#and even just mutuals ignoring it hurts a lot

[poisonouspastels]

I'm always struggling so hard with Minecraft AU because it feels like even some of my closest friends don't WANT to care about it even when I know it has things they would like a lot if they just gave it a chance

[potatobugz]

*leans against door seductively* does anyone have any tips on what to do when its hard + uncomfortable to breathe and ur heart is beating faster than normal to the point where its hard to focus on anything else

[tenok]

.

[trippygalaxy]

Mm

[luveline]

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem

cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky. 

You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely. 

Total quiet. 

“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?” 

“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?” 

“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?” 

“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…” 

“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?” 

“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.” 

“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.” 

He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh. 

“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated. 

Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry. 

“Spencer?” you ask quietly. 

“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?” 

“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?” 

“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups. 

“Where are you?” 

After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him. 

He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.” 

Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?” 

“Where was I?” 

“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed. 

“Still where?” 

“Did you hit your head?” 

“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.” 

“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk. 

“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.” 

“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.” 

“…What?” 

You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.” 

“I annoy people.” 

“You don’t annoy me.” 

You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here. 

You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?” 

“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection. 

“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?” 

“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly. 

“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.” 

“Am I in trouble?” 

“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?” 

“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.” 

“Hi Milly,” a new voice says. 

You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room. 

Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark. 

You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly. 

“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!” 

His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer. 

“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask. 

You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again. 

“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.” 

He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath. 

“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers. 

“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger. 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year. 

He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.” 

“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.” 

You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!” 

You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.

Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity. 

“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.” 

You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly. 

“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says. 

“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway. 

“I don’t want to be alone forever.” 

“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates? 

In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess. 

You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”

His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.” 

“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol. 

“She kind of looked like you.” 

You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.” 

“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I know,” he says. 

“Do you?” 

“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.” 

“Is that why you make all your jokes?” 

“What jokes, babe?” 

“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.” 

You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?” 

“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.” 

“Spencer, you remember everything.” 

He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.” 

You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him. 

You’re happy to. 

“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”

“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled. 

“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse. 

“You look so cute,” he says mournfully. 

You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally. 

“Can I come home with you?” he asks. 

That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.” 

— — 

Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.” 

“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.” 

“So you want three?” 

He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.” 

Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time. 

You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?” 

He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him. 

You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory. 

He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that. 

The avocado is making him feel sick. 

“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?” 

“I think I'm gonna throw up.” 

“You’re okay.”

“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes. 

You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button. 

“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.” 

“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.” 

Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”

“But it’s you.” 

“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”

“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now. 

You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.

But you’re perfect, he’d said. 

To you. And you’re perfect to me.

“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say. 

You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again. 

You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.” 

He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. 

The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…

“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask. 

Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.”��

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️

[eupheme]

Not to be the little gremlin obsessed with Chappell Roan BUT… reader thinking Logan is too cool to want a proper relationship with them, so when things get physical they insist things are just “casual” in order to protect themselves from getting hurt. But secretly you’re in love with each other, so honestly, neither of you want things to be casual at all… (mutual pining my beloved) please & thank you!! Love you!

ahh hi hi avo I LOVE this song, and this request, and you - I could so see this being a situation that Logan and reader find themselves in. I had so much fun writing this, I hope you like it! (I added a couple winks to the lyrics as well.) 💖 thank you so much for sending this to me!!!

casual | variant!logan howlett x f!reader

1.2k | posessive!logan, fwb(???), use of alcohol, mutual pining, references to oral sex and PiV.

It doesn’t matter that your heart flips when you look at him. It’s Logan. It’s just casual.

It certainly feels like a dream, watching your worlds collide.

The heft of Logan’s palm fitting into your friends as he shakes their hand - the five of you squeezed into your usual booth in the corner of the bar.

You’d say the past couple weeks had seemed that way, as well. A late-night dose of bravery spiraling into something so raw and intense and real, that you feel like you could choke on it.

Even now, there’s heat in your cheeks as your eyes flick his way. Something stirring in your chest at the way his other arm slings across the back of the booth almost possessively.

But like all dreams, there comes a moment where you have to wake up.

Because you know it’s not.

Because you know your feelings aren’t requited. How could they be, when it’s Logan you’re talking about?

A legend.

A lone wolf.

Someone important, someone whose name carries a weight. Who saved the world, from what Wade tells you.

And you’re - you.

So even if you know what he looks like beneath that flannel, know what his mouth feels like when it presses against yours - what he sounds like, when he comes - you know that this is nothing.

It’s casual. A distraction, for both of you.

And if that’s how it has to be, then you’ll do your best to show him you’re cool with it.

You just hadn’t expected this moment to come so soon. It had been a genuine offer, your “you wanna come with?” when the hour rolled around for your weekly trivia night.

Not thinking his head would cock to the side. The look he’d give you - that arched brow, as his fingers splayed out across your bare hip. Still crowded together on your couch, sweat-dewed.

The “sure, sweetheart” that slipped out.

And now you’re introducing him as your friend - that quick history you’ve perfected - rattling off the “you know, Wade from work’s roommate” even though Wade didn’t work at the dealership anymore.

He had made enough of an impression that none of your friends had forgotten.

And you ignore the bitter jolt in your stomach, when all Logan does is hum.

You think you must have assumed right.

He doesn’t correct you.

Logan quickly solidifies himself as an asset to the team. He gets a lot of the history questions that you’ve always struggled with. A shy quirk of his lips when your friends cheer, and you get swept along with it.

His hand ending up on your thigh along the way. Squeezing, when you chime in. Almost as if forgetting - it’s easy to, when you’re having fun like this.

A low rasp in your ear, when the host takes a break.

“Lemme get you another.”

You can only nod, as he eases out - taking your glass with him.

It only takes a second, before MJ’s hand slaps down on yours.

