, so you escape to the kitchen and mentally mark the living room off. you can’t go back out there now. maybe it’s time for you to just leave.

“so,” cheol says, smirk hiding behind his cup. “how’s your plan going?”

“what plan?” mingyu asks, obviously confused.

“your plan to get y/n back,” cheol replies nonchalantly. “you have one, right? otherwise i don’t see why you aren’t leaving my friend alone after such a devastating break up.”

“i’m your friend too?! what about me and my feelings?”

“you annoy me more than y/n does, so i’m on her side,” cheol jokes, and mingyu groans. “but seriously. what’s going on here? she won’t tell me anything.”

“we broke up.”

“i know that. elaborate.”

“no,” mingyu says stubbornly, crossing his arms. “that’s between me and y/n. she won’t tell you so neither will i.”

“god, forget it. i’m on no one’s side, you’re both annoying,” cheol scoffs. “match made in heaven, you two.”

it’s quiet between them for a moment, both men just sloshing their drinks around in their cups, looking around at their drunken friends ruining hoshi’s lovely home. mingyu thinks for a second, deciding if he’ll actually admit this to cheol or not, but he slams the rest of his drink and turns to his friend before he can change his mind.

“i don’t have a plan,” he starts off. “yet. i’m trying to feel things out. i tried giving y/n space, and that’s not working for me. i love her, dude. i’ll only ever love her.”

“then go get her!” cheol says incredulously, motioning for the kitchen. “she’s hiding in there so she doesn’t have to see you, she’d be easy to corner-”

“but,” mingyu interjects. “but. i don’t know if she wants me back. she broke things off, so i’m trying to respect that. i just...i don’t know if she loves me anymore, man. so i want to make a plan, i want to get her back, but i’m afraid of what would happen if it doesn’t work. if she really doesn’t love me anymore.”

“hm,” cheol hums before he finishes his own drink. he takes a minute, smacks his lips, then turns to his idiotic best friend. “get her back. as soon as possible, actually. she’s a wreck without you. whatever happened for her to break up with you, i’m sorry. but she hasn’t stopped talking about you since. she still loves you man, no doubt. so i think you should try. and let me know how i can help, because, man, she’s really been bumming me out lately being all sad like this.”

“she’s sad?” mingyu asks, sadness appearing on his own features, making cheol roll his eyes.

“i said a whole essay and that’s the only thing you picked up on?”

“no, i get it,” mingyu nods. “i’ll think of something.”

“good,” cheol nods, then points to mingyu’s cup. “you want a refill?”

“do you mind grabbing it for me?” mingyu asks sheepishly.

“no,” cheol says in disbelief. “you can’t be hiding from her too.”

“what if i am!”

“i’m so close to revoking my offer to help,” cheol complains as he snatches mingyu’s cup from him. “i’ll be back.”

mingyu’s conversation with cheol set his mind in motion. he hasn’t stopped thinking about you since, as if that was new. but now he has a reason to spend all his time thinking about you. truthfully, mingyu isn’t sure he knows why you broke things off. at least, he doesn’t know how to explain it to people. he knows it must have made sense to you, and to him, enough for him to let you go. but he just remembers one very tearful conversation where you told him you couldn’t do this anymore, and that was it. he’d steal the sun to make your world brighter, so if he wasn’t making you happy anymore he wasn’t going to stick around if you didn’t want him there.

but now. now he’s wishing he had fought back. asked questions. tried to fix things instead of just running away. he still loves you, and if cheol’s right and you still love him, then what the hell are you doing?

your first date with mingyu was simple. since it took you both years to realize your mutual feelings for each other, there wasn’t much you hadn’t already done together. you already tried out new restaurants together, went to arcades and movies and concerts just the two of you. you even forced mingyu to get a membership at your favorite museum so you could drag him along anytime there was a new exhibit you were dying to see. so when mingyu finally asked you out, he wasn’t sure what to do. he wracked his brain for the fanciest restaurant he could think of, or searched for romantic movies playing around town, but none of it felt right. none of it felt like you.

that’s why your first date was simple. he knew he didn’t have to do something grandiose to impress you, so instead he invited you over to his dorm and made you dinner. he wouldn’t tell you what he was making, but when you walked in it smelled familiar. not just because mingyu’s scent wafted up around you when he welcomed you in, but because the food on the stove instantly reminded you of home. you tried peeking at the pots to see if you could figure out what it was, but mingyu cutely pushed you away.

“you’re gonna ruin the surprise!” he whines, childishly pushing you out to the living room. “you can’t be in here!”

“so you’re telling me i can’t be around my boyfriend on our first date?” you challenge him, and his force falters. “i want to spend time with you gyu, let me at least be in the kitchen with you.”

“promise not to look at the food though,” he says with a finger in your face. you grab his hand and wrap yours in his sweaty, warm grasp.

“i’ll keep my eyes on you, deal?”

“deal,” he smiles shyly, squeezing your hand before pulling you behind him into the kitchen. he starts working with just one hand, so you let go of his other one to make it easier for him to cook. “why’d you do that?”

“do what?” you ask, leaning against the counter so you can sit back and watch.

“let go,” he pouts, reaching for you again.

“you have to use both hands to cook, baby,” you laugh, and you watch with love in your eyes as he blushes a deep pink.

“right,” he nods. “ok. it’s almost done, but if you’re hungry there’s snacks in the fridge.”

“i’m good,” you say quietly, watching as mingyu returns to chopping something. you silently admire him as he works, your heart warming as it settles in your mind: mingyu is finally yours. your first love. your only love, probably, is your boyfriend. how amazing is that?

“baby?” mingyu repeats, snapping you out of your trance. there’s the hint of a smile on his face as your eyes meet his. “did you hear me?”

“no, what did you say?” now it’s your turn to blush. mingyu takes a step closer, carefully placing his hands on your hips.

“i said it’s ready,” he smiles. “you were staring at me.”

“yeah, i told you i was gonna do that.”

“what were you thinking about?” mingyu barely whispers, his face incredibly close to yours now.

i was thinking about how much i love you.

