#an alarm and made sure it was the loudest ever

[lesbianstarlightglimmer]

Bro I fucking hate my LIFE

[saatorus]

golden — s . gojo x reader

synopsis — satoru gojo is your bestfriend and you are his. but sometimes, lines between friendship and something more seem to blur.

pairing — bestfriend! satoru x reader

word count — 10.6 k

warnings — making out, somewhat heavy petting, they take off each other's shirts but that's about it LOL, angst (not a sad ending though), reader feels unwanted at times.

Satoru Gojo.

How long have you known him? Your whole life, probably.

Scratch that. Not your whole life, but definitely the majority of it.

It started in preschool.

You were the quiet kid—the one who clung to the edges of the classroom, never quite fitting into the messy, chaotic whirlwind of children who seemed to make friends like it was the easiest thing in the world. You didn’t know how they did it—how they found each other in the noise, how they paired up so effortlessly, how they just knew where they belonged.

You, on the other hand, spent most of your time alone, stacking blocks in the corner, drawing quietly, or waiting for the teacher to tell you what to do next.

And then there was him.

Satoru Gojo, the loudest, brightest, most obnoxiously happy kid you’d ever met. He was the kind of child who ran instead of walked, who laughed at things no one else found funny, who always had a scrape on his knee but never seemed to care. He was larger than life, in a way that made your stomach twist—not quite jealousy, not quite admiration, just… confusion.

So when he plopped down next to you one day, completely uninvited, you weren’t sure what to do.

“Whatcha doin’?” he asked, peering at the tiny house you were building out of wooden blocks.

You shrugged. “Building.”

“Cool,” he said, grinning. “Can I help?”

You hesitated. You didn’t want help. But before you could answer, he was already reaching for the blocks, stacking them in ways that made no sense.

“You’re ruining it,” you mumbled, frowning.

He blinked at you, then back at the house. “Oh.” And then, without missing a beat, he knocked it over entirely.

You gasped, horrified.

He just laughed. “Now we can build it again!”

You decided, in that exact moment, that you hated him.

But Satoru Gojo was persistent.

He started following you around—not in a creepy way, just in an annoying way. Every time you thought you’d shaken him off, he’d pop up again like a bad penny, grinning that ridiculous grin of his.

Eventually, you just… let him.

It was easier than trying to get rid of him.

And somewhere along the way, he became your first real friend.

Your moms met not long after.

It happened at pickup time, when Satoru ran straight past his usual waiting spot to grab your hand instead. “Can I go to their house?” he asked his mom, all wide eyes and uncontainable energy. “Please, please, please?”

Your mom looked vaguely alarmed, having not expected to suddenly be responsible for another child, but Satoru’s mom just laughed.

And that was that.

Your friendship expanded beyond the preschool walls, spilling into weekends and playdates. Satoru’s house became as familiar as your own, with its too-big windows and fancy furniture that he absolutely wasn’t supposed to jump on (but did anyway). In return, he practically lived at your place, showing up unannounced, eating snacks straight from your pantry, making himself at home in a way that should have been irritating but never really was.

By the time middle school rolled around, he was less of a friend and more of a permanent fixture in your life.

“Okay, but listen,” Satoru said one afternoon, sprawled across your bedroom floor, Switch in hand. “If you had to pick one Digimon partner, like one to be stuck with for the rest of your life, who would it be?”

You barely looked up from your homework. “I don’t know. Agumon?”

“Agumon?” he repeated, scandalized. “That’s so basic. It’s like saying your favorite Pokémon is Pikachu.”

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s literally the main character’s Digimon.”

“Exactly!” He threw his hands up. “No originality. None. Zero. I expected better from you.”

“You asked me,” you pointed out, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah, but I thought you’d at least think about it.” He sighed, dramatically flopping onto his back. “I should’ve known. I’m best friends with a casual fan.”

“You should be grateful you have a best friend at all,” you shot back.

Satoru grinned, tilting his head toward you. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

At some point, he started wearing glasses. Not for fashion, not because he wanted to, but because years of staring at screens in the dark, playing Digimon and Pokémon and whatever else he was obsessed with at the time, had officially caught up to him.

“I’m blind,” he announced the day he got them, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. “Absolutely, totally blind.”

You snorted. “You’re, like, mildly nearsighted.”

“Same thing,” he said, already taking them off to examine them. “Do I look smarter with them?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “Not really.”

“Rude.” He huffed, sliding them back on. “What about cooler?”

You threw a pillow at his face.

He laughed, catching it easily. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

—

Then came high school.

At first, nothing changed.

Satoru was still Satoru—loud, annoying, always in your space. He still showed up at your house unannounced, still texted you at odd hours about random nonsense, still sat next to you at lunch like it was a law of the universe. He was your best friend. Your person.

And for the first two years, you were inseparable.

There wasn’t a single moment where people saw one of you without the other. Satoru Gojo and you. You and Satoru Gojo. Always a pair. Whether it was cramming for exams together, getting kicked out of the arcade because he got too competitive, or spending Friday nights playing whatever old game he got obsessed with that month, he was your constant.

Until junior year.

It started small.

A casual comment in gym class about how fast he was. A joke from a teacher about how he should try out for the football team. A half-dare from some of the guys he barely knew.

And somehow, against all odds, Satoru Gojo became an athlete.

You didn’t think much of it at first. It was just another one of his phases, right? Like that time he swore he’d master speedrunning or decided he was going to learn five languages at once. But he was good—annoyingly good. Tall, fast, with ridiculous reflexes that made him impossible to catch on the field.

And people noticed.

By mid-season, he wasn’t just some new player—he was the star. The guy everyone knew, the guy who had a crowd around him in the hallways, the guy who got called out over the school speakers for game-winning plays.

The guy who no longer just belonged to you.

The first time you really felt it was when he showed up at your house one evening. That part was normal. He still did that, still made himself at home on your couch, still stole whatever snacks he wanted.

But something was different.

You were sprawled out on your bed, flipping through a book, when you glanced up and noticed.

“Where are your glasses?” you asked.

Satoru blinked, as if he had to think about it. “Oh. Right.” He shrugged, plopping down next to you. “They’re kind of a hazard in football, so I switched to contacts. Figured I’d just stick with them.”

You sat up, frowning. “But you hate contacts.”

He grinned, stretching lazily. “Not anymore.”

And just like that, something in your chest twisted.

It wasn’t just the glasses.

It was the way he stopped rambling about Digimon, the way he never asked if you wanted to rewatch old anime together anymore. It was the way his schedule started filling up with team hangouts and parties you weren’t invited to. It was the way people started looking at you differently when you were with him.

Because Satoru Gojo wasn’t just Satoru Gojo anymore.

He was Gojo.

Senior year was when it really started to hurt.

He still sat with you at lunch, still texted you silly memes at night, still acted like nothing had changed. But everything had.

He would often cancel on your invitations, his responses still typed in that absurd, unmistakable way of his—yet his excuses always seemed to follow a familiar pattern. It was always something urgent, something unavoidable: he had to rush off to practice, or there was a party he couldn’t miss, or someone needed his help and he simply couldn’t bring himself to say no. Each time, it felt like a rehearsed script, as though his priorities were perpetually elsewhere, leaving you to wonder if you’d ever truly make the cut.

Every time he plopped down next to you, people stared. Whispered.

“Why’s he sitting with her?”

“Shouldn't he sit with the rest of the team?”

“Is she, like, his childhood obligation or something?”

You weren’t an idiot. You heard it. You felt it.

And it made you snap.

“You don’t have to sit here, you know,” you muttered one day, keeping your eyes on your tray.

Satoru frowned. “What?”

“I said, you don’t have to sit here,” you repeated, sharper this time. “If you’d rather be with your actual friends—”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

You clenched your jaw, hating how defensive he sounded. “Nothing. Forget it.”

He didn’t forget it.

You fought about it. About how he didn’t get it, about how easy everything was for him, about how he could walk into any room and belong while you felt like you had to justify existing.

“You act like I abandoned you,” he snapped, voice low and frustrated. “But I’m right here. I’ve always been here.”

And you hated that he was somewhat right. 

So you patched things up. Not because you fully understood each other, but because you both wanted to. And by the time graduation rolled around, you could almost pretend things had gone back to the way they were.

But then came college.

And somehow, Satoru Gojo managed to be even more himself than ever.

Bigger. Louder. More impossible to ignore.

If high school had turned him into a star, then college made him a supernova.

He was everywhere—at parties, in clubs, on the field. Everyone knew him. Everyone wanted to be around him.

And somehow, despite it all, he still tried to keep you close.

“Come with me tonight,” he’d say, sending you an invite to some massive party. “It’ll be fun.”

You always said no.

At first, he laughed it off. But after a while, he started looking at you differently—like he noticed the way you avoided him now, the way you barely answered his texts, the way you pulled away whenever he tried to meet your eyes.

And one night, when he showed up outside your dorm after another party, half-drunk and grinning, you saw the exact moment that grin faltered.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. “Why would I be mad at you?” you replied, your tone lighter than you felt, as if you could brush the question aside with a casual shrug.

Satoru studied you intently, his glasses nowhere to be found, his hair disheveled from running his hands through it one too many times. His gaze was sharp, unrelenting. “Because you’re avoiding me,” he said, his voice steady but laced with something you couldn’t quite place—frustration, maybe, or hurt.

You forced a laugh, the sound brittle and unconvincing. “I’m not—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he interrupted, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Not you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, and your throat tightened. You looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “It’s just—” you began, your voice faltering as you struggled to piece together the thoughts that had been swirling in your mind for weeks. “You don’t need me anymore, Satoru. You have them. All your cool—I don’t know, jock and cheerleader friends, everyone else who likes you. You don’t have time for me now.”

He blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice rising slightly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. His hands gestured vaguely, as though trying to grasp the words you’d just thrown at him. “You think I’d just—replace you? Like it’s that easy? No, like seriously fucking explain to me what the absolute hell you mean?” He mutters out angrily, words slightly slurred.

The air between you felt heavy, charged with emotions neither of you had fully acknowledged until now. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat, leaving only silence hanging in the space between you.

You let out a bitter laugh. “It means I’m tired, Satoru. Tired of feeling like a ghost when I’m with you. Tired of pretending I’m okay with being the weird friend you keep around out of habit.”

Satoru opened his mouth, then closed it.

And for the first time in your life, you saw it—hurt. Real, genuine hurt in his stupidly bright eyes.

“You think that’s what this is?” he said, voice quieter now. “Habit?”

You didn’t answer.

Because if you did, you might have to admit that you missed him. That you missed the late-night anime marathons, the dumb inside jokes, the way he used to act like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

But you weren’t sure if that version of him still existed.

And you definitely weren’t sure if you had the courage to find out.

Satoru stared at you for a long time, the weight of your words settling between you like a stone. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, couldn’t decipher the way his lips pressed into a thin line, the way his fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for something—but wasn’t sure if he should.

Then, after what felt like forever, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t get it,” he admitted, voice lower now, quieter, like he was afraid too many words would push you further away. “You’re acting like I left you behind, but I’m right here.”

You bit your lip. “You don’t see it.”

“Then make me see it,” he shot back, suddenly frustrated. “Because all I know is that one day we were fine, and the next, you started treating me like a stranger.”

That stung.

Because wasn’t that what he did first?

He wasn’t the one being looked at differently in high school when he sat next to you at lunch. He wasn’t the one feeling like a burden when you tagged along with him to something you thought was just going to be the two of you. He wasn’t the one realizing, little by little, that your best friend was outgrowing you.

But how could you even say that? How could you explain it in a way he’d understand?

“It’s not just one thing, Satoru,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s… everything.”

Satoru exhaled sharply, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “That’s real specific.”

You rolled your eyes, the exhaustion settling deep into your bones. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

You hesitated. He looked serious, standing there under the dim glow of the dorm hallway lights, arms crossed, gaze steady. But what would it change? Telling him wouldn’t undo the years of growing distance, wouldn’t erase the fact that you felt like you didn’t fit in his world anymore.

Maybe it was better to let it go.

So you shook your head, stepping back toward your door. “It’s late. You should go.”

Satoru let out a quiet, frustrated laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fine,” he said, jaw tightening. “Run away, then. You’re good at that.”

That hurt more than it should have.

But you didn’t argue. You just stepped inside, closed the door, and pretended the ache in your chest wasn’t real.

It got worse after that.

You thought maybe that argument would clear the air—that he’d finally see why you had been keeping your distance. But if anything, it only made things weirder.

Satoru still texted you, but not as much. He still invited you to things, but there was something almost hesitant in the way he asked, like he was bracing for rejection. And when you turned him down (because of course you did), his replies became shorter, more clipped.

