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cuntyji · 1 day ago

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THE FOOL’S GUIDE TO ROMANCE ౨ৎ GETO SUGURU X READER

synopsis: when a man loves a woman, he might bring her flowers or send a sweet text like 'i want you lol.' but if you’re suguru geto, you let a deck of tarot cards decide your destiny—and promptly shuffle your way into misery. hopelessly in love with you (and equally hopeless at expressing it), geto takes his shot which backfires spectacularly, leaving you heartbroken and him scrambling to fix it. now, armed with charm, determination, and way too many tarot cards, geto is ready to heal your heart. just watch your step—the floor’s basically a tarot card crime scene.

content warnings: female reader, suggestive content (alcohol consumption and mentions of weed), crack and romance, somewhat axed [happy] ending, college setting, geto is into tarot, strangers to lovers, he fell first she fell harder, frat parties and other college nonsense. other characters: choso, yuki, gojo, nanami, shiu, toji.

author's note: all my love to my darling @nkopurin who helped proofread this fic for me 💘💐 and to my lovely @norikuna and @baepsays, this is for you 🙂‍↕️ lovely themed dividers are courtesy of @thecutestgrotto <3

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when a man loves a woman, he brings her flowers and confesses his love to her. or, if he’s born in the modern world, he might just text her something eloquent like, “hey, i want you lol.” but if you’re suguru geto, you let tarot cards take the wheel—literally.

allow one to explain.

see, geto isn’t exactly an atheist. he believes in higher powers, just unconventional ones. namely, the cheapest tarot deck he impulse-bought during a 2 a.m. existential crisis. initially, he thought it was all nonsense until he pulled a random card one day, and boom—it was the tower. later that week, his microwave exploded.

from then on, he never questioned the cards again.

fast-forward to now: geto has become a full-blown tarot enthusiast. not only does he offer readings for spare cash (because be so for real right now, enlightenment isn’t free), but he also uses the cards to make most of his decisions. thinking of switching shampoo brands? better pull a card. deciding between ramen or sushi for dinner? the hanged man says to wait and order nothing—oops, now he’s just hungry. naturally, he consults the cards for the big things too—like love. and this is where you come in.

he met you at the library. a rom-com-level meet-cute where you helped him pick up the stack of books he’d dropped because he was too busy arguing with a ten of swords card about whether his day was ruined or just mildly inconvenient. from that moment on, you became his muse, his star (literally, he pulled that card the next day and nearly fainted). but here’s the catch: geto doesn’t just pine over you in the normal way. no, no. every interaction with you has to be sanctioned by the cards first.

want to say hi? better shuffle the deck and see if the lovers comes up. want to ask you out? he needs at least the sun for good vibes and the two of cups for confirmation. unfortunately, his last reading told him to “embrace patience” because the hermit popped up—twice.

to his credit, geto is fully committed to this tarot lifestyle. he even gets creative with the interpretations. one time, the cards said he’d encounter a "pig," which he thought meant an actual pet pig was coming his way. turns out, it was just pork belly ramen. but let’s get back to you. every time he sees you, he tries to decipher what the cards are trying to tell him. are you his queen of cups, emotionally available and empathetic? or are you secretly the high priestess, hiding mysteries he’s yet to uncover? (spoiler: you’re just a normal person trying to borrow a book, but he doesn’t know that.)

but let’s take a moment to shift focus from our friendly neighborhood king of wands (that’s geto, by the way, for the tarot illiterate) and zero in on you. because, bless your heart, you’ve got no time for the mystical nonsense of divination.

it’s not that you hate tarot or people who swear by it. it’s just… it’s never worked for you. every time a flower-crown-wearing oracle pops up on your fyp, telling you to “like, comment, and share this reading so the universe will bless you with abundance and good fortune,” you do it. and guess what? the universe does not bless you. no windfall of cash, no twin flame reunion, and absolutely no lucky day on the horizon. instead, you’re stuck in a perpetual cycle of disappointment and thinking, am i cursed? or is this just capitalism?

so, when you bump into a guy muttering about the ten of swords in the college library, the sheer absurdity of the moment almost makes you laugh out loud. you help him pick up his books from the floor (because you’re not a monster), all while internally rolling your eyes. who even takes tarot this seriously? your brain whispers. but hey, it’s not like you’re ever going to see this weirdo again, right?

wrong.

enter the house party. directed by none other than the notorious gojo satoru, who probably pulled the fool for party planning and ran with it. naturally, the entire student body is there, including you, begrudgingly clutching a cup of what is probably alcohol but tastes like regret. you’re halfway through debating whether it’s worth sticking around when you spot him. yes, him. the library lad. and if you thought he was strange before, tonight he’s decked out in what can only be described as a “witchy” fit, complete with crystal necklaces and the kind of rings that scream don’t ask me about my birth chart unless you’re ready for a dissertation.

you’re just about to turn and flee when, of course, he spots you. he lights up like the sun card upright, and you can see the moment he decides to approach. fantastic. this is your life now. “hey,” he says, and you can tell he’s trying to act cool. “do you believe in fate?”

oh, for the love of—

“no,” you deadpan, taking a sip of your regret juice. “but i do believe in bad luck, which is what brought me here tonight.” he laughs, and to your horror, it’s kinda cute. “well, maybe that’s just the wheel of fortune turning. what goes down must come up.”

you raise an eyebrow. “is that tarot-speak for ‘this party sucks’?”

“more like, ‘the spirits sent me here for a reason,’” he replies, holding up a deck of tarot cards like they’re his personal VIP pass. you groan, wondering if this is punishment for every time you ignored those scammy fyp readings. the universe works in mysterious (and frankly annoying) ways.

first off, geto would like to dedicate this evening’s award for “biggest asshole” to his childhood friend and eternal tormentor, gojo satoru, who claimed this was a fancy dress party. yes, fancy dress. not a house party. and like an idiot, geto believed him. hence the ensemble: the crystal necklaces, the dramatic rings, the black turtleneck that screamed “mystical bachelor #1.” he looked like halloween and a witch convention had a messy breakup and he was the collateral damage. and the kicker? the tarot cards stuffed into his bag. because apparently, those were his ticket into this party. gojo had threatened—no, promised—that he’d bar geto from entering his own damn best friend’s party unless he showed up prepared to do discounted tarot readings. because nothing screams “good fortune” like drunken frat boys demanding to know their future while spilling beer on your king of pentacles.

but before geto can fully spiral into regret, he spots you. you, across the room, holding a red solo cup like it’s your last lifeline in a sea of chaos. suddenly, the LED strip lights above seem to beam down like the sun on its brightest spring day, and he’s pretty sure he hears birds chirping (which is actually just gojo’s bose speaker blasting some god-awful remix). in this moment, geto feels something he hasn’t felt in a while: hope.

then he opens his mouth.

“the spirits sent me here for a reason,” he blurts out, voice brimming with… what’s the opposite of confidence? panic? regret? whatever it is, it’s not working.

he sees your eyebrow twitch. not raise—twitch. your eyes dart everywhere but at him, and he feels the metaphorical ten of swords stab his pride, one blade at a time. internally, his brain is screaming: really? “the spirits”? you couldn’t think of anything cooler? oh my god, you’re a loser. loser, loser, loser.

before he can even try to recover from the self-inflicted verbal disaster, the karaoke mic crackles to life, and a familiar voice echoes through the room. “geto suguru, report to the center hall!” gojo’s voice booms, loud and obnoxious. “your clients are waiting, my guy!”

clients? oh no.

geto freezes. you glance at him, your expression hovering somewhere between pity and mild secondhand embarrassment. internally, he’s spiraling: clients!? oh great. perfect. now i get to embarrass myself in front of you and half the drunk population of campus.

“don’t keep us waiting, mr. magician!” gojo cackles, clearly delighted with himself. geto trudges toward the center of the room, tarot cards in hand, sending a silent prayer to the universe: dear spirits, if you’re real, strike gojo down with lightning. or at least make him choke on his stupid mic cord. please. but no lightning comes. only more LED lights and the weight of his own humiliation.

the music screeched to an abrupt halt, cutting off mid-beat to usher in what gojo dramatically called “the immersive experience.”

immersive, my ass, geto thought bitterly, sneaking a glare at his white-haired tormentor. to make matters worse, gojo was now skulking over by the speaker, queuing up redbone by childish gambino, apparently convinced it was the anthem for “spooky tarot vibes.” geto’s fingers itched to throw the nearest ashtray at gojo’s ridiculously smug face but, alas, violence would have to wait. he had a job to do, courtesy of said smug face.

as he settled at the glorified low-rise table-turned-“dias,” he noticed a mix of amused faces, skeptical stares, and outright curiosity from the crowd. and among them, there was you. hovering near the edge, arms crossed, your expression was a mix of intrigue and i’m too cool for this but let’s see what happens anyway. and because geto was both cursed and stupid, he immediately started overthinking: wait, why are you here? are you here to judge me? no, that’s dumb. maybe you’re into tarot. oh god, what if you’re into tarot? does that make us soulmates? focus, suguru.

“first victim—i mean guest, is… nanamiiinnn kenntoooo!” gojo’s voice boomed through the mic, dragging geto out of his internal spiral. and lo and behold, it was nanami himself.

nanami kento, aka mr. ‘i-wear-a-suit-to-class,’ the guy who looked like he’d walked straight out of a finance magazine and into a frat party by accident. the fact that nanami was even here was baffling, but rumor had it he helped budget this whole thing. (which explained the alcohol tasting suspiciously cheap, considering half the budget went into walnuts being served as snacks.) he approached the table like he was heading into a board meeting, eyes sharp, posture straighter than an arrow. the man looked ready to audit geto’s soul.

as nanami sat down for his reading, his usual stoic expression firmly in place, geto shuffled the deck with practiced ease. “to make this as accurate as possible,” geto began, trying to match nanami’s serious tone, “it’s best if you touch the deck briefly. it helps with energy transfer.”

nanami raised a skeptical eyebrow but reached out, his hand hovering over the cards for a moment before he placed two fingers lightly on the top of the deck. the touch was so precise and deliberate that it looked more like he was testing the temperature of a cup of tea than connecting with his fate. geto suppressed a grin. “wow, nanami, really channeling all that emotional investment.”

“i don’t make a habit of emotionally investing in cards,” nanami replied dryly, retracting his hand. “if this reading goes poorly, i’ll hold you accountable, not the deck.”

“well, if the spirits hear that,” geto quipped, starting to lay the cards out, “they’re going to make sure your future includes nothing but overripe bananas and missed train schedules.”

“you’re lucky i don’t believe in spirits,” nanami deadpanned, though his gaze flicked to the first card with the faintest hint of curiosity.

“alright,” geto said, forcing a grin as he shuffled his deck. “what can i do for you? career? love life? deep existential crisis?”

“career,” nanami replied crisply, sitting down on one of the pillows like it was a very uncomfortable chair.

“classic.” geto nodded, laying the deck out for nanami to cut. “alright, the cards are ready to speak. let’s see what the spirits have in store for you.” as he flipped the first card, geto’s brain scrambled to process the sight: three of pentacles. okay, teamwork, collaboration. he could work with this.

“looks like you’re about to enter a new partnership,” geto said, his voice smooth and confident. “something involving… hard work, shared goals… a passion project, maybe?” nanami raised an eyebrow, and for a moment, geto panicked. was this guy about to call him out as a fraud? but then, the second card came up: the empress. geto let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“ah, abundance,” he continued, leaning into his role. “this project? it’s going to bring a lot of growth. creativity, maybe even something related to… food?” he hesitated for a split second before committing. “yeah, i’m seeing something culinary. like a bakery or—”

“a bakery?” nanami interrupted, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly.

geto froze. oh no. did he just completely miss the mark?

“uh… yes, a bakery,” he repeated, trying to sound confident. “does that resonate?”

nanami stared at him for a moment, then nodded. slowly.

“i’ve just started working part-time at a french bakery near campus.”

the room exploded. people started laughing, cheering, and hollering like geto had just predicted the apocalypse. even you, standing at the edge of the crowd, cracked a smile. geto barely kept his jaw from dropping. internally, he was screaming: no fucking way. i pulled that out of my ass. oh my god. the spirits are real. nanami, ever composed, simply stood, nodded once in approval, and walked off like this was just another day in the life of kento “bakery boy” nanami.

as the crowd settled down, geto slumped in his seat, trying to recover. his mind raced: okay, that went better than expected. maybe i can survive this. maybe even impress you. wait, are you impressed? i need to see if you’re impressed. he glanced at you, and there it was—that little amused smile, like you couldn’t believe what you’d just witnessed. and for the first time all night, geto felt like maybe he wasn’t a total loser.

the next poor soul—or menace, really—was shiu kong. and shiu, being no better than any average man, sauntered up to the makeshift “dias” with a cigarette dangling from his lips and promptly dumped all the ash from it onto geto’s carefully shuffled deck. geto froze mid-shuffle, staring down at his now-defiled cards like they’d been personally insulted. internally, he was screaming: did you seriously just ashen my pentacles? oh my god, shiu, i hope the spirits tell you your house will get haunted.

“relax, geto,” shiu drawled, clearly enjoying himself. “it’s just a little ash. adds character.”

“yeah? well, let’s see what the spirits think about your ‘character,’” geto muttered, giving the cards a mournful dust-off before proceeding. the first card flipped: the devil. oh, the irony.

“so,” geto began, deadpan, “looks like you’ve got some… business ventures coming up. something a little… unconventional?” the crowd leaned in, murmuring in anticipation. shiu raised an eyebrow, amused but also intrigued.

geto flipped the second card: the seven of cups.

“choices,” he said, tapping the card for effect. “you’ve got a lot of options ahead of you. but, uh… not all of them are exactly moral. or legal.” the crowd erupted, half in laughter, half in knowing cheers. shiu smirked, leaning back like he was the main character in a crime drama. “huh,” he said, feigning innocence. “well, that’s interesting.”

but when geto flipped the third card—the ace of pentacles—the room lost it. “looks like this… uh, deal is going to be quite lucrative,” geto said, trying to keep a straight face.

the crowd howled, people slapping their knees and hollering like this was the best stand-up routine they’d ever seen. gojo, however, had to be physically restrained by nanami and two others as he lunged at shiu, shouting, “WHERE IS IT, SHIU? TELL ME WHERE THE GREEN GODDESS LIVES!”

shiu simply winked, flicked his cigarette butt into an ashtray (finally), and strolled off the dias like a kingpin leaving his empire.

next up was toji zenin, a man so laid-back and unbothered he might as well have been horizontal. he approached the table with all the grace of a lion stalking prey, cracking his neck as he dropped onto the pillow like he’d been asked to fight someone instead of getting his fortune read. “alright, zenin,” geto said, shuffling the cards. “what do you want to know? career? love life? existential dread?”

“future,” toji replied simply, his deep voice making it sound way cooler than it had any right to.

the first card: the lovers.

“interesting,” geto said, glancing up at toji. “looks like there’s a big relationship in your future. something life-changing.”

toji smirked. “yeah? tell me more.”

geto flipped the second card: the sun.

“oh wow,” geto muttered, mostly to himself. “this relationship is going to bring you a lot of joy. looks like… a family, maybe? marriage?”

the crowd oohed, leaning in closer.

and then came the third card: the tower.

“oh,” geto said, pausing. “uh, okay. so, there might be some… challenges along the way. upheaval. a few bumps in the road.”

toji just shrugged. “i’ll handle it.”

the crowd cheered, someone shouting, “family man!” as toji stood, looking oddly pleased with himself. geto sat back, shaking his head. spirits, give me strength.

just as the crowd began to settle, gojo, ever the dramatic shit-stirrer, snatched the mic again. “ladies and gentlemen, we’ve saved the best for last!” he boomed, pointing a very theatrical finger in your direction.

“YOU! come on down!”

the entire room turned to stare at you, and suddenly, you were the main character in your own personal nightmare. “uh, no thanks,” you called back, waving him off. but gojo was having none of it. “don’t be shy! the spirits are calling for you! geto, back me up here!” geto, caught off guard, looked at you and then back at gojo. “uh…” he started, scratching the back of his neck. you sighed, muttering a quiet curse under your breath as you made your way to the “dias,” your steps heavy with regret. this was going to be great.

as you made your way to the dias, geto felt his life flash before his eyes—not the whole thing, mind you, just the highlights: stumbling across the cheapest tarot deck at 2 a.m. during a sleep-deprived existential crisis, spiraling into a tarot obsession because he accidentally predicted his microwave exploding, and somehow ending up here, in this exact moment, facing you, the literal love of his life, thanks to gojo’s meddling. screw the power of friendship, he thought bitterly. his “friend” was the reason he was sitting cross-legged on a glorified coffee table, dressed like the head of a coven, with his dignity hanging by a single thread.

but then it hit him. wait… can i rig this reading?

the idea was tempting. he could just “interpret” the cards however he wanted. twist the results. make it seem like the spirits themselves were shipping the two of you.

except.

he winced, imagining the sheer karmic hell that would rain down upon him if he tried to scam the spirits. knowing his luck, they’d make him the next hanged man—literally. so, when you finally sat down across from him and asked, casually, for a love reading (a LOVE reading????), geto swallowed hard and prayed to every higher power he could think of that the cards would be merciful.

the first card flipped: the knight of cups.

okay, not bad.

“so,” geto began, trying to sound confident and not like he was screaming internally. “the knight of cups suggests a romantic figure in your life. someone… sensitive, charming, maybe a little dreamy. they could be coming towards you—or they’re already here.” he glanced up at you, hoping for some kind of reaction, but you were too busy looking over at…

wait a second.

you weren’t looking at him. you were looking at… choso.

his heart sank. oh, you have got to be kidding me.

to be fair, he sort of understood the confusion. both he and choso had long dark hair (his sleek and tied back, choso’s styled into two distinct buns that somehow worked), and they were both tall with a quiet, brooding vibe. but choso? really?

before he could process the betrayal, he flipped the second card: the star.

“ah,” he said, forcing himself to focus. “the star indicates hope and inspiration. this person might bring healing into your life. they’re someone who stands out, who you’re drawn to in a special way.” again, your gaze flicked to choso, who was sitting across the room with his arms crossed, looking like a goth prince brooding over an edgar allan poe poem.

dear spirits, are you messing with me on purpose?

and then came the third card: the two of cups.

geto’s hands nearly slipped. oh, come on.

“the two of cups,” he said, clearing his throat. “this is… uh… a card of partnership. mutual feelings. a connection that could grow into something deeper.”

your eyes lit up. “wow, that’s so accurate!”

his heart soared for half a second before you turned to your friend and whispered, not so quietly, “do you think he means choso?”

geto’s soul left his body.

what part of ‘sensitive and charming’ screams choso?! he wanted to yell. okay, sure, the guy had his moments, but choso’s idea of romantic charm was probably something like offering someone his last cup of ramen without saying a word. to make matters worse, choso, sensing the attention, looked up from where he was sitting. his head tilted slightly, a single brow raised in confusion, and—oh, god—he gave you a small nod.

no, no, no, don’t encourage this! geto thought, panicking.