“um, you?”

“what about me?”

“i was mentally critiquing your form,” you tease, a smile breaking out across both your faces.

“and how was it?” he asks, close enough now that you can feel his breath on your lips.

“you’re gonna chop a finger off one day,” you reply quietly, eyes drifting down to mingyu’s lips as you speak. he notices and the side of his mouth quirks up in a smirk.

“how’s my form now?” he asks before hastily pressing a kiss to your lips, pulling back almost like the touch sent a shock through him.

“could be better,” you squeak out, and he nods before leaning back down to capture your lips in a real kiss. it’s warm, delicate but strong, and it’s mingyu. you can’t seem to wrap your head around that part. mingyu is kissing you right now. you’re kissing mingyu. and he’s really good at it. sooner than you’d like, he’s pulling away again.

“how was that?” he asks, lips just barely grazing over yours.

“better,” you reply breathlessly. “you take criticism well.”

“i’m just here to please you baby,” he says, his words dripping with double meanings. you feel a chill run down your spine as you notice the hungry look in his eyes, and you clear your throat before speaking.

“so, um, can i see the food now or do i have to eat with my eyes closed?”

“depends,” mingyu replies. “you want me to feed it to you?”

“stop being weird,” you laugh, pushing him away playfully but instantly missing the warmth of his chest against yours. you ignore his smile and lean over the stove, heart picking up as you try to see what he made. mingyu puts his arms around your waist fully and moves you out of the way, back to his childish shoves and whines about ruining the surprise.

in a few minutes, you’re sat on his couch, eyes closed with a bowl of something warm in your lap. mingyu was serious about feeding you, at least the first bite, because he wants to keep the meal a surprise. as you complain about it for the millionth time, mingyu brings a spoon up to your lips and quietly asks you to open your mouth. you welcome the food, and your eyes shoot open when you immediately recognize the taste.

“chicken and dumplings?” you ask, and mingyu smiles proudly. “how’d you learn to make that? it tastes just like home. i can’t...i don’t believe you made this.”

“please,” mingyu scoffs. “i was over at your house enough that i saw your grandma, your mom, even you, make this a million times. i made it the exact same way.”

“i can’t believe this,” you shake your head. “i...this is perfect, gyu. thank you.”

“no problem baby,” he smiles as he cuddles into your side, handing you another full spoon. “your turn.”

“what?” you ask, confused, just to turn and see mingyu waiting with his mouth open. you laugh, letting your head fall onto his shoulder. “you’re embarrassing.”

“yeah, but you love it,” he laughs along, taking the spoon back so he can start eating too. as he goes on about how perfectly he cooked this, he misses the way your face heats up as you think, yes, you do love it. you love him, and you’re trying to figure out how soon is too soon to tell him that.

part one of mingyu’s plan is a little concerning. he’s not following you, no, he’s not doing anything that would make you uncomfortable, but...he is hanging around your favorite coffeeshop in the mornings. he knows he’s bound to catch you here at least once this week, and he doesn’t mind doing a little work in such a cozy place anyway. if he sees you, great. if not, also great. he’s been more productive the past two days than he has all month.

he gets lucky on the third day, because he hears a familiar laugh at the door and his ears perk up like an excited puppy. he sees you holding the door open for someone, and he tries to not make it obvious that he’s staring. you’re wearing one of his hoodies. if he had any doubts about this, now they’re all erased, because you’re wearing one of his hoodies. he didn’t even remember giving it to you, so it must have been one you stole from him. it’s old too, he can tell there’s a hole near the wrist that you’re trying to not accidentally slip a finger through. he keeps flicking his eyes up to you as you ask for your usual, mouthing the words along with you just to make sure he’s still got it. café con leche, sprinkle of cinnamon. when you turn around after paying, mingyu ducks his head down and goes back to work. he won’t approach you just yet, so he tries to lay low.

but you saw him the moment you walked in. a big dude like that? he sticks out immediately. your blood ran cold when you caught him staring at you, mentally cursing yourself for not changing shirts before you left the house. it might be a little pathetic, but you slept in this hoodie last night. the heat in your place hasn’t been working well and it was unusually cold, so you needed the extra coverage. this hoodie was the first thing you pulled from your closet, and you were too lazy to find something else. you won’t admit being wrapped up in mingyu’s scent helped you have the best sleep you’ve gotten since the break up. you try to ignore the feeling of mingyu’s eyes on you as you order, and when you turn back to the seating area you laugh to yourself seeing mingyu look away like he wasn’t boring holes into your back. you scan the room for an empty spot and find one, but your own eyes pull back to mingyu. you wait at the counter for your drink, and take a deep breath before walking over.

“should i go ahead and sit with you, or did you wanna stare a little bit longer?” you ask once you reach mingyu’s table, his head snapping up in shock at you approaching him without noticing.

“uh, i, um, i wasn’t, this isn’t what it looks like,” he blubbers, and you roll your eyes.

“you know if you wanted to talk to me you can just call,” you mumble as you pull the seat out and sit down.

“hey, i’m actually working,” he says, sliding his laptop around to prove it. “maybe i’m just here to enjoy the ambiance.”

“fine,” you nod, sipping your drink and loving the way it instantly puts you at ease. “don’t let me interrupt.” you start pulling out your own things, setting up your laptop before deciding you might want to read instead. you compromise and send some emails first, the rapid sound of your typing somehow comforting to mingyu. he resettles himself, accidentally bumping your leg with his under the table.

“sorry,” he whispers.

“it’s okay,” you reply, a sympathetic grin on your face. “with your long ass legs i’m used to it.”

“still,” he tries not to smile back like an idiot. “sorry.”

you fall back into silence, both of you working on your own things and “enjoying the ambiance.” you’re not sure how much time passes before mingyu interrupts the quiet.

“hey,” he whispers, grabbing your attention. he nods to your laptop and asks, “what are you doing?”

“i’m working, mingyu,” you laugh. “what are you doing?”

“working,” he replies quickly. “been a busy week for me.”