“That’s Logan?” She hisses - leaning forward, “The one who-”

“Yes.” You cut her off, ignoring the sideways glance her boyfriend gives you.

You never should have told her about that.

Had a hard enough time climbing into your car without thinking about it, yourself - the way he had man-handled you in the passenger seat. Thighs thrown over broad shoulders.

Fingers twined in his hair, as he made you moan in the dark parking garage. Too eager to make it up to your apartment.

She frowns, the words petering out, “But I thought-”

Your teeth worry at your lower lip.

“Yeah. Me too.” You sigh.

MJ knows how much you like him.

Really like him - butterflies, and everything. How it’s been years since you felt this way - slipping from you during that rushed phone call at 6 am the morning after your first night together.

Her eyebrows raise, and it’s a look you know well.

“It’s, you know.” Your hand waves, “It’s casual. It’s-”

It’s easier, this way.

Maybe if you keep repeating it, it won’t hurt as much when he moves on.

The look she shoots you is one of pity, just as a drink is set down in front of you.

Your teeth clicking against each other as the words are swallowed. Forcing a smile as Logan slips back in the booth next to you.

The next round starts a moment after, and it’s a welcome reprieve.

You miss the way his eyes narrow, as yours fix firmly on scorecard in front of you.

But you don’t miss the way his hands stay folded on top of the table, for the rest of the night.

You suppose he must have remembered where he was.

“You wanna come up?”

He lingers outside your apartment door, hands jammed into his pockets. That look from the bar is back - all dark, narrowed eyes.

A low sound in his throat, close to a scoff.

“That what you want, sweetheart?”

Your eyebrows raise, “Yeah. I do, I mean-, that’s what we usually do, right?”

He’s spent just about every night at your apartment. His things still scattered across your room. A leather jacket slung across the chair that’s tucked against your vanity.

Logan’s lips twist at the edges, eyes dropping.

“Suppose we do.” Those hands slip from his pocket, crossing over his chest, “Back when I thought we knew what we were doing. But now…”

His head shakes. A tick in his jaw.

Your stomach drops.

“What do you mean?”

Logan huffs, “The bar, baby. Is that how you really feel?”

A step closer, until he’s caging you in. Voice dropping, rough and low - near gritted out.

“Does this,” His fingers flick between your chest and his, “feel casual to you?”

Your heartbeat gallops behind your ribs.

“I thought-,” You manage, “Thought that’s what you wanted.”

He’s too close, now. The dip of his head, those eyes burning in their shades of brown and gold.

“Now, why would you think that?”

You swallow, “Because you’re you, and I’m-”

“You’re?” He prompts, but you go silent.

A sigh, when your head dips.

Unable to say it out loud.

“Driving me crazy all night, you know that?” He rasps, “Giving me those looks. Calling me your friend, when we both know your mouth was around my cock this morning.”

A low rumble in his throat, “When I still taste like you.”

Your breath hitches, as his hand thumbs at your jaw, tilting it up.

“Lemme ask you again.” His mouth is close enough now to ghost against yours, “Is that how you really feel?”

Your head shakes.

“Wanna be yours.”

It’s breathed out, just as he kisses you.

His body pressing flush, as your hands twine around his neck. A palm around the back of his neck, pulling him closer as he deepens it.

Desire thrumming to life inside you, washing out the dregs of insecurity that you’ve been carrying this whole time. Melting them away completely with the hungry sweep of his tongue, the way he swallows your soft moan.

There’s a flash of white when he finally leans back, with the curve of his lips.

“Good.”

His hand closes around the knob. A rough twist, as his another arm wraps around your waist.

Walking you backwards, into the dark.

“The let me show you exactly how I feel.”

thank you so much, again!! 💖

[stunie]

SCARY BOYFRIEND EX PRIVILEGES! ❤︎ — Endo Yamato x f!reader ﾉ Sfw ﾉ Cw harassment (not from Endo) ﾉ My response to:

ANON’S ASK — Random thought but what the wind breaker boys protect you in spite of being your ex. Whether it was a mutual, [etc], uncertain, or bittersweet break up is up to you.

Other warnings: one mention of reader typically wearing makeup

As weird as it sounds, you’re not entirely sure if you and Endo have ever officially broken up. Dating through high school was one thing, but keeping the relationship strong after attending different universities was another.

At the very least, you’re 90% sure the relationship died, although you don’t remember exactly when the two of you stopped talking. After you switched your phone number following your first semester at university, you hadn’t even bothered to tell him. You don’t remember why you didn’t bother to either.

Everything is weird now.

Life has been entirely different without him. There’s one less free pocket in your bag now that you’ve started carrying pepper spray with you. You wear your headphones in one ear at a time, and your volume isn’t on full blast anymore.

You actually look where you’re going, and you pay attention to the time— take a mental note that it starts getting dark earlier at this point in the year.

Even with the precautions you’ve learned during your time at university, this type of thing would always be out of your control. How in the world did you get singled out wearing your pajamas and no makeup?

Life wasn’t being fair to you.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here all alone?”

“Midterms.” You narrow your eyes to the best of your ability, balling your hands into little fists to mask how they’ve started to tremble. “I’m meeting up with some friends now.”

You used to be able to just say “I have a boyfriend.”

You also used to be walked home, so this wouldn’t have happened in the first place. You’re sure that if Endo saw the way you are now, he’d be making a comment by now. Something along the lines of “gonna hurt your hands if you throw a punch with your fists like that, sweet thing.”

Nothing is fair. Why is it now that you start missing him for the first time in years? The feeling comes a little too easily for a relationship that faded into nothing, but you’re too scared to kick yourself in the shin right now.

“That so?” The man in front of you laughs when your fight or flight finally starts to kick in. You take a couple of steps backward, and your frame is suddenly a lot smaller compared to his. How easy. “Where are these friends of yours? Can’t believe you’re out here all by yourself..”