“well,” he said, attempting to recover, “the cards are open to interpretation. sometimes they’re symbolic, pointing to qualities rather than an exact person…”

but you weren’t listening anymore, too busy whispering excitedly to your friend about how much sense this all made. meanwhile, geto sat there, defeated, mentally drafting a resignation letter to the spirits. dear divine forces, i quit. i can’t do this anymore. please find someone else to deal with my romantic disasters. sincerely, suguru geto.

the next morning felt like the world had been retextured to ultra-HD. the sun was shining like it got a promotion, the birds outside your window sounded like they’d formed a symphony orchestra, and even the butter on your toast tasted like it had been hand-churned by angels. why was everything so ridiculously perfect? simple: for once in your life, a tarot reading seemed to have gone your way. your love life, once a barren wasteland of missed connections and unrequited crushes, was now looking up—looking up directly at choso kamo, the brooding star of your medieval and renaissance literature class.

sure, you’d had what the kids these days call a “hallway crush” on choso for a while. the kind of harmless admiration where you’d see him across the hall, brooding next to a window like he was in a gothic novel, and think, huh, i wouldn’t mind being the mysterious backstory to his tragic antihero arc. but a relationship? oh no, that felt too bold. too ambitious.

and yet here you were, butter molecules dissolving on your tongue, entertaining the idea that maybe this could be something real. it’s fate, you thought, smiling to yourself. the cards said so. who am i to argue with the universe?

your mind briefly flickered to last night. specifically to geto, who had looked like someone had popped all four tires on his emotional vehicle. his expression after your reading had been a mix of “i just dropped my ice cream cone” and “my goldfish got flushed before i could say goodbye.”

but that wasn’t your problem, right? he probably just felt left out or jealous that your reading turned out so great. or maybe he was tired from all the readings he had to do. surely it had nothing to do with you personally, right?

…right?

right.

well, no matter. you couldn’t spend your morning thinking about someone you weren’t even going to see again. which is precisely when karma, fate, or the universe—take your pick—decided to slap you across the face with irony.

enter medieval and renaissance literature class.

you strolled into class, head high, already composing your imaginary meet-cute scenario with choso. maybe you’d bond over the syllabus. or he’d compliment your handwriting. or he’d drop a deeply intellectual comment about milton that you’d piggyback off of. but then you stopped dead in your tracks because sitting in your lecture hall, wearing the exact same hair tie he wore at last night’s party, was none other than suguru geto.

oh no.

you blinked a few times, hoping he was just a hallucination brought on by too much optimism at breakfast. but no, there he was, slumped into his seat, looking like a ghost of his usual self. his hair, usually neat and tucked behind his ear, was now lazily hanging in front of his face, and his eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion. he didn’t even bother pulling out his notebook—what was the point when he could barely stay conscious?

since when does he take this class?

you quickly scanned your mental archives. how did i not notice him all semester? was he new? was he a ghost? or worse—was he always here, and you were too busy daydreaming about choso to notice?

you slid into your seat, trying to shrink yourself into invisibility. maybe he wouldn’t see you. maybe he wouldn’t even recognize you. except, of course, the universe wasn’t done laughing at you.

“hey,” came his familiar voice.

you turned your head slowly, like a rusty robot, and there he was, smiling faintly at you like the human embodiment of the “this is fine” meme.

“fancy seeing you here,” he said, his tone a little too casual for someone who probably still wanted to jump out a window over last night.

“uh… yeah. small world,” you replied, giving a very forced, very awkward laugh. meanwhile, in your head: oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, why is he here, why is he smiling, why does he look like he knows something i don’t?

“enjoying the afterglow of your reading?” he asked, raising a tired eyebrow. “sure am,” you said quickly, pretending to scribble something in your notebook. anything to avoid prolonged eye contact. “good,” he said, leaning back.

“because i’ve been thinking about that reading a lot.”

you froze mid-scribble. “oh? really?” you asked, trying to sound casual. emphasis on trying. he sighed, rubbing his temple. “yeah. not your reading, though. all twelve of them. from the party. last night.” you blinked, caught off guard.

“...you did twelve readings?”

“yup.” he let his head fall onto his desk. “i think i aged five years in one night. and gojo was the worst. again.” you couldn’t help but snort at that, some of the awkwardness ebbing away. “what did he ask this time?”

geto turned his head just enough to side-eye you from the desk. “wanted the cards to tell him who’s going to steal his sunglasses next.” you pressed your lips together to suppress a laugh. “did they?”

“it’s nanami.”

that was enough to crack you, and you laughed, loud enough to earn a few curious glances from your classmates. geto’s lips twitched into a small, tired smile. you placed your pen down and tilted your head. “so, is this why you look like you got hit by a train today?”

he groaned, cracking open an energy drink from his bag. “it’s not just the readings. it’s this class, too. pop quiz vibes are strong in the air today.”

oh no. oh no no no.

the silence between you both started to feel heavier. your brain, helpful as ever, decided to go on overdrive again: what now? do i keep talking? does he think i’m weird? why haven’t i noticed him in class before? god i’m the worst—focus, focus, focus!

you glanced at him, and he glanced at you at the same time, which immediately triggered the universal law of awkward eye contact. you both darted your eyes away—him, to the blank notebook page in front of him; you, to the random doodle you’d been half-heartedly scribbling. “so,” he started, clearing his throat, his voice softer now, “what’s today’s lecture about?”

you stared at your notes like they might give you the answer, but all they offered was a series of lines that could maybe pass as a badly drawn cat. “uh… poetry analysis, i think?”

“right. poetry,” he said, nodding like he hadn’t just forgotten the subject of the class he was literally sitting in. he flipped open his notebook, which was suspiciously empty, save for a solitary doodle of a fat cat in the corner. the professor walked in then, saving you both from the growing, almost tangible awkwardness.

you turned forward, suddenly very interested in the lecture, clutching your pen like it was a lifeline. from the corner of your eye, you saw geto doing the same, pretending to focus, though his hand moved so slowly across the page that you were certain he wasn’t writing anything at all.

the silence stretched, and though you were no longer speaking, the air between you was thick with unspoken words and stolen glances. by the time the professor started droning on about rhyme schemes, you were convinced you could hear your own heartbeat echoing in your ears. and yet, there was something oddly comforting in the shared awkwardness. something almost warm. but you didn’t dare look at him again. not yet. not while your face still felt embarrassingly warm.

if the spirits were going to turn geto into the hanged man for tampering with the cards, maybe he should’ve gone ahead and done it. at least then he wouldn’t be sitting here feeling like the hanged man, every second of this medieval and renaissance literature class stretching on like a medieval torture session.

you were right next to him. close enough to tap on the shoulder, whisper a joke about the professor’s outdated slides, or just breathe the same air while he attempted to craft a coherent sentence to get your attention. but no—at this very moment, your eyes were glued to the door, scanning it like a hawk waiting for its prey.

or, in this case, waiting for choso.

oh, choso, with his eternal frown and hair that looked like he shampooed it in the tears of the damned. what was so special about him anyway? geto could brood too. hell, he could brood with tarot cards and deep existential questions about life.

as you continued to ignore him, geto ran through his increasingly desperate options:

act like a monkey and perform an interpretative dance of his love in front of you.

risk incurring the wrath of the spirits by doing some very questionable card tricks.

drop to his knees and just beg you to look at him.

...or—and this was a truly radical thought—he could just talk to you like a normal human being. with great effort, geto willed his hand to raise, aiming to gently tap your shoulder and finally say something. hey, what’s your favorite renaissance play? wanna talk about the tragic themes in marlowe’s works? wanna skip class and—

but before his hand could make contact, the door opened.

and in walked choso.

with yuki tsukumo.

geto’s hand froze mid-air, and his jaw dropped like a drawbridge at a medieval castle. he wasn’t the only one either—your reaction was just as dramatic, except yours was tinged with the sound of your heart shattering into tiny, pulverized shards. shards that were promptly scooped up, shoved into a blender, and liquefied by the sight before you.

because while you were looking at choso, choso was looking at yuki.

and geto? geto was looking at you.

this tragic little love triangle—or maybe square, if you factored in the spirits hovering over geto like disappointed parents—was the tragic renaissance play no one asked for but somehow everyone got.

as yuki giggled at something choso said (giggled??? choso kamo has a sense of humor?), you slumped back in your seat, the light in your eyes dimming faster than the candles in a poorly ventilated cathedral. meanwhile, geto stared at the side of your face, willing his brain to think of something, anything, to say that could somehow salvage this situation.

but all he could think was: what is love?

followed closely by: baby, don’t hurt me.

you wanted to die. not in the "clutching a vial of poison in a tragic shakespearean way" kind of die, but in the "husband went to battle and never came back" kind of die, except your so-called husband wasn’t even yours to begin with. you were in a one-sided relationship so intense it deserved its own jane austen adaptation, except instead of a romantic ending, it seemed like you’d just be crying into your embroidery hoop.

and honestly? you got it. you saw why choso was acting like that around yuki. the guy looked like he’d seen heaven for the first time, smiling at her like she’d just invented fire or something. for choso, whose default setting was somewhere between “terminally annoyed” and “what’s the point of existence,” this was monumental. so, like any reasonable, heartbroken woman, you didn’t turn to another potential suitor for comfort. no, no. you sought out something far more powerful. solace. clarity. divine intervention.

...in the form of tarot cards.

you turned to geto, sitting beside you in all his slightly disheveled glory, and the look in your eyes was nothing short of pleading. you didn’t need to say anything for him to understand. you wanted answers.

"do a reading for me. right now."

your voice was low, but it carried the weight of a thousand broken hearts and at least two adele songs. you probably sounded like a woman on the brink of asking to see the manager of the universe.

geto blinked at you, taken aback. he hadn’t even had a chance to process the spectacle unfolding before you two—choso cracking a smile at yuki, yuki leaning in closer—before you demanded spiritual insight like you were trying to summon the oracle of delphi.

"a reading?" he asked, cautiously, like you’d just asked him to perform surgery on a grape.

"yes, a reading. right now.” you punctuated your words with a look so intense it could’ve melted through the linoleum floors. "i need to know what the spirits have to say about my love life because clearly," you gestured dramatically towards choso and yuki, "i’ve been living in delusion."

you were not joking. in fact, you were about two seconds away from rummaging through geto’s bag yourself to pull out the cards.

geto, to his credit, did his best to keep a straight face, but internally he was screaming. this was not how he imagined getting your attention. where was the romantic small talk? the flirty banter? instead, he was being asked to summon metaphysical clarity in the middle of a lecture hall. “you realize we’re in class, right?” he asked, gesturing towards the professor, who was obliviously droning on about chaucer.

“what’s more important—canterbury tales or my rapidly deteriorating sense of self-worth?” you deadpanned, arms crossed.

he sighed, already regretting his life choices, but reached into his bag anyway. this was going to be a very, very long class. as he shuffled the cards, you leaned in closer, practically vibrating with desperation. geto thought for a second that maybe the spirits would smite him for doing this, but at least he could die knowing he was, in some absurd way, your chosen source of comfort.

the reading became, as irony would have it, your single biggest source of suffering. every time geto pulled out a card, it felt less like a reading for your love life and more like an unwelcome live commentary on choso and yuki’s blossoming connection.

“all right,” geto muttered, flipping over the first card, “three of pentacles. this suggests an opportunity to collaborate or share.”

you nodded eagerly, until your eyes betrayed you and drifted over to the sunlit corner where choso and yuki were seated. and oh, what was that? choso handing her his highlighter? a stabilo one, no less? lending stationery wasn’t just helpful; it was practically a love confession in academic circles.

your stomach dropped. “okay, that’s a fluke. what’s the next one?”

geto hesitated but drew the next card. “uh, ace of cups. could mean new opportunities for emotional connection. an offer, maybe.”

you turned back to look at choso just as yuki reached out and flicked a piece of lint off his sweater. his vintage, thrifted sweater.

your jaw tightened as your sharp eye for fashion immediately clocked every detail of the piece—the carefully worn texture, the faintly faded yet intentional color palette, the hand-stitched hem that was too perfect to be mass-produced. vintage. thrifted. possibly one-of-a-kind.

and there was yuki, just casually touching it like it was some department store clearance item. your fists clenched around your pen as you sat there, practically vibrating with indignation. next to you, geto raised a curious eyebrow. “you okay?” he whispered, leaning in slightly.

“i’m fine,” you replied through gritted teeth, though your gaze was still locked on yuki and the sweater. “it’s just…some people don’t understand the sanctity of vintage clothing.”

geto blinked at you, then at yuki and choso, his expression half-amused, half-confused. “right… the sanctity.” you ignored him, seething quietly as yuki smiled, entirely unaware of the silent judgment radiating in her direction. flicking lint off a thrifted piece? unforgivable.

“all right, one more card,” he said, trying to keep you from spiraling. “the sun. it’s a positive sign. it means there’s hope, clarity—happiness at the end of the road.” you weren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t to glance back at choso and yuki basking in literal daylight streaming through the classroom windows.

meanwhile, you and geto were shivering in the poorly heated corner of the room, shrouded in cold shadows, and probably misery.

"well," you muttered, shoving the cards away from you like they were personally responsible for ruining your day. "thanks for nothing, spirits."

“don’t blame the cards!” geto whispered, as if the spirits themselves were about to jump you in the hallway after class.

“oh, i will blame them. i’m blaming all of it—tarot, the universe, my horoscope. even you.” you jabbed a finger at geto. he raised his hands defensively. “me? i’m just the messenger!”

“yeah? well, tell your spirits to pick someone else next time,” you snapped. “preferably someone not already taken.”

you turned back to your notebook, seething quietly, while geto, to his credit, really did try to make it right. he wasn’t about to charge you for what was basically a tarot drive-by, especially not one that seemed to have single handedly ruined your faith in divination, fate, and possibly humanity. as class ended and you bolted for the door, he scrambled to follow, shoving his cards into his bag haphazardly as if they might somehow soften the mess he’d unknowingly made.

“hey, wait! i’m sorry!” he called out, weaving through the crowd of students like a man on a mission—or, more accurately, like a very apologetic cat chasing a laser pointer. you knew you should’ve stopped. you knew he wasn’t at fault—how could he be? he didn’t control the cards, and even if he did, it wasn’t like he made choso and yuki sit under a literal beam of sunshine together like a rom-com poster come to life. but pride is a tricky thing, and yours had dug its claws deep.

“it’s fine,” you muttered through gritted teeth, speeding up to create distance. but geto, persistent and well-meaning as ever, wasn’t giving up. “no, it’s not fine,” he said, keeping pace with you. “i didn’t mean for it to—look, it wasn’t about you. well, it kinda was, but not like—ugh, just let me explain!”

you stopped abruptly, and geto nearly tripped over his own feet to avoid crashing into you. your chest was tight, not from running, but from the mess of feelings swirling around: anger, hurt, and worst of all, embarrassment. you turned to him with a glare sharper than it had any right to be.

“i don’t need an explanation, okay? i get it. it was stupid of me to think it was about me in the first place,” you snapped, and the second the words left your mouth, you regretted them.

geto blinked, taken aback, and for a split second, you caught the way his expression shifted—like he’d been hit with a blow he hadn’t expected. his shoulders sagged slightly, his usual calm demeanor faltering. “that’s not what i meant at all,” he said softly, voice barely audible over the buzz of students passing by.

the pang in your chest deepened, but before you could give it more thought, you turned and hurried away, leaving him standing there in the hallway. you didn’t look back, even though something in you wanted to. pride won again, as it always seemed to. but as you walked off, the image of his expression stayed with you, burned into the back of your mind like a guilty little ghost you couldn’t shake.

later that evening, geto sat at his desk staring at his tarot cards like they were a cheat sheet for life that had suddenly decided to go blank. the spread in front of him was chaotic at best: the tower, the three of swords, the five of cups. if the cards were trying to scream “you fucked up,” they were doing a great job. he sighed, dragging a hand down his face as he considered reshuffling for the fifth time that hour.

but then it hit him—like a very literal sign from above. a chunk of plaster from his dorm ceiling detached and bounced right off his head, leaving him rubbing his scalp and glaring up at the offending crack. “perfect,” he muttered. “thanks, universe. really appreciate the symbolism.”

it was then, mid-reckoning with gravity, that geto realized something important: this was not how tarot worked. it wasn’t a tool for undoing mistakes or bending the will of fate. if higher forces played by human rules, they wouldn’t be higher forces; they’d be coworkers who ignore emails. so, he did what any reasonable person would do when their usual method of problem-solving failed—he decided to reach out to you. to check if you were okay. rejection, even one involving misplaced feelings and stabilo highlighters, was a bitter pill to swallow, and he wanted to make sure you weren’t stewing in it alone.

but then another realization hit him, thankfully not a physical one this time: he didn’t have your number. or your social media. or literally any way to contact you that didn’t involve smoke signals or breaking into your dorm like a lunatic. waiting until tomorrow felt wrong, so he did what any unhinged-but-earnest guy would do.

he opened his email.

geto scrolled through his inbox with the dedication of a scholar deciphering ancient texts. his literature professor had this habit of sending class-wide emails—updates, reminders, existential musings, you name it. surely, somewhere in that chaotic thread, your email address was lurking. “ah, here,” he whispered triumphantly when he found one, squinting at the long list of recipients. his finger hovered over your name as if clicking it would summon you like a genie.

now came the hard part: drafting an email that didn’t sound like a confession of a crime. he typed furiously, deleting sentences almost as fast as he wrote them.

Subject: just checking in hey, i hope this doesn’t come off as weird but i wanted to check if you’re okay after class today. i know things got kind of intense and i just wanted to make sure you’re doing all right. if you need someone to talk to or even rant at i’m here. seriously. sorry if this email is out of the blue but i couldn’t wait till tomorrow to say something. take care, s. geto

he stared at the draft like it might sprout fangs and bite him. “is this too much? not enough? why do i sound like an HR rep?” after a moment of panic and one deep breath, he hit send before he could overthink it further.

leaning back in his chair, he stared at the ceiling (or what was left of it) and muttered, “smooth, geto. real smooth.”

meanwhile, back in the academy award-worthy drama that was your life, you paced the length of your dorm room like the unhinged protagonist of a spy film—except instead of planning a heist, your master plan was not having an emotional breakdown. and frankly, it wasn’t going great.

why was this such a big deal anyway? choso wasn’t the love of your life. you didn’t have pictures of him taped to your wall like a deranged scrapbooker. sure, he had great bone structure and an aesthetic that could front a band no one’s ever heard of, but did he own your heart? no.

so why the hell was rejection stinging like you just got voted off a reality show? oh, right. because it wasn’t just choso. it was the whole concept.

the idea that maybe, just maybe, for once in your life, the stars or the cards or something might give you a break. but nope. no knight in shining armor, no grand declarations of love, just... lint-flicking and stabilo-sharing with someone who wasn’t you.

and, of course, because the universe has a sense of humor, guilt was there to crash the party, too. poor geto. you practically bit his head off in class, and for what? doing his job as the accidental harbinger of bad news? great job, you. what’s next—yelling at the weather? just as you were about to descend into yet another spiral, this time brought to you by regret and self-loathing, your phone pinged obnoxiously loud. you froze mid-pace. that sound? that horrible custom sound you set for college emails? you grabbed your phone like it was a live grenade and squinted at the screen.

from: [email protected] subject: just checking in

your mouth hung open as you stared at the preview. the email equivalent of puppy eyes. of course. because why let the guilt marinate quietly when it can now come with words? opening the email, you read through his message, and something in your chest twisted. he wasn’t even being dramatic. no passive-aggressive digs, no over-apologizing, just... concern. genuine, sweet concern. “ugh,” you muttered, flopping onto your bed as you thought about how to respond without sounding like you were unraveling emotionally. you began typing, deleting, retyping, then deleting again.