Then, one night, he stopped asking altogether.

You didn’t realize how much you had come to expect it—his name popping up on your phone, his easy confidence that somehow, eventually, you’d say yes. But when Friday night came and went without a text, something inside you twisted.

Maybe this was what you wanted. Maybe it was easier this way.

So why did it feel so awful?

A week later, you ran into him by accident.

Literally.

You were coming out of the campus library, arms full of books, when someone rounded the corner too fast and nearly tackled you.

“Oh, shit—sorry—”

You looked up, heart dropping to your stomach.

Satoru.

Your hands clenched around the books, pulse stuttering. It had only been a week, but he already looked different—like he’d fully settled into his role as that guy. Loose hoodie, messy hair, the faint scent of cologne and something vaguely alcoholic clinging to him.

You swallowed hard. “Hey.”

His expression flickered—just for a second. “Hey.”

It was awkward. Awkward. When had things ever been awkward between you?

You shifted your grip on your books. “Uh—sorry. Didn’t mean to—”

“Yeah, no, my bad,” he cut in quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Silence stretched between you. Too long, too tense.

Then, suddenly, his eyes dropped to the stack in your arms. “Of course you’re carrying, like, ten books at once.”

It was such a Satoru thing to say that, for a second, you almost smiled.

Then his gaze flicked up to yours, something softer in his expression, and your breath hitched.

And then—

A voice called his name from across the quad. Some guy you didn’t know, waving him over. Satoru hesitated. Then, with a small exhale, he gave you a lopsided grin. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

He didn’t wait for a response before turning away.

And you stood there, watching him go, feeling like something important had just slipped through your fingers.

Days passed. Then a week. Then two.

And for the first time in years, Satoru Gojo wasn’t part of your life anymore.

No more texts. No more unannounced visits. No more standing at your dorm door at 2 AM, grinning like he belonged there.

You had wanted this, hadn’t you? You had wanted the space, the distance, the freedom to not be caught in his orbit.

But now, without him, everything just felt… quiet. You hated it.

You missed him.

—

It was months before you and Satoru spoke again.

At first, you kept waiting for him to text you, to pop up at your door with some stupid excuse, to send you a meme like nothing had happened. But days passed. Then weeks. Then months. And Satoru Gojo—your best friend since childhood—became just another person you saw in passing.

Sometimes, you spotted him across the quad, surrounded by his usual crowd. Sometimes, you caught glimpses of him at the library, laughing too loudly with friends who barely even acknowledged your existence.

And it hurt.

More than you wanted to admit, it hurt.

But you told yourself this was how things were meant to be. That he had moved on, and you needed to do the same. That whatever had existed between you belonged to another lifetime, one where you weren’t the quiet girl who spent her nights buried in books, and he wasn’t the golden boy who belonged to the whole damn world.

You thought you were doing fine. You thought you were getting used to it.

Until the professor announced lab partners.

The moment your name was called, a small, high-pitched voice cut through the classroom.

“Uh… who?”

Laughter rippled through the room. You felt your face go hot, every muscle in your body locking up as the girl—some blonde from Satoru’s usual group—looked around in exaggerated confusion.

It was humiliating.

Because she wasn’t just some random classmate. She was someone who had spent actual time with Satoru. Who had probably been to his dorm, who had probably sat next to him at parties, who had probably heard him talk about people in his life.

And she had no idea who you were.

You didn’t even dare look at Satoru. Didn’t want to see his reaction. Didn’t want to see whether he’d step in, whether he’d say anything—

But he didn’t.

He didn’t laugh, but he didn’t correct her either.

Didn’t turn to acknowledge you. Didn’t make some joke to brush past it. Didn’t do anything at all.

Just stared at the table like he was somewhere else entirely.

And that, somehow, was worse than anything.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral as you scribbled down the details of the assignment. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t a big deal. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

—

Working with Satoru again was… weird.

Not just because of everything that had happened between you, but because neither of you seemed to know how to be around each other anymore.

Gone were the days of effortless conversation, of teasing remarks and stolen fries and arguments about Digimon evolutions. Now, everything felt stilted, careful, like you were two strangers trying to relearn the language of each other.

Sometimes, it almost felt normal.

Like when you sat across from each other in the library, bent over research notes, and he’d randomly hum the Sailor Moon theme song under his breath. Or when he muttered something stupid under his breath about the professor’s handwriting, and you nearly choked on your water holding back a laugh.

But then, inevitably, the moment would pass.

Because girls from his usual group would come over, acting like you weren’t even there, their voices too sweet as they draped themselves over the back of his chair.

“Satoru, are you coming to the party on Friday?”

“Satoru, when are you free? We should all hang out.”

And he’d always answer them. Always give some noncommittal shrug or a lazy smirk. But you could tell—even if no one else seemed to notice—that he wasn’t really there. That when he looked at them, he wasn’t listening.

And yet, he never told them to leave. Never told them that you were working. Never acknowledged you at all when they were around. So, after a while, you just stopped expecting him to.

And then, one day, you got sick.

Not just a little sick. Not just a sore throat or a cough you could push through. No, you were the kind of sick that made your whole body ache, that sent shivers down your spine no matter how many blankets you curled under.

But it was a project day. And despite everything, you still had responsibilities. So, begrudgingly, you shot Satoru a text.

Come to my dorm. I can’t go out today.

He didn’t reply right away. But twenty minutes later, there was a knock at your door. You barely managed to drag yourself over, your vision swimming slightly as you opened it.

And there he was.

Looking the same as always—messy white hair, sharp blue eyes, hoodie slung over his frame like he’d just rolled out of bed.

The only difference? The way his expression immediately dropped the second he saw you.

“Shit,” he muttered. “You look awful.”

You groaned, stepping aside to let him in. “Thanks for the confidence boost.” He kicked off his shoes, setting his bag down before eyeing you carefully. “Have you been drinking water? Eating enough? D’you eat somethin’ you weren’t meant to eat?”

You rolled your eyes. “How am I supposed to know, I just woke up sick as hell.”

Instead of a snarky remark, Satoru just sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Then, before you could protest, he was guiding you toward the bed, nudging you to sit.

“You’re not working like this,” he said firmly. “Lie down.”

“I’m fine—”

“Lie down.”

You hesitated.

This wasn’t him. This wasn’t the version of Satoru you had gotten used to in the past year. The one who was always a little distant, a little out of reach. This was… him.

The Satoru you had known since childhood. The one who always knew when you were exhausted, even when you swore you weren’t. The one who used to push his fries onto your plate when you were too stressed to eat.

The one who, for the first time in months, was looking at you like you were still his best friend. So, slowly, you lay back down.

Satoru exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll get you some tea or something. You have any?” You nodded weakly. He moved toward your desk, rummaging through your stash of instant tea packets like he had done it a million times before.

And for the first time in a long time, the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was familiar.

Safe.

And even though you felt like death warmed over, for the first time in months, you didn’t feel so alone.

—

From that day on, something shifted.

It wasn’t immediate, and it wasn’t dramatic, but it was there—a quiet, almost imperceptible change in the way things were between you and Satoru. The library, once the default meeting spot for your project sessions, was suddenly off the table. He stopped suggesting it altogether, and at first, you didn’t think much of it. But then, one afternoon, he showed up at your dorm unannounced, arms loaded with snacks and a careless shrug when you stared at him, bewildered.

“Library’s too loud,” he said, brushing past you and stepping inside like he owned the place. “Figured we’d get more done here.”

You didn’t question it. Not then, and not a week later when you found yourself in his dorm instead, sitting cross-legged on his bed while he scrolled through research notes on his laptop. 

“Library’s too crowded,” he explained that time, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

After that, it just became… routine. Your project meetings moved from the library to your dorms, back and forth, as if by some unspoken agreement. The shift was gradual, almost imperceptible, but it was there. You still weren’t quite friends again—not the way you used to be, back when everything was easy and uncomplicated. There was still a careful distance between you, an unspoken awareness of all the time that had been lost, all the moments that had slipped through your fingers. But things weren’t cold anymore. They weren’t distant.

Satoru filled the quiet moments with mindless chatter, the way he always had. He teased you about your typos, stole your pens when you weren’t looking, and groaned dramatically whenever you made him do too much reading. Slowly, bit by bit, the pieces of your friendship started falling back into place. Not completely. Not yet. But enough that sometimes, when the two of you were laughing over something stupid, it almost felt like the past year had never happened.

Then, one day, everything cracked open.

It was late—much later than usual—and the two of you were sitting in his dorm, textbooks and notebooks sprawled across his desk. You were both exhausted, the kind of tired that made your eyes burn and your thoughts sluggish. Satoru was absentmindedly flipping through one of your old notebooks when he suddenly snorted.

“Oh my God.”

You blinked up at him, too tired to muster more than a mumbled, “What?”

He turned the notebook toward you, pointing at a messy doodle in the margin. It was a Digimon—a rough, scribbled outline that barely resembled anything recognizable. But something about it made him grin, leaning back in his chair like he’d just uncovered a hidden treasure.

“Damn,” he said, shaking his head. “Feels like a whole different lifetime ago.”

And then, in a voice so casual, so familiar, he added—

“Remember when we made a whole ass PowerPoint ranking every Digimon evolution?”

That was it.

That was what broke you.

It was so stupid—just a random memory, an offhand remark. But the second he said it, something in your chest twisted violently. You clenched your jaw, swallowing hard, telling yourself not to be dramatic. But then your vision blurred, and suddenly, you were crying.

“Oh—oh shit.”

Satoru’s chair scraped against the floor as he shot up, eyes wide with panic. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

You barely managed to shake your head, your hands gripping your knees as you tried to steady yourself. But the tears kept coming, and then—through the hiccups, through the pathetic, trembling gasps—you broke.

You clenched your jaw, trying to hold it together, but the tears spilled over anyway. Your chest heaved as you choked out the words, “I miss you. I—God, Satoru, I miss you.”

His face went slack, his usual confidence faltering as he stared at you, stunned. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, like he was trying to process what you’d just said. Then his voice came out quiet, almost fragile. “What are you talking about? I’m right here.”

You shook your head, your hands gripping your knees so tightly your knuckles turned white. “No, you’re not. Not really. You’ve been… gone. For so long. And I—” Your voice broke, and you hated how weak you sounded, how raw and exposed you felt. “I don’t want to be without you anymore. I don’t—I don’t want you to hate me.”

Satoru’s breath hitched, and for the first time, you saw his composure crack. His eyes glistened, and he blinked rapidly, like he was trying to fight it, but a single tear slipped down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, his voice trembling as he muttered, “You’re so fucking stupid. How could I ever hate you?”

You let out a shaky laugh, but it came out more like a sob. “I don’t know. You just—you stopped talking to me. You stopped needing me. And I thought… I thought you didn’t care anymore.”

He shook his head, his hands reaching out like he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure if he should. “I care. I care so much it’s stupid. I just—” He paused, his voice cracking. “I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know how to come back after everything. It felt like you were pushing me away.”

“You could’ve just— I don’t even know what to say,” you hiccuped, your voice barely audible. “You could’ve just… stayed. I don’t know— like yell at me, tell me that you care for me or something. I wish I wasn’t so stubborn about not speaking to you either, but god, maybe I just wanted you to like— tell me how much you needed me. Because it never felt like you did anymore.”

Satoru’s face crumpled, and he let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping like the weight of everything had finally caught up to him. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raw. “I’m so sorry for leaving you behind. I didn’t mean to. I just… I didn’t know how to be around you without feeling like I’d already ruined everything.”

You looked up at him, your vision blurred by tears. “You didn’t ruin anything. I just… I needed you. And you weren’t there. And really, it was my fault too, for not communicating—”

He cuts you off, his own tears falling freely now, though he didn’t seem to care. “I know. But I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how to fix it. I— I should’ve been there for you more often because God, life without you is just so horrible, and I’ve been so horrible— ”

“You’re fixing it now,” you said, your voice trembling. “Just… don’t leave me again. Please.”

He let out a choked laugh, his hands finally reaching for you, pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you tightly, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. “I won’t,” he murmured into your hair. “I won’t. I promise.”

You buried your face in his shirt, your hands clutching the fabric as you cried. His body shook against yours, and you realized he was crying too—quietly, almost like he was trying to hide it, but you could feel the way his breath hitched, the way his hands trembled as they held you.

“I missed you too,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Every fucking day. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

You didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, because the weight of everything—the months of silence, the distance, the ache of missing him—was finally crashing down on you. But for the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn’t a bad kind of crash. It was relief. It was the feeling of something broken finally starting to heal.

Satoru’s hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he held you closer. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice firm despite the tears. “Not again. Not ever.”