“T-they have my location, y’know.”

There’s the stutter that always gives you away.

He laughs at this, and you can feel yourself breaking into a cold sweat. Keep your words steady. Ignore the way your heart rate is spiking. Do absolutely anything to avoid letting him know that you’re scared out of your mind.

It doesn’t work at all. “They won’t know if you don’t have your phone on you, will they?”

All the words you know seem to slip out of your brain, and your face feels painfully hot. “U-um…”

“You’re exactly my type. It’s a compliment… I’m being nice, so just come with me. You won’t regret it— I’ll make it worth your time.”

It doesn’t like sound an offer, and it doesn’t sound like a suggestion either. Your body freezes against your will, and he catches onto this pretty fast. The pepper spray in your bag seems too far away for you to even consider, and you’ve never felt so helpless in your life.

“Yeah? That sound good?” He moves to close the distance between the two of you with a grin, reaching out to grab your wrist. Your eyes slam shut, lips trembling even when you try to say something to protest. “Damn… you’re so docile for such a pretty girl. Usually, they’d be a bitch, but you—”

“How mean.” Your eyes shoot open when you’re suddenly tugged backward, gasping when your back roughly collides with someone’s chest. “I was waiting all alone. What’s my girl doing over here with you?”

The tattooed arms that drape themselves over your shoulders don’t look familiar at first glance, but the muscles and his scent are. Painfully familiar, as a matter of fact. They’re the same arms you used to cling onto- and you always used to wrap your fingers around his bicep and rest your head on his shoulder.

He loved that.

It all registers in your head as soon as he puts his weight on you, head right beside yours and you feel his hair tickle your neck. He gives the man in front of you an unamused look before turning to you.

“M-me?” You want to dig a hole and stay there for eternity after hearing just how shaky your voice comes out. Endo’s so close that you could simply turn your head to the side and you’d be kissing him.

He laughs, and you feel your face heat up again. Only this time, there’s a gentle fluttering of your heart that comes with it instead. “Yeah, you. What? Did you think I was talking to the loser? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The way you move to latch onto his arm in an instant is all he needs to confirm that your feelings haven’t changed. The man in front of you doesn’t speak— he can’t seem to move either. Your boyfriend has made quite the name for himself, but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?

To you, he’s your bodyguard— and more, of course, but maybe you’d be honest and tell him about that another time. But to that guy, he’s pure danger. The way Endo looks over his shoulder to give him one last glance is already enough to have his knees buckling.

[mononijikayu]

delicate — geto suguru.

Suguru glared at Gojo. “I’m not concerned, I just—” “Uh–uhuh, keep talking.” “I’m just some friend—acquaintance. Worried.” Suguru narrowed his eyes. “Seriously, Satoru. I don’t know what you’re going on about. If I'm in love with them, shoot me.” Without missing a beat, Gojo grinned, “Bang.” He made a playful gun gesture with his hand and gave Suguru a wide grin. “Cupid’s bullets confirm!”

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Modern AU!;

WARNING/s: Fluff, Romance,, Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Friendship, Confessions, Humor, Getting Together, Mutual Affection, Love, Pining, Kissing, Profanity, Mention of Fighting, Mention of Bruising, Outcast! Geto Suguru, Popular Cheerleader!Reader;

WORDS: 6.9k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i made this while thinking about what dynamic i wanted to see between cute couples. and here we are. this was supposed to be shorter too, but it ended up way way longer than 4k words. but im satisfied with this. i hope you enjoy!!! i love you all <3

ADDENDUM: i just found out gege akutami said jjk ends in five chapters and i just want to say that this is going to be hard for me since ive been a fan since 2019.

but i will say ill continue to write as much as i can for this story, enjoy the anime with you for years to come. im sad of course, but im thankful. im grateful for gege akutami for letting me meet his lovely story and his bountiful characters.

and of course because of him, i met all of you. i am very grateful. from beginning to end. i am crying but i am happy too. i love jjk a lot you guys. hugs and kisses to manga fans everywhere. lets hope for a happy end to the story we have loved 🥹🫶

main masterlist

kayu's playlist - side 900;

if you want to, tip! <3

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🌌*ੈ𑁍༘⋆

YOU WEREN’T LIKE EVERYONE ELSE. You were the it-girl, so sought after. The shining star. You were the girl everyone wanted to be—effortlessly beautiful, charming, and the center of attention at Jujutsu College. As a cheerleader, you had it all: the admiration of your peers, the envy of others, and the kind of popularity that opened every door.

Everywhere you went, eyes followed. Whispers trailed in your wake, a symphony of awe and envy that only fueled your rise to the top. You were untouchable, your smile a weapon, your presence a force. Parties, events, and the campus buzzed with your name. Everyone wanted to be near you, to bask in the glow of your effortless charisma. But all of that came crashing down when you chose to stand up for what you believed was right.

The whispers got worse the moment they took to the locker room. One of the newer cheerleaders, a girl named Emi, was their target—shy, awkward, and an easy mark for their cruelty. You watched it unfold for days, biting your tongue, hoping it would stop. They were the same, the seniors who already graduated. You let them do it then, because you hoped they’d stop like the seniors did. But they did not. Instead, it went too far.

You looked at them for a moment, trying not to be obvious. This was going too far. The girl was about to cry, maybe she’d even get even more hurt. This is enough. You cannot stay and just stay silent anymore. Maybe it was the memory of your own first days on the squad, when you weren’t yet the queen bee, when you still had something to prove. Or maybe it was just a sense of fairness that you couldn’t ignore. But you knew that this had to stop. This has to end.

"God, Emi, you can’t even get a basic cheer right. Why are you even here?" one of the girls sneered, her voice dripping with disdain.

Emi stood frozen, her eyes welling up with tears. The other cheerleaders laughed, egging each other on, pushing her closer to the edge. You bit your lip, closing your locker with a loud bang, causing everyone to look at you. You could feel Emi’s eyes on you too, shaking with fear as tears fell from her cheeks. 