“hm, same here.”

“cold too,” he tries, smiling proudly when you shift in your seat. he caught you. “did you magically lose all your other hoodies and jackets, or does someone miss stealing my clothes?”

“i didn’t steal this,” you counter, accusing finger pointed in his direction. “you insisted i take this one because you didn’t want it anymore but you said it was too sentimental to donate. i did you a favor by taking this ratty old thing.”

“but you kept it,” he says happily, finishing his coffee and pointing to your long empty mug. “you want another?”

“sure,” you reply sheepishly, “a café co-”

“café con leche, sprinkle of cinnamon,” mingyu finishes in unison with you. then a sly smile as he says, “i remember, baby. be right back.”

“what the hell did you say to mingyu?” you bark at seungcheol over the phone. “why was he at my coffeeshop this morning? and why’s he suddenly calling me baby all casual like we’re still dating?”

“this is news to me,” cheol says, but you can hear the smirk in his voice. “i didn’t say anything to him. at least not anything i think he heard. that boyfriend of yours can be an airhead sometimes.”

“he’s not my boyfriend,” you grumble.

“but he bought you coffee this morning?”

“he told you?!”

“i’m not at liberty to say,” cheol laughs. “just enjoy it, y/n. whatever he’s up to, it can’t hurt to see where it goes.”

“i hate you both,” you groan, hanging up as cheol mumbles a “right, sure.” when the call is over, you fall back down onto your bed, mind working top speed to decide what to do next. you could move and change your name, leaving mingyu and cheol behind. that’s a bit dramatic. you could tell cheol to get fucked, but he’d find a way to bring mingyu into it. and mingyu. you don’t know what to do about him. you could just ask him to leave you alone, and you think he would. but a little part of you does want to see where this goes.

you wake up the next morning to the smell of something coming from your kitchen. you rush up, afraid you somehow left dinner on the stove and you’re seconds away from burning the building down. but when you crash into the kitchen, ungracefully, you’re met with mingyu’s muscular back as he looks for something in your fridge. at the sound of your frantic movements, he looks over his shoulder and grumbles out a good morning in the deepest voice you’ve ever heard. you’re stunned, not totally sure how he got here, and totally confused as to why he’s shirtless.

“um, whatcha doin?” you ask casually.

“i was gonna make french toast,” mingyu starts out, coming closer to you. “but you’re out of milk. so now it’s just eggs and toast.” as he gets closer, his hands reach out for your waist, and you let him pull you against his warm chest. “is that ok?”

“mhm,” you nod, not sure what to do with your hands. you don’t want to put them on his chest, afraid the skin to skin contact would ignite something dangerous in you. you also don’t want to put them around his neck because that territory feels just as dangerous. so that leaves you with your hands bunched up by your chest and mingyu looking on, amused.

“afraid to touch me?” he asks, a smirk on his stupidly kissable lips.

“no, um, i just-” you stutter, but what sounds like a phone alarm cuts you off. was mingyu baking something?

“you gonna get that, baby?” he asks, seemingly referring to the alarm but you don’t know where it’s coming from.

“what? it’s not mine,” you say, and you miss what mingyu says next as you’re jolted awake by something furry laying on your chest. you carefully open your eyes, afraid that maybe mingyu just forgot to shave and somehow he would be the one on top of you right now. but it’s just fred, and the alarm is yours. your phone is going off, reminding you that you’re probably gonna be late to work. you scramble to get up and start your day, but you can’t stop thinking about mingyu.

about halfway through the day, you get a text from cheol asking if you want to get dinner that night. his friend jeonghan, who’s always kinda scared you, has tickets to some concert out of town and cheol wants to make it into a big trip. cheol wants you to come, and he knows you two will be the only ones competent enough to plan the whole thing so he needs you as back up tonight. you agree, eager to get a break from work and from mingyu. going out of town will be a nice distraction, and even though jeonghan is intimidating he’s still really fun to be around.

speak of the devil, he’s the first to wrap you up in a hug when you get to the guys’ table that night, and he whispers something to you about mingyu being annoying and you’re better off without him. you smile at the condolence and let him drag you into the open seat next to him. he and cheol start filling you in on the plans, when you’ll leave, where you’ll stay, day of the concert, etc. you give some advice on things to do in your free time, and jeonghan types it all into his phone while cheol price checks your options.

“so there’s one airbnb with enough beds for each of us, but it’s $100 more a night, compared to this one with a queen, a twin, and a sofa bed, which is the cheapest option and also closer to everything we want to do,” cheol says, nose still in his phone.

“book the cheap one then,” you shrug. “one of y’all can take the queen bed as long as i don’t get put on the pull out.”

“i can take the pull out,” jeonghan offers. “i’ll sleep wherever.”

“and i’ll take the twin,” cheol says. “gives me my own room.”

“so we won’t be able to hear you snoring?” you ask. “thank god.”

“ignoring that,” cheol mumbles, writing something down on his napkin. “so that would make it $80 even for each of us for the whole weekend. i can book it and you can send me your money whenever.”

“sounds good,” jeonghan nods as he pours you all more soju.

“wait, that makes no sense,” you start. “it’s only $80? for the whole weekend?”

“yep,” cheol nods, waving the napkin in your face. “wanna check my work, teacher?”

“no, jack ass,” you laugh, pushing his hand out of the way before graciously taking the glass jeonghan hands you. “just shocked you found such a steal.”

“speaking of stealing things,” jeonghan says, “whose car are we taking?”

“mine is in the shop,” cheol sighs. “and y/n doesn’t drive.”

“guess we’ll take mingyu’s then,” jeonghan decides. cheol’s eyes flick over to you on instinct, and when he doesn’t see a reaction from you he smiles.