You nodded against his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt. “Okay,” you whispered. “Okay.”

It took a long time for the tears to stop, for the sobs to quiet into shaky breaths. But even when they did, neither of you moved. Satoru kept holding you, his arms tight around you, his chin resting on the top of your head. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt safe. You felt like you were home.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were red and puffy, but he was smiling—a small, tentative smile that made your chest ache in the best way. “You’re stuck with me now, like y’know, the annoying kid who’d follow you around as kids,” he said, his voice soft. “Just so you know.”

You laughed, the sound watery but genuine. “Good. Because I miss that Satoru, and I’m not letting you go again either.”

He grinned, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Deal.”

And just like that, something shifted. The distance between you closed, the cracks in your friendship slowly mending. It wasn’t perfect—not yet—but it was a start. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like everything was going to be okay.

—

After that night, Satoru made it a point to talk to you during class.

It was weird at first—uncomfortable, even. Because now, whenever he sat beside you, people stared. People whispered. But Satoru didn’t care. And after a while, neither did you.

Then, one day, it happened.

You were in the middle of a conversation when one of the girls from his usual group strolled up, her friends lingering just behind her.

“Dude,” she drawled, arms crossed. “We’re waiting for you.”

Satoru didn’t acknowledge her.

She huffed, looking at you for the first time.

“Who even are you?” she said, wrinkling her nose.

Silence.

Then—calmly, lazily—Satoru turned to her.

“Fuck off.”

Her expression twisted. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, resting his chin in his hand. “We’re talking.”

You swore you saw steam coming out of her ears.

She spun on her heel, storming off in a flurry of designer fabric, and Satoru just turned back to you like nothing had happened.

You blinked at him, stunned. “That was… aggressive.”

He shrugged. “Don’t like her.”

You snorted. “You used to hang out with her all the time.”

“Yeah, well.” He gave you a pointed look. “I was an idiot.”

And maybe it was the way he said it. Maybe it was the certainty in his voice, the way he leaned in just a little closer like this—this—was what mattered.

But for the first time in a long time, you felt something settle inside you. Something warm. Something steady. Something that told you, without a doubt—

Satoru Gojo wasn’t leaving you behind again.

—

It happened slowly.

At first, it was just the way things had been before. You and Satoru were best friends again—finally, properly—and you were making up for lost time.

You sat together in lectures. You ate together between classes. You spent hours holed up in each other’s dorms, either working in silence or complaining about whatever god-awful assignment was due next.

And it was good. It was easy.

But then—then—things started to shift.

It was subtle at first.

A hand brushing against yours for just a little too long. The warmth of his body pressed against yours in a too-crowded study session, his breath fanning over your ear as he leaned in, muttering something you could barely focus on.

The way his eyes lingered when he thought you weren’t looking.

The way yours lingered, too.

—

It was a Friday night, and you were at Satoru’s dorm, lying on his bed while he sat at his desk, spinning lazily in his chair.

“I don’t wanna study,” he whined, stretching his arms over his head. “Let’s do something fun.”

You turned a page in your book, unimpressed. “And what exactly do you define as ‘fun’?”

“Dunno,” he mused. “Wanna go for a drive?”

You sighed. “Satoru, it’s almost midnight.”

“And?” He grinned, kicking his feet up onto his desk. “C’mon, live a little.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose. “You just don’t want to do your readings.”

“Obviously.” He snorted. “But also, I feel like getting snacks.”

You hesitated, torn.

Then, finally—

“Fine.”

His eyes lit up. “Knew you’d cave.”

You rolled your eyes, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

—

It was raining by the time you got to the convenience store.

Not heavily—just a light drizzle, enough to make the streets shimmer under the streetlights.

Satoru grabbed half the store’s supply of junk food while you rolled your eyes, paying for your single bottle of tea. Outside, the air was cool, the pavement slick beneath your feet.

“I’m driving,” you said as he dug through his bag of snacks.

“Nah.” He grinned, tossing a chip into his mouth. “I got this.”

You gave him a look. “You almost crashed last time.”

He scoffed. “That was a red light, not a crash.”

“You ran the red light.”

“Meow.”

You cringe, snatching the keys from his pocket. “Oh my god. Absolutely not.”

Satoru laughed but let you.

And for some reason, that made your stomach flip.

—

Back at your dorm, Satoru made himself at home—because of course he did.

He sprawled across your bed, one arm tucked behind his head, the other mindlessly tossing a snack in the air and catching it with his mouth.

“You should be paying me rent at this point,” you muttered, shutting the door behind you.

“I would,” he said, grinning, “but I’m broke.”

You huffed, settling onto the bed beside him. “What, your trust fund isn’t enough?”

He smirked. “Nah, gotta save that for important things.”

You rolled your eyes. “Right. Like overpriced sunglasses.”

“Exactly.”

You shook your head, reaching for the remote.

And then—a shift.

Satoru turned his head to look at you, and when you met his gaze, something in his expression softened.

“Hey,” he murmured.

You swallowed. “Hey.”

He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Your breath hitched.

His fingers lingered at your temple, just for a moment. His touch was warm, featherlight.

You exhaled, heartbeat stuttering.

And then—just as quickly—he pulled back, flopping onto his back with a dramatic groan.

“What should we watch?” he asked, stretching like nothing had happened.

You exhaled.

Your chest felt tight.

“Uh.” You cleared your throat. “Dunno.”

And just like that, the moment passed.

—

But the tension didn’t. If anything, it only got worse.

It was in the way his hand brushed your waist when he reached past you.

The way he sat just a little too close, his knee knocking against yours under the desk.

The way his fingers trailed across your wrist when he grabbed something from you, his touch slow, deliberate.

And—God—it was in the way he looked at you.

Like you were something he couldn’t quite figure out.

Like he was waiting for something.

Like he wanted something.

And maybe—just maybe—so did you.

—

By the time second year rolled around, you weren’t sure what you and Satoru were anymore. Still best friends, technically. Still Satoru and you. But there was something else, too.

Something unspoken.

Something fragile and complicated and new. And neither of you dared to acknowledge it.

 —

The weather had started to change, the air cooler as autumn crept in. You could feel it in your bones—when the days shortened, and the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows. It made everything seem a little softer, like the world had gone quiet just to give you and Satoru a chance to breathe, to figure things out.

You were both sitting in the small, somewhat neglected corner of the university park, surrounded by towering trees with golden leaves fluttering to the ground. You were both on the grass, sitting close enough that your shoulders brushed whenever you shifted. It was the kind of quiet afternoon you could’ve stayed in forever, and maybe that was why you weren’t quite ready to let it end.

Satoru stretched, his arms reaching high above his head. “Ugh, my back’s killing me. Who knew studying could be so physically demanding?” He rolled his shoulders, groaning dramatically.

You shot him a sidelong glance, your lips curling into a smile despite yourself. “I think that’s just you, Satoru. You’re a professional at making everything harder than it is.”

He shot you a grin, a smug little thing, like he knew you couldn’t resist teasing him back. “Oh, please, I make things look easy. It's a gift.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, the great Satoru Gojo.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, catching the teasing tone in your voice. “That’s right. You should be honored to sit next to greatness.” He nudged your shoulder with his, the warmth of his body spilling into yours. The touch was light but undeniable. Familiar.

You chuckled, nudging him back. “I don’t know if I’d call you ‘great’ when you still lose to me in Mario Kart every time.”

Satoru gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like you’d just struck a mortal wound. “You—I’m just going easy on you because I don’t want you to feel bad. I’m a gentleman like that.”

You could hear the playful teasing in his voice, but the way he looked at you—his eyes crinkling at the corners with that boyish grin—felt like something deeper.

“I don’t need you to go easy on me,” you teased, leaning in just a bit too much, your voice soft. “I’m pretty good on my own, thanks.”

That was when you noticed it—the way his eyes flickered for a second, his lips curving down ever so slightly before he caught himself. His gaze held yours for a second longer than normal, and for the first time in a while, you both just stayed there. Not a word. No jokes or banter. Just the space between you thick with unspoken things.

Satoru was the first to look away, clearing his throat. “Anyway, want me to go grab us something from that little café over there? You could use some food if you’re gonna keep up with me.”

You hesitated. He’s back to that again. The Satoru who was always making sure you were fed, always thinking ahead for both of you, even when he had to act like nothing was different.

But you didn’t want to ruin the moment, not now. Not when everything felt right.

“No, I’m good,” you said softly, shaking your head. “But... thanks.”

Satoru studied you for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly, before he dropped his shoulders with a sigh. “I swear, you’re impossible.” But even as he said it, his hand reached out—just a quick pat of his large hand atop yours. The briefest of contact, and for a moment, the world paused around you.

The warmth of his hand lingered even after it was gone, and you could feel your chest tightening, your pulse picking up. You didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

And for the rest of the afternoon, you stayed like that. Silent. Comfortable in the space between you, letting the quiet be enough. But you both knew it wasn’t just the park that made the air heavy—it was everything unsaid that clung to it.

Eventually, the sun began to dip low on the horizon, casting long shadows that stretched across the grass. You sighed, looking up at Satoru. “We should probably get back soon. It’s getting late.”

He glanced at his phone, then at you, and nodded. “Yeah. You’re right.” He paused. “Hey, you want to walk with me to my dorm? I’m not ready to head back alone yet.”

It wasn’t even a question, not really. But you could feel his eyes on you, like he was waiting for your answer to matter just as much as the offer itself.

You nodded, and the tension between you both lifted just a little as you both stood, stretching out the stiffness in your legs. “Sure, let’s go.”

As you and Satoru walked side by side, the night air crisp and cool against your skin, the silence between you felt heavier than before. It wasn’t uncomfortable—quite the opposite. It was charged, like something waiting to tip over the edge. Every step you took together seemed to draw you closer, and you could feel the warmth of his body beside you, even in the chill of the evening.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, his hand brushed against yours again. This time, neither of you pulled away. The tips of his fingers grazed your knuckles—light, tentative. Like he was testing the waters. Like he was waiting for you to stop him.

But you didn’t.

You swallowed, trying to focus on the rhythmic crunch of leaves beneath your feet rather than the way your skin tingled where he touched you. It was such a small thing, barely even a touch, but it sent your heart skittering against your ribs. And when you finally dared to glance up at him, Satoru was already looking at you, his lips curled into something between amusement and something softer, something unreadable.

“What?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

Satoru tilted his head, his silver-white hair catching in the glow of the streetlights. “Nothing.”

A lie.

Because there was something—so much something—wrapped up in the way his eyes flickered over you, lingering for just a second too long on your lips before he looked ahead again.

The air between you felt tight, humming with something unsaid.

You were nearing his dorm now, the pathway growing quieter, fewer students passing by. It was just the two of you, footsteps slowing, the night pressing in close.

Satoru exhaled a slow breath, and then—without thinking, or maybe because he had been thinking about it too much—he reached out again. This time, his fingers laced through yours, not just a brush, not just an accident. A deliberate touch, a quiet declaration.

Your breath caught, and you felt him squeeze—just slightly, just enough.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice low, like he wasn’t sure he should be asking.

You nodded, your mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah. You?”

His lips twitched, like he wanted to smirk, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Dunno,” he said, squeezing your fingers again. “You’re kind of distracting.”

Your stomach flipped, heat crawling up your neck. “Oh, I’m distracting? That’s rich, coming from you.”

He huffed a laugh, the sound warm, teasing. “No, I mean it.” He stopped walking, tugging you gently by the hand so you turned to face him. “You ever notice how quiet things get when it’s just us?”

You blinked, your throat tightening. “Satoru—”

His free hand lifted, his fingertips barely skimming your jaw. He wasn’t quite touching, just there, like he was still giving you room to pull away. Like he wasn’t sure if he should close the space between you.

And God, you wanted him to.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. It would be so easy. Just one step closer. Just one little push, and—

Satoru exhaled sharply through his nose, his hand falling away, his fingers untangling from yours. He took a step back, running a hand through his hair. “Never mind,” he muttered, laughing under his breath like he was scolding himself. “Forget I said anything.”

Your fingers twitched at your sides, the absence of his touch making your skin feel cold.

“No,” you said, firmer than you expected. “I don’t want to.”

His head snapped up, eyes wide, startled. “You don’t?”

You took a breath, steeling yourself. “No.”

Satoru stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a low chuckle, he shook his head. “You really are impossible.”

And then, before you could overthink it, before you could talk yourself out of it—you stepped forward, pressing your palm against his chest, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his hoodie. His breath hitched, his body going still under your touch.

The silence stretched again, thick and unyielding.

“Say it,” you whispered.

His hands hovered at your sides, not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. “Say what?”