Subject: re: just checking in hi, thanks for reaching out. i’ve been better. today was a bit of a mess, but that’s not your fault. i shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier. it was unfair and i’m sorry for taking my frustration out on you. ig i just got caught up in the whole idea of things working out for once yk. and when it didn’t, it stung more than i expected. but seriously i appreciate you checking in. it means a lot. take care, [your name]

you hovered over the send button for a second before hitting it, then tossed your phone onto the bed like it had personally wronged you.

“great,” you muttered to yourself, staring at the ceiling. “now i just look emotionally unstable and like a bitch.” but deep down, there was a strange kind of relief. maybe, just maybe, you hadn’t completely burned the bridge with geto.

maybe life didn’t feel like dolphins and rainbows with symphony by zara larsson playing in the background, but at least you woke up without the overwhelming urge to set your entire life on fire. progress.

you had come to terms with the fact that you weren’t mad about choso being taken. honestly, good for him and yuki—they had the chemistry of two hot protagonists in a slow-burn drama anyway. and hey, you weren’t mad at yourself anymore either. growth, right? but of course, the universe always had one more plot twist up its sleeve.

you walked into the supervised study session later that day, fully expecting to slink into your seat, avoid eye contact with choso and yuki, and pretend you were a background character in your own life. instead, you were greeted with... a display. there, right in front of your usual spot, stood geto with what could only be described as a care package for someone emotionally devastated—or recovering from surgery. maybe both.

a soft, ridiculously fluffy blanket was folded neatly on your desk, next to a neck pillow that looked like it could cure insomnia. there were snacks—chips, cookies, even a little bag of trail mix because apparently, he cared about your protein intake. and drinks, plural, including tea, juice, and water, because hydration was key, obviously. oh, and let’s not forget the vitamin gummies.

vitamin. gummies.

“uh...” you managed, staring at the scene like it might morph into something less... earnest.

“good morning!” geto beamed at you, his expression the human equivalent of a golden retriever wagging its tail. “i, uh, thought you might need a little pick-me-up.”

you blinked. “a little? what, are you preparing me for the apocalypse?”

he laughed, a soft, sheepish sound as he scratched the back of his neck. “just thought it might help. you know, in case yesterday was still... lingering.”

you glanced at the pile of comfort on your desk, then back at geto, who looked so genuine it made your chest ache a little. sure, he could’ve just emailed back with a “glad you’re okay,” but no, he’d gone all in like he was running a wellness retreat. “this is... wow, geto,” you said, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “you really didn’t have to.”

“i know,” he said, his tone almost shy. “but i wanted to.”

and that’s when it hit you. as your eyes flickered to choso, who was scooting his chair closer to yuki with the subtlety of a rom-com lead, your gaze naturally found its way back to geto. the ridiculously awkward, long-haired boy in front of you, who apparently thought vitamin gummies were the solution to all of life’s problems, was now the one pulling at your focus.

ah, drat.

“well,” you said, sitting down and letting yourself sink into the cocoon of comfort he’d assembled, “you better not have used up your entire snack budget on me.”

“nah,” he said with a grin, pulling a pack of tarot cards out of his bag. “besides, i’m saving my budget for these bad boys.” you groaned, but it was accompanied by a smile. yeah, maybe life wasn’t all dolphins and rainbows, but it wasn’t so bad either.

respectfully speaking, geto was shit scared when he got in all that stuff for you. sure, in his mind it had seemed like a good idea—people liked snacks, right? and blankets were universally comforting. vitamin gummies? maybe a little overboard, but hey, health was wealth. but now, watching you actually use the stuff, munching on a strawberry-centered wafer like it was your job, he felt a wave of something dangerously close to relief. you didn’t think he was weird. or at least, not weird enough to ignore free snacks. small victories.

still, the nervous churn in his stomach hadn’t entirely gone away. because what was this, exactly? a gesture of kindness? a peace offering? a declaration of love wrapped in a fleece blanket and stuffed with gummy vitamins? he had no idea. but if this was what it took to see you look this relaxed around him, he’d happily bankrupt himself. and then, just as he was settling into the warm, fuzzy feeling of semi-success, you hit him with the question.

“so,” you said, pausing mid-bite of a wafer, “what got you into tarot in the first place?”

oh no. oh no no no.

he froze, a deer in the headlights of your curiosity. because what was he supposed to say? the truth—that he bought a deck at 2 a.m. because it was on sale and looked cool? that he’d learned most of it from random youtube videos and a couple of moderator banned reddit threads? or should he go full storyteller and spin a wild tale about a mysterious mentor who handed him a deck and told him his destiny was written in the cards? you tilted your head, waiting for an answer, and he realized he couldn’t bullshit this. you didn’t seem like the type to fall for theatrics, and even if you did, he couldn’t bring himself to lie to you.

“uh, okay, so, it’s not, like... that deep,” he began, scratching the back of his neck in the universal gesture of please don’t judge me. “basically, i was scrolling online one night, super late—like, 2 a.m. kinda late—and i saw this tarot deck on sale. it looked cool, so i bought it.”

you raised an eyebrow, and he scrambled to elaborate.

“and then i figured, y’know, i should probably learn how to use it, or else it’d just be, like, fancy cards lying around. so i watched some videos, read some guides... and, uh, here we are.” you stared at him for a moment, wafer halfway to your mouth.

“so, let me get this straight. you became the campus tarot guy because of a 2 a.m. impulse buy?”

“...pretty much, yeah.”

and then you laughed. not a polite chuckle or a restrained giggle, but a full-on laugh that made his chest feel like it was doing somersaults. “oh my god,” you said, shaking your head. “that’s so lame. like, impressively lame.” he grinned, the tension easing out of his shoulders. “yeah, well, lame seems to be working for me so far.” you smirked, popping the rest of the wafer into your mouth. “fair point.” and just like that, the awkwardness melted away. geto might not have had a mind-blowing origin story, but seeing you smile like that? yeah, he didn’t need one.

as time went on, you didn’t even notice how seamlessly geto had woven himself into your life. it wasn’t a dramatic shift—no grand confessions or pivotal moments—but more like the slow, steady filling of spaces you hadn’t realized were empty.

it started with sitting together in every class. at first, it was coincidence—his seat just happened to be free. but then it became routine. he’d drape his bag over the back of the chair next to him, a silent reservation just for you, and you’d slide into it without a second thought.

then came the library sessions. you told yourself it was practical; after all, two heads were better than one when it came to deciphering medieval metaphors. but somewhere along the way, practicality blurred into something else. the quiet companionship of those shared hours, the way you’d nudge his shoulder when he started to doze off, the small, secret smiles exchanged over the tops of textbooks—it all felt intimate. you thought about bringing it up, that the library was where you’d first met, but the idea felt too sentimental, too vulnerable. surely he didn’t remember that tiny detail.

little did you know, geto did remember. it was one of those memories he kept tucked away, revisiting it like a favorite line in a book.

of course, studying with geto came with its quirks. like the way he couldn’t resist pulling out his tarot deck every chance he got.

“do you really think the cards are gonna tell you if you’ll pass this exam?” you’d huff, grabbing the deck from his hands before he could shuffle it. “well, they’ve been right before,” he’d tease, leaning just a little too close as he reached for them.

“maybe if you spent half as much time studying as you do asking the cards, you wouldn’t need to worry about passing.”

he’d laugh, the kind of laugh that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” you’d swat his arm, and he’d pretend to be mortally wounded, clutching at the spot like you’d struck him with a sword. but secretly? that little bit of contact was enough to make his heart race. every single time.

and then there was the way you challenged him—gently, but firmly—to rely less on his cards.

“tarot’s supposed to guide you,” you’d say, flipping through his notes while he doodled idly in the margins. “not run your life.”

he didn’t argue, mostly because you were right. and slowly, he started to take your advice. he still used the cards, of course, but not for every little thing. he began to let the unpredictability of life happen, unfiltered by fate or forewarning. and you know what? it wasn’t all that bad. in fact, it was starting to grow on him—this strange, chaotic, beautiful mess of living. because somewhere in the middle of all the unpredictability was you, and that made it more than worth it.

you know that sinking feeling when you realize your phone is low-key betraying you? yeah, that’s the exact sensation creeping up your spine as you sit cross-legged on your dorm bed, thumb mindlessly scrolling through reels. your current mission: find the perfect meme or video to send to geto. because yes, somewhere between tarot readings and shared library snacks, you two finally exchanged instagram handles. a milestone, honestly. but of course, the universe has other plans.

as you scroll past a cat dancing to eurobeat, your screen flashes with a promoted ad: “astrotalk – find the answers to life here!”

right. because you were definitely talking about astrology out loud earlier. thank you, zuck. just as you’re about to swipe away, your phone does what it does best—it lags. your double tap, meant to like a reel, somehow registers as download app. the ding of success seals your fate.

“oh, for fuck’s sake,” you mutter, staring at the app’s cheerful icon now grinning at you from your home screen. you consider deleting it immediately but curiosity gets the better of you. besides, it’s not like anyone’s here to judge. so you open the app.

bright colors, cheesy taglines, and a cartoon moon with a winking face greet you. honestly, it’s a little cringe, but who cares? the app boasts a free love consultation for first-time users. after that? a steep $45 per reading. capitalism at its finest.

“might as well milk the freebie,” you mumble, tapping through the options.

it asks for your star sign first. easy. you enter it. then it asks for your potential match’s star sign. you blink.

why… why is geto’s sign the first one to pop into your head? you tell yourself it’s because his birthday came up recently, and you remember him casually mentioning he was an aquarius. totally not because you’ve been secretly keeping tabs.

you type it in and hit submit.

the screen takes a moment to load, suspense building as though the app is calculating the mysteries of the universe instead of running a basic algorithm. then, the results flash on the screen:

“YOU AND YOUR PARTNER ARE 90% COMPATIBLE! STRONG BOND POTENTIAL!”

“partner?” you scoff, a little too loudly for the empty room. “calm down, bro. we’re not even… ugh.” but you can’t help the heat creeping up your neck. because why does this feel so validating? like the app just confirmed something you weren’t ready to admit out loud. you toss your phone onto the bed, trying to ignore the way your heart flutters a little. “it’s just an app,” you mutter, flopping back onto your pillow. but as you stare at the ceiling, you can’t stop wondering. 90% compatible, huh? maybe the universe isn’t entirely out to get you.

the party was already in full swing by the time you and geto arrived, the unmistakable thrum of bass-heavy music vibrating through the walls and into your chest. the house, courtesy of everyone’s favorite socialite, gojo satoru, was packed wall to wall with students desperate to blow off steam after a particularly brutal exam season. the air was a heady mix of sweat, cheap booze, and cigarette smoke, oddly comforting in its chaos. fairy lights were strung haphazardly across the ceiling, casting a soft, golden glow over the sea of bodies swaying in time to the music.

as you stepped inside, your senses were immediately overwhelmed. the sticky heat of too many people crammed into one space hit you first, followed by the sharp tang of tequila and the smoky haze from a makeshift smoking area in the corner. the living room-turned-dancefloor was packed with a crowd that was equal parts gyrating and stumbling. “guess we’re really doing this,” you said, glancing at geto, who had already started scanning the room like he was bracing himself for impact.

his expression faltered for a moment before he shrugged. “it’s either this or another night of staring at my tarot cards, and they’re tired of me asking if i’ll pass my exams.” you laughed, shaking your head. “let’s get some drinks before this place gets even worse.”

before you could make it to the kitchen, a whirlwind of energy that could only be gojo grabbed geto by the arm. "hey, suguboo! come join the crew—nanami’s actually drinking tonight. it’s a miracle!" geto shot you a quick, apologetic look before being dragged off toward a cluster of familiar faces gathered near the makeshift DJ setup. you waved him off, muttering a quick "have fun" as you made your way toward the kitchen.

it was just as packed as the rest of the house, though marginally quieter. bottles of every cheap liquor imaginable lined the counters, accompanied by mismatched plastic cups and a suspiciously sticky floor. and that’s when you saw them—choso and yuki.

yuki’s bright smile was the first thing to catch your eye. she had that annoyingly magnetic energy, the kind that made it impossible to dislike her, even if she was spiking your drink to make it strong enough to knock out a small horse. “hey” she greeted, her voice cutting through the noise with ease. “you made it! here, have a drink—trust me, you need it after those exams.” you watched as she poured a generous amount of something clear and suspiciously strong into a cup, topping it off with a splash of what you hoped was juice.

choso stood next to her, his usual brooding aura softened just slightly by the festive atmosphere. he gave you a polite nod, but his attention was mostly on yuki as she handed you the drink. “uh, thanks,” you said, accepting the cup with a wary glance. it smelled potent, but the night was young, and if there was ever a time to throw caution to the wind, it was now.

as you took a sip—too strong, just as you’d expected—you couldn’t help but glance toward the living room, wondering how long it would take for geto to escape gojo’s clutches. something about the night felt charged, like the universe was waiting for something to happen. and for once, you weren’t entirely sure if you were ready for it.

you had barely processed yuki excusing herself to the ladies' room when half a cup of whatever unholy concoction she poured you started working its magic. stars were dancing in your vision, and your internal monologue was a mix of “am i drunk, or is this enlightenment?” and “what if i just lay down on this sticky floor and let the universe take me?” choso, ever the picture of stoic composure, stood by sipping his own drink, completely unaffected. in your infinite drunken wisdom, you decided now was the perfect time to recount the tarot reading debacle to him. because why not relive your most embarrassing moment at a house party with the person who unknowingly kickstarted it all?

“so, ya know,” you started, gesturing dramatically with your cup, “there was this thing that happened with geto's reading. you were there! nodding at me like i’d just won the love lottery or whatever. and i—oh my god, i thought you were into me.” choso blinked, unbothered as ever, though you noticed a faint crease of amusement in his brow. “uh-huh,” he said, taking another sip of his drink.

“yeah! and then i find out,” you continued, pointing at him accusatorily, “that you were actually into yuki, and i was out here thinking i was the main character in this tragic medieval romance novel! turns out, i wasn’t even in the prologue.” choso raised an eyebrow.

“to be fair, it was obvious you and geto would make a good match.”

the words hit you like a brick. you and geto?

“wait,” you said, staring at him like he’d just spoken in tongues. “me and geto? suguru? you’re telling me all that nodding and cryptic behavior was because you thought we’d be a good match?”

he nodded. “you both have this... thing. sensitive, charming, dreamy—”

“don’t,” you cut him off, holding up a finger, the fog in your brain clearing so fast it was dizzying. “don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

“healing,” choso finished anyway, unbothered by your rapidly spiraling state.

you stood there, frozen, the memory of that reading slamming into you like a wrecking ball.

was he sensitive? yes. charming? puppy-eyed charm for days. dreamy? don’t get me started. healing? in the most absurd ways possible. mutual feelings? please, universe, say yes.

“oh my god,” you muttered, dropping your drink on the counter with a thunk. “oh my god.” choso sighed, shaking his head. “you’re really dense, aren’t you? no offense.”

“offense taken!” you snapped, already spinning on your heels. “but also, thanks, i gotta go.”

“what are you—?”

“find him!” you yelled over your shoulder, already weaving through the sweaty bodies on the dance floor like a woman on a mission. behind you, choso sighed dramatically, swirling his drink like he was in a shakespearean tragedy. “'tis true, love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.’”

"stop quoting a midsummer night’s dream!" you shouted back, not even turning around.

you were a woman possessed as you weaved through the chaos of the party, dodging sweaty couples, discarded cups, and one guy inexplicably attempting to juggle shot glasses. where is he? you muttered under your breath, your eyes scanning every corner.

finally, you spotted geto sprawled on a couch in the corner of the room, looking like he was having an existential crisis at a house party—one leg thrown over the armrest, his hair half tied and half rebelliously escaping, his long legs stretched out like he owned the couch, and his expression screamed, "why am i here and how can i leave without offending anyone?" apparently, gojo and the gang had taken off to drunkenly compete in a swim-to-the-other-side-of-the-pool-without-drowning race, and geto, the only one with common sense, had respectfully declined.

your heart did a weird little flip-flop at the sight of him, though whether it was from nerves or the bacardi yuki had spiked your drink with, you couldn’t tell. however, had bigger problems. like the fact that your heart was about to stage a mutiny and jump right out of your chest. how were you even going to start this?

hey, i realized i love you the minute you showed up to class with vitamin gummies for me.or maybe it was when you emailed me, “just checking in” like a gentleman from the 1800s. or maybe it was every time you did something ridiculously thoughtful like it was nothing.

you took a deep breath, but all that came out was, "hey."

geto looked up, blinking at you like he wasn’t sure if you were real or just a figment of his daydreams. "oh. hey."

good start, you thought. very articulate.

you shuffled closer, ignoring the pounding in your chest. "uh, so... how’s the couch treating you?" he blinked again, a small smile tugging at his lips. "better than gojo’s swimming plans, i can tell you that much."

"right, yeah," you laughed awkwardly, standing there like a statue while your brain scrambled to form coherent thoughts. geto tilted his head, a soft chuckle escaping him. "you okay? you look like you’ve seen a ghost—or yuki with another drink for you."

"ha, funny," you said, before blurting out, "actually, i’ve been running around looking for you." his eyes widened slightly, and he sat up straighter, suddenly looking both amused and terrified. "oh? should i be worried?"

"no! no," you said quickly, waving your hands like you were fending off an accusation. "i just... there’s something i need to say, and, uh—look, i swear it’s not the bacardi talking." geto raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "you sure? because venus is in retrograde right now, and it’s messing with everyone’s feelings."

you froze. "wait, what?"

"venus. retrograde," he repeated, gesturing vaguely like that explained everything. "you know, the planet of love and all that? it’s doing its thing, so if this is about some cosmic realization—"

"no!" you interrupted, louder than intended, earning a few glances from nearby partygoers. "this isn’t about venus or renegades or whatever. this is about me. and you."

that got his attention. his smile faltered, and for a moment, he just stared at you, eyes wide, lips parted like he was afraid to speak.

"look," you continued, words tumbling out faster than your brain could process them. "i don’t care if mercury’s in gatorade or saturn’s doing cartwheels—i like you. no, wait, i love you. i love you because you care about things that no one else notices, because you do the kindest things without making a big deal out of it. because you..." you hesitated, your voice softening, "you make life feel... lighter. and if this ruins everything, then fine. but i needed you to know."

poor geto looked like he was experiencing every emotion known to man simultaneously. he let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair. "are you sure you’re not drunk?"

"i love you," you repeated, because apparently, one humiliating confession wasn’t enough. "i mean, who wouldn’t? you’re... you’re geto! you bring vitamin gummies to class, you email me just to check in, and you—you just do these little things like they’re nothing, but they mean everything to me. and i—god, this is so embarrassing. i probably sound insane, don’t i?"

"no," he said quickly, his voice soft but firm. "no, you don’t. i—"

"oh my god," you cut him off, suddenly burying your face in your hands. "this is the bacardi talking. forget i said anything. or—or don’t forget. i don’t know. i’m spiraling, suguru. help."

"hey, hey," he said, leaning forward, his hands hovering awkwardly near yours as if he wanted to comfort you but didn’t want to scare you off. "breathe, okay? it’s fine."

you peeked at him through your fingers. "it is?"

he didn’t say anything at first. instead, he reached out, gently taking your hand in his. "yeah," he said quietly.