“cool, i can pick everyone up on friday then?” he asks, and you nod. with everything planned, your conversation can stray off to other topics while the drinks flow, and that’s how you end up flipping through jeonghan’s tinder for him later in the night. you’re maybe too tipsy to be doing this, but jeonghan likes the chaos of it, and cheol is just happy to see you having fun. he hopes this trip will help with that too.

cheol comes to pick you up, as promised, but he texts you when he pulls up that you’ll have to sit in the back. you get out of your building and recognize mingyu’s car immediately, tossing your bag in the trunk before grabbing the door to the backseat. when you slide in, you almost jump out of your skin when you see mingyu sitting back there too.

“told you it’d surprise her,” you hear cheol and jeonghan laugh, but you’re too busy trying to sputter out a question.

“hey y/n,” mingyu says shyly.

“hi?” you reply, looking to cheol who’s staring at you through the rearview mirror. “um? hello?”

“hey,” he smiles. “you buckled?”

“no she’s not,” mingyu replies for you, and you roll your eyes before you put the seatbelt in place.

“sorry, but what’s he doing here?” you ask. “you stole the car and the owner?”

“no, he’s coming with us,” jeonghan replies. “i thought i told you i had four tickets to the show?”

“no?” you say, voice at a higher pitch than you’d like it to be.

“is there a problem, y/n?” cheol asks, looking at you through the rearview again so if you really weren’t comfortable with this he would see.

“no,” you sigh after a second. “just didn’t expect it, that’s all.”

“for the record,” mingyu whispers, leaning close to you, “this was not part of my plan. i swear.”

“but it was part of mine!” cheol jokes, and mingyu kicks his chair. “hey, don’t make me pull this car over.”

“you mean my car?!” mingyu screeches back, and you lean up to whisper in jeonghan’s ear.

“why did you think bringing these two on a trip would be fun?” you ask loud enough for cheol and gyu to hear, making the car erupt in whines and cries while jeonghan laughs. it’s gonna be a long ride, you think to yourself.

you’re able to sleep most of the way there, only getting interrupted every once in a while when mingyu moves his long limbs to get comfortable. each time it’s an awkward half smile in apology, and you just nod in recognition. you don’t really want him here, to be honest. this trip was supposed to take your mind off him. now how will that be possible?

mingyu feels bad for surprising you like this, really. cheol asked him to come on this trip and didn’t say you’d be joining them until it was too late for mingyu to back out, so he wants a minute alone with you to explain. he wants to tell you that he can hang back, if you want to enjoy some time with the guys sans your ex boyfriend. he’ll do whatever makes you happy, like usual.

mingyu’s desire to talk to you is what leads him to follow you to your room at the airbnb, saying he’s looking for the bathroom but really he wants to apologize for the ambush. you turn back to the door once you’ve placed your things on the bed, jumping when you see his large form cowering in the doorway.

“bathroom’s not in here, gyu,” you tell him. “think it’s the next door on the left.”

“i’m not looking for the bathroom,” he says, taking a careful step into your room. “i wanted to say i’m sorry, for this. i didn’t know you were coming either, or else i would’ve backed out. i don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“i’m not uncomfortable around you, mingyu,” you say firmly. “i just-”

“you forgot your stuff dude,” cheol says, popping up behind mingyu and handing him his bag. then he looks at you quickly, smiling before he teases, “i see you’ve found the honeymoon suite?”

“the-what?” you ask, confused.

“you ended up with the biggest bed, y/n, so you gotta share with the friendly giant over here,” cheol explains as he nods in mingyu’s direction. “he’s definitely not fitting on the twin with me.”

“and i don’t like him enough to share a bed with him!” jeonghan shouts from somewhere else in the house.

“you’re fucking kidding me.”

“no time to complain right now,” cheol says as he checks his watch. “we’ve got dinner reservations. mingyu, bathroom is next door, you might wanna change your shirt before we leave. i don’t wanna stare at y/n’s drool while i eat.”

“my what?” you ask, looking at mingyu to see what cheol is referring to. there’s a spot near mingyu’s collarbone that looks slightly wet, and your hand flies to your mouth as you gasp, “i drooled on you?! how? why didn’t you push me off?!”

“you were asleep!” mingyu replies, voice an octave or two higher. “i felt bad! you just kinda fell onto my shoulder, and i didn’t wanna wake you up!”

“we’re leaving in five minutes, whether you’re ready or not,” cheol tells mingyu. he walks away, and mingyu grabs a new shirt out of his bag before heading back to the door.

“uh, gyu?” you call, and he turns immediately. “s-sorry..for, that, i guess,” you say, pointing to his shirt. “next time you have full permission to push me. promise i won’t get mad.”

“it’s okay,” he shrugs. “you know i don’t mind.” and with that, he leaves for the bathroom. you can tell there’s a blush on your cheeks, so you close the door and lock it while you take a minute to chill out. you decide to change too, not wanting to wear your old sweats to dinner even if it’s supposed to be laid back. you’re afraid now that you’ve got drool on your own shirt, so you change into something casual quickly and then join the guys in the living room.

once you’re there, cheol checks that everyone’s good to go, and you all walk out to the car. you don’t catch the way mingyu stares at you the whole time, or maybe you’re just ignoring it. you’re wearing a matching set with a jean jacket, nothing extravagant, but mingyu has the exact same outfit packed in his bag. you bought the sets together, for a last minute trip you took a year ago. mingyu wanted to get matching vacation shirts and you vehemently refused, so you compromised with a his and hers loungewear set. once again, mingyu’s heart soars at the little nod to your time together, because clearly you’re not as detached from it as you claim to be.

at dinner, jeonghan insists on sitting next to you again, so you’re squished into the booth next to him while mingyu looks on in not-so-hidden jealousy. he’s sitting across from you, scanning the menu and trying not to flick his eyes up to you. jeonghan starts talking about what he wants to try, and cheol asks if they should just order a bunch of plates and share everything.

“eh, you guys can do that, but there’s really just one thing i wanted to try,” you say, pushing the menu away now that you’ve found what you want.

“lemme guess,” cheol says as his eyes scan the menu. “you’re gonna get something lame, like chicken alfredo.”

“no,” you shake your head. “i’m trying something new, but it’s not as tomato heavy as the stuff you want, which all sounds nasty, by the way.”