You looked up at him, unflinching. “Whatever it is you’re holding back.”

Satoru exhaled, a sharp, unsteady thing. His hands finally settled on your waist, hesitant at first—then firmer, more certain. His fingers pressed into your hips, grounding himself in the feel of you.

And then, his voice—low, raw, real.

“I don’t want to be just your best friend anymore.”

Your breath caught.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The words hung between you, heavy and dangerous and everything.

Then, Satoru leaned in, his nose just barely brushing yours, his lips hovering so close. His breath was warm, and when he spoke again, it was barely a whisper.

“I want more.”

And then, finally—finally—you closed the space between you.

The kiss wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t shy. It was hungry, desperate, like the both of you had been waiting too long to do this, like neither of you wanted to waste another second. His lips crashed against yours, and you gasped against his mouth as he backed you up against the door of his dorm, hands gripping your waist tighter like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, tugging him closer, feeling the heat of him seep into you. His body pressed against yours, and the air between you turned thick with something intoxicating, something impossible to stop now that it had started. The small, breathless noises you made against his mouth only seemed to push him further, his fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt, thumbs brushing over your bare skin, warm and firm and so much.

The door behind you dug into your back, and for a fleeting moment, a thought broke through the haze—what if someone sees us?

As if he could read your mind, Satoru groaned against your lips, impatient, and without breaking the kiss, he reached behind you, fumbling for the handle. The second the door swung open, he practically pulled you inside with him, kicking it shut before his lips were on yours again, urgent, demanding.

You barely had a second to catch your breath before he was guiding you backwards, hands never leaving your body, mouth never straying too far from yours. You stumbled together, his grip firm, his kisses growing deeper, hotter, more insistent as you moved through the dark room.

By the time you reached the bedroom, your pulse was a wild, unsteady thing, your skin burning under his touch.

His mouth was warm and soft against yours, kissing your lips like he was afraid you were gonna disappear. Using his strength to his advantage, he manhandled you into his lap on the bed, while he sat up against the headboard. His tongue prodded into your mouth experimentally, and when you obliged him entry, he swirled it around with yours before licking into the cavern of your mouth, tasting you as if you were one of those sickeningly sweet delicacies he enjoyed.

His hands roamed from your waist to your hips, to your thighs before stopping hesitantly over your ass, to which you dragged them down until he was squeezing and kneading the supple flesh with his hands, mouth slotted against yours.

You pulled back slightly, gasping for air, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. But Satoru didn’t let you go far. His hands were firm on your ass, keeping you anchored to him as his lips trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, and you tilted your head to give him better access, your fingers tangling in his hair.

His mouth moved lower, pressing hot, lingering kisses along the column of your neck. Each touch of his lips against your skin felt like fire, and you couldn’t suppress the soft moan that escaped your throat. His hands slid up your sides, his touch firm but gentle, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. One hand came to rest on the small of your back, pulling you closer, while the other cupped the curve of your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Satoru,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, but he didn’t respond—not with words, anyway. Instead, he captured your lips again in a desperate, hungry kiss that left you dizzy. His tongue slid against yours, and you melted into him, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance as the world around you seemed to fade away.

His hands roamed your body with a kind of urgency, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. One moment they were in your hair, the next sliding down your back, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. You could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt, and you tugged at it impatiently, wanting—needing—to feel his skin against yours.

He broke the kiss long enough to yank his shirt over his head, tossing it aside before his lips were on yours again, more insistent this time. His hands found the hem of your top, and you lifted your arms without hesitation, letting him pull it off and discard it somewhere on the floor. The cool air of the room hit your skin, but it did nothing to quell the heat building inside you.

Satoru’s hands were everywhere—tracing the curve of your waist, skimming over your ribs, brushing the underside of your breast under your bra. You arched into him, chasing the friction, desperate for more.

His mouth found yours again, urgent and unrelenting, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, deliberate stroke that left you breathless. He kissed you like he wanted to consume you, like he didn’t care about anything else but this—you.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, your breaths mingling, heavy and uneven. Every kiss, every touch, every press of his hands left you dizzy, lost in the haze of heat and want.

And when he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide and his lips swollen from kissing, you swore you’d never seen him look at anything the way he was looking at you now.

Like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

Both of your chests were heaving, your own shirt flung on the bed somewhere and Satoru’s completely off and forgotten somewhere on the floor. His hands were still settled on your waist, thumbs tracing slow circles over your heated skin. His head lolled back against the couch, a lazy, satisfied grin stretching across his lips.

“Damn,” he exhaled, voice slightly hoarse. “I think I saw the pearly gates for a second there.”

You scoffed, giving his shoulder a weak shove, while reaching for your shirt. “Dramatic.”

He only laughed, the sound bright and breathless. “I mean it, nerd. Who knew you had it in you?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, fingers curling against his shoulders. “Satoru.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

His grin widened, but he obeyed—for all of two seconds. Then, with a teasing glint in his eyes, he waggled his brows. “You know, we should really make this a regular thing. Like, for health purposes. I feel like I just did an entire cardio session.”

You smacked his arm. “Oh my god.”

He gasped in mock offense, pressing a hand to his bare chest. “See? That was uncalled for. Here I am, trying to improve my well-being, and you’re—”

“Satoru.” You fixed him with a look, but the corners of your lips twitched. He was impossible.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating under your fingertips. “Okay, okay, I’ll be good.” His grip on your waist tightened slightly, as if to ground himself—or maybe to keep you exactly where you were. “But… just so we’re clear, this isn’t, like, a one-time thing, right?”

You blinked, his sudden shift in tone catching you off guard. His usual playfulness was still there, but there was something else beneath it—something genuine, something careful.

You swallowed. “What do you mean?”

His gaze flickered over your face, searching. “I mean…” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck before looking at you again. “I was serious, you know. About liking you. More than a friend.”

Your breath hitched. “You were?”

Satoru scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Obviously. You think I just let anyone straddle me and—”

You smacked his chest. “Can you not ruin the moment?”

He caught your wrist before you could pull away, lacing his fingers through yours. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, quieter. “I was serious,” he repeated. “I am serious.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “I like you, and I want to do this properly.”

Your heart thudded against your ribs. “Properly?”

He nodded, suddenly looking almost shy. “Like… an actual date. Multiple dates. Boyfriend privileges. All that cute shit.” His lips curled into a lopsided grin. “So, what do you say?”

Your stomach flipped, warmth spreading through your chest. “You’re actually asking me out?”

Satoru huffed a laugh. “Well, yeah. What, you thought I’d just kiss you senseless and leave you hanging?”

You bit your lip, pretending to think. “I dunno. You are kind of a menace.”

His brows shot up. “A menace?”

You giggled, and he groaned, tightening his grip on your waist. “Okay, that’s it, you’re legally required to say yes now.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile stretching across your lips. “Yes, Satoru. I’ll go out with you.”

His face lit up, and before you could say anything else, he was kissing you again, arms wrapping fully around your waist. He shifted, rolling you onto the bed so he was hovering over you, his weight pressed deliciously against yours.

“Guess that makes you my girlfriend now,” he murmured against your lips. “Which means—” His fingers trailed down your side, teasing. “—I get unlimited make-out privileges.”

You huffed a laugh. “You’re so weird.”

“Would you like it if I said sex privileges too?”

“I’m gonna seriously hurt you—“

Satoru only smirked before cutting you off with another kiss.

—

A few months into dating Satoru, you realised three things.

One, he had absolutely no concept of personal space. If he was near you, he was touching you—whether it was throwing an arm over your shoulder, draping himself across your lap, or trapping you against a wall just to say hi like a complete menace.

Two, he was shamelessly, overwhelmingly, ridiculously obsessed with you. If he wasn’t texting you, he was calling. If he wasn’t calling, he was physically finding you. And if he couldn’t find you, he’d send a stupidly dramatic voice memo about how he was “perishing” without you.

And three, he was always teasing. Always testing his limits, pushing your buttons, flashing that damn smug grin whenever you got flustered.

Like right now.

“I think you should stay over.”

You blinked up at him from where you were curled up on his bed, wearing one of his hoodies that was way too big for you. “I am staying over.”

Satoru huffed, rolling onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow. “No, I mean, like, actually stay over. Move in.”

You snorted. “Satoru.”

“What? I’m serious.” He nudged your knee with his own. “Just think about it. That trust fund has enough money— actually maybe more— for an apartment near college. We basically live together anyway.”

“Not even close.”

He scoffed. “Oh, please. You leave clothes here, you steal my hoodies—”

“They’re practically dresses on me.”

“—and you’re here more than you’re at your own place.”

“That’s a lie.”

Satoru gasped dramatically. “Oh, so I’m imagining you in my bed every night?”

Your face warmed, but you shot him a glare. “You’re exaggerating.”

He only grinned, scooting closer until your noses nearly brushed. “You love sleeping here,” he drawled. “You love my bed, you love my cuddles, you love this d—”

You smacked a hand over his mouth, but it barely muffled his muffled laughter.

“I swear to God, Satoru—”

Before you could finish, he grabbed your wrist and flipped you onto your back, caging you beneath him in one smooth motion. His weight was just enough to make your breath hitch, his silver lashes casting shadows over sharp blue eyes.

“You love me,” he finished, his voice dipping lower, teasing, smug.

Your stomach flipped.

“…Debatable,” you muttered.

Satoru barked out a laugh. “Debatable?” He leaned down, nuzzling into your neck as his hands slid under his hoodie, warm palms settling against your waist. “You’re literally in my bed wearing my clothes right now.”

Your breath stuttered as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss just below your ear.

“Admit it,” he murmured. “You’re obsessed with me.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, your fingers gripping his bare shoulders. “Satoru—”

“I mean, I don’t blame you.” He grinned against your skin, pressing another kiss, this one lower. “I am insanely hot.”

You groaned. “You ruin everything.”

Satoru laughed, bright and breathless, before rolling over, pulling you fully on top of him with ease. His hands never left your waist, fingertips dancing over your skin in slow, lazy patterns.

Then he suddenly reached behind him, grabbed something off the nightstand, and slid his glasses onto his face.

You blinked. “I thought you preferred contacts now?”

Satoru hummed, adjusting them slightly as he gazed up at you. “Yeah, but I dunno…” His lips curled into a small, lopsided smile. “You always liked me better in these, didn’t you?”

Your breath hitched slightly. He wasn’t wrong—there was something about the way his glasses framed his face, how they softened him just a little, made him look more like the Satoru you’d known before he became everyone else’s.

“…You’re so full of yourself,” you muttered.

His grin widened. “And yet, you’re still staring.”

You scoffed, reaching up to pluck them off his face, but he caught your wrist, tugging you down until your noses brushed.

“Admit it,” he murmured. “You like me better like this.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

“I like you anyway,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Something flickered in his eyes—something soft, something warm—before his grin turned teasing again. “Good,” he said, rolling you onto your back in one smooth motion. “Because I was gonna keep you here all night either way.”

You barely managed to mutter, “You’re so weird,” before he cut you off with another kiss.

i don't like this work at ALL lol but tbh i wrote this because i want to be wanted UGH hdhjsdh

[majoryeager104]

I don’t know if you’ve done this before but I would love some domestic fluff with Touya/Keigo/Tomura, like their morning routine living with the reader (including cute bed head ofc)

Giggling I don’t mind if I dooo this is my favorite type of contentt

Tomura

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Waking up next to Tomura was quite the experience. The leader of a group of infamous villains, one of the most feared men in all of Japan, and yet he was seemingly so fragile curled up in the bed next to you. It was surreal sometimes to think about it, only for those pretty red eyes to flutter open and make you forget your previous thoughts entirely as he yawned and kissed your cheek, muttering a quick ���morning, sweetheart” as he sat up and stretched.

One thing about him that you could count on was that he was always out of bed before you. You didn’t get it- you’d think he’d be hard to wake up in the morning, but really he was always quick to rise, even after he’d spent most of the night gaming.

“I’m making breakfast. Want some?” He said groggily from the door, earning a nod from you as you sat up. Of course, he was a terrible cook and always just got cereal for the two of you anyways. You could hear him yawn again in the kitchen as he shuffled around getting bowls and such. He may be quick to get up, but he’s always perpetually sleepy. You walked in sleepily too, making the both of you some coffee. He glanced over at you as he put the milk away, a small smile crossing his lips as he shut the fridge and moved around behind you, placing a few chaste kisses on your shoulder. You smiled, turning around to kiss him back, your fingers carding through his messy hair. He kissed your lips for what felt like forever, pinning you to the counter till you hummed and pulled away.