"for the record," his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles, "venus retrograde has nothing to do with this. i’ve been in love with you since the first time you helped me with my books in the library."

you blinked. "wait, what?"

"yeah," he repeated, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "honestly, i’ve been in love with you for ages. i just—i didn’t think you’d feel the same way. you’re kind of out of my league, you know?"

"me? out of your league?" you laughed, the sound a little wobbly but genuine. "geto, you’re literally the human equivalent of a prince. you’re smart, you’re sweet, you’re ridiculously pretty—"

"okay, stop," he said, his face turning pink.

"no, seriously!" you insisted, a grin spreading across your face. "i’m half-convinced you’re not even real sometimes."

"well," he said, finally letting himself laugh, "if i’m not real, then who’s been buying you vitamin gummies and writing you sappy emails?"

"touché," you said, smiling back at him.

"love is a silly thing," he added, smiling softly. "but with you? it’s my favorite thing."

and just like that, your heart found its home.

thank you for reading till the end 🙂‍↕️ this is probably one of the shortest fics i've ever written LOL, the more i look at it the more unsatisfactory it gets.....but erm anyways blame that on the burnout 🕺!! i hope you liked reading this regardless, the concept has been on my mind for a while now ☆⌒(*＾-゜)v as usual, my "which reader are you" quiz has been updated with this fic as well, so be sure to take it and let me know if you got this fic or not! <3

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dietmtdewbabynewyorkcity · 1 year ago

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HOW I’VE BEEN SUCESSFULLY LOSING WEIGHT: Notes from a former binge eater ♥️

*this guide is to show how ~I~ do things and offer advice on how to do it MY way. I am in no way encouraging anyone to do themselves harm. First off,

HEALTH IS WEALTH.

That being said.. this is literally the longest I’ve ever gone without bingeing. It’s just,,, easy this time. Once you get a feel of what it’s like to be skinny you just don’t crave junk as much anymore bc you KNOW it’s not worth it. The trick is to eat clean 90% of the time and allow your favorite treats 10% do the time. Fit them into your calorie limit!!! Here’s some personal favorites that have helped me lose like 20lbs in the past 2 months.

I tend to do one higher- calorie drink during the day (protein shake, Starbucks, etc) and one healthy filling but low cal meal and a sweet snack at the end of the night.

LOW CALORIE 90%

Mediterranean salad (~150): mixed greens, chopped bell peppers, cherry tomatoes, red onion. Little bit of feta cheese. Balsamic vinegar (not dressing or vinegarette!!!!) I don’t add meat but you could totally add chicken for low cal high protein choice. You could also add olives but I don’t fw them.

Chocolate Protein shakes from the gas station (loll). They’re 220 cal on average and a great treat. Strawberry one is good too.

SEAWEED SNACKS they’re literally 30-60 calories for a pack and kill my urge to eat chips!!! Please give them a try!

Soups. Soups that are already portioned and have the calorie amount posted. I add extra seasonings and spice to boost metabolism.

Coffee!! With almond milk and a little coffee creamer. It’s worth the calories if you want a coffee just make one it’s better than going to Starbucks.

Sushi: I’m vegetarian so I get an avocado and cucumber roll. It’s so good with fresh ginger and a little soy sauce. Sometimes I will be craving it allllllll day and have it as my OMAD so rewarding 🥹

Miso soup>>>>>> add tofu and seaweed and onions!! And mushrooms if you like them.

Monster Ultra energy drinks,,,, yeah I know they’re bad for you but I love them.

Fruits!!! I especially love strawberries, watermelon, cherries, blackberries, pineapple and mangoes.

TREATS 10%

Trail mix: dried cherries, pecans, walnuts, pistachios, cashews. High in calories but perfect for killing hunger. High protein keeps you full and muscles strong, high healthy fats will keep your hair and skin and nails beautiful.

Chocolates: SMALL PORTIONS. if you can’t eat just eat a piece without bingeing, do NOT buy a big bag. what I do is I buy a bar of whatever chocolate I’m craving for my bf and we share it piece by piece. Dark chocolate, milk chocolate, white, hazelnut, with coffee beans, with toffee, fruits, chocolate is the best thing ever 🍫

Starbucks! My fav drinks are matcha lattes (hot/iced), iced white chocolate mocha, caramel macchiato, and occasionally a pumpkin spice latte. Peppermint mochas on the holidays. Oat milk always

Baked goods. Same deal as the chocolate, ONLY BUY THE PORTION YOURE GOING TO EAT. If you have been craving a croissant, go get one. One. Don’t buy a whole dozen of them. You will end up bingeing trust me. My favs are cinnamon rolls <3

Habits

I’m going to the gym!!! Consistently for the first time in my life. It doesn’t have to be anything crazy. Spend 30 min on the treadmill alternating between incline walking and easy paced jogging. Put on a YouTube video. Wear pink and bring a cute water bottle. You have to make an experience out of it! I stick to cardio and full body stretches plus ocasional (light) strength workouts w my bf.

I don’t drink anymore. Just 🍃. Alc is so high in sugar and carbs and it’s literally poison bro. I know it’s hard to stop but once you do you’ll feel so much better.

I rarely weigh myself. I’m at my bfs house all the time so I only step on my scale maybe 3 times a month. It’s been a game changer!!!

MINDSET

I practice mindfulness and speak kindly to myself. Basically sweetspo + affirmations to myself all the time.

Taking more pride in your appearance will also help motivate you. You think you’ll still want to binge after you took a full body shower, clean PJ’s or outfit, painted your nails, skincare and makeup done, whitened your teeth and lit a candle? No thanks.

Limit stupid, negative, useless media consumption. Watch things that have to do with your hobbies/ interests and your social media algorithms begin to kinda clean themselves up over time. My pages are all about exercise, study blogs, beauty tips and sciencey stuff. No more drama or celebrity nonsense. Cut down your following!!

Remember you only have one life on earth. You’re young and hot once. Don’t you want to grab this chance while you have it? Unfortunately your beauty is your currency especially as a woman, so if there’s anything I can do to give myself a better life I will. Losing just a few pounds of fat will make the craziest difference in ways you’d never expect. Free and discounted stuff. More people smile at you and listen to what you have to say. Both literal and figurative doors will be opened for you.Clothes fit better bc they’re more flattering when your body is fit and healthy. While it feels good to get validation from other people, the best part of it is looking in the mirror and feeling proud instead of ashamed. The inner confidence that comes from successful transformation………….there’s no other feeling that compares. If you know, you know. I’m just saying,, the choice is yours 🤷🏼‍♀️

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lolitastories · 2 months ago

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You're Family Now

Rafe Cameron

“Can I have that mind on me for just one night?” I ignore his bitchy tone towards me as we walk down the pier. ¿Really?!” He throws his free hand up in the air in despair. “Am I the bad guy for wanting to spend some time with my girlfriend?” I stomp my foot and freeze at the spot. Rafe notices when my hand pulls him back. The sun had already set while we walked along the beach all evening. I know he has the right to be mad, to be truthful I have been spending more time with the Pogues. We keep looking at each other, his eyes cold looking at me. I can’t tell him about the situation my friends are in at the moment, if he finds out then he would do everything not to let me out of his sight. I let out a sigh and slowly walked closer to him.

“You got all my attention, Rafe” I smile, moving my hands up to pull his face closer. “I will stop being an ass, okay?” He groans, placing a kiss on my lips before turning around and continuing walking.

“You coming?” I hear as he steps away, and I rush over to catch up to him. I slip my hand back in his and the other grip his forearm embracing it.

“So where are you taking me to eat?” I glance around the many restaurants on the pier. “Burgers?”

“They don’t have the fries you like,” I groan. Burgers should never be eaten alone.

“Sushi?" I asked less excitedly.

“You don’t like sushi” he says in a duh tone shaking his head.

“I know, but you do” He chuckles. “What about BBQ?” He instantly shakes his head.

“Too messy” It was my turn to laugh. He knows I like BBQ, but he also knows how the after smell lingers as it is messy and gets all over my fingers.

“Steak?” I pointed at the restaurant with sitting inside. Open outdoor area where you can see the boats go by.

“You don’t usually do meat,” I know he didn’t say it in double sense, but it makes me laugh. “But they do have salmon” He points out on the menu. “Shall we?” I give him a nod when he turns over to me for approval. Soon he is guiding us towards an outdoor table.

“This is nice,” I commented.

“Hey guys, my name is Cindy, and I will be your waitress tonight.” She smiles big, setting down the menus on the table. “Can I start you off with a drink?”

“Yes,” I didn’t even mind opening the menu knowing what I wanted already. I looked over to Rafe who was ordering. “Two waters and a coke” Cindy smiles and walks away.

“So,” I asked, a smile lingering on my lips.

“¿Yes?” A bit of scolding in his eyes. I held back a chuckle seeing him so stern. He leaned back, crossing his arms.

“I know I have been spending too much time with the Pogues since their return but until now you never cared much for taking me out on a date,” His gaze fell. It hurts a little as he comes to terms with my words. It was true, yes, he was sweet and nice to me but when we were with his friends or at a party he wouldn’t pay attention to me. And if it wasn’t for a party or with his friends, we would never hang out. Sarah was the one who introduced me to the Pogues and since then when Rafe didn’t need me, I would hang out with them. Rafe moves forwards grabbing my hand.

“I know I have been an asshole,” I scoff, nodding my head while he gives me a stare.

“Sorry, go on.” I smile cheekily leaning forward to show I was giving him my full attention.

“I should have known when you only held close to me anywhere, we went that you weren’t there for the attention that comes with being with me. But then there were these stupid people putting ideas in my head and with my dad-” I instantly move around the table and take a seat on his lap bringing him into a hug. “I was going through so much I didn’t know how to let you in, and I knew if I did I-, that would probably be the end of us” I could help but smile. The warmth his words caused was all I could ask for right now. I grab his face and make him look up to me. His brow furrowed, worried about my responses while his hands held on tightly around my waist.

“I wished you would have told me what you were going through, I wish that I could have helped you, Rafe.” He shakes his head.

“I would never want to put you through seeing me like that,” I know what he was referring to. While Rafe shut me off from time to time, I would not let that affect my day to day. During the day I was either at school or working but at night I was crying and missing him like crazy. Sarah taking me with the Pogues made me realize my day shouldn’t be wrapped around Rafe, although that didn’t stop me from missing him. I wasn’t stupid when I heard people talk about Rafe and Barry, but it was due to the Pogues that maybe I was naive to fight more for him. Rafe pulls me closer leaning his forehead against mine. “Then I saw you with the Pogues and how you laughed. How carefree you were on the boat with them, even just sitting by the bonfire you seemed happier.” How stupid of me. “So, I made a deal that no one was going to make you happier than me.” I laughed wrapping my arms around his neck.

“So cheesy” I tease. I feel the vibration from his chest as he lets out a quick chuckle.

“Shut it,” He groans, pulling back a bit. I bit my lip as our eyes spoke for each other. He had such a beautiful smile. I move forward to whisper beside his ear.

“How about you take me away from here and make me?” His big rough hand travel up my back to slightly grip the skin-,

“Ma’am?” We both looked up seeing the waitress standing there with our drinks. “Please?” She motioned for me to take my seat.

“Yeah,” I say shyly, rushing over. I notice Rafe fixing himself as he picks the menu again. “Thank you” I say once she places our drinks on the table.

“Also,” The waitress calls on to us as she points to the side of the restaurant, “Caught them sneaking in, said they knew you two” I almost burst out laughing seeing Rafe’s reaction. Pope, John B and JJ waved at us innocently.

“They're like lost puppies” He whispers disapprovingly.

“Rafe,” I warned, giving him a smile to try and weaken his heart.

“Fine,” He finally groaned. “Put it on my card,” I could squeal out of happiness.

“Wait!” I screamed behind the waitress. “To go orders only” Cindy nods and continues to walk away.

“You don’t want them to join us?” He knew I wanted them too but I also understood this wasn’t time for the Pogues so I shook my head. “Good” He grabs the menu again and starts scanning through it.

“Rafe,” I leaned forward one more time. His menu lowered, looking at me with an unamused stare. “Thank you,” playfully say. Without moving his eyes away from mine he set the menu on the table and leaned forward.

“Don’t get used to it.” He lowers his voice and with a mischievous grin he tilts his head. “I am more than willing to pay for you, do anything for you, but that's because I get to have you all to myself at night” I know I should be somewhat offended, but my core was loving it.

“Thanks buddy!” JJ plants his hands on both of Rafe's shoulders pushing him back into his seat. Pope and John B, walk over holding on to bags of food.

“Yeah, it was nice of you,” Pope adds. John B only nods, of course he still doesn’t like Rafe.

“I will say it if you guys don’t” JJ continues. “Whether we like it or not you are going to be around for a while,” I sat back already annoyed at whatever else he was going to say. “Whether in a relationship with our girl-” Rafe’s brows furrowed. “Or while John B is macking with your sister-” oh no, I don’t like where this is going. “You are somewhat family” He ends his speech happily looking at the other Pogues for approval but there was none.

“Get out” I say sternly, mainly looking at JJ. “Out” I repeat and John B nods, taking JJ by the arm and dragging him out.

“Thanks again,” Pope quickly says, running behind the other two boys. I look over worried but surprised to find Rafe smiling while shaking his head.

“I am going to pretend that never happened and look at the bright side” I raise my brow, unable to see how that happened. He looks towards me and smiles, “If a bit of money and my sister are the price to pay to have you all to myself, then I can handle that” I roll my eyes shaking my head.

“Ready to order?” Rafe smirks, nodding his head.

“I will have the steak, medium well and she will have the Salmon,” I would be lying if I didn’t feel pride. To have Rafe with me. As he orders my food and takes care of me. If this makes me less of a feminist so, be it, I am a sucker for this man. “And add a side of fries” Yeah, I would kneel for this man.

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unabashegirl · 4 months ago

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Fragments 2 — one shot

Harry runs into Y/N in Japan. She is his ex and she is seeking closure.

Author's note: Hello everyone! I've been holding the final part bc I feel like you are all going to hate me or love me for the ending and I am scared! Please don't hate me! I hope you enjoy!

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to all chapters, various one shots like The Cover and much more :)

Please note that everything that is both underlined and italicized is from the past—they are flashbacks!

word count: 3.9K

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The kitchen filled with the gentle sound of slicing knives and the rhythmic motions of rice being pressed into nori. The chef’s voice was calm and patient as he guided them through the process, but Y/N and Harry remained mostly silent, their focus turned inward as they worked. The only other sound was the soft, traditional music playing in the background, adding to the atmosphere of quiet reflection.

Y/N carefully rolled the sushi, her movements precise as she tried to concentrate on the task at hand. She could feel Harry’s presence beside her, his silent focus mirroring her own. They moved in tandem, following the chef’s instructions, but there was a tension in the air, a heaviness that neither could ignore.

When the last roll was finally placed on the bamboo mat, the chef stepped back with a satisfied smile. “Very well done,” he praised, nodding to both of them. “You have a natural talent for this.”

Y/N gave a small, polite smile in return, glancing at Harry who nodded in agreement, though his eyes seemed distant. The chef clapped his hands together lightly, signaling the end of the lesson.

“I will leave you both to enjoy the fruits of your labor,” the chef said warmly. “Please, take your time. It has been an honor to teach you.”

With that, he bowed and quietly excused himself from the room, leaving them alone with their carefully crafted sushi rolls.

Y/N stood there for a moment, her eyes lingering on the perfectly arranged sushi before them. The silence that followed the chef’s departure felt louder, more suffocating. She could feel the weight of unsaid words pressing down on her, but she wasn’t sure how to break through the barrier that had formed between them.

Harry was the first to move, picking up a pair of chopsticks and carefully selecting a piece of sushi. He looked at her then, his gaze searching, as if trying to find something in her expression. “Shall we?” he asked, his voice soft but carrying an undertone of uncertainty.

Y/N nodded, reaching for her own chopsticks, but her hands trembled slightly as she did. She felt his eyes on her, watching, waiting for something—maybe for her to say the words that neither of them had yet found the courage to speak.

They ate in silence, the sushi as perfect as the chef had promised, but it was difficult to enjoy it with the thick tension in the air. The music played on, soothing and distant, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling inside her.

The silence between them grew unbearable, stretching out like an unspoken challenge neither of them wanted to confront. Harry set down his chopsticks, the clatter against the plate louder than it should have been in the quiet room. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers rubbing at his temples as if trying to ease away the tension that had built up over the course of the afternoon.

Y/N noticed his sudden stillness, her heart rate quickening as she sensed the shift in the atmosphere. She watched him, her chopsticks frozen in mid-air, her breath catching as she waited for him to speak. There was something in his eyes—something dark, conflicted—that made her stomach churn with a mix of fear and anticipation.

Harry finally met her gaze, his eyes filled with a depth of sorrow that she hadn’t seen before. His voice, when he spoke, was strained, as if the words were being torn from somewhere deep inside him. “I guess it’s time to tell you”

She blinked, her chest tightening at the seriousness in his tone. “What is it?” she asked, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

He hesitated, his hands trembling slightly as they rested on the table. “The reason I distanced myself,” he began, his voice cracking with the weight of what he was about to confess, “was because I… I did something.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her mind racing as she tried to comprehend what he was saying. “What do you mean?” she whispered, dread settling in her stomach.

Harry looked away, his jaw clenched as if he could barely bring himself to continue. “I cheated on you,” he finally admitted, his words laced with a deep, agonizing guilt. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. And when I realized what I’d done… I couldn’t face you. I couldn’t look you in the eyes knowing how much I’d hurt you.”

The world seemed to tilt beneath Y/N’s feet, the shock of his confession hitting her like a physical blow. Her heart shattered into a thousand pieces, each one cutting deeper than the last as she struggled to process his words. She could barely breathe, the pain in her chest so intense that she thought it might suffocate her.

“You… you cheated on me?” she repeated, her voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and raw, searing hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you just pushed me away?”

“I couldn’t bear the thought of hurting you more than I already had,” Harry confessed, his voice heavy with regret. “I thought if I distanced myself, if I just… distanced myself, it would be easier for you. That maybe you could hate me and move on, without having to see my face and be reminded of what I did.”

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes, blurring her vision as the reality of his betrayal settled in. “So instead of being honest with me, you let me believe it was something else—something I did wrong?” she asked, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. “You let me think I wasn’t enough for you?”

Harry winced, the guilt in his eyes deepening as he heard the pain in her voice. “I know I messed up, Y/N. I know I made it worse by not telling you. But I was scared. I was a coward.”

Y/N’s hands shook as she wiped away the tears that had started to fall, her heart breaking all over again as she realized how deeply he had hurt her. “You should have told me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You should have let me decide how to feel, how to move on. Instead, you just… left me in the dark.”

She walked through the living room, her steps light and tentative as if trying not to disturb the heavy silence that hung between her and Harry. He was seated on the large, plush sofa, a thick blanket draped over his legs as he stared intently at the flickering screen of his laptop. His eyes were focused, but his posture was rigid, every line of his body radiating a cold detachment that Y/N found hard to ignore.

“H,” she began softly, her voice breaking the silence like a tentative knock on a closed door. “I was thinking of making some hot cocoa. Do you want some?”

Harry didn’t look up from his laptop, his fingers tapping away at the keyboard. “No, thanks,” he replied curtly, his voice devoid of warmth. “I’m busy.”