“why’d you agree to come to an italian restaurant if you think the food is nasty?” cheol counters.

“you all seemed excited about trying it,” you shrug. “and like i said, there’s one thing i want. that’s enough.”

“what’s that one thing?” jeonghan cuts in, trying to stop cheol from bickering further.

“let me guess this time,” mingyu smiles. your eyes meet his and you blush under his gaze, thankful for the low lighting at the table. hopefully the guys don’t catch it. you nod and encourage mingyu to take a stab at it, and he pretends to look at the menu again even though this was the first thing he noticed. “you’re getting the gnocchi in the truffle sauce, but you really agreed to italian because you want to get tiramisu for dessert.”

“i, yeah, you got me,” you stammer out.

“what drink is she gonna get?” cheol asks with a smile, head leaning on his hand as he watches in amusement.

“hm,” mingyu looks at the menu seriously. “maybe an espresso with the tiramisu, but i bet you’ll try to make us order the digestif spritz thing at the end of the meal.”

“shut up,” you say, kicking his foot lightly under the table. “i was gonna try it myself, i won’t force y’all to try it if you don’t want to.” jeonghan, not picking up on the eyes you and mingyu are making at each other, joins in.

“i thought about trying that too,” he nods, looking at cheol and asking what he wants to order to share. while they discuss an inordinate amount of food, you’re just staring at mingyu, who’s looking at you smugly. finally you just shake your head and look back down at the menu, judging whatever the other boys decided to order. when the waiter comes back, mingyu smiles proudly as you order exactly what he predicted. mingyu nudges your leg playfully under the table, and you’re about to fight back when jeonghan cuts through your thoughts. “wait, did i tell you guys about the dream i had in the car?”

“i didn’t know you fell asleep,” cheol shakes his head.

“i did, when you were complaining about that girl who wouldn’t call you back.”

“hey!”

“anyway,” jeonghan starts again. “i had a dream that i was at work and y/n came in,” he smiles at you. “i guess you complaining about your job made me subconsciously think we should hire you at my office?”

“anything is better than my job right now,” you laugh, imagining how nothing would get done if you and jeonghan worked together.

“but you came in, and i was going to start training you, and then mingyu comes out of the boss’s office and is like no she’s here to take your job-”

“wait, mingyu was there?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

“yeah, i was there?” mingyu teases. “you in love with me or something?”

“y/n why is that so shocking,” cheol asks more as a statement than a question. “i told you about my mingyu dream, we’ve all got one.”

“please don’t bring that up again,” mingyu groans, head dropping. you smile at the memory of cheol’s legendary mingyu dream, which was basically just dream mingyu being so drunk he somehow climbed a telephone pole and got stuck so he called cheol to come help because he’s “strong and manly.”

“y/n do you have a mingyu dream?” jeonghan asks, and you blush deep enough that they can clearly see it this time, despite the lighting.

“um, i don’t really remember any from when, uh, from recently,” you start. “i guess i had one the other night, but it was one of those dreams that i barely remembered when i woke up. i just know mingyu was there.”

“where was i?” he asks, totally invested now.

“yeah, where was he?” cheol parrots.

“um, my kitchen?”

“can he even fit in there?” jeonghan jokes, but you ignore him.

“so i was cooking for you?” mingyu pesters you, and you nod.

“well, kinda,” you reply. “i don’t really remember.”

“was it a dirty dream?” cheol jokes. “is that why you don’t remember?”

“no, asshole,” you reply. thankfully, the first round of plates arrives to the table then and everyone is distracted for a while. you have to shake the feeling of mingyu staring at you though. it’s like he knows there’s more to the dream than you let on, but you’re not gonna unpack it with the other two sitting right here.

“y/n,” mingyu calls your name quietly. you look up and find him holding a small plate out very politely, and then he gives you his sweetest smile before asking, “can i try a gnocchi?”

“sure,” you nod, scraping one off your plate onto his. “it’s really good.”

“give me one,” cheol says, and before he can even finish you shake your head.

“nope,” you say as you pop another piece into your mouth. “you didn’t ask nicely.”

“whatever,” he grumbles.

the rest of dinner is nice, the food is great, you got your tiramisu and your weird drink at the end of the night, and cheol and jeonghan got sloshed on an expensive bottle of wine. you’re laughing with mingyu as you guide the two drunkards back to the car, struggling to get cheol to put his seatbelt on. once the toddlers are settled you turn to ask mingyu if he’s gonna drive, just to see him waiting for you by the passenger side.

“what are you doing?” you ask quietly.

“being a gentleman,” he replies simply, opening the door for you and handing you the jacket you almost left in your seat. you thank him quietly, heart picking up speed. he closes the door for you before he gets to the driver’s side, and then you’re on your way back to the airbnb. mingyu wordlessly hands you the aux, and you take it as you shuffle your library, not concerned with whatever song comes on. the first one to play is mary’s song by taylor swift, a song that has always reminded you of the way mingyu loved you. for a second, you let yourself reminisce and feel the warmth that mingyu’s love always gave you. absentmindedly, your hand reaches for his on the center console, and when you realize what you’ve done you just pull back like it was an accident. mingyu knows it wasn’t, though. he drives on in content, happy just to be sharing this moment with you, regardless of the circumstances.

back at the house, the guys let you take the bathroom first so you can shower. you promise to be quick, but while you’re in there you relish having a moment to yourself. it’s always nice, even when you’re with people you love, to have a second to yourself on a trip like this. it turns out doing you dirty this time, because the longer you’re left to your own thoughts the more they wander back to mingyu. back to how much you love him, how much he loves you, and how much that scares you. it wasn’t like you left because you didn’t care about him anymore. you were afraid you cared too much, and that it would end up hurting you one day. as all these thoughts pass through your head, you notice you’ve started crying. the shower quickly wipes your tears away, so you finish up and try to collect yourself as you get dressed. you take a couple extra minutes to pamper yourself, using the products the airbnb host left out for guests to try and steady your breathing. you take note of the fancy lotion, contemplating whether or not to steal this one, when jeonghan yelling in the hallway brings you back to reality.

clean and ready for bed, you emerge from the shower with your things in your arms. you almost drop them when you bump into mingyu leaving your room, arms laden with blankets and pillows. you look at him confused before asking what’s going on.