“Get off and go eat before the cereal gets soggy” you said, glancing behind him. “Who cares, c’mere” he grumbled trying to pull you close again, but instead you kissed the tip of his nose and moved on past him. He pouted but complied once you gave him his cup of coffee, and the two of you spent the rest of your morning in each others peaceful company. Luckily, your cereal wasn’t too soggy, something that Tomura bragged about afterwards when he leaned in for more kisses after breakfast

(a/n - chat are y’all blushing at this as much as me rn)

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Keigo

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Keigo always snores. He might just be the loudest person you’ve ever slept next to. Luckily most nights he practically smothers you in feathers and muffles the noise, but in summary he’s a pretty loud sleeper.

But this man is as quiet as a mouse when he gets up.

You sat up with a yawn, getting up to turn off your alarm. You looked back to nudge Keigo awake, only to notice he wasn’t there, just a few stray feathers scattered across his side of the bed. You pouted slightly, walking out of the room to look around in the kitchen. He wasn’t there either. Surely he wasn’t already gone right?

“Hey sweets!”

You nearly jumped in surprise when you heard his cheery voice from behind you, spinning around to look at him. He laughed, putting his hands on your hips “you scared the crap out of me, Keigo!” You said, crossing your arms. “I know, I’m sorry-please don’t punch me this time” he pleaded with a smile, leaning in to kiss your cheek. He was already dressed, freshened up, and ready to go, and you hadn’t even realized he’d gotten out of bed till you looked over. But there was one thing about him in the mornings that always drove you crazy.

“You forgot to brush your hair again” you said, ruffling his messy hair. He chuckled, drumming his fingers on your sides “what’s the point? It’ll be messy anyways” he replied, giving you another kiss. You sighed, cupping his face in your hands as you kissed him back. “Do you have to leave early?” “I made you breakfast to heat up whenever you want it” “so that’s a yes?”

He sighed, moving his wing to playfully nudge your shoulder as he moved past you “you know I have to” he said quietly, pulling you along with him to the balcony door of your apartment. You merely hummed in response, giving him a hug and kiss before he opened the door, said a quick “I love you” and was gone. The downsides of dating the fastest man alive.

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Touya

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Touya was always so grumpy after the alarm clock went off. He could’ve been awake in bed for hours before then, but as soon as that familiar sound rang and he knew he had to get up, he’d always get up with a frown.

Today was no different, but you’d woken up earlier than usual, with thirty minutes till your alarm went off. You sat up wit a yawn, about to get up early, only for Touya to tug you back down. “No” he said bluntly, wrapping his arms around you. You blinked and rubbed your eyes, groaning as you looked at him “what do you mean?” You asked, watching his totally unamused expression shift to an even less amused one, if that was possible. “We still got time, just go back to sleep, you’re not leavin me here” he replied groggily, his arms locked around you. “Just get up with me then” you replied, only for him to groan in frustration. “No.”

You sighed, watching his perpetually frowny face as a smile grew on yours. “You’re so clingy” you whispered, brushing his hair from his face. His eyes softened, but his pout only grew, as if he was trying to hide that sliver of vulnerability. “Am not” he replied gruffly, “I just don’t like getting up.”

“How long have you been awake?” You asked, your thumb stroking his cheek. He looked at the clock, grumbling. “Like…three” he answered, making you raise your eyebrows. “So you just lay here doing nothing all night? And you expect me to do the same?” “Yes now shut up and close your eyes” he retorted, huffing until you did so. “Thank you” he said in an exasperated tone, grumbling to himself about how annoying you were being. You smiled and shook your head, keeping your eyes shut as he lay across from you, stroking your hair.

The truth is, he didn’t do nothing all night. He lay there watching you for a good portion of the time, stroking your hair or just thinking out loud while you slept. Saying things so sweet that you’d never expect to hear it from him if you were awake. He hated your alarm clock because it always meant his time doing so was over.

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mannnnnn Touya that’s so creepy (marry me)

[lunarw0rks]

can you write something about reader using their safe word for the first time with ghost?

getting surprised at how easily he changes from rough sex to sweet aftercare to make sure he's partner is okay

₊ °✦ ‧ ‧ ₊ ˚✧ safe-word // simon riley

warning(s): nsfw + sfw, established relationship, smut/fluff, shower sex, hurt/comfort, gn!reader word count: 1.1k ꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST ───have a request? ˗ˏˋ ASK BOX ˎˊ˗

You don't know why or when exactly the pleasure turned into pain, but you found yourself in a conflicted frenzy.

Your back pressed against the shower wall, legs wrapped tightly around his waist as Simon thrusted into you at a relentless pace. One of his hands remained glued to your waist, digging into your soft flesh with intensity. His other was behind your head, protecting it from hitting the tile every time you clashed against it with every plunge of his length.

He was usually so attentive, noticing every slight change in your demeanor even outside of intimacy. Sometimes, he's so concerned he'll mistake your moans of pleasure for refusal and stop completely, to your dismay.

However, Simon had yet to stop.

The shower head was too noisy, or perhaps he really lost that side of him whilst being so rough with you. Though, you had heavy doubts about the second hypothetical. Never would he intentionally harm you or continue on when you were so tense.

His touch wasn't comforting anymore, it was suffocating. Every groan into your ear, his thrusts becoming unwelcome by your stressed body.

In his defense, your gasps really could be misinterpreted. "Simon." It sounded like praise instead of a refusal — and your futile protest was drowned by the rain of the shower and bathroom fan. With every fleeting moment, you felt a rumble of discomfort build. Tears fell down your cheeks, spilling down his wet skin while you hid in the crook of his neck. Choked blubbers grew louder as you tried and failed to draw in proper breaths.

Then, came your saving grace. The safe word you had yet to use tonight, or ever with Simon. It was necessary, preferable over taking the unpleasant encounter and feeling horrible for not speaking up. And frankly, it would break Simon if you didn't voice your discomforts; he may never touch you again, and probably would feel as though he really was a cruel man. That man you spent so long convincing him he wasn't.

"Red." You blurted, feeling your lips tremble intensely.

At the speed of light, his ruts ceased. Nothing. Silence, except for the patter of the droplets around the two of you. From grunting to complete and utter silence — yet it was the loudest moment of your life.

Simon pulled back, dropping one of your legs but keeping the other secured around him for stability. Finally, he could get a look at your flushed and troubled expression. The unmistakable expression of distress; one he had only ever seen on you in other contexts. It chilled him to the core and made him feel like a barbarian for not noticing sooner. How long had you writhed? How long had he carried on like an idiot, mistaking your complaints for reciprocation?

"Did I hurt you? Are you hurt?" His series of questions were masked with deep breaths and a widened expression. Your silence made him withdraw from you completely, putting a supportive hand on your warm cheek. "Talk to me, love. Please."

You weren't mute from the pain, nor the fussing on his end. Merely the shock of how much his demeanor changed. From dominance to tenderness at the drop of the hat. Or more so, the utterance of a single word.

Quickly, you shook your head to answer his initial questions, snapping out of your stew. "No, Simon. It's not—" You stammered between reassuring touches, ones he refused to pay attention to until he was sure you were sound. "I just... It was too much, I'm sorry, Si."

Simon's face visibly cringed, hands roaming over your skin, grasping at your wrists with gentle nature. "Don't apologize. This is all on me, alright?" He replied in an alarmed slur, then your face had been pushed against his chest.

His broad chest, arms capable of snapping you in two, now cradling your body as if it was made of glass. Your palms slid up his back, returning that same tenderness to assure him of your safety. It wasn't pain because of his carelessness, nor was it the rough nature. He had done it before with no issue. Tonight's cards just weren't stacked right, bound to tumble from the start.

There was no blame to be had for either of you. Merely a hitch in the evening, and you wanted it treated as such. Though, you knew by now that convincing him of that would be a prolonged, tedious task.

Right now, all you had were reassurances that sounded pathetic amidst your trembles. "It's not your fault." You mumbled against his chest, anxieties put to ease at the caress of his calloused hand up and down the nape of your neck.

He quickly shushed you, pressing his lips to your drenched head of hair. A silent way of urging you to keep your mouth shut — but in his own blunt way.

In the following moments, he let his hands roam and massage the bits of flesh that took the brunt of his force. The indents on your hips, the patch on your shoulder blades irritated from clashing with the shower wall, all of it. The sizzling water was used to figuratively wash away his misjudgments, relaxing the muscles once over-exerted and sore.

Once he turned the knob to stop the water, he tied a towel around his waist, retrieving the fresh one he set out for you while the water was still heating up several minutes ago. Without once making eye contact, he unfolded the linen, then was running it along your dripping skin, drying every last bit to ensure you were comfortable before dressed.

With some silent convincing, you nodded, allowing him to step out and let you hold the towel around yourself. You weren't defenseless because you uttered a safe word, he knew that. But you weren't going to brush this off, either. No chance.

The drawer of your dresser scraped shut when you followed him into the bedroom, revealing your favorite pair of sweatpants. Next, one of his many black tees soon slipped over your fleshly cleaned body. You were no longer suffocated or plagued with unease, nor did you want the release you were craving moments ago. Your only desire was his presence, that safe feeling his existence gave you.

Before you settled on the bed, he cupped your cheeks, pressing his forehead against your own. "Tell me again." Simon pleaded with intense softness.

"I'm alright, Simon. Promise." A futile smile formed, clenching your eyes shut briefly with a defeated nod. You had repeated it a hundred times, it seemed. But you wouldn't take back or fib through any one of them. It was the truth— the reassurance he craved.

Softly, he scoffed at your cheesy proclamation. "Promise it, huh?"

"Promise it."

[pluto-supremacy]

Viktor Headcanons: dating a ftm!disabled!reader

➼ This is a very self-indulgent set of headcanons as a disabled trans man, but hey I hope you enjoy!

➼ Reader doesn't have a specific disability, I'm trying to be as general and inclusive as possible so a wide range of disabled persons can relate

➼ No beta we die like Silco

➼ Warnings: mentions of gender dysphoria

GIF does not belong to me! All credits to the owner

Mobility aids out the wazoo laying around you guy's room. Canes? Check. Walkers? Yep. Wheelchairs? You bet. Crutches? I could go on here people

He learns everything he can about your disabilities. I mean everything. Mans is staying up til the wee hours of the morning reading up on how to help you, general limitations from the disability, etc.

Will remind (and force) you to take breaks

"My love, you've been on your feet far too long. Sit down, I'll go get you a glass of water"

You're gonna have to do the same for him too, Viktor doesn't know how to take his own advice

The shower of course has a shower chair (if you need one) with everything within reach

Viktor keeps a section of clothes set aside for your bad dysphoria days. Whether that means baggier clothes, long sleeves, backup binders, his clothes that he always catches you stealing. Anything to try and make you feel more comfortable in your own skin

If you bind, he reminds you to take binding breaks. He'll make sure you can run off to your shared room to take that breather and not have to worry about people staring at you

Keeps easy food to make when you both don't have the energy to make anything

Your guy's bed? The comfiest ever. Lots of pillows, blankets, anything to help your joints and help you feel comfortable

Heat intolerant? Ac is cranked with fans. Cold intolerant? Well now it's the opposite

Uses his experience with hextech to invent new devices for you to help

"I know you said that you were struggling with your heart rate, so I made you a monitor. Small enough to wear under your shirt and it logs everything for a week so we can write it down. It also tells you what you were doing when it spikes or drops. Need some help putting it on?"

He's the first one to advocate for you, and the loudest. A building isn't ADA accessible? Oh, he's on it. Someone is being ableist? He has a sharp tongue and if all else fails, he has a cane too

You're both always there for the other's doctor's appointments. Viktor will drop his work to come with you (which is saying something since he'll deny food, water, and rest to continue his work)

He has a little trans pin on all of his clothes, it's one of his little ways to show you he loves you

If you ever get gender-affirming surgery, he's now doing his absolute best to take care of you while you're recovering. No heavy lifting, helping you get dressed, setting alarms to give you your prescriptions, fluffing up pillows (since you will be on bed rest for a while, doctor's orders), anything and everything he can do to make the healing process quicker and easier for you

"Y/N, if you try to get up one more time I will have to tie you to the damn bed. The doctor said no strenuous activity and to rest for a few days minimum. Rest, please"

Will loudly and aggressively correct people when they misgender you on purpose (he's nicer about it when it's a pure accident)

Can, will, and has yelled at your doctors before. Whether it was an appointment for your disabilities and they refused to take you seriously or if a doctor is 'not convinced' you're trans. Needless to say you never had to see those asshole doctors again

Helps you decorate your mobility aids, whether that be stickers, covers, or making add-ons for them (like a secure bag holder on your wheelchair, for example)

While Viktor isn't really one for shopping, he will happily take you to different shops to try and find you clothes that make you feel comfortable in your own skin. And of course afterwards you guys go out for a little treat, like ice cream or coffee

[reqxxyt]

followed by december

pairings: oscar p. x f!reader

summary: after a winter night in december, you had a soul goal to find the boy that had your heart soaring at first glance. That was until your best friend introduced him as her boyfriend.

disclaimer: heavily inspired by 'One Day in December' Josie Silver

warning: angst, falling in love at first sight, part two

masterlist requests are open!