Y/N’s heart sank at his response, but she tried to keep her tone upbeat, forcing a small smile as she turned towards the kitchen. “Okay, Just let me know if you change your mind.”

She busied herself with the cocoa, the rhythmic sound of the milk heating and the clinking of the spoon against the mug providing a small, soothing distraction. She could hear Harry’s muffled voice as he spoke into his phone, his words barely audible over the hum of the appliances. The conversation was brief, and when he hung up, he remained seated, his focus returning to the laptop.

As Y/N walked back into the living room with her steaming mug, she hesitated for a moment before taking a seat at the opposite end of the sofa. She tried to find a comfortable position, but the distance between them felt insurmountable.

Harry,” she said after a few minutes, her voice trembling slightly as she attempted to bridge the gap. “Can we talk? I feel like we haven’t really spent any time together lately. So, I was planning perhaps we could spend the weekend at my parents cabin outside of the city. I’ve already asked for the keys”.

He glanced at her briefly, his expression impassive. “I can’t this weekend,” he said, his tone clipped. “I’ve got a lot on my plate. Maybe later.”

Y/N’s smile faltered, but she nodded, trying to hide her disappointment. “Alright”.

She took a sip of her cocoa, the warmth of the drink contrasting sharply with the chill she felt in the room. The silence stretched on, punctuated only by the soft clacking of Harry’s keyboard and the occasional rustle of his papers. Y/N watched him from across the room, her heart aching as she saw the man she loved becoming more and more distant.

Time passed slowly, each minute dragging as Y/N tried to fill the silence with small, meaningless activities—flipping through a magazine, tidying up the living room, adjusting the throw pillows on the sofa. She would glance at Harry every now and then, hoping to catch his eye, to see a sign of the warmth they once shared. But each time, she was met with a cold, unfeeling stare.

Eventually, she stood up, unable to bear the distance any longer. She walked to the window, looking out at the city lights that seemed so distant and unreachable. Her reflection in the glass was a stark reminder of how far apart they had grown, and the sight of her own lonely figure only deepened her sense of isolation.

Y/N took a deep breath, gathering her courage. “Harry,” she said softly, her voice trembling with the effort to keep it steady. “I know things have been hard lately, but I miss us”.

Harry’s eyes opened slowly, and he looked at her with a mixture of fatigue and frustration. “I don’t know if we can fix this,” he said quietly.

The sadness in his voice cut through Y/N like a knife, and she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. “But I’m willing to try. For us”.

Harry looked at her, and for a moment, she got a glimpse of his old self. But then, he closed his eyes and pulled away slightly, the emotional distance between them reasserting itself. “I don’t know if I can,” he said softly.

“I know,” Harry said, his voice thick with emotion. “I was wrong, and I’m so sorry. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. But I need you to know that it meant nothing. It was a mistake—a stupid, drunken mistake—and it never changed how much I loved you.”

Y/N shook her head, the ache in her chest almost unbearable. “But it did change things, Harry. It changed everything. You broke us… and you broke me.”

Harry’s eyes filled with tears, the sight of her in so much pain almost too much for him to bear. He reached out, wanting to comfort her, but Y/N flinched away, the hurt too fresh, too raw.

“Don’t,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she pulled back. “You don’t get to touch me, not after this.”

The rejection hit Harry like a punch to the gut, but he knew he deserved it. He had made his bed, and now he had to lie in it. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he repeated, his voice barely holding together. “I wish I could take it back. I wish I could undo everything and go back to the way things were.”

But Y/N could only shake her head, the tears streaming down her face as the reality of their situation sank in. The man she had loved so deeply, the man she had trusted with her heart, had betrayed her in the worst possible way. And now, there was nothing left but the broken pieces of what they once had.

Y/N sat there, tears streaming down her face as she tried to come to terms with the bombshell Harry had just dropped on her. Every part of her wanted to scream, to throw the pain back in his face, to make him feel even a fraction of the hurt he had caused her. But all she could do was sit there, numb and hollow, as the man she once loved shattered everything she thought she knew about their relationship.

Harry’s own tears were falling now, silent and slow, as he watched her break before his eyes. He had expected anger, yelling, even hatred—but this quiet devastation was worse. It was the kind of pain that didn’t have an outlet, that didn’t have a voice. It just lingered, suffocating them both in its grip.

“Say something,” Harry finally whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his guilt. “Please, Y/N… anything.”

But what was there to say? What words could possibly convey the depth of the betrayal she felt? Y/N looked at him, really looked at him, and saw a man who was just as broken as she was. The realization hit her like a tidal wave—he was drowning in his own regret, but that didn’t make what he did any less unforgivable.

“You want me to say something?” she finally replied, her voice eerily calm despite the chaos inside her. “Fine. I loved you, Harry. More than I’ve ever loved anyone in my entire life. I would have done anything for you, given you everything. And you threw it all away for… what? For a night of wild sex?”

Harry flinched at her words, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. “It wasn’t worth it,” he choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know that now. But at the time, I was just… lost. I was struggling with the pressure, the expectations, and I messed up. And I hate myself for it every single day.”

“Good,” Y/N said sharply, her eyes blazing with the anger she had been holding back. “You should hate yourself. Because you didn’t just hurt me—you destroyed me. You made me question everything, made me question if you ever loved me”.

Her words sliced through Harry like a knife, each one cutting deeper than the last. “I loved you.” he whispered desperately. “I love you. I was the one who wasn’t enough. I was weak, and I let my insecurities and fears ruin the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Y/N’s tears fell faster now, the anger and heartbreak swirling together in a storm she couldn’t control. “You should have come to me,” she cried, her voice breaking. “You should have trusted me, talked to me, instead of turning to someone else. We could have figured it out together, Harry. But you made that impossible.”

“I know,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “And I hate myself for that, too. But I can’t change what happened, no matter how much I want to. All I can do now is tell you the truth, no matter how much it hurts, and hope that someday you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

Y/N shook her head, her heart splintering with each word he spoke. “Forgive you?” she repeated, her voice hollow. “How am I supposed to forgive you when you’ve taken everything from me? You were my safe place, my home… and now, I don’t even know who you are.”

She glanced around the small entryway, her eyes lingering on the few personal items she had packed—clothes, a few cherished mementos, and the essentials she needed to start a new chapter.

The decision had been a long time coming, but today, she had reached her breaking point. She had given everything she had to make their relationship work, to bridge the emotional chasm that had grown between them, but Harry’s coldness and distance had eroded her hope. She was tired of fighting alone, tired of trying to hold onto something that felt like it was slipping through her fingers.

She had just finished dragging her suitcase down the stairs when she heard the familiar sound of the front door opening. Her heart sank as she realized that Harry had returned from the studio earlier than expected. The footsteps grew louder, and she braced herself for the confrontation she had been dreading.

Harry stepped into the hallway, his face lighting up with a mixture of relief and exhaustion as he saw her. “Y/N,” he said, his voice carrying an edge of surprise. “Going on a trip?”

The sight of him, looking worn out from a long day at the studio, only served to amplify the emotional storm inside her. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her shaking hands. "I'm leaving.”

Harry’s expression shifted from confusion to alarm. “Leaving? What do you mean? Where are you going?”

Y/N reached for her suitcase and gave it a resolute tug. “I’m leaving. I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired of fighting, tired of trying to make things work when it feels like I’m the only one putting in any effort.”

Harry’s face fell, his exhaustion giving way to a wave of panic. “Y/N, wait. Can we talk about this? Please?”

She shook her head, the tears she had been holding back finally spilling over. “I’ve tried, Harry. I’ve tried to make us work, to be the person you need. But I’m exhausted. I deserve to be loved, to be with someone who truly wants to be with me”.

Harry’s eyes widened with hurt and confusion. “Please, just give me a chance to explain.”

Y/N took a step back, the weight of her decision pressing heavily on her shoulders. “I’ve heard all the explanations I need,” she said softly, her voice breaking. “The truth is, I’m done trying to fix something that feels broken beyond repair. I’ve given everything I have, and I just… I can’t keep doing this.”

She reached for the handle of her suitcase, her hands trembling slightly. “I just want to be loved, Harry. I want to be with someone who sees me and values me for who I am. And right now, that isn’t you.”

Harry’s face contorted with anguish, the pain of her words cutting deeply. “Y/N, please don’t do this,” he pleaded, stepping closer but stopping when he saw the resolute look in her eyes.

Y/N took a deep breath, her resolved unwavering. “I can’t stay here and keep hoping for something that may never change.”

She turned to leave, but Harry reached out, grabbing her arm gently. “Just give me one more chance,” he begged, his voice filled with desperation.

Y/N looked at him, her heart breaking at the sight of his tear-streaked face and the raw emotion in his eyes. “I deserve more” .

With that, she pulled her arm free, her heart aching as she walked out of the apartment and down the stairs. Every step felt like a small victory and a deep loss at the same time. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she took one last look at the building, at the life she was leaving behind, and then stepped out into the evening air.

The room fell into a suffocating silence, the air thick with the unspoken question hanging between them. Y/N could see the desperation in Harry’s eyes, the plea for a second chance, but all she could feel was the overwhelming ache in her chest, the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she tried to hold herself together. “I don’t know if I can ever look at you and not resent you for it”.

Harry’s face crumpled at her words, the pain in his eyes almost too much to bear. “I understand,” he said softly, his voice filled with sorrow. “I won’t ask you to make any decisions. I just needed you to know the truth. I’ll accept it even if it means letting you go again.”

The finality of his words hung in the air, a bitter reminder of how far they had fallen from the love they once shared. Y/N looked away, unable to meet his gaze any longer, the tears blurring her vision as the reality of their situation crashed down around her.

In that moment, the sushi on the table, the music playing softly in the background, the cozy warmth of the restaurant—none of it mattered. All that existed was the chasm between them, the deep, irreparable wound that no amount of apologies or regret could ever heal.

She stood up from the table, her movements slow and deliberate as she gathered her things. Harry stood up as well, his face pale and stricken with anguish. “I know that I am supposed to let you go. But please don’t go” he begged, his voice cracking. “I can’t lose you again”. Harry had hoped that this time around things would’ve ended different than that day at the apartment. However, it seemed like he was reliving it.

Y/N took a deep breath, the finality of her decision weighing heavily on her. “I can’t” her voice cracked as tears streamed down her face. “I can’t keep doing this to myself. You have to let me go”. She walked towards the restaurant’s exit, her heart heavy with the sadness of the parting. As she reached the door, she turned to look back at Harry one last time, her eyes filled with sorrow and a lingering love that could never be fully extinguished. “Bye H”

Harry watched her, his own tears falling freely now. The pain of her leaving was evident in every line of his face, but he made no move to stop her, knowing deep down that he had lost her.

Y/N stepped out into the cool night air, the city lights casting a gentle glow that only served to highlight the deep darkness she felt within. She paused for a moment, looking back at the restaurant where they had just shared their final, heart-wrenching conversation. Despite the sadness that still clung to her, a part of her felt unexpectedly lighter.

The weight of the past seemed to lift from her shoulders, replaced by a newfound clarity. She realized, with painful but liberating honesty, that her worth was never in question—it was never about her. She had finally found the closure she had so desperately sought. As she walked away, she felt a quiet confidence settle within her. She knew now that she deserved to be loved deeply and genuinely, and that there was someone out there who would truly appreciate her for who she was.

As she disappeared into the horizon, Harry stood alone in the doorway, the ache of her absence a stark reminder of the love that had slipped through his fingers. Of the only person that loved him with honesty.

part 1

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hokusu · 2 months ago

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#DabiHawks where Hawks just wraps Dabi up in his wings for every reason he can think of.

It starts—

"Fuck this. I don't give a shit how useful his quirk is, he's not joining."

Hawks seizes it as an opportunity and steps too close to Dabi, invades his space and pulls him close. Close enough to wrap his wings around him and for Dabi to yelp.

"The fuck are you doing birdbrain?"

"Nothing."

"This—"

"Is nothing."

The wings wrap around them both, drowns out the world and cocoons him into a world of blinding red and soft feathers that caress against his back, his arms and he inhales and its all Hawks. Hawks and his wings. His brows unfurrow and he exhales. It's... admittedly nice.

Fine. Whatever. He'll let himself be wrapped in Hawks wings just this once.

It goes—

"I hate sushi," Dabi grumbles as he turns away from the League enjoying their dinner. Sushi again. His stomach turns and just like that his mood is soured.

And before he knows it, Hawks flutters to his side and the wings come up.

Dabi blinks.

"What the fuck—"

"Shh... just hide in my wings."

"I don't—"

"The wings," Hawks repeats again, like it makes all the sense in the world as he passes him a bucket of fried chicken. One that Dabi isn't really sure where he pulled out of, but the smell of fried chicken is better than the smell of fish and again the room, everyone else fades away. It's just him and Hawks and fried chicken and his wings.

The goddamn wings. That he doesnt understand the effect of but alright. One more time.

It continues—

Dabi throws a pencil in the middle of a meeting. The meeting that's decidedly going nowhere as he waves a hand, stands up and declares, "Don't care anymore."

Hawks wings are around him almost instantly.

Dabi exhales out a sigh, "Hawks—"

"Shh. The wings," Hawks chides gently as they come to shield him from the wandering eyes and guide him out of the room. Dabi goes, because he's long since stopped trying to understand.

And it grows—

"We're out of cereal," Dabi complains as he shakes the empty box into his bowl.

Hawks laughs in delight and in a flurry of red feathers, Dabi is surrounded in wings.

"Hawks," Dabi deadpans.

"Shh. My wings are here."

"That doesn't solve the empty cereal box."

"Sure it does, you love these wings don't you?"

Hawks shakes his right wing in response, letting the wing span out and flare into a beautiful crimson wall and like a moth drawn to the flames, Dabi's eyes follow the movmement.

Hawks' left wing comes up next against Dabi's arms, the gentle feathers brushing against his skin and alluring Dabi into another distraction.

Dabi exhales and Hawks looks far too pleased.

Dabi still doesn't know why this works.

#bnha #Dabihawks #Takami keigo #Hawks #Dabi #Todoroki Touya #Mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #Dabihawks fanfic #My writing

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appleblueberry-pie · 9 months ago

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Can can… we reject yan gojo? I actually deeply need it. *shakes head* My spirit guides told me it’s beneficial to my life’s journey. Him just being so down bad and we could never. Gojo is not our type. He’s tall but we aren’t compatible. I want angst, despair, his tears, pleads. Desperation. This would be even juicier if it’s based in like school because now he’s going to have to live out his adult life hoping 😔

This felt more like a regular teenage confession gone wrong.

I imagine waking up to him being at your dorm room door confessing, haha.

You've been up on your phone for like 20 minutes, but it's still extremely early. You're in your pj's and you drag yourself to the door, and he's there in the same state, a guilty smile on his face. You both knew it would happen sooner or later though. Lately, he's been staring at you as if he's gonna explode if he doesn't talk to you. You tried to avoid him, but here he is now.

"Hey, I just.......can I tell you something real quick?" Hands in his pocket as he speaks. You sigh and shrug. ".....Just say it. I don't care."

The things he planned on saying wasn't something that should elicit an "i don't care". He knows you'll turn him down. He lets out a shaky breath before finally rambling.

"I just wanted to say that I have been feeling differently about you lately. Like, I really love to spend time with you and talk with you, it just makes my day whenever you're around-" It felt so unnatural now that he was saying it out loud. And your face was beginning to change into a not-so-good look. "You always talk to me, make me feel included, you just do everything so nicely, I can't like...look away from you sometimes because you're so bright. I just.....I feel like I can be myself when you're there, and I just wanted to say that I feel really attracted to you, and I am in love with you."

"..........................."

He wasn't sure what face you were making. It looked like you wanted to pull a neutral face, but you were also simultaneously surprised and confused and frustrated. He doesn't know. You were still and weren't speaking and he felt like he was going to throw up. So, he kept talking.

"I can't ignore how I feel about you anymore. I wanted to, like, leave you alone, but you taught me to not ignore my feelings and always tell someone about them, so here I am. I don't know if you feel the same way," You didn't. "But, like, everything about you is fucking amazing and I can't just.....look, please just say something." He awkwardly laughed and shuffled in his spot while you kept staring up at him like he had another head. You didn't say a word. He shuffled his hair and pulled at it anxiously and still kept talking.

"I know what you're thinking......but like please give me a chance." Your lip twitched nervously and you took a very small step back, which he, of course, noticed. "I know! I know I'm being weird right now, it's just, like, I could give you everything you want, you know?? Like, I'll pay for your stuff, I could take you wherever you want to go, you like that one sushi place before right?? I can give you all the attention you want, I could- I could, um.....I could like scare off any guys bothering you, I can drive-" No, he can't. "I'll be so good to you, I promise. Please."

You sigh and shake your head. "Gojo...." "What will it take??? I'll do anything, I just really want to be yours, you understand, right??" He backed up a little to give you space and spoke in a low volume not to alert anyone from their sleep since it was still super early. "You're not my type." You just tell him flat out, but he still tries to find any possibility, which you immediately crushed. "Like, at all, Gojo. I don't want anything that you have in my dream guy. I don't want you and probably never will."

It doesn't make any sense to him at all. He just stands there extremely confused. "........what?" "I don't want you, I'm sorry." And you shut the door.

Words can't even explain how he feels right now. He never thought at all at the possibility that he wasn't even anything close to what you desire in a man at all. It just felt so unreal for that to even be a possibility. Was it his voice? His hair? His face? What the fuck was it? Was he not skinny enough? Does he need to gain weight and muscle? He doesn't even fucking know what your type is because he always thought it would be something like him. Now he's entirely lost. What did all of those lost lives and kidnappings mean if you won't even love him?

He doesn't ever want to force you into anything, but even he doesn't know how far he'll take it. He already has a hard time not killing your ex-friends or people you don't get along with. And he definitely can't stop stalking you anytime soon, there's too much to figure out about you. There's too much time that he's dedicated to just you. And it has to all be for a reason, there fucking has to be. He's not loving you for nothing.......does he have to kill more people? Is he going to have to take you by force? He's lost and doesn't like his options.

"Hm."

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #jjk #reader #yandere character #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere gojo #yandere satoru gojo #yandere gojo x reader #yandere satoru #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader

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vorfreudevortex · 4 months ago

Text

3. three can keep a secret...

a street racer!ino takuma x f!reader fic

redline masterlist // previous: chapter 2 // next: chapter 4

warnings // 5.8k words - swearing, alcohol, smoking, reckless driving (duh), all characters in college or recently graduated, mount hakone's details are not accurate for the sake of the story so pls don't try to clown me for it, mentions of weapons, mention of a car accident, injuries such as bleeding and broken bones, mention of death

✰ // the cars and the reader’s appearance in this fic are purposely kept ambiguous so you are free to have aspects look, feel, and be modified any way you’d like.

the vibes for chapter three

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

takuma’s soft palms securely grip your waist as you wobble and sway. the skate park is empty aside from you two, the setting sun casts a golden filter through the trees and onto his glowing skin. it’s been a few days since he first kissed you. after finally exchanging phone numbers, you’ve been texting every day since, and stealing away time to see him when suguru’s attention is turned towards something else. he’s taken you for breezy late night cruises, let you drive his skyline, and hushed walks through quiet neighborhoods.

but today he treats you to sushi from his mom’s lovely shop, and now a crash course lesson in skateboarding at the secluded park near his home.