“where are you going?” you ask as you move further into the bedroom, noticing that mingyu has moved all of his things.

“i’m setting up my bed,” he replies.

“i thought you were sleeping with me?” you say, noticing too late how that sounds. “i mean, wait, sorry-”

“yeah, i was supposed to sleep in here, but jeonghan said i can make a bed on the floor and sleep in the living room with him,” mingyu explains with a small smile.

“why?”

“i don’t wanna bother you, y/n,” he says. “i don’t mind.”

he stands there, staring at you, almost like he’s waiting for you to say something. you want to tell him he doesn’t have to sleep on the floor, you want to tell him it’s not a bother, but above all you want to tell him not to leave. with an aching heart you realize, you really want him to stay. but he takes your quiet demeanor as a sign to go, so he turns around and steps back into the hallway.

“mingyu,” you call out quickly, pulling his attention back to you.

“yeah y/n?” he asks, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“mingyu,” you repeat, this time with a touch of sadness in your voice. “just come to bed with me.”

his heart jumps into his throat for a few reasons, first, because you asked him to come to bed with you. to share space with you after so long. he could jump and clap with joy right now, but the sad way you said his name is the other reason his heart is in his throat. that’s when he notices your puffy eyes, and he asks quietly, “have you been crying?”

you don’t need to respond. mingyu already knows. he drops everything in his arms, kicking them out of the way so he can wrap you in his arms instead. you sigh into his chest, willing the tears burning at your eyes to go away, but you let a few slip through as you whisper “i’m sorry” over and over again right above where mingyu’s heart is.

“baby,” he says, pulling your gaze up to his face, then, when your eyes meet his warm ones, “my love. what are you sorry for?”

“for running away,” you whisper. “i got sc-scared, and i’m s-sorry,” you explain as the tears start to fall again. mingyu wraps you back up in his embrace, awkwardly waddling you both toward the bed. his sounds of struggle make you giggle, a happy reprieve from the heart breaking cries mingyu so deeply wishes he could stop for you, but he knows you need to get this out.

“what were you scared of?” he asks as he helps you sit on the edge of the bed, your hands wrapped tightly in his.

“you,” you laugh lightly, making mingyu whine. you smile and put your hand on his cheek, rubbing your thumb over his soft skin as you continue. “it was like one day i woke up and realized how much you loved me. and that was scary. you’ve always been my mingyu, you always will be, but life has just changed so much from when we were kids. things aren’t as easy anymore, and i guess i preemptively got scared that we wouldn’t be easy anymore. the idea of losing you,” you take a deep breath, “of you not loving me anymore one day. that scared the shit out of me.”

“things haven’t changed that much then,” mingyu says with that teasing lilt in his voice you know so well. he looks at you mischievously as he goes on, “you’re still that little kid who runs away when our games stopped going your way.”

“don’t be a dick,” you laugh, head falling onto mingyu’s shoulder. “i know it was silly. but it’s like, once i made that decision, once i decided i had to leave, i couldn’t just come running back the next day when i missed you. i had to sit with it. i made the decision, i needed to face the consequences.”

“you missed me the next day?” mingyu asks, and you scoff.

“you haven’t changed either,” you tell him. “you’re still the world’s best selective listener.”

“i heard what you said,” he nods. “and i won’t say i understand it, but i still love you, y/n. i can promise you that will never change.”

“but-”

“no buts,” he cuts in, pushing your head off his shoulder so he can cup your cheeks and make sure you’re looking at him as he says, “i’m yours. till the end of forever.”

when you were maybe fifteen - that awkward age where you wanted a boyfriend but didn’t want to admit it - mingyu was over at your house. you were so into him, but didn’t realize it yet. mingyu was warming up to the idea of you being his girlfriend, but he was afraid of asking and you turning him down. so you just remained closer than friends, and kept doing what you always did together.

that day, you were trying to do homework, but mingyu kept going through this pile of things under your desk. your mom made you clean up the storage closet, and you had found y/n relics that you wanted to keep. one of which mingyu was digging for.

“i’m telling you, it’s not in there,” you say for the millionth time, laughing when he bumps his head somewhere underneath your desk.

“ouch,” he whines, and you kick his butt to add to the pain. “ouch!”

“get up!” you whine back, pulling at his ankle. “even if you find my diary i’m not gonna let you read it.”

“yeah, but,” he says as he crawls out, “i am bigger and stronger than you, y/n.”

“so?”

“so i could throw you if i wanted.”

“then i’d tell your mom you’re being mean to me.”

“she knows you probably deserve it at this point in our relationship,” he mumbles. your ears warm at hearing him call this a relationship, but the way he’s not moving his right hand from under your desk is more important to you right now.

“whatcha got there?” you ask calmly.

“nothing,” he smiles the biggest grin you’ve ever seen.

“show me both your hands.”

“no.”

“mingyu!”

“y/n!”

“why do you even wanna see it,” you whine as you join him on the ground, trying to swipe for your diary in his hand. “it’s embarrassing.”

“i’m looking for something,” he says as he starts flipping through the pages of your pink velvet powerpuff girls diary. you laugh together over the many different ways you spelled diary as a child, until he stops on a page that makes you sick to your stomach.

it’s a picture. of you. and mingyu. on your wedding day. you’re in a big poofy dress and you’ve drawn mingyu with...a ponytail? and a bowtie bigger than his head. it’s clearly the two of you, because baby y/n took the courtesy of labeling you both for future historians (mingyu) to use against you. then down at the bottom, in horrible handwriting, are the words “me and gyu till the end of forever.”

after you’ve both taken a moment to stare at the page, you in disbelief and mingyu in complete adoration, he tears it right out.

“wha-”

“bye y/n,” he says, standing up and heading to your door.