“Leave her alone, you freaks!” you said, your voice sharp as you stepped forward. “That is enough. She doesn’t deserve this. You’ve gone too far, even more than our seniors!”

They turned to you, surprise flickering across their faces before it morphed into mockery. You moved forward to the captain, eyes narrowed as you glared at her. You shook your head at her. “Just leave her alone. She’s a freshman. She doesn’t need your shit.”

“What, are you her knight in shining armor now?” one of the lackeys taunted, crossing her arms. “You’re supposed to be on our side, aren’t you? This is a tradition for us seniors.”

“I’m on the side that’s not full of bullies.” you shot back, your anger boiling over. “Being bullied doesn’t mean you should be one!”

“What’s your problem?” another girl snapped, stepping closer, her tone threatening. “She’s dead weight, and you know it.”

You clenched your fists, trying to keep your temper in check. “My problem is that you’re all acting like a bunch of jerks. If you can’t see that, then maybe you’re the dead weight.”

The tension in the room exploded like a storm that had been brewing for too long. You could feel it in the way the air seemed to thicken, in the way eyes narrowed and lips curled into sneers. It started with a harsh word—one of those sly, cutting remarks that slid under the skin like a blade. But this time, you couldn’t let it slide. Not when it was aimed at Emi, the quiet girl who had been on the receiving end of too many of those slights.

You were on your feet before you even realized it, the words spilling out of you in a rush of anger and defiance. “What’s your problem? Why do you always have to pick on someone who’s done nothing to you?”

Your voice cut through the chatter, silencing the room. The others stared at you, shocked that you—of all people—would dare to break ranks. The lead cheerleader, the queen bee, glared at you, her eyes narrowed into slits. “What, are you her bodyguard now? Don’t act like you’re better than us.”

It was the spark that lit the fire. The room erupted into chaos as insults were hurled back and forth. You didn’t back down, not when they turned their barbs on you, not when they sneered at Emi. It all escalated so fast—too fast. Suddenly, hands were shoving, nails were scratching, and before you knew it, you were in the middle of a full-blown fight.

You could barely make sense of it all. The adrenaline surged through you, drowning out the pain as someone’s fist connected with your cheek, leaving a nasty bruise that would bloom later. All you could think about was protecting Emi, keeping her out of the fray, even as the world around you descended into chaos.

The chaos only ended when the coaches rushed in, their voices booming as they waded into the mess of tangled limbs and flaring tempers. They pulled you all apart, demanding to know what had happened, their faces a mix of shock and anger.

But it was too late—the damage was done. You could see it in their eyes, the way they looked at you now, like you were the problem. The principal was called in, and you found yourself standing in his office, staring at the floor as he lectured you about school spirit and the responsibilities that came with your position.

Your words fell on deaf ears. They didn’t want to hear about the bullying, about how you were just trying to protect Emi. All they saw was the fight, the disruption, and the girl who had gone from golden to tarnished in a matter of minutes.

When you returned to the locker room, it was like a slap in the face. Your things had been removed from your team locker, stuffed unceremoniously into a bag and left on the floor. You were no longer welcome. The cheerleaders, the same girls who had once been your closest friends, looked at you with cold eyes and turned their backs.

You had wanted to protect Emi, and now you were left with a throbbing bruise, a reprimand from the principal, and a cold emptiness where your friends used to be. But even as you walked out of that locker room, head held high despite everything, you knew you’d do it all over again. Because some things were worth fighting for, even if it meant losing everything else.

The next day, you found yourself officially kicked off the squad. Well, Emi was also kicked out too, but you were glad that she wasn’t at all hurt. That was what mattered. The news spread like wildfire, and the people who once idolized you now whispered behind your back. Your world felt like it was crumbling, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d made the biggest mistake of your life.

Later that afternoon, you found yourself sitting alone outside, trying to process everything that had happened. Emi had repeatedly apologized to you today, but you kept waving her off and told her to stay safe around school. It wasn’t really her fault. Maybe if you had acted much earlier, maybe Emi wouldn’t have had to go through the worst. Perhaps this was your punishment. This was what happened because of your inaction. And you feel like you deserve this. You deserve to be punished like this. You could only sigh.

That’s when you heard someone approaching.

“You know, I always thought cheerleaders were supposed to be a tight-knit group.” a voice drawled. 

You looked up to see Gojo Satoru standing there, hands in his pockets, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “Guess I was wrong, huh?”

“Guess so.” you muttered, feeling the sting of his words even though they weren’t meant to hurt. “I’m sorry, have I met you before?”

“I don’t think so.” He says, removing his round sunglasses. “Have we met before too?”

“Don’t think so.” You admitted also, face scrunching in confusion. “I don’t meddle around with unpopular kids.”

“Hey, hey, I’m not unpopular.”

“Then why have I never heard of your name before?” You raised your brow.

“I don’t know, maybe you were too focused on being a cheerleader and me being a Digimon stan?” 

“Oh, so you’re a nerd!” You clapped your hands together. “That makes sense why I haven’t heard about you.”

He sighed. “You cheerleaders are cut throats, aren’t you?”

“I’m an ex–cheerleader now. Not really much of a cheerleader anymore.” You snickered. “Those pom pom waving mean girls, goodbye them!”

He plopped down next to you, stretching out his long legs. “So, what’s the plan now? Are you gonna go all lone wolf, or are you open to a new company?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Why do you care?”

Gojo shrugged, his smile widening. “Because I’m curious about the girl who went from queen bee to outcast in one day. That takes guts.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, though it came out a little bitter. “Or stupidity.”

“Or both, you know?” he agreed easily. “But I like guts. So does Shoko. And Suguru. And Kento and Haibara. You’d fit right in with us.”