“i’m gonna let go!”

“don’t!” you shriek, clamping onto the cotton of his navy blue shirt even tighter.

“i’m kidding,” he giggles. “i won’t let go until you ask me to.”

you jerk back and forth on the worn out wood, trying to tighten your core like takuma told you to, but it does nothing as you struggle to find balance.

“are you bending your knees?”

“i’m trying to,” you whine as he walks beside you, guiding you forward slowly. you finally find a small center of stability, “wait, let go now.”

he steps back as you slowly roll forward, arms flailing and torso contorting as you try to hold the balance you had. takuma doesn’t leave your side. the uneasiness becomes too much for you and you stumble off the board, sending it flying behind you. he’s quick to grab you.

“that was great, you’re making progress!” he grins. you grip his arms.

“that was terrifying!”

“oooh, so when 4 wheels have a supercharged v8, it’s fine” he teases. “but when it’s 3 pounds of wood, it’s terrifying?”

“it’s so not the same!”

takuma laughs before wrapping his strong arms around you and pressing a kiss to your forehead. the contact is soft, gentle. you’ve noticed over the past few days that takuma is rowdy and rough when he makes contact with anything except you. when you’re there, his body and voice calms, like a precious glass ornament he’s afraid to break.

“we can be done for the day,” he suggests. “maybe another lesson tomorrow?”

“i can’t,” you pout. “my dad and brother said they have something planned for my birthday.”

“what?!” his eyes widen with alarm. “your birthday?”

“yeah,” you smile sheepishly. “i’m 21 tomorrow.”

“you should’ve said something! oh my god, i didn’t get you anything.”

“i didn’t expect you to,” you giggle. “you don’t need to get me anything, kuma.”

“no, no, no,” he pleads, tightly clinging to you. “i’ll get you something good, promise.”

“you really shouldn’t worry about it—”

“—sshhh,” he hushes you. “and this weekend, we can go out and celebrate at the underground.”

“i’d love that, kuma.”

“good,” another press to your forehead before quickly whipping around and hopping on his board. he pushes off, rolling fast and low as he approaches a ramp. he looks at you with a silly grin and playful eyes— it’s an addicting sight. “now watch this steeze!”

you can’t help but laugh at his goofy behavior as he lifts up from the ramp, the board twirling in the air before he sticks the landing.

it’s not the burning sun that sends warmth through your entire body, it’s takuma.

✰✰✰✰✰

that evening, chopsticks click and clatter around the kotatsu as your little family enjoys a comforting dinner. you, papa, and suguru prattle and laugh over minuscule conversation and steaming rice. but papa finds a lull through the noise, and takes the opportunity to say something that neither you or suguru were expecting.

“i talked to toji fushiguro the other day.”

ah, shit.

you look at suguru, suguru looks at papa. you know that your brother never told your dad about the tense situation from a few days ago. and you both know that papa is still friends with toji, but assumed that he would keep his mouth shut to him. plus, incidents like that had an unspoken rule to stay unspoken, even to those who were familiar with the scene.

“and how did that go?” suguru responds, his words slow and careful. papa looks at you, his kind eyes suddenly serious. he holds a beer bottle, oil and grease buried deep underneath his fingernails.

“toji says that there’s some people who don’t like that there’s a girl running around and racing.”

“i haven’t been racing, though,” you’re confused. you already know toji told your papa about the argument suguru had with his son. suguru stays quiet, looking down in his food with his brows furrowed.

“but you’ve been practicing to race,” you dad explains. “apparently, the local car community isn’t exactly excited that you’re here.”

“i’m just visiting,” you tilt your head. “i come here every summer, i think most people in the scene know that.”

“but you’re older now. you shipped out your car, doing mountain passes… getting more involved with suguru’steam.”

“that doesn’t mean anything,” suguru finally says. “who’s saying this?”

“i’m not sure,” papa admits. “but toji seemed concerned about it enough to come and talk to me.”

“and this was after suguru raced his son, right?” you ask.

“yes, but all that’s beside the point.”

“so what is the point?” your brother says, you can tell he’s getting irritated.

“well…” papa clears his throat. “…they don’t want a girl racing around them.”

“why not?” you ask and suguru rolls his eyes.

“it’s not like a girl’s never ran with us,” suguru scoffs. “this is stupid.”

“so, are people, like… mad at me?” you’re still confused. “they know my shelby is faster, they know that suguru’steaching me how to drift, so what? they don’t want the possibility of suguru’s sister being better than them? that’s so childish.”

“i agree,” suguru adds. “this is some bullshit. it’s just fun, my little sister wants to run around with me and race while she’s here for the summer, so she will. it’s not that serious.”

“trust me, i agree as well,” your papa looks anxious, the creases on his face seem more obvious than before. “it’s just that toji suggested that…”

“suggested what?” suguru huffs.

“he suggested that someone might cause trouble if clutch hangs around too much.”

“…is that a fucking threat?”

“i don’t know. but you needed to know, and clutch is old enough now where she should know it, too.”

“alright…,” your fingertips twitch. “so what happens now?”

suguru scarfs down the last of his food and stands up from the table. “i gotta call toru and ken.” your papa reaches over and places a reassuring hand over yours as suguru disappears upstairs.

“i’m sure it’s just talk. you shouldn’t stop having fun while you’re here,” his gentle words help you relax. “i love you, y/n. just be safe and smart when you’re out.”

✰✰✰✰✰

later, when the moon glows through the windows and the house settles into silence, you find yourself knocking on suguru’s bedroom door. you heard him come in earlier from the bar with his friends, and know he would be in bed now.

“come in.”

he lays back on the pillows of his bed with one knee propped up, scrolling on his phone. he only wears a pair of shorts and his long, dark hair is loose over his shoulders. his room is spotless, like always. against one side of the room is his bed and desk, the other a tv and dresser. they walls are covered in a tasteful array of signs and posters, the moonlight almost makes them seem alive. his dark wooden desk is littered with random silver car parts and tools, all clean and neatly aligned. his closet door is ajar, and each shirt is color coded.

you pad over and and he moves to make room for you as you sit beside him. his phone lights up his sleepy face, it’s a tiktok video of a beautiful nissan silvia.

“what’s up?” he smiles lazily, reaching up to wind his fingers through your hair. you slump into his shoulder.

“we never talked the other day.”

“yeah, i’m sorry. i got caught up working on satoru’s car.”

“it’s alright. i’ve already forgiven you.”

“well, i’m still sorry… never should of put you in that position.”

“don’t be,” you laugh. “i put myself there.”

“and i should’ve kept you out.” you sit up, his fingers leave your hair. he looks at you expectantly.

“nii-chan, you’ve never used your gun, right?” your voice is soft. “same with satoru?”

“no,” he looks directly in your eyes, he wouldn’t dare lie to you. “never.”

“okay,” you nod. “but, what about what papa said—”

“—i will if i need to,” he’s quick to respond. “and satoru.”

“i will, too.”

he lifts an eyebrow at your words. “huh?”

“i know how to use a gun,” you admit. “mom has one back home and taught me.”

“why would she get a gun?”

“i dont know,” you shrug. “everyone’s got one. so i guess she didn’t want to be the only one without.”

“you’re not going anywhere near my pistol.”

“i know.”

“seriously, don’t touch it under any circumstances. i don’t care if it's laying around in my car or something,” his voice is suddenly low and urgent. “if i get caught and they find your prints on it, it’s over for you.”

“you’d go to jail, too.”

“and i’ll be the only one going. you’ll have nothing to do with it.”

you’re both quiet for a moment before you ask your next question.

“why did toji fushiguro do that? don’t you think that was so weird?”

“i don’t know, i think just to piss me off some more,” suguru huffs. “either way, it was odd behavior, even from him. it was fucking disrespectful. he doesn’t know you like that so i don’t know why he would try that shit.”

“you still seem really mad about it.”

“because i am,” he sits up and grabs your arm. “that’s why i don’t want you anywhere near ino or any of the shadows. they hang out with some nasty people. fushiguro still does suspicious shit and i know he’s got his son in it too.”

“suspicious how?”

“fushiguro…” he pauses and glances at the bedroom door before lowering his voice to a whisper. “…fushiguro and his kid were the ones to help me get my gun. and i know exactly which nameless yakuza he sourced it from. and that kamo guy, the one with the tattoo on his nose, used to run drugs and other shit for him and toji. they ran around together in a motorcycle gang before they got busted and he came to tokyo.”

choso kamo? no way… he was so quiet and respectful towards you at the club, and he’s friends with takuma, the sweetest one of them all. same with megumi, he seemed so young and easily flustered, there’s not a chance that his own father has him sneaking around the city like that… right?

you want suguru to be lying but you know he isn’t. he’s never lied to you and his intense gaze solidifies his truth.

“you think anyone who willingly runs around with those guys can stay out of trouble? absolutely not. takuma and his boys were the first to get pistols. satoru and i thought the same as mom, we weren’t gonna get tied up someday as the only ones without them.”

“okay, i get it. but what does that mean for me?” you take a breathe. “i don’t wanna get caught in literal crossfire just because i wanna race.”

“you won’t.”

“how can you be sure? if toji fushiguro is this big and bad, i don’t think he’d make empty… threats… like that.”

“clutch, my team is more than just ken and toru,” he reassures. “sure, those two are always around, but the phantoms are bigger than you think. they’re just not around every time we’re out.”

“i kind of figured…”

“people say the phantoms run the streets of tokyo,” he continues. “everyone knows i don’t fool around. there’s a lot that happens when you’re not here. someone would be an idiot if they tried to come after us.”

“what about me?”

“us includes you, silly,” he smirks. “you’re my sister. you could beat most of them in a race after all. as long as you stay close to me, you’ll be alright.”

you can’t help but smile.

“suguru, i wanna be one of the fastest street racers in tokyo,” you admit. “at least while i’m here.”

“i think you’re pretty much there already,” he chuckles. “there’s no other girls who race with us.”

“i mean, even better than the handful of female racers around. i wanna be able to keep up with you.”

“is that so?”

“yeah. and i wanna win a touge pass on mount hakone, too. lots of them.”

“all before the summer ends?” he teases.

“yeah, before the summer ends,” you grin. “and then i’ll mysteriously disappear like i was never here.”

“oooh, kinda like a phantom?” he wears a shit-eating grin and you can’t help but laugh. “it’s late, you better get some sleep for you surprise tomorrow.”

“can you give me a hint?”

he looks up and purses his lips, faking a deep thought. “hmmm. it’s something you’ll never see coming.”

“yeah, i know,” you lightly smack him as he laughs. “that’s what a fucking surprise is.”

“i’m not telling you anything. but it’ll be a proper celebration of your 21st. it’s a big one, you’ll go home and be able to party now.”

“you act like i’ve never had a sip of liquor in my life,” you pull him in for a tight hug. “love you.”

“love you, too.”

you pull away and playfully jab your finger in his nose. “you need a soap opera on your life after the drama you caused the other night. don’t drag me into it again.” he swats your hand away with a grin.

“you shithead. get out of my room.”

at exactly 12:01 am, your phone sings:

takuma ino: happy birthday pretty girl :)

✰✰✰✰✰

your birthday flies by before you know it. papa, suguru, satoru, kento, and shoko wake you up with your favorite breakfast and gifts, including one that your mom mailed to you from back home. your bed is littered new clothes, jewelry, trinkets, and liquor at the end of the morning. suguru makes you play passenger princess in your own mustang for the day while he takes you around the city, while the others all seem to have excuses for why they can’t come spend your birthday with you.

suguru drags you all across tokyo. he takes you shopping, out for lunch, and then coffee when you get sleepy. he pays for your manicure, takes all your instagram photos for you without complaining, and to the sushi boat restaurant you’ve been wanting to visit. it’s not as good as ino family's sushi shop.

you’re exhausted by the time the sun has set, begging your brother to take you home so you can finally spend time with your papa before the night ends.

“your garage remote isn’t working,” suguru says as he fumbles with the buttons, the engine idling just outside the house.

“suguru, this has been the best day ever and i love you so much,” you start. “but i’m about to get real fucking cranky if i’m not in the house in 10 seconds.”

“relax,” he laughs. “go open the door for me and head on upstairs. i’ll pull your car in.”

you’re punching in the code when you hear suguru cut the motor of your mustang. the garage door groans open behind your back as you watch him walk up the driveway toward you.

“i thought you were gonna pull my car in?”

“i would but,” he points behind you. “there’s no room.”

your drowsiness had distracted you from realizing the shop’s lights were on when they shouldn’t have been. you look over your shoulder with wide eyes. suguru’s a fucking liar after all.

the shop is crowded with bodies that shout and holler excitedly when you finally turn around, and in the center sits your papa, satoru, kento, and shoko. between them, however, is a dark, blood red body of metal. there’s not a single scratch on the paint, and the chrome wheels gleam under the bright lights of the garage. the front license plate, brand new and snowy white, reads “CLUTCH”.

“what the fuck…”

“we all pitched in,” suguru slings an arm around your stiff shoulders and holds a key out before you. “still wanna go to bed?”

your life isn’t real. you stand there like an idiot, dumbfounded with your jaw hanging open. this is a movie— no, a dream. no, this is a prank. a sick, sick joke.

“liar,” you finally choke out. “you’re a liar. you’re lying.”

“never,” he says, finally letting a wide grin spread across his face. he pushes you into the garage and past the strangers. “i hope you don’t mind, but everyone here helped pitch in something and wanted to meet you. these are the phantoms…” he opens the driver’s door of the silvia and gently pushes you into the seat. “…and this is the newest phantom’s newest car.”

you’re crying, sobbing, bawling. you’re an absolute blubbering mess. suguru crouches down in the open door as you shakily fumble with the ignition. it roars to life and shakes the walls of the shop. the turbocharged engine sounds so good, so sweet. you wail along with it as you slump over suguru’s shoulders and wet his shirt with your tears.

you can’t stop your tears as your loved ones embrace you, it’s all so much, too much. this was much different than when your mom helped you purchase the mustang, matching whatever amount you saved up from countless hours working as a waitress from her seemingly endless bank account. the time, effort, and love that your family on this side of the world had put in just for you makes you want to burst.

you think about your papa, long hours underneath greasy hoods, meticulously tuning and fixing each motor for each client that rolled into the shop. you think about kento, serious eyes and rough hands toiling away at his side. suguru, who your father also pays for his help, and his hours flipping street cars to sell on the other side of the shop— all three of their automotive technology degrees from college being put to work constantly. shoko’s exhausting 12-hour shifts at the hospital, usually during the late hours of the night. god, even satoru, who probably poured a significant amount of his father’s bank account into this gift to make up for his constant loitering.

the nissan silvia s15 spec-r, used but practically in mint condition with only 2,500 miles on it. a 4-cylinder turbo engine with horsepower up to 250. a 6 speed transmission, of course, and 274 newton-meters of torque.

it’s fucking beautiful.

it’s yours.

✰✰✰✰✰

it’s deep into the night when suguru, satoru, and shoko step outside for a cigarette. your papa has already gone to bed and the rest of the phantoms are gone. you had made sure to thank each and every one of them before they left. most stayed close during the evening, taking turns watching papa and kento guiding you through the foreign engine and its components.

it was just you and kento now, gently wiping down the sparkling red paint with soft towels in the peaceful silence of the garage. you sit on the concrete, getting the low corners of the nose while he leans over the hood, carefully erasing any fingerprints and dust.

“it’s quite the ride,” kento says quietly. his eyes droop with exhaustion from running around all day with papa and satoru to get the silvia in time.

“it really is," you smile. "thank you so much again, ken."

“you’ll be cruising along with us now,” he adds. “no need to ride in our passenger seats anymore like you used to.”

you can’t help but giggle, floating high and light through your sleepiness with the liquor and adrenaline of today. you think of all the times you’ve rode shotgun with each of the boys growing up, clutching onto the handles as they’d fly around just to make you shriek with happiness. it almost makes you want to cry, knowing those innocent days have ended, but you blink away the tears.

“i’ll still hop in with you every so often, don’t worry,” but kento doesn’t respond at first, instead he crouches down to your level.

“y/n, you should know that…” his voice is low, barely above a whisper as he pauses to glance at the cracked door. in the second of silence, you can hear your brother’s voice outside. kento’s brown eyes turn back and bore into you with insane intensity.

“…i saw you yesterday.”

he sees the confusion in your face. yesterday? wait—

“with takuma ino.”

fuck.

“…y-you did?” your voice shakes. you internally panic, you don’t know what to say.

“at the skate park, didn’t i?”

oh, he’s got you now. you hesitate in how to respond, but then silently nod your head. you’ve never lied to kento, and you won’t start now.

“i thought so.”

“i’m sorry…” you whisper. your heart pounds so loudly in your chest that you’re afraid kento can hear it. his eyes soften just the slightest bit.

“you didn’t know i live in that area as well, didn’t you?” his question sounds more like a statement. you shake your head, frightful tears forming in your eyes. you can’t even imagine the angry words your brother will chastise you with when he finds out, or worse, the angry fists he'd throw at takuma. “calm down. i’m not going to tell suguru.”

“you’re not?”

“no. it’s not my business.”

he stands up on his feet once more. you swallow harshly, willing the blush on your cheeks and the beating in your chest to calm down. kento has never scared you, but as you look up at his towering stance from the floor, you’re nothing but intimidated.

“but you will tell him when the time is right. and you will be careful around ino and the shadows. do you understand?”

“i understand,” you manage to croak out. you feel like you’re being disciplined by your father, or maybe your high school principle. kento just nods and motions for you to stand up beside him.

“you will also drive safely and responsibly with this new car,” his finger taps the hood. “only your father and i are allowed to tune this engine. if you get in an accident, it will be because of your driving. i will not allow this motor to fail on you under any circumstances whatsoever. if there is even a speck of dust positioned incorrectly on this motor, i will not allow you to race. do you understand?”

“yes, i understand.”

“i know your brother has told you about what happened to yu. i won’t allow anything like that to happen to you,” his face changes ever so slightly, an unreadable expression. your heart skips a beat, you know all about what happened to yu haibara.

you’ve seen glimpses of the burn marks on kento’s side, the ones from him pulling his childhood friend from a blazing car. yu haibara didn’t stand a chance, he had died in the initial wreck before the engine even caught on fire. kento had crawled out of the passenger seat, bones snapped in half and stabbing through his skin, before crawling back in when he realized yu hadn’t come out yet. bleeding and broken, he had cradled yu’s lifeless body on the touge of mount fuji until help finally came to him. kento has never raced since.

“thank you, ken,” you whisper. you know he's dead serious, he would never say such a thing if he didn't truly and absolutely mean it.

kento pulls you in for a swallowing hug, the musk of his cologne filling your lungs as he wraps you into his chest.

“damn,” you turn at satoru’s teasing voice. “someone take a picture, ken’s showing emotion.”

the trio enters the garage with drowsy faces, reeking of tobacco. kento lets go, you pray they only caught the last part of your conversation.

“all cleaned up, huh?” suguru whistles.

your brother steps between you to lean over and closely inspect the glowing red paint, kento stands stiffly on the other side of him. you glance at him. he has a soft, knowing look in his eyes, and dimples emerge in his cheeks as he puts on gentle smile. you have complete trust in knowing that kento will keep your secret safe as he opens his mouth to speak.

“yeah. all cleaned up.”