“where are you going? give me that page back!” you shriek. you want to get up and take it from him, but he was right: he’s bigger and stronger than you, so that wouldn’t end well. you kick at his ankles instead, but he just folds the paper up and puts it in his pocket before making a face and leaving.

you didn’t think about that day, or that drawing, until just now. until mingyu said those words to you again. you watch in shock and admiration as he finds his wallet amongst his things and pulls out a small, folded piece of paper. he hands it to you, but you already know what it is. you rub it between your fingers, letting every moment that you’ve known mingyu, that you’ve been loved by mingyu, wash over you. you want to cry again. his love is so strong that it makes you feel the most intense emotions, but right now you just feel...content. you hand the paper back to him, and wave away the questioning look in his eyes.

“like i said, i’m sorry gyu,” you start out. “i’m sorry i ever doubted how much you loved me. i’m sorry i ever doubted how much i love you, too. it’s just scary. we’ve got so many big life things ahead of us, and i know i can’t do it without you by my side, but i don’t want our love to change. i always want you to be my playful, clumsy, perfect mingyu. and i just let my thoughts..and my pride..get in the way of that. so i’m sorry, lovebug.”

“lovebug?” he smiles, his whole face blushing at your favorite nickname for him resurfacing. he stares at you deeply, his hands itching in his lap to hold you again, and you think for a moment he’s going to kiss you. instead he lets out a breath and says, “i’m sorry too.”

“what do you have to be sorry for?” you laugh nervously.

“for ever letting you think for a second that i don’t love you as much as i do,” he replies. “i’ll work harder from now on.”

“no,” you say quietly, and you watch the confusion wash over mingyu’s features. “let me. i think it’s my turn to show you how much i love you. you’ve been doing it for years.”

“well if you insist,” he smiles shyly, eyes flicking down to your lips. you don’t have to nod for him to know it’s ok, and then he’s kissing you again. when you pull back, mingyu’s eyes are still closed, savoring the feeling of having your love all to himself again.

“cmon lovebug,” you whisper over his lips, “let’s go to bed.”

the next morning, you wake up sweating. your body amazingly forgot what it was like sleeping next to your mingyu shaped space heater, and it’s made worse by the fact that his arms have been tightly wrapped around you all night. you laugh when you wiggle and he pulls you closer, surprised that you can still breathe despite his tight grip. you get a hand free from his hold and try your old trick to get mingyu to unwrap you, lightly flicking his nose until he brings an arm up to swat you away.

you use this as a chance to slide out of bed, determined to make it to the kitchen to make good on your promise to mingyu last night. you want to show him how much you love him, and the first step to reminding him of that is to make his favorite breakfast. you think there’s enough ingredients in the kitchen, cheol packed groceries so you wouldn’t have to rely on take out all weekend. so you find one of mingyu’s sweaters and pull it over your pajamas before heading to the kitchen. you put your mingyu playlist on so you have some quiet background noise, careful not to wake jeonghan up in the next room. as you’re searching the spice cabinet, you feel a strong pair of arms wrap around your waist.

“why are you awake right now,” mingyu’s groggy voice whines into your neck. “come back to bed.”

“no,” you say simply. “i’m hungry. you can go back to bed and i’ll be there in a minute.”

“no,” mingyu replies. “miss you too much.”

“baby.”

“yes?”

“no, i’m calling you a baby,” you laugh, turning in mingyu’s arms once you find what you needed. “can you at least let go so i can cook?”

“what are you making?” he asks, loosening his grip but not letting go completely. you shuffle back to the kitchen island, mingyu coming with you, his hands still lightly on your waist.

“french toast,” you say shyly, feeling the warmth of mingyu’s smile without having to look at him.

“i love you, you know that?” he whispers into your ear, kissing your cheek quickly before he lets you go. you hear him shuffle to the sink, water running as he asks, “how can i help?”

“can you slice the bread for me?” you ask. “and warm the pan up.”

“yes chef!”

your giggles at mingyu’s behavior are what finally pull jeonghan out of his deep sleep, and he smirks when he sees you two moving happily around the kitchen together. he doesn’t want to ruin the moment so he just snaps a picture and texts it to cheol, hearing the man react with a cheer once the text goes through. jeonghan laughs and rolls back over, falling asleep to the sound of mingyu humming a song to you as the sweet smell of breakfast fills the house.

when it’s time for you all to head back home, mingyu offers to drive and the other two insist on you taking the front seat. mingyu starts planning who to drop off first, beginning with jeonghan, then cheol, then you.

“you’re dropping y/n off last, hm?” cheol says with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “starting the honeymoon already?”

“shut up,” you groan.

“yeah, shut up,” mingyu mimics you. “it just makes sense though, y/n’s place is closest to mine and i need to drive my own car home. so it works out.”

“sure,” cheol nods. “no ulterior motives.”

“really!” mingyu shrieks, his ears turning red so you know this is getting to him. “i mean, i want to see fred too, but-”

“babe, stop talking,” you say quietly, placing your hand on his in the center console. “you’re just egging him on.”

“please listen to her,” jeonghan grumbles, obviously trying to sleep.

“she called him babe though,” cheol whispers to jeonghan, and they start giggling like little girls.

“ok, now everybody stop talking!” you say, looking at the boys in the rearview mirror. “quiet game, starting now. first one to speak has to buy lunch.”

“and gas!” mingyu adds.

“hey, doesn’t that mean mingyu just lost?” cheol asks, and you shake your head. “but he spoke first!” you just stare harder. “you’re playing favorites.”

“no i’m not,” you reply. “game starts now.”

after mingyu drops jeonghan and cheol off (who bought mcdonald’s and filled mingyu’s gas tank), he finally takes you home. when he pulls up outside your building, he stalls awkwardly at the wheel, unsure of what to do with his hands. you watch in admiration, a smirk playing at your lips. when mingyu looks over to you at last, he smiles shyly.

“hey.”

“hey,” you laugh. “you gonna come in?”

“really?” he asks, whole face perking up.