[uedited] 1.6k

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

Finals week had to be your end of existence. It currently held you in the library near midnight like most of the other students, praying to just end the class on a C. Although, right now a D sounded nice. Finishing up the last bits of your flashcards, already setting up your alarm for the following morning to give you enough time to review one last time before you started to pack up. 

The quiet environment of the library always had you held within, admiring how silent a habitat can be. You frequently visited the location seeing as not many were interested in studying unless there was a test that week but with finals week, it had the library being the loudest it's ever been. Not like a rager or anything, but like a coffee shop type of loud. The constant chatter of study groups, shuffling paper, scraping of the chairs, and keyboard clinking feet away did send a headache over time but you learned to deal with it after your sophomore year. 

Right now, you dreaded the idea of having to walk out of the library building to reach your apartment on a cold winter night. But either way, you slung your bag onto your shoulder and began walking out. As you passed the front reception, you took a singular glance at the lady flashing a warm smile but before you could turn back, your body found itself colliding with another almost losing balance of your footing. 

“Crap, I’m sorry” a soft voice, almost raspy apologized. You looked in front of you to see an unfamiliar face. He had short dark brown hair that was messed with the wind of the winter. His pale skin now held a red tint on his nose and cheeks. His dark eyes looked frantically around your figure trying to gather that you were physically okay but the second his eyes found yours they seemed to also stall. 

You hated the idea and fantasy of ‘love at first sight’ but the way your feet were planted, facing him it didn’t seem like such a bizarre thing. Your lips parted to say something, anything you could muster but a buzz in your back pocket pulled you away from whatever trance you were held in. 

‘Where the hell are you? Your mom called me, says it's an emergency’ your roommate texted and before you said anything else, you dashed out the door only sparing another small glance at the boy you swore you would never see again. It was a huge campus after all. 

The walk to your apartment was only a five-minute speed walk (which you very much intended on doing). You arrived in 3, frightened about what happened thinking the worst happened by her desperation to call near midnight. As the phone rang, your hand ran through your frizzy hair trying to fix the mess the wind made. 

“What happened?” you immediately asked the second you heard the phone pick up. Instead of the sounds of sobbing you thought you would hear, the sound of cheering came on and your face contorted into confusion. 

“Your sister is getting married! Isn’t that amazing?” Your mom exclaimed. You wanted to glare through the phone. 

“And why is that an emergency?” you asked now growing annoyed. You weren’t surprised though, your mom tended to do these things. You swore the day that an actual emergency, you wouldn’t believe her. The boy who cried wolf and all. 

“You weren’t answering your phone so I had to get your attention somehow” she huffed, not believing you weren’t as excited as she was. You were, you were just too tired to express anything but annoyance at the moment. Finally, your mom must have realized how absurd it was to call during this time telling you, “Make sure to come home safe so we can talk more about this��

“Yeah, okay goodnight” You pressed the red button and groaned. Your roommate now looked confused as to why you looked angry about asking but instead, you interrupted. “I bumped into someone”

Now interest sparked in her eyes urging you to continue. It was rare to find you so entranced in someone, especially someone you just saw and knew nothing about. Martha, your only friend and roommate believed in the whole ‘love at first sight��� so immediately you knew her mind was racing. 

“But your text interrupted before anything could happen” Her frown quickly spreaded, mirroring your own. 

“So no name, number, anything?” her voice of desperation grew but your shake of the head made her wince. She rubbed your back to give some sort of comfort but it only gave you reason to feel worse.  “I’m sure you’ll find him again. Soulmates are a thing, you know?”

March

“No name, number, anything?” Now was your sister the one asking, sounding just like Martha after having just explained anything. Unlike your friend Martha, she didn’t believe in the first-love scenario so she could partially not care any less about it but with your pathetic desperation voice, it made her feel a tad bit sad for you. 

It was spring break and you decided to visit your parents once again to help organize the wedding. And while you weren’t trying to make it about yourself the whole asking how it's been got you rambling. 

“There's still a chance she might find him,” Martha said, trying to encourage you as she typed away probably texting one of her many ‘acquaintances’. Your sister rolled her eyes, 

“It's been months, on the real note: give up” your sister bluntly stated. You thought about her words for a couple of moments, as your leg bounced up and down until you finally decided enough was enough. 

“Yeah you’re right” you sighed and your sister nodded along Martha sprung but before she could say anything more to feed your delusions, your sister glared at her and with that, she backed off. “I need to focus on school anyway”

“You sound like Oscar,” Martha said, flopping back onto the couch and you gave her a confused look not knowing the slightest who she was talking about. “I’ve been talking to him. Super nice dude, I think I actually like him” 

“What happened to ‘staying a bachelor throughout college’?” you asked, the exact phrase she said as one of the first things she said to you. 

“A girl has to settle down at some point, no?” 

“You though? You have your standards soaring greater than the sky”

“Had” she corrected. “You should meet him, I think you’ll like him” 

You just shrugged realizing your sister must have left mid-conversation as she no longer stood in front of the two of you, probably exhausted by the college talk. 

December

“I promise you’ll love him,” Martha said as you two were about to finish getting ready for your sisters' wedding. Martha and Oscar (who you have yet to meet) have been going out for the past 5 months and she had been talking so brightly about him every night she would come back. It's a surprise you haven’t found him the morning after. 

Her past guys made it terribly awkward. 

“He should be at the altar when it begins” Her excited smile made your own curve upwards, happy she found someone who could make her so smitten. “But be completely honest with me when you meet him. Tell me all the red flags” 

“I’m sure he's fine,” you said, finishing up your own makeup. 

“Fine is no good” she reminded you. Pointing her finger at you, suddenly appearing stressed to you so you held her by the shoulders making her take a deep breath. 

“I’m sure he's amazing then” Your comforting smile definitely made her feel all the better. 

The reception was perfect, just like your sister wanted it to be and the second pictures were done you turned to Martha and realized she no longer stood by you. That's fine, you thought all though right now you really needed an excuse to get out of the exhausting conversations wondering when you’ll get married. 

As if your guardian angel heard you, you felt a tap on your shoulder and heard the familiar sound of Marthas voice make you turn around about to rant to her about the conversations before your eyes finally landed on the same pair of brown eyes that once had your heart souring by the simple thought of. 

No. This can’t be possible. 

“This is Oscar. Oscar this is y/n” his eyes seemed to widen for a second before his smile covered. You couldn’t help but wonder if he also remembers you. 

Your lips parted, knowing you needed to seem normal. This is fine. You’re fine. 

But your smile covered whatever shock showed and his soft smile almost made you want to dissipate. 

“It's so nice to meet you” you were the first to say, reaching out your hand for him to shake, and although it only lasted a second, shock waves ran through you. You took a glance at your friend, seeing her excitement between the two of you and you could feel your own heart ache at the sight. 

Martha tried sharing similar interests between the two of you but you found yourself spacing out most of the time. Out of everyone in this world, he had to be the one that caught your attention at first glance, you felt disgusted by yourself, having to excuse yourself away just to get some fresh air. 

With your chest feeling as if it were tightening, you tried anything to get more air running through you. It was ridiculous, you barely knew Oscar yet you felt as if you knew him all your life. But he wasn’t yours, he never was. He was with your friend, and you’d have to accept that. 

“y/n?”

[absolutedaisy]

Stubbornly Sick - Nischa

I KNOW I SAID I WASN’T GONNA DO NISCHA ANYMORE BUT I CANT GET THEM OUT OF MY HEAD SORRY

A oneshot in which Mischa is sick and refuses to admit it. Noel takes matters into his own hands.

Mischa rolled over on his thin-as-paper mattress, feeling his sweat seep into his pillowcase. He groaned, staring at the cement wall beside his lousy excuse for a bed. His whole body felt hot, and not in the way that meant people swoon over you. Beads of sweat rolled down from his hairline, his skin blotchy and red. His stomach growled, but he didn’t even want to get up and eat.

He fished his phone out from the comforter beside him, flipping it over to check the time: 9:30. He’d slept in later than ever, as if his body knew it needed rest. However, it was Sunday, meaning the choir was getting together for their weekly outing. 

Ever since the 6 of them had miraculously survived a roller coaster accident together, Ocean had been taking initiative to get the group together. Some weeks it was shopping and walking around downtown at whatever little shops remained, some weeks it was the mall, but today they’d planned a little hiking expedition. 

Mischa was almost never the biggest fan of these get togethers. First of all, it meant being stuck in the same vicinity as Ocean O’Connell Rosenberg for at least three hours. Secondly, it meant listening to Ocean for at least three hours. And lastly and probably worst, it meant not complaining about the little ginger scumbag for the entire time, or all hell would break loose. 

The real reason Mischa went at all was to spend time with his boyfriend, Noel. The two of them had grown close as they recovered from their accident, and Noel had been there for every step of Mischa’s growing musical career. Most of the time, Noel’s work schedule made it difficult for the boys to spend time together. Taco Bell execs didn’t really take “need time to make out with my boyfriend” as a valid excuse for missing shifts. However, “mandated outdoor socialization” was acceptable, apparently, so choir outings were fair game. 

Mischa ran his hands through his greasy, matted hair, yawning. His eyelids felt like they were made of steel, weighing him down and just wanting to close, keel over, and sleep. Even the way he carried himself, usually with his chest puffed out like a lion on the hunt, was different; slouched over and painful to even move. 

His phone vibrated in the back pocket of his sweatpants, evidence of a text message coming through. 

Noel: babe where r u! u said u would pick me up @ 9:15

He winced. Shit…

Noel set his phone down on his desk, turning back to the mirror to look at his makeup: on point as usual. Slumping back in his chair, he wondered where Mischa was. 

It’s not super unlike him to sleep through his alarm…he can sleep through my snoring after all. Maybe he stayed up late? Which is weird, because usually when he stays up late it’s because he and I are texting or something…Is he ignoring me? Shit, am I gonna have to ask Ocean for a ride? Damn it…

He picked up the phone again and dialed Mischa’s number, and to Noel’s delight and relief, Mischa picked up. 

“Hey babe…You alright?”

Mischa, at that moment, let out just about the loudest cough Noel had ever heard, hacking into the phone. 

“Sorry, I slept through my-” he paused to yawn, “-alarm. I will be there in ten minutes, Poet.” 

Noel’s heart absolutely melted at the sound of his partner’s voice. He sounded hoarse and just all around awful.

“Sweetheart, no offense, but you sound like shit. Are you feeling okay?”

“Fine. Just fine, honey. You wait and I’ll- ACHOO”

The sneeze just about made Noel have a heart attack with the sheer volume of it. He wasn’t so sure he loved the idea of Mischa even leaving the house in this condition, but he also knew how much of a stubborn asshole his boyfriend could be. Talking Mischa into staying home was not going to be easy in the slightest.

“Mischa…are you sure it’s the best idea for you to come get me? I can ask Ocean for a ride if you’re sick, you need rest…” Initially, he was going to scold Mischa, but his ‘loving boyfriend’ mode took over in a heartbeat. “I don’t even have to go today! Just get back to bed, drink lots of-”

“No, no.” Mischa waved him off. “I am going to go get dressed, and then I will come get my special boy, okay? I love you, Noel.”

“I love you too, which is why I want you to-”

He hung up. He fucking hung up. 

This was gonna be a long day.

Mischa had taken driver’s education. He knew that driving while sick could lead to accidents, because being sick made you drowsy, right? But Mischa wasn’t sick, he couldn’t be. Mischa didn’t get sick, at least that’s what he’d gaslit himself into believing. He got into the driver’s seat, rearing on the gas and speeding out of the driveway, almost slamming into his foster parents’ mailbox on his way out. 

Noel’s house wasn’t too far away from his, nowhere in Uranium City was very far away from any other place, to be honest. That was just how small towns worked. He turned onto Noel’s street and pulled up in front of the house. He parked, slightly crooked in the driveway, and trudged to the front step. 

“Noel!” He croaked out, his voice cracking. He rang the doorbell. 

The shorter male opened the door and looked Mischa up and down with a satisfied smirk on his face. “As expected, you look like someone pushed you out of a car window and then ran you over with a pickup truck. Bed, now.” 

“What? No! We have the hike-”

“I already texted Ocean and let her know that you’re sick and thus will not be attending. Now please go lay down, you know where my room is.”