“Fit in?” you echoed, not sure if he was being serious. Your face reminded Satoru of how Kento reacted to him asking to be his friend. 

“Yeah.” he said, leaning back on his hands, looking up at the sky. “We’re not exactly the most popular kids on campus, but we’re fun. And we don’t care about that petty stuff.”

Before you could respond, Shoko Ieiri appeared, hands stuffed in her lab coat pockets, a cigarette dangling from her lips. “You’re not bothering her, are you, Gojo?”

“Me? Bother someone? Never, Sho.” Gojo said, feigning innocence. “Just making a new friend.”

Shoko rolled her eyes and looked at you. “He’s right, though. You’re welcome to hang with us if you want.”

You hesitated, glancing between them. “I don’t know…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Shoko said with a lazy grin. “We don’t bite. Well, maybe Gojo does, but only if you ask nicely.”

You laughed again, this time more genuinely. “Okay… I guess I’ll give it a shot.”

As the days passed, you found yourself drifting away from the cheerleaders and into a new circle. It started subtly at first, with Gojo casually inviting you to sit with him and Shoko during lunch. Gojo’s easygoing nature made it hard to say no, and Shoko’s dry humor quickly drew you in. 

They didn’t seem to care about the drama that had turned your life upside down. Gojo’s bright grin and carefree attitude were a stark contrast to the cold shoulders you’d been getting from your former friends. Shoko, with her sharp wit and laid-back demeanor, offered a kind of friendship that felt refreshing, real in a way that the cheerleading squad never had.

Soon, Geto Suguru and Nanami Kento joined in. Suguru had a quiet confidence about him, a steady presence that was both comforting and intriguing. He didn’t ask about the fight or why you weren’t with the cheerleaders anymore. Instead, he offered a warm smile and an understanding nod, as if he knew without needing to be told.

Nanami, on the other hand, was more reserved. He didn’t speak much at first, but his presence was reassuring. There was a steadiness to him, a sense of reliability that you hadn’t realized you craved. He welcomed you into their group with a subtle nod, a small but genuine gesture that told you he saw you for who you were now, not who you had been before.

Each of them, in their own way, made room for you. They didn’t treat you like the fallen star or the girl with the tarnished reputation. With them, you didn’t have to pretend. You could be yourself—no masks, no expectations.And slowly, you began to feel something you hadn’t felt in a long time: belonging.

That afternoon, all of you were sitting together under a tree on campus, watching the world go by. Geto Suguru was in the middle of explaining something, his voice calm and soothing, while Nanami listened quietly, offering his thoughts every now and then. Yu was more excited trying to make friends with you than before. You think it's interesting, how this ball of sunshine saw you as some sort of superhero for what you did, even if you didn’t.

Yu Haibara, ever the sunshine in human form, plopped down beside you with a grin. “Hey, I heard about what happened with the cheer squad. Pretty badass, if you ask me.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth of genuine friendship for the first time in what felt like forever. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure if it was the right thing, but…”

“It was! You’re so cool, you know?” Haibara said firmly. “Standing up for someone who needed it? That’s always the right thing.”

“Besides, it’s just what it is, you know?” Geto added, looking over at you. He was smoking his cigarette roll, one he made himself. “You don’t have to be what you aren’t.”

“Yeah.” Nanami agreed, his voice steady and reassuring. “You don’t have to pretend to be something you’re not with us.”

You looked around at them—this group of people who had taken you in without hesitation, who saw you for who you really were, not just the image you had projected for so long. And for the first time in a while, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

As the weeks went by, you found a surprising sense of belonging with Gojo, Shoko, Suguru, Nanami, and Yu. They had become your new circle of friends, and their acceptance gave you a fresh start that you didn’t know you needed. They were a new sort of fun, a different kind of excitement that was worlds apart from the polished, high-pressure life you’d known as the it-girl.

With them, your days became filled with spontaneous adventures. Gojo was always dragging everyone to the arcade, where his competitive streak made every game feel like a high-stakes challenge. Shoko would roll her eyes at his antics but still join in, her laughter adding to the cacophony of beeping machines and cheerful music. Suguru, ever the cool-headed one, had a knack for choosing the perfect music stores to visit, introducing you to tracks that soon became the soundtrack to this new chapter of your life.

Nanami and Suguru were more reserved, especially at first. You could tell they were still feeling you out, trying to figure out if you really fit into their group. But even in their uncertainty, they made an effort. Nanami, despite his serious demeanor, would show up at the burger joints Gojo loved, quietly indulging in the greasy food and ridiculous banter. Suguru, with his calm presence, would often give you a slight smile or a nod, a small but significant sign that you were being welcomed, even if it was cautiously.

Yu was the glue that held it all together, his infectious energy and boundless enthusiasm pulling everyone along. Satoru was as enthusiastic as he was, but unlike him — Yu was someone that tried to keep everyone in good peace together. And he was good. He had a way of making you feel included, whether it was by handing you a spare controller at the arcade or making sure you got the best seat at the burger joint.

That’s just how it was with them. You didn’t have to worry about the petty dramas or the constant pressure to be perfect. With this group, it was all about the moment—the thrill of a high score, the taste of a greasy burger, the discovery of a new song. And you liked it. You liked who you were becoming with them.

Gojo leaned back in his chair, tossing a sugar packet from one hand to the other. “You know, you fit in with us better than you did with that cheer squad.”

You shot him a playful glare. “Are you saying I was too good for them?”

Shoko rolled her eyes. “Stop teasing, Gojo. You’re ruining the vibe.”

“Hey, I’m not!” Gojo argues as  his grin spreads, “Just that our new friend here is way cooler than they ever gave them credit for.”

You looked at Shoko, who was sipping her coffee with a look of amused tolerance, added, “He’s right. They were just too busy with their drama to see how awesome you are.”