✰✰✰✰✰

all week long, you wake up early and stay up late. the boys work with you every day while your papa tinkers alongside you between his own clients. shoko stops by after her shifts for a beer and cigarette to watch the boys work.

the first engine modifications include a better cold air intake and exhaust, while kento insists that he reprograms the ecu so your throttle response is absolutely perfect. suguru orders brand new coilovers while satoru and your papa lightly argue over which strut and sway bars will be best for you.

the five of you spend an entire day on new tires and cambers until the angle is exactly the way you want it, and another few days installing a gorgeous wide body kit for the wheels. papa focuses on replacing the stock clutch and gear shifter. kento helps you with the brake calipers and pads. you thought you knew plenty about cars and motors, but each hour you feel like you’re being introduced to a new component or tool that you didn’t know existed.

at the end of every night, you’re leaning against the shower wall with sleepy eyes trying to scrub the grease and oil from the crevices of your skin and the bed of your fingernails. you’re not sure the dark smell of the motor will ever leave your hair, but you slide into your bed light-headed and happy knowing your family loves you enough to provide so much for you.

you don’t talk to takuma much as week passes, only a few messages here and there. you’re too busy feeling filthy with guilt every time the boys open up a box of brand new parts for your car. but every time you start to say something, someone is shushing you. you know how expensive each part is, and on top of the expense of the car… you feel sick to your stomach just thinking about how many digits follow the dollar sign.

although you’ve taken your new silvia for a few spins, you’re itching to get out to the mountain as the week comes to an end and the car comes closer to completion. it’s all you’ve wanted to do all summer, all you’ve wanted to do for years, and now you finally have your very own vehicle to do so.

the large door of the garage is wide open and the sun is setting, shooting rays of gold into the garage and over the silvia. warm summer breezes sift through the shop. suguru talks you through properly applying a sticker on your back windshield. it’s the same one you’ve seen on all the boys’ cars; a bright white hooded ghost figure with glowing red eyes— a phantom. when you’re finished wiping it down, your brother ruffles your hair and smiles.

“let’s go to mount hakone.”

you truly couldn’t be happier. there’s no races tonight, but there’s still a few scattered cars hanging out around the straight. a few of them take casual passes through the mountain, but nothing high stakes. you recognize a few familiar phantom faces and make sure to take the time to greet them and show them your finished project, thanking them incessantly for helping your family purchase the silvia until they’re practically begging you to stop.

everyone shows respect when suguru announces he wants you to have a turn through alone. they stay back on the shoulder to wait until you come back through again, giving you supportive words as you start warming up the engine. suguru hands you the black helmet from the passenger seat for the nth time.

“where did you even get this?” you ask him as you pull it over your hair. “you’ve never even owned a motorcycle.”

“it’s for your safety,” he reaches over to make sure the chinstrap is tight enough.

“i asked where, not why,” you giggle.

“i don’t even remember. it’s been laying around in my closet for a while.”

“it’s a cool helmet! practically brand new.”

“you’re the only one to wear it.”

you fasten your new seatbelt across your chest, a red racing harness that matches the maroon paint of the silvia. suguru does the same before pulling on your straps once more.

“i got it!” you whine. “it’s tight enough.”

“i just need to be sure,” he settles back in the passenger seat. “let’s run it.”

you press the gas, making the glistening new tires spin in place against the rough concrete until your gut tells you they’re sticky enough. your foot lifts from the brake, and the car is set free. your mind thinks of nothing except redlining the engine and the upcoming turn the entire way through.

your mind has made friends with each bend, rock, and tree along the path. every time you come to mount hakone, your confident builds higher and higher. and with the silvia now in your control, you’re raring to go. each day that passes means your time in japan is getting shorter, and you want— no, need— to get faster.

back at the straight, suguru whistles as you pull the handbrake for the final time and take out the key. the engine stands still and hot, you can hear the faint tick tick ticking under the hood as you tear off the constricting helmet. your hair sticks to your forehead, damp with sweat, as you try and catch your breathe. suguru shows you his phone screen.

8:42:35

it’s nowhere close to suguru’s. although unofficial because of its illegality, all the street racers in tokyo know that your brother holds the fastest time at mount hakone— 6:48:02.

“8 minutes?” you whine, even though it’s a whopping 5 seconds faster than the last pass you completed.

“this is an insanely good time,” suguru chuckles.

“no it’s not! it’s over 2 minutes slower than you.”

“relax, clutch—”

“—and a minute and 40-something seconds slower than toru.”

“you’ve already gotten so much faster since you—”

“—and a minute and 38 seconds slower than kento!”

“cool it,” suguru warns against your rare show of brattiness. “don’t pout about it. this is still faster than a lot of racers around here.

you’re still panting. you unclasp the seatbelt, slouching as your head falls back into the black suede of the headrest and close your eyes.

“you’re right, suguru. i’m sorry,” you say softly. “i’m sorry, i’m just tense from all that. it’s a good time, i know that.”

“don’t apologize, it’s alright,” he reassures. “let’s take a break.”

you pull your car to the shoulder and practically kick open the door to get out. although the icy air you had blasting during the race kept your skin cool, the cool mountain air made you feel as if you could actually breathe again. a handful of phantoms come over to you, complimenting your improving time and suggesting helpful tips while another round of racers loudly speed into the mountains.

a pair of boys your age stand off to the side, listening closely until the others leave. the dark-haired one with sleepy eyes holds a hand out to your brother first. unlike takuma, it seems like he already knows how not to piss suguru off.

“geto-san, nice to meet you,” he smiles. “my name is yuta okkotsu.”

suguru returns his smile and shakes his hand. okkotsu and his friend turn to you with a small bow before he places a hand on the shoulder of the smaller blonde boy wearing a black mask over his mouth and nose.

“this is toge inumaki,” he continues. “he’s mute, but he can hear you just fine.”

“oh, nice to meet you!” you smile.

“inumaki was wondering if you’d like to race tomorrow night, before ino-san and gojo-san,” okkotsu explains with his eyes trained on you. you look back at him but your mind is elsewhere. you didn’t know takuma and satoru were set to race tomorrow.

“uh, me?” you ask. you’re a little surprised, you weren’t expecting someone to approach you first, especially knowing now that people didn’t want you to race. inumaki raises his hands, fingers swimming through the air as he signs to okkotsu.

“if it’s alright with the both of you,” he explains. you can see the raised cheekbones of inumaki’s smile from under his mask. “inumaki just started racing as well, he thought it would be good experience for the both of you.”

“what’s your time?” suguru asks, but he speaks directly to inumaki. the boy’s eyes dart from suguru to okkotsu, nervous that suguru won’t be able to understand him. but he raises his hands anyways, and the slender fingers start to move.

eight. three. nine.

“8 minutes, 39 seconds?” suguru clarifies, inumaki nods. he clearly doesn’t care that the boy can’t speak, he just wants to know how fast he is.

“and what team are you two with?” he asks.

“we aren’t on any team,” okkotsu answers. “we’re pretty new to the scene, we just race for fun. and we don’t race for pinks or money.”

“how old are you two?”

“…17,” the boy smiles sheepishly. your brother chuckles lightly.

“well, how ‘bout it, clutch?” suguru hums. “you wanna race this guy?”

“…can i?” you respond. you’re asking suguru if he thinks you’re ready for a true touge race more than you’re asking for his permission to.

“if you want. i think you’re ready.” you smile at your brother and turn back to the boys. you hope you don’t seem too giddy, but your heart pounds with the anticipation of your first real race.

“let’s do it, inumaki-kun!”

he puts his hand to his chin and out, thank you. then, a fist with his pinky and thumb out with a gentle shake, shaka. you giggle lightly as you mimic his hands.

“but first,” suguru steps forward, towering over the boys. “we’ll do three practice passes right now with the two of you. she’s never gone through with a second car. we’ll take it slow and easy, keep your distance from her.”

inumaki nods and your brother turns to you.

��i’ll ride with you in the first round, but that’s it,” it’s your turn to nod to suguru. “helmet on, clutch. let’s go.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

redline masterlist // previous: chapter 2 // next: chapter 4

tag list // @stillnotherapy @rieamena @magiamad0ka

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frogaroundandfindout · 9 months ago

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Random highly specific dick grayson fanfics I’ve been craving

An exhausted 18/19 yr old Dick finding Jason trying to steal the wheels off of Nightbird (his car) and instead of reprimanding him he just launches into a really proud rant about his car and how much work he put into her and god kid you got a good eye for parts. I just replaced the tires with ones where the rubber self heals. And none of that commercial crap either, actual self healing rubber that could get a bullet shot through it and still close up a second later. Oh and did you notice the seats? Just polished the leather on em! Go on sit, sit! Comfy, huh? You wanna get a bite to eat? Cool. I think bat burger’s hero-meal comes with a bat-mobile toy. Not as cool as my lovely lady of course, but close enough. Jason is absolutely baffled. This is Nightwing? The one all those new gangs that moved from bludhaven decided facing was worse than fighting for territory in the narrows? Fleeing unsuccessfully might be add considering Nightwing’s presence in gotham. He was so…nice? In that weird slightly off putting way that most of the real good people he knows have.

Dick and Damian both longing for the days where it was just them: Batman and Robin. The best. Dick having a whole moment where he curls around nearly completed adoption papers and sobs because Damian was his. For a year Damian was his to protect, his to guide, his to love. But now they aren’t even in the same city and barely go on patrols together let alone have movie nights cuddled up on the couch (it’s only reasonable Richard. Penguins huddle to conserve body heat). And Damian in the manor staring blankly at his drawing of gotham that Bruce hung up in his office. He didn’t make it for him. He made it for Richard. But what was he supposed to do when Father saw a piece dedicated to “dad” while Damian was flipping through his sketchbook? Tell him it was actually for his oldest son instead of him? Tell him that sometimes Damian wishes bruce never came back so that Richard didn’t have step back from them?

Dick who cooks tons of different cultural dishes within the same meal (like rice and curry served at the same time as sushi and fried plantains) and when questioned about it he’s just like ???? That’s what my mom used to do??? We lived in so many different places it felt weird limiting our food to one culture per meal.

Dick being like Garfield Logan’s big brother long before Jason comes into the mix. Gar frequently turning into a baby elephant just because it makes dick coo over him more than any form. Even a kitten!

#dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #Dc au #Dc prompt

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aziraphales-library · 5 months ago

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hello there!

i was wondering if there were any post s2 fics featuring the ineffable divorce in a silly/campy/overdramatic way (rather than angsty)? sort of like a teen movie breakup—things like aziraphale misusing his archangel powers to check up on crowley, crowley sobbing every time he sees a bird, nina and maggie giving crowley a revenge makeover, etc.

thanks for all your hard work on this blog; it's very much appreciated 💌

Hi! Here are some less angsty, more light-hearted takes on the break up post-series two...

The Kids Are All Right by Azeutrecia (T)

Supreme Archangel Aziraphale finally finds time to write a letter to Crowley. The responses are not what he expected.

Breakup (With A Capital B) by Jennistar (G)

Mr Six Shots of Espresso is going through a Breakup (with a capital B). Nina, Maggie and Muriel help as best they can.

Figure It Out by ArtisticRising (T)

God is done with them, so She ties them up, locks them in a room, and deletes the door.

we built our castles by rainbowumbrella (M)

“Aziraphale,” Crowley manages after a long moment. “Did you… did you steal a baby?” A pause, then a hushed, sheepish, “yes.” “Aziraphale,” he says again. “Did you steal the baby?” This time, the answer comes in a wail, “yes!” *** A missing half dozen of donuts leads Crowley to discover an angel and a baby squatting in his flat.

Stockholm's Other Syndrome by WaitingToBeBroken (T)

Grand Duke of Hell Crowley kidnaps Supreme Archangel Aziraphale so he can finally do all those vile, nasty things he has always wanted to do to him. Like feed him sushi or force him to take a walk in the park. Hold his hand so he doesn't escape. Truly disgusting things.

Records and Memories: The Ineffable Guide to Killing God by gaydreaming (T)

In which it comes down, once again, to an angel, a demon, and a lost amnesiac. With Crowley heartbroken and Aziraphale in danger, Muriel steps in and saves the day. Unfortunately for them, ‘saving the day’ entails quitting their job, crushing on a demon, amnesia therapy, and standing quietly in the corner as two pining disasters sort out their emotional issues (somewhat.)

- Mod D

#good omens #good omens s2 #ineffable husbands #ineffable divorce #break up #mod d

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maybe-moonchild · 5 months ago

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CHAPTER 6

summary: in which it is the end. oh, what a ride this has been. WC: 6.0k

°｡⋆˚🕷˚⋆｡⋆｡

Later doesn’t come until after you’ve been discharged from the hospital the next evening.

Since your ‘mugging’ resulted in loss of consciousness, you had to spend the night and morning under observation before discharge papers made their way into your hands. Well, more like into Peter’s hands. After he watched you struggle to hold the clipboard and pen to sign your name, he took over without a word.

You had to change back into your dress which was less than pleasant. Red tinged the back of the collar from the blow to your head and dirt streaked the front but you don’t really care, not when you’re too busy being wheeled down the hall, out the door, and under the dreary skies to wait for a cab.

Peter is there every step of the way.

He’s always there, hovering, whether it be sitting beside your bed, helping you into the cab, or opening all of the doors to your apartment, he’s there. His presence isn’t overwhelming considering neither of you are feeling particularly chatty. While you half consciously watch TV, he’s napping with his head in his arms beside you in that shitty hospital chair. When you start to get restless and struggle to find a comfortable position propped against the crappy pillows, he wordlessly adjusts them for you.

The ride back to your apartment is filled with a similar quiet, neither of you knowing what the two of you are. Before today, you hadn’t even been friends. Just two people maneuvering around an awkwardness, one as tangible as the furniture in your entryway as he guides you inside.

Katies missing presence is apparent the moment you step in the door. Darkness holds the room captive, the only light coming from the windows, even that all gloomy from the weather. A part of you is relieved you might blurt out Peter’s secret to the first person you see, the knowledge settling in your stomach like you swallowed a firecracker.

Plus, she texted that she’d be home late. Something about having dinner plans and needing you to check her in for a lobotomy in the morning... whatever that meant…

“All I’m saying is that a 24 hour sushi spot… game changer,” you murmur, earning a sound of amusement from Peter as he shuts the door. Your keys find themselves in their home in the catchall on the table, clattering against the glass a familiar sound of home and you finally feel like you can relax.

“You’re saying you eat enough sushi at two in the morning to justify that?”

Your limbs still feel heavy that you don’t protest as he works your coat off your good arm, the other side hangs off your shoulder.

You just shrug, returning another timid smile as he hangs up your jacket. “I’m just saying that I crave enough sushi at that hour that I could keep them in business.”

“Okay. No more sushi at three in the morning,” he snorts. Something about the sound almost feeling like a laugh makes you feel a little lighter.

“Do you want something to eat?” he asks. The way you scrunch up your nose is enough of an answer. After the events of last night, nothing sounds particularly appetizing. You’d eaten at the hospital since you were under watchful eyes, but you were more focused on the prospect of crawling into your own bed.

You struggle to unlace your shoes with one hand, leaning back against the wall for support. It’s harder than you thought, the laces of your high tops being a struggle only reminds you that, for the next 6-8 weeks, everything is about to be a struggle.

Without a word, he’s crouching in front of you so he can take over. You let him, head falling back and watching him, pretending you’re not making note of his mouth, how it pinches to the side when he concentrates. His freckles had become less prominent over time, once dusting his cheeks which now were likely in a constant state of bruised. His fingers are gentle as they work out the knot before pulling off your shoe, dropping it to the floor. .

You tell yourself it's the drugs; that’s why you suddenly wish you had a microscope, magnifying every detail of his face so you could scrutinize each detail about him. That the remnants of drugs from your time in the hospital- who were you kidding? A part of your discharge requirements was that they were wearing off and your pain was managed by over the counter medications.

Fine, then maybe it's simply because you are still trying to comprehend that Peter is Spider-Man. That you’ll eventually see something that makes it all click into place, making that somehow seem less like a dream. If he said it was all a dream, you might have believed him.

Your shoes land with a thud beside the door, his hands finding your hips to steady you and himself as he stands. The contact is brief and you feel disappointed in how hard it is not to reach for him. It’s almost embarrassing, how strong of an impulse it is that you barely manage to keep your hands to yourself.

So you focus on the things you can completely control.

Change clothes, brush teeth- hell, maybe your hair too- and then right to bed. A shower can wait for morning and you will happily rewash all of your sheets in the afternoon if it means you can crawl under the sheets.

“I’m okay, you know.” His brows furrow at the unprompted statement, like he can’t believe you would try and convince him of that. Peeking up at him from your lashes, the corner of your mouth turns up in what you hope is a reassuring smile. “I’m just going to head to bed… so… I doubt you got any sleep last night sitting up right in a plastic chair.”

Truthfully, you don’t think he had even tried to rest. You managed to sleep pretty well considering you were partially conscious and partially hopped off the steady stream of whatever drugs were floating around your IV. Each time you stirred throughout the night, you managed to get a glimpse of Peter, his leg bouncing anxiously, either half asleep or fully awake.

“That would be really great if I believed you.” You frown at him, unsure if he’s talking about you actually saying you’re okay or if you’re going to go to bed when he leaves.

His shoulders dip in a shrug. “I don’t want to leave.” His tentative smile drops for a moment. “You’re hurt…I feel responsible for it. You should never have been in the place to…,” he adds before lifting his head to look down at you. The words are bitter in his mouth, coated in something that tastes like guilt and shame.

But you also wonder if he hates the idea of being alone as much as you do.

Except, when you actually think about it, if anyone else were here, you wouldn’t want them hanging around. You realize that it’s less about being alone and more about the crave of his company.

Specifically, the crave of his presence.

“You can borrow something of Flash’s,” you say over your shoulder. Peter lifts his head, taking a moment to raise his eyebrows before quickly catching up as you lead him down the hall. Drugs make your steps a little fumbled, Peter's hand hovering behind your lower back like a shadow.

His mouth twitches into a little frown, “Flash?”

Katie and Flash, the two people had somehow wedged themselves into the spot that had once been his- No, no no. That wasn’t true. They’d trickled into his place when Peter had left it vacant. Through four years of high school and another four years of undergrad, they stuck around. Katie’s room was just down the hall and Flash crashed enough on your couch to warrant him having a drawer here.

They stayed with you. They didn’t leave.

And Peter did.

They were always there.

And Peter wasn’t.

Before either of you really think about it, Peter’s moving with a muscle memory he didn’t realize was still ingrained in his limbs. He finds your bedside lamp, flipping it on to bathe the room in the dim light that sends the shadows stretching around your furniture. Then he’s flipping off the overhead light since you’ve always found it to be ugly and harsh.

As you dig through said drawer of Flash’s, searching one handed for a T-shirt and sweats that will fit him, he opts to hover near the wall.

“Here, just let me help,” he adds, his voice as his touch as he reaches for you, steadying you by the crook of your arm and your waist. “You. Sit. I’ll be your hands.”

You’re too tired to argue. Instead, you just nod and let him guide you to sit at the edge of your bed. Your pajamas are sitting on your desk chair, a habit you’d had since you were a kid. Peter collects them and sets them in your lap.

“You can change in the bathroom and I’ll change in here?”