“But…that just means I am going to get you sick! “So what? You’re the love of my life, I think I can handle your cooties.”

For once, it was Noel being the stubborn one. It was clear he wasn’t going to hear another word about it. Mischa allowed himself to be escorted (read: dragged by the collar of his shirt) upstairs to Noel’s bedroom. 

“Get your ass under the covers.” Noel demanded playfully. “Mom’s working another late shift, but I don’t have to work again until Monday afternoon. We could spend all day and night right here if it would make you feel better.” 

Mischa yawned and plopped down on Noel’s bed, having made the decision to be cooperative for once. “And do what? Talk about how shitty I feel? Because I feel like…big…bleh.”

“I know you do, darling.” Noel kissed his boyfriend’s forehead, giggling. “If you would lay down like I told you to and rest up, you might feel a little bit less bleh. Have you eaten today?”

“No.” He admitted. “I was not hungry.”

Noel sighed. “I’ll go get you some toast or something. You really gotta start taking care of yourself when you’re sick.”

“I am not sick.” Mischa protested. “Just a little tired.”

“Either way, you need rest.” Noel pressed his boyfriend down, hand splayed out over his chest. “Lay down, Mischa. Spare me my sanity.”

Mischa rolled his eyes. “I do not need to lay down, poet. Sleep is for the weak.”

“No, dumbfuck, sleep is for the idiot boyfriend who won’t admit that he feels like he was hit point blank with a sack of bricks!”

Mischa pondered Noel’s innate ability to know exactly how he felt, because the sack of bricks thing was fairly accurate. He felt like he was going to topple over onto the floor, but would his cocky ass admit that? When pigs fly.

“Sleep is for the weak.” He repeated instead, sitting back up. If he was going to get in bed he was not going to lay down and he was also going to make it everyone’s problem. 

“Whatever you say, dickwad,” Noel sighed. He was ever so creative with the pet names. “Sit still and don’t, I don’t know, set the house on fire. What do you want to eat?”

“I told you I am not hun—” he started, but he knew there was no winning this argument. “I guess…toast?”

Noel went downstairs and fished a loaf of bread and the toaster out, tossed a slice in, and promised himself he would not scream when the toast popped up. 

He broke the promise.

Anyway, he took out the golden brown bread and slathered it in butter, taking it back upstairs to Mischa. 

In the time it took Noel to make a piece of toast, Mischa had flopped over and fallen asleep. Noel made a soft tsk tsk sound, setting the plate of toast on the nightstand. He gently climbed into the bed, pulling the covers over both Mischa and himself. Rolling onto his side, he came face to face with a peacefully dozing Mischa and a pool of drool already staining the pillow (not that Noel really minded). He brushed Mischa’s chestnut curls out of his eyes, giggling softly.

“Yeah, rest easy, tough guy.” He whispered. “My fucking idiot.” He snuck a quick kiss onto Mischa’s forehead. “I love you.

[rhithefella-sillytimes]

Jeremy and Rachel

But in the pokémon AU :>

"After the battles and classes today, let's meet up. It's important."

"Yeah, okay Rach. I'll be available."

"Awesome! I'll be by the cafe. Oh, and please tell the others."

That was the conversation they made hours ago. And yet, there was still no sign of Jeremy anywhere. Rachel found it weird, Jeremy always went through with the promises he made. Well, the promises he made to her, anyway. He was a reliable guy, and he's not the type to ditch anyone last second... right?

The champion anxiously stirred the cup of coffee with the spoon in her hand. The cream had already dissolved by this point, both by the formerly warm coffee and her stirring of it. It's gotten cold about an hour or two ago, but she doesn't dare to take a sip just yet.

Her garchomp, on the other hand, had other plans. He'd already ordered his 10th serving of pancakes, and was chowing down on it like it would be his last meal. Rachel glanced over at him and thought:

Thank Arceus, the pancakes have free refills. If it weren't, I wouldn't wanna know what might happen to my wallet...

Her train of thought got disrupted when a waitress approached the table.

"Hello miss, would you like to order something as well?", she asked, waiting politely but eagerly for an answer.

Rachel shook her head. "Oh, no, I'll pass. I'm... waiting for someone.", she replied. The waitress nodded her head, walking off to another table.

Rachel pulled out her phone, checking for any updates from her friends. So far and... radio silence. They didn't even see her newer messages. To her, it was getting concerning.

What was going on? Why haven't they showed up at all yet?

She texted a mutual friend, asking them if they'd seen them anywhere.

"Hey, have you seen any of the guys anywhere after classes? I've tried contacting them and they aren't answering."

"No, not really."

"Not even on the street? Not even online?"

"Nope."

She sighed, before asking another friend, and then another. They all answered something similar, about not having talked or even seen any of them around.

This was starting to alarm her more and more as time passed. She wasn't sure what was going on, and why they'd just go radio silent out of nowhere.

Jeremy wasn't like this. He wouldn't do this. None of them would. These guys, they're the loudest sons of a gun I've ever met. Going radio silent isn't like them. Not at all.

Something must've happened. Either that or I'm just blowing this waaay out of proportion.

...Maybe I am. Maybe I am. I should just keep waiting, maybe it isn't too serious. Maybe these were all just coincidences.

An hour passes, and Rachel's concern is at its peak. She stood up from her seat and was about to pay and leave to find them herself when-

The bells of the cafe entrance door ring, and a few familiar voices fill the cafe, the same familiar banter like always. It was the school's league club's Elite Four. Her friends, the people she's been waiting for.

Samuel and Roderick were busy bickering slightly, while Kevin kept to himself, looking tired.

And as always, Jeremy was trying to be the mediator.

She took a sigh of relief, before she called out to Jeremy, trying to sound less worried than she actually was.

"Hehe, it took you long enough. I was... starting to get really scared. Where have you been?"

Jeremy shrugged, sighing. He was about to explain when he was interrupted by the banter escalating to an argument. He turns his head, glancing at Roderick and Samuel's and sighing.

"I WAS WATCHING OVER MY SISTER, BY THE WAY!"

"Oh yeah? How did she manage to climb the tropius then?!"

"I don't know! DON'T BE MAD AT ME FOR THAT!"

"WHY WOULDN'T I BE MAD, SHE COULD'VE HAD MORE THAN A FEW BRUISES IF KEVIN DIDN'T CATCH HER!"

Jeremy then looks back at Rachel. "We had to delay a little because of that. Had to take Rod's sis to the clinic."

"Oh...", Rachel exclaimed, slightly feeling embarassed now. "I'm... sorry. Is she fine?"

"Yeah, she's okay. Only got shaken and had some mild bruises and scratches from the grass and rocks. She'll be fine."

Rachel sighed in relief. "Oh, phew."

"'C'mon, this is Rod's sister we're talking about. His family's... a tough bunch. I'm sure she'll be okay.", Jeremy chuckled.

Rachel smiled as well. She's always admired Jeremy's optimism.

How was he able to do it? How was he able to look at the good in anything and everything? I should probably ask that to him sometime, as well as other questions.

"Uh, but on another topic, you wanted to talk to us about something, right?", Jeremy asked, before gesturing to the others to quiet down. They obliged, making quick and slightly disgruntled apologies to each other.

"Oh, of course!", Rachel snapped her fingers, remembering why she wanted to talk to them in the first place. "But first, you guys should sit down. Grab something to eat."

She then ushered them to the table, and watched as the boys took a seat before she did. The waitress from earlier had returned, taking their orders.

As the boys wait for the orders to arrive, Rachel took a sip of the coffee she'd been stirring for a while before speaking.

"So I've brought you guys here for something really important.

It's... about the league club."

Jeremy rested his head on his hand, his elbow placed down on the table beside his plate. "Hm? What about it?"

Rachel sighed. "Well, Miss Wong just talked to me today. Oh, that Miss Adelaide, she's the only one that cares for it these days, and she's only a volunteer...

anyway, she gave me a heads up that the faculty's losing interest in the league club. They might give even less money than before. And if this keeps going at this rate...

We might even have to close the club. For good. I... understand that we could always fund it out of pocket, but uhm... we're just students, we can only do so much."

Those words made the group stunned.

Roderick's mouth slightly went open in shock, and he was stunned into a rare silence.

Kevin's constant anxious expression worsened, and his hands stiffened into fists.

Samuel looked a twinge more worried despite keeping his composure, and his eyes started looking anywhere but to Rachel.

"Huh? Why would they do that?", Jeremy asked, before continuing, a small smile returning on his face as if to reassure. "We should think of a way to keep them interested. This can't be the way the league ends."

Rachel nods at Jeremy, before looking back at the group. "That's why I called you four here. As the ones sort of in charge of this, I think we really need to talk about how to get them interested."

Sam's attention returned to the group, and he made a suggestion. "I'm thinking we should probably do what we did last time. It worked well for a long while."

Though the others seemed confused, Jeremy caught up with what the Ice Trainer said. "Oh, right. We could always do that!"

Rach looked at Jay and Sam. "Huh? Uhh... What do you guys mean by that..?" The other two looked at them as well.

Samuel nudged Jeremy, and he began to explain. "You guys do remember what we did last time, right? You know, adding a gimmick. We can do that again."

"Heh, good idea. What gimmick do we do though? It's not like we can do the dangerous shit like megas. And we can't do teras, we already have that.", Roderick asked.

A few seconds of silence pass, and Rachel seemed to smile as she came up with an idea. "We can do double battles! Uhhh, well... like an optional thing people can do."

This suggestion seemed to be met with a lot of interest, as the group unanimously agreed with her. Even the introvert of the group, Kevin, was not too opposed to the idea.

Rachel then pulled out a notebook from her bag, starting to write down notes for the plan. "Alright, we should assign who would be partnered up with who. I'll let you guys talk it out over the week, and you can just text me about your decision.

But as for me..."

Rachel locked eyes with Jeremy.

"I've made my choice.", she says, with a grin.

Jeremy looked slightly embarassed, but he couldn't help but be flattered. "...Me?"

Rachel nods her head, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Well, yeah. I mean, you've been... really helpful when it comes to keeping the club up, and I... couldn't think of anyone else that I'd be glad to do doubles with."

Jeremy's face started to flush a bit, as he felt even more flattered and embarassed at the same time. "Oh... thank. you... I'm fine with that. I won't let you down.", he says, nodding quickly.

Rachel smiles. "Heheh... I know you won't."

I know you, and you'd never let anyone down... right?

[idreamtofmanderleyagain]

One thing about the anger directed at AI from other artists right now is that what I'm alarmed and frustrated by is not the legitimate concerns of the usual corporate hellscape issues the tech industry created with it. It's not the concerns over theft and plagiarism (although I think there is misinfo about some aspects of this and a lot of intense reactionary shit. Even so, it's okay and normal to feel alarm and concern and want to discuss protective/ethical measures). And it's certainly not people fighting and advocating for worker's rights.

No. What's bothering me is the weird borderline elitist shit being the loudest voice in artistic/fandom spaces. It's "I worked so hard and suffered so much and now because people can ask a machine to make stuff, it's ruined my special identity." It's "people who make anything at all with AI will never be real artists like I am, and that's why we should ostracize them all, deny them legal protections, gatekeep all our spaces, etc." It's "everyone who uses AI for any reason is uncreative, a liar and a thief." It's "only people who endured my definition of hard work are real artists." It's "art can only be made by certain people under certain parameters that I dictate as legitimate." It's the insinuation that the bad shit that AI did to our jobs should be happening to everyone else but artists. It's the way I'm for some reason seeing fanfic writers, the queens of 'taking inspiration,' literally pull arguments from Anne Rice's famous hits.

I didn't know that my understanding of art was so different from so many people. And I think that's part of what is bothering me so much about this.

Like, listen. I put in the hard work. I have taught myself for decades. I have taught other people for a living. I have struggled, and shared my work to the world, and known what it was like to try and fail to make financial successes happen. I have known what it feels like to have others take 'heavy inspiration' from my hard work. I have known what it feels like to project that kind of "they're copying me!" anxiety and self-protectiveness unfairly onto others who did not deserve it.

But the way some of us have been behaving, the vicious pettiness, the fearmongering, the misinformation, the sheer anger directed at folks who are *not* shady corporate tech bros. It's ugly.