Suguru, sitting across from you, offered a more thoughtful observation. He bit into his fries. “Sometimes, it takes getting knocked down to realize where you truly belong. You were always meant to be with people who appreciate you for who you are.”

Nanami, who had been quietly observing, nodded in agreement. “You’re a good blend with us, I think. We’ve had a lot of fun since you joined us.”

Yu Haibara, always the optimist, leaned in with a grin. “Yeah, and you’ve made things a lot more interesting around here. It’s not every day we get someone with your… spirit.”

You smiled, feeling a warm flush of gratitude. “Thanks, guys. I wasn’t sure where I’d fit in after everything that happened, but I really appreciate how welcoming you’ve all been.”

The conversation shifted to lighter topics, and you found yourself laughing more than you had in a long time. It was a refreshing change from the pressure and pretense of your previous life. 

As the night wore on, Gojo suddenly stood up and stretched. “Hey, who’s up for a late-night walk? I heard there’s a new food truck downtown.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow. “You just want an excuse to get more snacks.”

“Guilty as charged.” Gojo admitted with a wink. “But you’re all welcome to join if you’re up for it.”

“Sounds good to me.” Suguru said, standing up and grabbing his coat. 

You looked around at your friends, feeling a genuine sense of contentment. “I’m in.”

“You feeling cold?” Suguru asked as he saw you stand from the booth. 

“A little—” He threw you his jacket, which you were barely able to catch.

“Put it on.”

“O–oh, okay.”

As you all walked together through the city streets, the cool night air filled with laughter and conversation, you realized how different this life felt from the one you had left behind. There were no superficial judgments, no hidden agendas—just a group of people who valued each other’s company and had each other’s backs.

Later, as you shared food and stories under the streetlights, you found yourself in a moment of quiet reflection. You had come so far from the popular girl who had been kicked out of the cheer squad. You were no longer defined by your past status or the mistakes you’d made. Instead, you were part of a new chapter, one where you were valued for who you truly were.

Gojo’s laughter broke through your thoughts as he tossed a piece of popcorn into the air, catching it with a grin. “See? This is what life’s about—good friends, good food, and not taking things too seriously.”

You laughed, feeling the weight of the past lift off your shoulders. “I couldn’t agree more.”

In that moment, you knew that despite everything you had been through, you had found something real and genuine. And as you walked beside your new friends, you felt a renewed sense of hope for the future, knowing that wherever life took you next, you would face it with people who truly cared about you.

But in that moment, Geto Suguru looked at you and thought to himself for a moment, just for that moment — how good happiness looks on you.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🌌*ੈ𑁍༘⋆

IF HE WAS BEING HONEST, HE’S NOT ONE TO TRUST PEOPLE EASILY. But coming from a rough place in life, it was something that can’t be helped. So, in the beginning, Geto Suguru had his reservations about you. He’d heard the rumors about the cheerleader who had once been the queen of Jujutsu College, and he wasn’t impressed. To him, you seemed like just another snob who was used to getting their way and couldn’t be bothered with anyone outside her circle.

When Gojo tried to blend you into the group, Suguru’s attitude was guarded, and for a good reason. So, he kept his distance and even interacted with you, he tried to be casual, trying to not get too deep into it.

He remembers what he said then — “I’m not really into the whole ‘cheerleader’ thing,” he’d said with a shrug. “Not my style. So they're still not my style either.”

You had sensed his cold demeanor but tried not to let it bother you. Instead, you focused on being yourself—friendly, outgoing, and always ready to lend a hand. You wanted to prove that you weren’t just the image people had of you. Even though you could still be rough in the edges with your personality, it didn’t stop people from enjoying your company. 

And over time, Geto Suguru began to see a different side of you. You didn’t just laugh at his jokes or offer superficial compliments, nor were you as stuck up as people make you out to be; you were genuinely kind and considerate. You had a really good way of making others feel comfortable, and it wasn’t long before he found himself intrigued by the real you, the one who went out of their way to help others despite their own struggles.

One evening, as the group hung out at a quiet park, you were sitting on the grass, talking animatedly about a new project you were excited about. If he was being honest, excitement was a beautiful color on you. And he thinks that he wants to see more of that in you. He could only sigh as he thought about how much you’ve occupied his mind. He shakes his head. Suguru looks above the sky, trying to distract himself while Satoru spoke to everyone about his new date. 

“You know, Suguru.” you said, glancing over at him, snapping him back to reality. “I really appreciate how you’ve been around lately. And how not awkward it is between us now. It means a lot to me.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow. “I’m just here because Gojo dragged me along. Don’t get any ideas.”

You laughed, unfazed. “Yeah, yeah. But seriously, you’re not as bad as I thought you’d be. I guess we’re not so different after all.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe. But don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not here to make friends. I’m here because I have to be.”

Despite his words, you noticed subtle changes in his behavior. He was more engaged in conversations around you, his smiles more frequent, and he’d even started teasing you back. You found yourself drawn to him more and more, your feelings shifting from admiration to something deeper. The way he would look at you, even with his usual aloofness, made your heart race. 

After a particularly lively conversation about your favorite books, Suguru caught you off guard with a rare moment of vulnerability. He looked at you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. 

“You’re really persistent, you know that?” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I didn’t think I’d be saying this, but you’ve managed to get under my skin.”

You grinned, feeling a rush of hope. “Is that a good thing?”

Suguru looked away, his expression turning more serious. “I’m not sure. I told myself I’d just tolerate you, but… the more I hang around, the harder it is to keep my distance.”

He was fighting it, trying to convince himself that his growing feelings for you were nothing more than an annoyance. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do.” he continued, frustration evident in his voice. “But I’m not someone who easily changes his mind. So don’t expect too much.”

Despite his words, there was a softness in his eyes when he looked at you, a clear sign that he was fighting a losing battle. The more you interacted, the more he found himself charmed by your genuine warmth and infectious enthusiasm. And he didn’t know what to feel about that. He doesn’t know how to react to you.