“either come in with me or kiss me goodbye, it’s up to you-”

“what if i come in with you and we make out in your apartment?” he asks with a smile of his own.

“deal,” you smile, “let me just get my bags.”

“nope. i got em,” mingyu says as he rushes out of the car, running around the front so he can get to your door in time to open it for you. you start to protest, and mingyu’s response is, “complain and i won’t come in!”

“you’re a liar,” you laugh.

“maybe, but i’m still not letting you carry anything,” he says while you get your keys out. when you’re done you turn and see him staring at the bags in the back really hard.

“what are you doing? trying to solve a math problem?” you tease, and mingyu looks at you with a blush on his cheeks.

“um, no, sorry,” he shakes his head, pulling your things out of the back before reaching to close the trunk.

“you’re not bringing your stuff?” you ask nervously.

“you want me to?” he asks hopefully, and you nod. he smiles and grabs his bag too, hoisting everything onto one arm before joining you by the door. his sweaty hand reaches for yours, squeezing it tightly as you open the door.

you make the familiar walk back to your apartment, mingyu’s heart beating out of his chest the closer you get. he’s waited for this moment for weeks, coming back home with you. but that’s just it, he’s been racking his brain over what could’ve scared you into running away, and he finally figured it out on the ride here. right before you broke up with him, he started talking about moving in together. he hadn’t asked you yet, but he was planting the seeds for it, and that must have scared you off. now he’s worried that once he walks through the door, he’s won’t want to leave ever again. he just hopes this time you’re ready for him to stay.

when you get to your apartment, you try to shake mingyu’s hand out of yours so you can open the door, but he just whines and tells you to deal. laughing as you stumble into your place, mingyu looks around excitedly only for his face to fall.

“fred’s not here,” he says with a growing pout.

“nope,” you shake your head. “he’s at my mom’s because i was gone for the weekend. sorry i didn’t tell you.”

“you tricked me,” mingyu says accusingly as he places the bags on his arm on your kitchen table.

“yeah, well,” you shrug. “you would’ve come up anyway.”

“how is your mom, by the way?” he asks as he walks toward you “missing his favorite person?”

“hm, no?” you reply. “she actually said you were stinky and she never liked you.”

“she did not,” he says with a smile, snaking his arms around your waist. “tell her i say hi.”

“and mrs. kim?” you ask as you drape your arms across his broad shoulders.

“she’s good,” he nods. “thrilled that you didn’t give up on me. i got chewed out after the break, by the way, so thanks for that.”

“you’re welcome,” you tease, kissing his chin. mingyu smiles without letting it reach his eyes, and he takes a deep breath.

“speaking of,” he starts cautiously. “the..break up.”

“the bad time, yes,” you nod. “have i said i’m sorry about that today?”

“can we..talk about it a little more?” mingyu asks, and your heart clenches. “if you don’t want to, that’s fine, i just...have questions before we go back to being us.”

“go ahead,” you encourage him. “do you wanna sit down?”

“no,” he shakes his head. “i’m good right here,” he says, squeezing your hips. “i just need to know what made you freak. was i coming on too strong with the moving in thing?”

“the what?” you ask, obviously confused.

“baby, i’ve been dropping hints since new year’s about moving in together,” he laughs. “you didn’t notice?”

“no?” you cry out. “why didn’t you just ask me?”

“i was scared!” he cries back. “why did you break up with me?”

“i was scared,” you joke in return. “i had no clue you wanted to move in with me.”

“well, i did,” he sighs. “i already have an extra key for you.”

“really?” you smile. he nods, and you lean your head on his shoulder as you reply. “you know my lease is up next month.”

“is it?” he replies, leaning his cheek on your forehead. “how convenient. i’ll make room in the closet then.”

“cool,” you smile, comfortably floating at the idea of living with mingyu. when mingyu clears his throat above you, you know what he wants. you pull him over to the couch as you say, “i know. i’ll explain.”

“kiss me first?” he asks, and you think about it.

“just one,” you say with a stern finger in his face, mingyu bites it, and then with your finger between his teeth he says, “no promises.” you pull away from him just for mingyu to reach back and cup your face, pulling you softly toward his lips. as soon as your lips meet you melt into him, his arms grabbing you so you’re sitting on his lap. “hey,” you say into his mouth, mingyu trying to kiss you deeper. “hey!” you giggle, pulling back. “i said one.”

“and i said no promises,” mingyu replies. “now cmere.”

“no,” you laugh, holding him at bay. “we need to talk.”

“i’m listening,” he says, playing with your hair.

“i was serious before when i said i was scared,” you start out. “but no, the move in thing wasn’t what scared me. i was, uh, i was out to lunch, with some of my friends, and one of them just got engaged-”

“who?”

“mingyu,” you whine. he mumbles out a sorry and let’s go of your hair, placing his hands on your hips. “she just got engaged, and we started talking about..wedding..stuff, and then the girls all turned to me.”

“oh?” mingyu asks with a smirk.

“yeah,” you nod. “and um, that freaked me out. they started asking why we hadn’t..weren’t..um, whatever. they started asking me questions, and i didn’t know what to tell them, and that just made me go down a very dark hole.”

“how dark?” mingyu asks with concern laced through his voice.

“dark like, what if you didn’t want to marry me? what if we got married and everything went bad? what if-”

“and you never thought to talk to me about it?” mingyu cuts you off.

“did i mention how sorry i am?” you try sheepishly. “that was the big life stuff i mentioned the other night. moving in, getting engaged. starting the rest of forever together. that’s scary stuff, and i forgot how easy you make things. i just got scared of the concept, i guess, and didn’t consider how you make everything feel okay.”

“i do?”

“yeah,” you nod. “you’ve made my life so wonderful, gyu. even though everything ahead of us scares the shit out of me, i can’t wait to do it all with you.”

“let’s wait on all the scary stuff,” he says, grabbing your hands to play with your fingers as he speaks. “we’ll take it step by step. starting with moving in together?”

“starting with that,” you agree. “i love you, kim mingyu.”

“i love you too baby.”

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