The two of you go your separate ways so you can strip off your damp clothes in an attempt to escape the vague sterile smell lingering on the fabric. By the time he’s returned, dark hair messy and arms easily filling out the borrowed T-Shirt so nicely, you’ve managed to get your shorts on.

That's it.

“I can’t get it off one handed,” you grumble from where you have flopped backward on the mattress, “I can’t actually get the sleeve over my cast with one hand but I can’t use my other hands because it is clearly the problem here.”

That was where you had given up. Your legs dangle off the edge, eyes staring up at the ceiling as you frown. The frustration of trying to do such a simple task with such a great difficulty had been enough to almost bring you to tears.

Give yourself a break, you’d had a pretty rough day.

The corners of Peter’s lips twitch as he slowly shuts your bedroom door. Even though your eyes are still staring flatly at the ceiling, he does his best to hide any sign of amusement on the chance that will send you over the edge and into tears.

“Come here,” Peter says, his voice soft and gentle as he uses one knee to kneel beside you. He pulls you up so you’re sitting upright and you let him, even if you can’t help but sigh dramatically. This was going to be a long six to eight weeks until the hairline fracture in your arm healed entirely.

You watch him from under your lashes as he bends down. His fingers are delicate and deliberate as he starts to work on shimmying your sleeve around the cast. Your eyes can’t help themselves from flicking at his mouth; his bottom lip rolling under his teeth in concentration, trying to avoid his knuckles accidentally brushing along the skin of your stomach or back

“There,” he says, gently brushing your hair back behind your ear. “There...all set.”

You would mumble more than just a thanks if your brain didn’t feel like it was short circuiting. The sleeves dangle at your sides, arms free from your dress while it is still on in some capacity and you’re not sitting entirely exposed either.

“You can uh… just… turn around.” There's a long pause and your skin feels so hot you want to die.

“Instead of leaving the room- if you’re comfortable with that…”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, definitely.” Peter doesn’t hesitate as the words practically spill from his mouth before he is spinning around. “Yeah, I can just- I can’t see anything but, here I can cover my eyes.”

“Pete, you don’t need to cover your eyes-”

“Too late. Already covered.”

You shake your head fondly, feeling like the entire room has taken a breath.

It might as well have been a lungful of carbon monoxide when you quickly realize that you’ll be changing just a few feet away.

You’re an adult; grow up.

Clearing your throat, you move gently when you pull off the dress, feeling exposed even if he clearly isn’t looking and he’s humming to pass the time. Peter is humming, facing the opposite direction and rocking back and forth on his feet. At first you think he’s only doing it because he’s trying to make it as apparent as he possibly can that he is not looking. Then you start to wonder if it’s because he’s uncomfortable at the prospect of you changing behind him, just a few feet away.

Now you feel uncomfortable at the idea that you have now made him uncomfortable. But why would he be uncomfortable over that after last week when you’d slept over? When his mouth was hot and feverish on your neck, distracted in the quest of tasting every inch of skin- you yank the NYU sweatshirt over your head to shut your mind up.

“You need anything?” he asks after a moment has passed.

You shake your head before realizing that he can’t see you. “No, but thank you. I’m good, by the way. You can… uh… look now.”

The first thing he does is take your dirty clothes and toss them into your hamper with ease; just so you don’t have to get up. Then, he’s lowering himself behind you and making quick work at freeing your hair from the collar of your sweatshirt as you try to yourself.

You inhale sharply when he brushes against the back of your neck.

Fidgeting with the plaster of your cast is a good way to hide part of your face and avoid his eye. Peter’s head is tilted to try and see you anyway before he seems to hesitate, reaching out before pulling his hand back. He must decide to go for it then, inhaling quietly and letting his fingers dance with your own.

“You’ll have to sign it,” you hum, knocking his knee with your knee to lighten the mood. “Make it look less ugly right?”

It works, a little smile appearing on his mouth before he tries to press his lips together to stifle it. This time when you look up, Peter’s not looking at you. While it looks as though he’s studying your intertwined hands, you know him enough to know he’s staring at the cast and letting his mind runamuck with guilt.

“It was like when we were ten. When you tried to teach me how to skateboard.” You look down too, but more so that you can remember the memory.

“God, that was a nightmare,” Peter chuckles quietly, shaking his head. “You’re first and last time on a skateboard.”

“Nuh uh, I got on it after that.”

He snorts quietly, lost in thought, “Yeah, only when I held both of your hands.”

The two of you settle into a quiet that makes the splatter of rain against the glass echo. Gray clouds hide the sun, making it feel later than it truly is. Everything seems quieted by a thick blanket of solitude.

As kids, the two of you had a knack for trouble and injuries. Usually it was Peter that needed some degree of medical attention with scraped knees from the pavement or a sprained wrist when he didn’t notice a particularly troublesome crack in the sidewalk. Your injuries were usually in conjunction with his when he tripped you on his way down or a spout of shenanigans sent both of you falling down a few steps.

Teaching you how to skateboard had been difficult that Saturday afternoon when you were both nine. Red and orange leaves covered the driveway, half raked into piles the two of you had made to jump into before he found a slug and you decided you’d had enough.

So when you agreed to let him teach you to skateboard, gripping each other's arms as he slowly pulled you forward, he’d been ecstatic. He was even more ecstatic when you felt confident enough to let go and roll a slow few feet to a stop. Until you stepped back, lost your balance and the skateboard flew right out from under you.

Peter really did try to catch you when you fell. His fingertips brushing the sleeve of your sweater and instead, you went down hard, a hairline fracture in your wrist that was donned in a red cast for most of November. The guilt was so consuming that he climbed in your window every night for a week because he couldn’t seem to rest.

It had been nothing like tonight. Tonight, neither of you had been reckless and stupid children. A Mickey Mouse band aid or a popsicle didn’t dry watery eyes until the pain was dissipated by the distraction of cartoons.

Nothing could make this better. Peter had been so worried for you. So, so worried that he’d nearly broken his own phone. When he’d thought of Fisk deciding to do something drastic to make a point, he didn’t care about finding his backpack he’d stuck to a dumpster to change. He didn’t care about showing up in his suit, his secret identity not mattering if you were…

His fingertips press against the pads of your own before tracing down each digit and brushing your knuckles. It’s strangely nice; calming you even deeper towards the bone deep exhaustion that has settled in all of your muscles.

“It’s because you’re Spiderman right?” you breathe out, more like a statement than a question. “That's why you stole those files. That’s why you wouldn’t tell me how you got them.”

There’s a pause before he manages to nod slowly.

“Yeah,” Peter says in a low voice. “That’s why. It was… a complicated thing, you know.”

Another pause, but this time, you nod slowly. What are you supposed to say to that?

Everything seems more complicated than possible. You still can’t quite grasp the fact that he’s Spider-Man, no matter how hard you try to envision him crawling in his window, yanking off the mask to reveal his staticy looking hair or flushed face, you just can’t see it.

The entirety of Midtown High had noticed when he stopped getting his ass kicked without throwing a punch back, how he filled out and seemed a little bit brighter. You’d noticed more than anyone, making sure it seemed like you noticed less than everyone else.

Katie had been the first one to make an offhand comment about it while you two were stretching for cheer practice senior year. Both of you had been co-captains, roles you’d been destined to fill since freshman year that you worked your asses off to obtain. She said it as she was tying her dark hair into a pony, voice hushed and teasing.

‘Know how Parker always bolts out of class randomly? Like all the time? Ever wonder if he’s the friendly neighborhood hero? Hey, you guys used to be close, you think that Parker has a body like that- ow!’

You’d promptly shut her up with a playful smack on the arm.

The idea that Katie had been the one to put it together first, sporadically mentioning that she still believed that dorky Peter Parker could be the one swinging around Manhattan, despite you and Flash writing it off. At least you didn’t have to go through the tremendous I-told-you-so that she would have since you could never tell her.

He shifts and starts again,“I’m sorry you had to…” Play hostage by a crime boss, spend the past day in the hospital and now two months in a cast.

He can feel his throat burning when he admits that, feel the burn of shame in his chest as he looks at you. Who he was now was based around a secret. One that he didn’t want you to ever know to keep you out of danger.

Turns out, secret or not, you had been in danger anyway.

You know that there is a jumbled mess of an apology tangled on his tongue, his mouth parting again and again like he can’t quite find where to start. It’s why his silence doesn’t make you angry that he’s not more vocally apologetic. You know he’s practically beating the life out of himself inside of his own head.

Just because he was apologetic didn’t mean that you were thrilled at him either.

“Do you know how scared I was?” You think you’ve asked him that before- no, you know that you have asked him that before. The question either an irritated grumble as you put a bandaid on his elbow or a yell, like when he wiped out on the MET steps because he was spontaneously attempting to grind along the railing without a helmet on.

“I know,” Peter mutters softly, nearly wincing at the thought. The nervous fidgeting of his fingers still, wrapping around yours and squeezing to give you some sort of reassurance. “I know. I know how scared you must have been.”

He turns to face you more.

“But I promise you - I’m going to do everything in my power to never let anything like this ever happen again to you. I mean it, okay? I am never going to let Fisk anywhere near you.”

Your frown deepens which is not the reaction he had anticipated.

“No. Not for me,” you clarify. “For you, Pete. When Fisk told me to call you… I just.” The thought of it makes you wince. “I thought he was going to kill you. It’s why I hung up the phone. I just couldn’t…”

Couldn’t be the reason something happened to him.

You'd hung up the phone because it was the only way you thought would protect him. It would almost be funny; the prospect of you protecting him now when he clearly did not need it

Peter says your name but you do nothing. He says it again, sitting up straighter and speaking with a little more desperation, “Look at me.” He takes your cheek in his palm and moves your head so you’re staring directly into his eyes. He wants to make sure you can see the intensity of what he has to say.

You let him, chewing on your cheek.

“You don’t need to worry about me. I am not weak. I can take care of myself.” Peter’s voice is steady, confident. Confident in himself, at least, less so spilling his heart out to you again like he had the night of graduation. “Come on,” he smiles somberly, thumb tapping your cheek in the hopes that you would understand that he wasn’t the same uncoordinated kid that used to get his face punched in.

Okay, so maybe he got his face punched in or worse on the daily, but that was different.

You tilt your head to the side, both to raise an eyebrow at him and press your cheek further into his palm. His eyebrow raises in challenge since it's clear you don’t quite believe him.

“I’ve been worried about you since I watched you fall off your skateboard the day I moved in across the street,” you breath out with a watery smile. “I’ve never stopped.”

Peter’s entire chest aches when you reach up to touch his face, knuckle grazing his bottom lip. Not even he could deny the way his body lights up whenever your hands are on him.

He’s still in love - deeply and thoroughly and undeniably.

Peter knows he’s in for it if he lets this go on much longer. He doesn’t know if he could resist the urge to kiss you all over again.

“Well, stop worrying about me,” Peter says before leaning down towards you, your faces only inches away from one another to emphasize his point. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

Some days, you thought that not having him in your life the past eight years could’ve killed you. You didn’t think you’d survive it again. But god… you’d let him kiss you even if he left you again.

The words and your soft, gentle expression makes Peter want to kiss the breath out of you.

“I promise.”

You believe him. Relief floods your body and makes your head hang so it’s resting against his. Peter leans forward too, both of your eyes falling closed and sinking into the touch.

Deep in thought, Peter considers his options while you focus on the feel. He’s always been a bit impulsive and it’s clear that there’s something he’s dying to say. Peter taps his forehead against yours a few times while he debates speaking.

“I have something to say.”

When you open your eyes, he’s already looking at you. Something about it makes the both of you break into shy smiles, foreheads pressed together and fingers all tangled.

“Okay.” Your mouth barely moves but he’s so close that the faint sound easily carries. Your previous need for sleep is gone and you can’t imagine wanting to move.

“I've always loved you,” Peter says without hesitation. It's a simple truth; one he's never been confused by.

Love, in him, has always been inevitable.

It’s easier to put out there since he’d come to terms with it so long ago, it felt as much of a part of him as sticking to the ceiling was.

You don’t quite expect it and lean back only enough to see his face, blinking in surprise. It’s the abruptness of it that catches you off guard. A part of you isn’t entirely shocked at the admission- you might’ve even known deep down after he kissed you four years ago.

He goes still too but doesn’t let go of your hands. They tighten faintly like you might slip away now that he’s said it out loud.

"I don’t remember exactly when. I think I first thought about it when we were twelve and the wood of your trellis snapped when I was sneaking back out and you-”

“Pulled splinters out of your arm for an hour so May wouldn’t know,” you finish for him, swallowing down the urge to cry. “Yeah. I remember.”

Peter nods, slow at first then quickly shaking his head with a determined look.

“No- well yes, but not only that.” The bed dips under his weight as he shifts closer to look at you better. “It was so dark outside and it knocked the wind out of me. I thought I was dead. I literally thought I had fallen to my death. One second, I totally thought I’d died until you practically jumped out of the window after me. You didn’t even… you didn’t even hesitate.”

The memory makes your frown deepened since you had never been particularly fond of it. It still made you recoil at the thought, even all of these years later. Not for yourself, but for him.

When you don’t say anything again, he scoots even closer, knees pressing further into your own but you don’t dare move away. His hand cups your face, his thumb feeling for every inch of skin it can reach.

“And then- yeah, fine. Then you did pull splinters out of my arm for two hours but that wasn’t when I knew. It was when you nearly jumped out your window after me.”

Something about that makes your smile watery, which in turn, makes him choke out a laugh. If you speak, well you’re not entirely sure what words or sounds would come out of your mouth.

“But I think it was really the summer before freshman year when I realized it. When that kid two years older than us shoved me on the subway and broke my science fair project. Remember?” He continues hopefully. You can easily nod that you do remember. Peter slips his fingers from your hold to card through your hair, forcing you to fidget with the seam of his sweats from where your hands rest in his lap.

“And right before the doors closed, you yanked off his hat and yanked me off the train- god, when the doors closed and he realized what you did- that was when I knew. I knew it. You looked like you felt bad about it but you did it anyway and you did it for me and right then I knew that I was in love with you.”

What happened next suddenly clicks.

“And then high school started,” you sigh disappointedly. Peter almost wonders if he said the wrong thing when you look away to stare out the window.

High school started and you joined cheerleading and you had less time and he felt left behind. More and more and more seemed to wedge itself between you two. That resentment he carried, how his usual go-with-the-flow attitude he normally had with everything else seemed to sour when you needed to reschedule. How he’d get all quiet when a guy approached you at your locker. He’d even been on better terms with Flash at the end of high school and he’d seemed to warm up to him more than he had to you.

Each second of silence piles up on his chest to suffocate him. His fingers twitch like he’s going to pull away but you place your own hand on his, turning your face back into his palm. His eyes study the little furrow in your brows, knitted and giving away to the depth of your thoughts.

It's your turn to beat yourself senseless inside your own mind.

“Thought you hated me.” The words are barely out of your mouth before he’s shaking his head, so vehemently that your head moves with him, like it will prove his point.

“Never,” he assures. “Never once. Not a single second.”

You’re so flooded by emotions that you have to just sit there to keep yourself from crying. That admittance is harder than believing he did. Hatred was a much easier emotion to stomach than heartbreak. It's just as hard to stomach his presence, how easily he has slipped back into your life, making you aware that nothing you’d ever done had actually filled that hole.

But he’s here now; your hatred for Wilson Fisk maybe only goes so deep.

“Mine was this past Thanksgiving when you were in Gwen’s car in front of our mailboxes and I couldn’t convince myself to walk outside to return a package.”

Peter feels all the air being knocked out of him when you blurt that out, but his only reaction is his eyebrows rising closer to his hairline.

If you couldn’t face him before, it’s worse now so you rush to fill the silence.

“You guys were just sitting there talking, laughing about whatever it was you guys talked about and I didn’t want to walk out there. So I tried waiting for you to go back inside because if I didn’t mail those ugly pants that day, I wouldn’t get a refund. I was already running late to get to Katie’s but I just couldn’t get out the door. Then I realized that if I waited, I’d have to know what you guys were doing and I didn’t want to know that.”

His brows pinch together as he tries to think back to the memory. He remembers being in Gwen’s car, rain blurring the outside world as they caught up while she was in town for the holiday.

“I just…” you start again, a little slower and less rushed, “I didn’t want to know that she went inside or that you two left together or… I just didn’t want to know. So I went to Katies and couldn’t figure out why it bothered me so much.”

You’re not sure that it even makes sense, making you groan silently in frustration. At least Peter seems to be somewhat following but you’re more thankful for his patience in the quiet of your bedroom. You aren’t sure what else to say, so you come right out with it.

“But I didn’t know until that it was… probably love… last week when I woke up in your bed. It was why I ran. Running seemed easier.”

He’s quiet for only a few seconds, “Was it easier?”

You think about that question for a long moment when you realize you don’t exactly know the answer. Was running easier? Sure. Maybe.

Trouble seemed to follow Peter like a shadow, falling into his hands like it was an old friend. But you were an old friend. So maybe you, Peter, and trouble went hand in hand.

You shrug, “Probably not.” The answer seems to disappoint you more than it disappoints him. His shoulders don't sag as he continues to hold and touch your face, head cocked to the side to watch you intently.

“That answer sucked,” Peter snorts.

Whipping your head to look at him, your mouth drops open so you can scowl, his dumbass ruining the moment.

“You suck.”

Peter throws his head back and groans with the same dramatics that he harbored as a kid.

“Oh my god, shut up.” Peter can’t help it - he leans down, his hands slipping into your hair and his mouth claiming your lips as if he would die if he didn’t act on that impulse.

This is the fifth time you’ve kissed Peter Parker.

It’s the first time you know it won't be the last.

Your eyes flutter shut at the feel of his lips but it takes you to catch up to the moment. It’s slow and deep; the way your mouth slides over his in happy reciprocation of the kiss.

Finding a place to put your casted hand is tricky until you manage to rest it against his chest, fingers twisting into the collar of his shirt as an invitation for him to lean further into you. Nothing about the way he holds you, cupping your face and settling on your side, feels fleeting.

You kiss him until you’re nearly dizzy, knowing you could keep going until you were sick. What a nice thought, being able to kiss him so much that it somehow lost its novelty and became ubiquitous.

More time passes but you can’t seem to keep track of it, the only tell being the slowing velocity of your mouths. Peter reluctantly pulls away first when he manages to remember that you need rest from how much you're leaning on him.

“You’re in my head…” Peter mutters to you after taking a second to catch his breath. “You have been ever since we were kids.”

Your quiet laugh hums against his mouth as you drop your forehead against his, telling yourself it’s not because you’re too tired to hold your head up.

“And now I’m in your hands,” you hum, finding peace in the giddy exhaustion making you buzz and droop.

This time you both laugh, giggling softly like little kids and then laughing even harder at a crack of lighting that makes you both jump.

“Let me just… let me.”

With his super strength, you practically weigh nothing in his arms as he picks you up, kneeling on the bed to pull back your covers. He helps you crawl in, always there, always touching you; a hand on your back, gently shifting you by the waist.

You practically melt into the pillows, body aching and sore as it welcomes the comfort. There are so many things that still need to be sorted out and talked about before anything can become permanent.

But all of that seems like something for later.

“Sleep; you need it,” he says softly from where he’s sitting beside you, brushing a few strands of hair off your face and behind your ear.

“Stay; I need that too.” Peter twists his mouth up in that little way he always does when he’s trying really, really hard not to smile as he climbs in next to you.

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