You were infatuated with him, and it became clear that you wanted his attention—more than just casual conversation, more than friendly banter. You wanted to be the one who made him smile, the one he thought about when he was alone.

And though Suguru tried to keep his distance, you could see the cracks in his resolve. His stoic exterior was melting away, little by little, with every shared laugh, every meaningful conversation. He couldn’t deny the way he felt any longer, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise.

In moments of quiet, when it was just the two of you, Geto Suguru’s demeanor softened. He would catch himself gazing at you with an expression that betrayed his irritation with his own feelings. He was torn between his desire to remain aloof and the undeniable pull he felt towards you. As you continued to be your bubbly, charming self, Suguru found himself drawn to you more and more, fighting a battle he wasn’t sure he wanted to win.

The house party was in full swing by the time you and your friends arrived. The sorority house was buzzing with energy, and the crowd was a mix of familiar faces and new ones. You were excited to be there, especially because you had a date with you—Mark, a guy you had been seeing for a few weeks. 

Suguru Geto, always the reserved observer, was there too, though he seemed more detached from the festivities. He had taken a spot near the snack table, his gaze scanning the room. When he noticed you with Mark, he gave a curt nod but didn’t say much.

As the night progressed, Suguru found himself cornered by Mark, who was chatting animatedly with a group of people. You had gone off to mingle with others, leaving Mark to his own devices. Suguru, being the stand-up guy he was, decided to introduce himself.

“Hey, I’m Suguru.” he said, offering a polite smile. “So, what’s your story, bro?”

Mark took a swig of his drink and grinned. “Oh, I’m just here to have a good time, mess around, party hard. You know how it is.”

Suguru nodded, trying to make conversation. “Yeah, I get it. So, how long have you and my friend been seeing each other?”

Mark’s smile faltered slightly. “A few weeks. But, honestly, they're kind of a handful.”

Suguru’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he kept his tone neutral. “Oh? How so?”

Mark shrugged, looking around to make sure no one else was listening. “They’re always so cheerful and in-your-face. It gets old pretty fast. And don’t get me started on their mood swings. Sometimes they’re all sunshine and other times, they’re just… exhausting.”

Suguru’s smile faltered, and he could feel a simmering anger rising. “I wouldn’t say that. They’re actually really kind and caring. Maybe they’re just passionate around you.”

Mark snorted. “Passionate? More like over–dramatic. You must be used to it, though, considering you hang out with them.”

Suguru’s jaw tightened. “I think you should stop talking about them like that.”

Mark raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the reaction he was getting. “Why? It’s the truth. You know, they could be a lot better if they just… toned it down a bit.”

Suguru’s eyes darkened as he took a deep breath. “Seriously, stop it.”

Mark continued, oblivious to Suguru’s mounting frustration. “They’re always making everything about themselves, always trying to be the center of attention. I don’t get why you’d even bother with them. They’re literally like….a bitch..”

Without warning, Suguru’s hand tightened around his beer bottle. He took a step forward, his voice low and dangerous. “I said, stop.”

The tension in the room was thick, a simmering undercurrent that everyone felt but no one acknowledged—until Mark pushed too far. He had been needling Suguru all night, his criticisms growing more pointed, more personal with each passing minute. The rest of you tried to steer the conversation away, but Mark wouldn’t let it go, his words becoming sharper, crueler.

Suguru had been holding back, his calm facade cracking only slightly as he tried to keep his temper in check. But when Mark ignored him and continued with his relentless criticisms, something inside Suguru snapped.

In an instant, he moved. With a swift, fluid motion, Suguru swung his beer bottle, the action so smooth it was almost graceful. The bottle connected with Mark’s face with a sharp crack. The impact was immediate and satisfying, sending Mark stumbling backward as beer splashed across the floor, the bottle shattering in Suguru’s hand.

The room fell into stunned silence.

“Goddamn it, Suguru!” Shoko’s voice was the first to break the quiet, a mix of shock and exasperation. She stepped forward, ready to pull Suguru back if needed, though there was a slight smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. “Couldn’t you have at least waited until he finished his drink?”

Nanami, who had been lounging in the corner, raised an eyebrow but didn’t move from his spot. “Well, that escalated quickly.”

Shoko sighed deeply, looking around. “I’ll call someone to clean this up. And maybe get some ice for Mark.”

Mark, clutching his face where Suguru had punched him, looked up in stunned disbelief. “What the hell, man? You’re crazy!”

Suguru’s eyes were cold as he glared down at him. “No. I’m done listening to your crap. You should’ve known when to shut up.”

“You all are a bunch of crazy freaks! Especially that bitch!”

“You don’t get to talk about them like that!” Suguru said, his voice steady but filled with a cold edge. “Not on my watch.”

Mark looked up at him, a mix of pain and surprise in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, just backed away slowly, still holding his nose. Yu came between them. “Hey, hey. Let’s all calm down, okay?”

Suguru turned on his heel and walked away, heading outside to cool down. He needed some fresh air and space to collect his thoughts. You, having witnessed the altercation from a distance, rushed over to Suguru, concern etched on your face.

You spotted Suguru standing alone in the hallway, his gaze distant as he tried to calm down from the confrontation. Determined to get some answers, you made a beeline for him, your concern and curiosity palpable.

“Suguru, what happened back there?” you asked, trying to piece together the events of the night. “Why did you hit Mark?”

Suguru glanced at you, his expression a mix of embarrassment and frustration. “It was nothing. He just… he crossed a line.”

“No,” you said, putting the pieces together with a sudden burst of realization. “He called me a bitch, didn’t he? That’s why you hit him. You hit him for me!”

Suguru looked away, his cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. “No, that’s not—”

“Yes, it is!” you interrupted, your excitement and relief bubbling over. “I know I can be a lot sometimes, and I am a bitch! But you actually care about me. You love me, don’t you?”