Art is not just all the hard work we put into being ~special~, or the endless struggling to get paid for it, or even the fucking attention. And if your voice in the conversation is just "weh all those ~less creative~ people might use this to make better looking, more financially successful art then me, when I should be the one rewarded with attention because I worked so hard!" Well. Welcome to having your work automated like everybody else ~less creative~ than you already has. Can we get back to just...enjoying ourselves making art for each other? Sharing the experience of creativity? Teaching one and other? Communicating deeper ideas about the human condition? Because nothing about AI is actually interfering with those things for me. AI hasn't taken my hands or my mind or my voice (not even if it manages to actually plagiarize my public work), but late stage capitalism has taken all my time and my energy and my money. AI's not ever stopping me from making art. People who play with it and make things are not interfering with my capacity to create, they are not actually harming me at all by playing in my sandbox. The mere presence of it will not crush the human drive to create (it might even open new doors). But the daily grind of exploitative american labor sure will. AI might take away what would be an already shitty, soulless, exploitative job that drains me creatively, but uh...that's the system I was already living in. The issue of workers rights is much bigger than just automation.

AI alone won't take anything away from you but a shitty job you would probably hate anyway, but billionaires sure will find ways to take away all your time and energy and financial security to be creative. And whether AI is a fad or is here to stay, unless we advocate for our rights politically, unless we hold politicians and corporations accountable, that will not change.

[caracarnn]

‘✩’ - lanfear tothedevilsshow lol

ship meme thing - @tothedevilsshow

Disagreements: Who is more likely to raise their voice? Lanfear Who threatens to leave but never actually does? Lanfear Who actually keeps their word and leaves? Rand Who trashes the house? Lanfear does more than just that Do either of them get physical? Lanfear for sure How often do they argue/disagree? all day, all night Who is the first to apologise? neither lmao

Sex: Who is on top? they switch Who is on the bottom? see above Who has the strangest desires? Lanfear wtf Any kinks? she probably has some that he doesn't even want to think about Who’s dominant in bed? both Is head ever in the equation? Yes If so, who is better at performing it? Lanfear insists on it Ever had sex in public? Not really, no Who moans the most? Lanfear Who leaves the most marks? Lanfear ugh Who screams the loudest? Lanfear fml Who is the more experienced of the two? Lanfear she's like 3984750987609856 years old Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? making love is NOT in the equation Rough or soft? rough How long do they usually last? until he gets sick of her Is protection used? yeah some sort of weave probably Does it ever get boring? NEVER Where is the strangest place they’d have sex? Tel'aran'rhiod

Affection: Who likes to cuddle? Lanfear tries Rand ews Who is the little spoon? n/a Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places?Lanfear for sure Who struggles to keep their hands to themself? Lanfear How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? that happens immediately Who gives the most kisses? Lanfear sometimes too many What is their favourite non-sexual activity? fighting? Where is their favourite place to cuddle? n/a Who is more likely to playfully grope the other? Lanfear but it's NOT playful How often do they get time to themselves? please never

Sleeping: Who snores? n/a If both do, who snores the loudest? neither Do they share a bed or sleep separately? she made them share If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? sometimes she tries Who talks in their sleep? neither. Rand will pretend sometimes to see if she tries to enter his dreams lol Are either of your muses insomniacs? Rand is Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? n/a Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? she does this TOO much damn it Who wakes up with bed hair? she does for sure Who wakes up first? Rand Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other? he has servants What is their favourite sleeping position? he likes to get up and leave Who hogs the sheets? neither Do they set an alarm each night? Nope. Can a television be found in their bedroom? n/a Who has nightmares? Rand Who has ridiculous dreams? she does ok she's weird Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? Lanfear Who makes the bed? neither What time is bed time? n/a Any routines/rituals before bed? no actual rituals Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up? Lanfear of course

Work: Who is the busiest? they both are for certain Who rakes in the highest income? Rand does but Lanfear can get whatever she wants Are any of your muses unemployed? nope Who takes the most sick days? neither Who is more likely to turn up late to work? neither Who sucks up to their boss? Lanfear but she HATES her boss What are their jobs? she's a darkfriend ok lol he's the dragon Who stresses the most? both Do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? equal parts tbh Are your muses financially stable? yes

Miscellaneous: Is money a problem? nope How many cars do they own? I bet she owned a sho-wing Do they own their home or do they rent? n/a Do they live near the coast or deep in the countryside? n/a Do they live in the city or in the country? n/a Do they enjoy their surroundings? rarely What’s their song? hatef--k ; the bravery What do they do when they’re away from each other? RAND CAN BREATHE. Lanfear stalks him tbh Where did they first meet? backw hen he was Lews Therin Who spends the most money when out shopping? n/a Who’s more likely to flash their assets? Lanfear Who finds it amusing when the other trips over? n/a Any mental issues? she probably has worse ones Who’s terrified of bugs? neither Who kills the spiders around the house? n/a Their favourite place? rand's favorite place is anywhere she's not Who pays the bills? n/a Do they have any fears for their future? sometimes he has fears of HER. Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? neither Who uses up all of the hot water? Lanfeare Who’s the tallest? Rand but she's not short at all Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? Lanfear. she wants to be next to him always Who wanders around in their underwear? Lanfear Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? n/a What do they tease each other about? n/a Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? he cringes about her period Do they have mutual friends? NO lmao unless you count Asmodean? Who crushed first? I mean it's kinda complicated Any alcohol or substance related problems? nope Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? neither Who swears the most? Rand

[absolutedaisy]

a nischa oneshot i just never published???

here. *shoves a generic sickfic in your face* eat up

Mischa rolled over on his thin-as-paper mattress, feeling his sweat seep into his pillowcase. He groaned, staring at the cement wall beside his lousy excuse for a bed. His whole body felt hot, and not in the way that meant people swoon over you. Beads of sweat rolled down from his hairline, his skin blotchy and red. His stomach growled, but he didn’t even want to get up and eat.

He fished his phone out from the comforter beside him, flipping it over to check the time: 9:30. He’d slept in later than ever, as if his body knew it needed rest. However, it was Sunday, meaning the choir was getting together for their weekly outing. 

Ever since the 6 of them had miraculously survived a roller coaster accident together, Ocean had been taking initiative to get the group together. Some weeks it was shopping and walking around downtown at whatever little shops remained, some weeks it was the mall, but today they’d planned a little hiking expedition. 

Mischa was almost never the biggest fan of these get togethers. First of all, it meant being stuck in the same vicinity as Ocean O’Connell Rosenberg for at least three hours. Secondly, it meant listening to Ocean for at least three hours. And lastly and probably worst, it meant not complaining about the little ginger scumbag for the entire time, or all hell would break loose. 

The real reason Mischa went at all was to spend time with his boyfriend, Noel. The two of them had grown close as they recovered from their accident, and Noel had been there for every step of Mischa’s growing musical career. Most of the time, Noel’s work schedule made it difficult for the boys to spend time together. Taco Bell execs didn’t really take “need time to make out with my boyfriend” as a valid excuse for missing shifts. However, “mandated outdoor socialization” was acceptable, apparently, so choir outings were fair game. 

Mischa ran his hands through his greasy, matted hair, yawning. His eyelids felt like they were made of steel, weighing him down and just wanting to close, keel over, and sleep. Even the way he carried himself, usually with his chest puffed out like a lion on the hunt, was different; slouched over and painful to even move. 

His phone vibrated in the back pocket of his sweatpants, evidence of a text message coming through. 

Noel: babe where r u! u said u would pick me up @ 9:15

He winced. Shit…

Noel set his phone down on his desk, turning back to the mirror to look at his makeup: on point as usual. Slumping back in his chair, he wondered where Mischa was. 

It’s not super unlike him to sleep through his alarm…he can sleep through my snoring after all. Maybe he stayed up late? Which is weird, because usually when he stays up late it’s because he and I are texting or something…Is he ignoring me? Shit, am I gonna have to ask Ocean for a ride? Damn it…

He picked up the phone again and dialed Mischa’s number, and to Noel’s delight and relief, Mischa picked up. 

“Hey babe…You alright?” 

Mischa, at that moment, let out just about the loudest cough Noel had ever heard, hacking into the phone. 

“Sorry, I slept through my-” he paused to yawn, “-alarm. I will be there in ten minutes, Poet.” 

Noel’s heart absolutely melted at the sound of his partner’s voice. He sounded hoarse and just all around awful.

“Sweetheart, no offense, but you sound like shit. Are you feeling okay?”

“Fine. Just fine, honey. You wait and I’ll- ACHOO”

The sneeze just about made Noel have a heart attack with the sheer volume of it. He wasn’t so sure he loved the idea of Mischa even leaving the house in this condition, but he also knew how much of a stubborn asshole his boyfriend could be. Talking Mischa into staying home was not going to be easy in the slightest.

“Mischa…are you sure it’s the best idea for you to come get me? I can ask Ocean for a ride if you’re sick, you need rest…” Initially, he was going to scold Mischa, but his ‘loving boyfriend’ mode took over in a heartbeat. “I don’t even have to go today! Just get back to bed, drink lots of-”

“No, no.” Mischa waved him off. “I am going to go get dressed, and then I will come get my special boy, okay? I love you, Noel.”

“I love you too, which is why I want you to-”

He hung up. He fucking hung up. 

This was gonna be a long day.

Mischa had taken driver’s education. He knew that driving while sick could lead to accidents, because being sick made you drowsy, right? But Mischa wasn’t sick, he couldn’t be. Mischa didn’t get sick, at least that’s what he’d gaslit himself into believing. He got into the driver’s seat, rearing on the gas and speeding out of the driveway, almost slamming into his foster parents’ mailbox on his way out. 

Noel’s house wasn’t too far away from his, nowhere in Uranium City was very far away from any other place, to be honest. That was just how small towns worked. He turned onto Noel’s street and pulled up in front of the house. He parked, slightly crooked in the driveway, and trudged to the front step. 

“Noel!” He croaked out, his voice cracking. He rang the doorbell. 

The shorter male opened the door and looked Mischa up and down with a satisfied smirk on his face. “As expected, you look like someone pushed you out of a car window and then ran you over with a pickup truck. Bed, now.” 

“What? No! We have the hike-”

“I already texted Ocean and let her know that you’re sick and thus will not be attending. Now please go lay down, you know where my room is.”

“But…that just means I am going to get you sick! “So what? You’re the love of my life, I think I can handle your cooties.”

For once, it was Noel being the stubborn one. It was clear he wasn’t going to hear another word about it. Mischa allowed himself to be escorted (read: dragged by the collar of his shirt) upstairs to Noel’s bedroom. 

“Get your ass under the covers.” Noel demanded playfully. “Mom’s working another late shift, but I don’t have to work again until Monday afternoon. We could spend all day and night right here if it would make you feel better.” 

Mischa yawned and plopped down on Noel’s bed, having made the decision to be cooperative for once. “And do what? Talk about how shitty I feel? Because I feel like…big…bleh.”

“I know you do, darling.” Noel kissed his boyfriend’s forehead, giggling. “If you would lay down like I told you to and rest up, you might feel a little bit less bleh. Have you eaten today?”

“No.” He admitted. “I was not hungry.”

Noel sighed. “I’ll go get you some toast or something. You really gotta start taking care of yourself when you’re sick.”

“I am not sick.” Mischa protested. “Just a little tired.”

“Either way, you need rest.” Noel pressed his boyfriend down, hand splayed out over his chest. “Lay down, Mischa. Spare me my sanity.”

Mischa rolled his eyes. “I do not need to lay down, poet. Sleep is for the weak.”

“No, dumbfuck, sleep is for the idiot boyfriend who won’t admit that he feels like he was hit point blank with a sack of bricks!”

Mischa pondered Noel’s innate ability to know exactly how he felt, because the sack of bricks thing was fairly accurate. He felt like he was going to topple over onto the floor, but would his cocky ass admit that? When pigs fly.

“Sleep is for the weak.” He repeated instead, sitting back up. If he was going to get in bed he was not going to lay down and he was also going to make it everyone’s problem. 

“Whatever you say, dickwad,” Noel sighed. He was ever so creative with the pet names. “Sit still and don’t, I don’t know, set the house on fire. What do you want to eat?”

“I told you I am not hun—” he started, but he knew there was no winning this argument. “I guess…toast?”

Noel went downstairs and fished a loaf of bread and the toaster out, tossed a slice in, and promised himself he would not scream when the toast popped up. 

He broke the promise.

Anyway, he took out the golden brown bread and slathered it in butter, taking it back upstairs to Mischa. 

In the time it took Noel to make a piece of toast, Mischa had flopped over and fallen asleep. Noel made a soft tsk tsk sound, setting the plate of toast on the nightstand. He gently climbed into the bed, pulling the covers over both Mischa and himself. Rolling onto his side, he came face to face with a peacefully dozing Mischa and a pool of drool already staining the pillow (not that Noel really minded). He brushed Mischa’s chestnut curls out of his eyes, giggling softly.

“Yeah, rest easy, tough guy.” He whispered. “My fucking idiot.” He snuck a quick kiss onto Mischa’s forehead. “I love you.”