Suguru’s face turned a deeper shade of red, and he mumbled, “No…I didn’t…”

Suguru’s thoughts were still a whirlwind, his mind racing to process the events of the night and the emotions that came with them. He needed to clear his head, and talking to Gojo seemed like the quickest way to do that. He excused himself and quickly went back inside. As he entered the kitchen, the room was a stark contrast to the chaos outside—bright, warm, and filled with the comforting aroma of Gojo Satoru’s sandwich-making.

Gojo stood by the counter, casually assembling a towering sandwich with practiced ease. His movements were relaxed and carefree, a stark contrast to the tension that Suguru was radiating. He glanced up, taking in the scene with a curious, slightly amused expression.

“What’s going on, man?” Gojo asked, his tone light as he continued to layer on the ingredients. “I heard there was a bit of a commotion.”

Suguru tried to compose himself, but the frustration was evident in his voice. “Mark was being a complete jerk. He was bad-mouthing them, and I… I lost my temper.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “He was talking about them? What did he say?”

Suguru’s jaw clenched as he recounted the encounter. “He kept going on about how they are a handful and how they’re exhausting. He was just being really disrespectful. Even called them a bitch, mind you!”

Gojo’s eyebrows knitted together in surprise. “And you punched him for it?”

Suguru nodded, his gaze intense. “Yeah, I did. He wouldn’t stop, and I just couldn’t let him keep talking like that.”

Gojo’s expression shifted from amusement to genuine concern. “Are they okay?”

Suguru’s frustration softened a bit as he considered your well-being. “They’re fine. I mean, they did seem surprised, maybe in some way upset, I don’t know. But they’re okay. It’s just… I don’t like seeing them being talked about like that.”

Gojo’s eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and understanding. “So, you’re defending them, huh?”

Suguru’s face flushed slightly, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not just about defending them. It’s just—”

Gojo looked up from his sandwich-making with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, but is your lover okay?”

Suguru froze, caught off guard. “They are not my lover, Gojo.” he snapped, defensively. “They are just—”

Gojo’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh? Then why’d you hit him? Seems like you’re more concerned than you’re letting on.”

Suguru glared at Gojo. “I’m not concerned, I just—”

“Uh–uhuh, keep talking.”

“I’m just some friend—acquaintance. Worried.” Suguru narrowed his eyes. “Seriously, Satoru. I don’t know what you’re going on about. If I'm in love with them, shoot me.”

Without missing a beat, Gojo grinned, “Bang.” He made a playful gun gesture with his hand and gave Suguru a wide grin. “Cupid’s bullets confirm!”

Suguru stared at him, dumbfounded. “Are you serious? This is not—”

Gojo laughed, clearly enjoying the confusion. “Just kidding, Suguru. You know I’m just messing with you.”

Suguru sighed heavily, his frustration giving way to a reluctant chuckle. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Gojo shrugged, still grinning. “Just having a bit of fun. But seriously, if you need to talk or if something’s going on, I’m here. Just don’t let things like this get you too worked up.”

Suguru nodded, a mix of relief and embarrassment on his face. “Thanks, Gojo. I guess I needed that.”

With a final, reassuring pat on Suguru’s shoulder, Gojo returned to his sandwich-making. He took a deep breath and went back outside. You were talking with Shoko when you noticed Suguru come back outside towards your way. You were about to speak when Suguru turned back to you. There was a softer, more earnest look in his eyes as he met your gaze.

He looked at you with a determination, his voice steady but kind. “Take your coat, doll.” he said, offering it to you. “We’re getting out of here.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden decision but relieved by the prospect of escaping the party. Without protest, you slipped on your coat and followed him out into the cool night air. The contrast between the cold outside and the warmth of the party was a welcome change, the crisp air a refreshing balm against your senses.

As you walked to the parking lot, Suguru’s silence was a comforting presence. His demeanor was calm and purposeful, a stark contrast to the turbulence of the evening. He led you to his car, and you both got in, the engine’s hum a soothing sound against the backdrop of the night.

Soon enough, you found yourselves parked in the lot of a nearby fast-food chain. The neon lights of the restaurant flickered against the dark sky, casting an almost surreal glow over the scene. It felt like a world away from the party, a simple, unpretentious refuge.

Suguru ordered a handful of burgers and fries, his movements deliberate and focused. You followed suit, choosing your favorites with a sense of familiarity. As you both settled on the hood of the car, the comfort of the fast food and the tranquility of the night began to ease the tension.

You took a bite of your burger, the flavors surprisingly comforting. Despite the simplicity of the setting, there was something deeply satisfying about the moment. “This is the best date ever.” you said with a grin, the warmth of the food and Suguru’s presence making the night feel a little brighter.

Suguru looked at you, a bemused expression on his face. “We haven’t talked in half an hour.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you said, shaking your head. “It’s nice just being with you, even if this doesn’t seem like much.”

Suguru looked away, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “It’s not as bad as going bowling.”

You blinked, puzzled. “Bowling? I didn’t know you liked bowling.”

He shrugged, leaning back against the car. “I do. It’s something I enjoy, and being with you is kind of like that—enjoyable and relaxing, even if it’s not always fancy.”

You tilted your head, contemplating his words. Then, feeling bold, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. Suguru’s eyes widened slightly, but he responded, kissing you back with a tenderness that melted away any remaining tension.

When you finally parted, you looked up at him, a soft smile on your lips. “Not too bad?”

Suguru’s gaze softened as he met your eyes, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “Not too bad.” he agreed, his voice warm.

You both shared a comfortable silence, the world outside the fast-food restaurant feeling a million miles away. As you finished your burgers and settled back into a peaceful quiet, you knew that despite everything, moments like these were what mattered most.

You and Suguru remained on the car hood, finishing off the last of your burgers. The night was crisp and clear, the occasional hum of passing cars providing a steady backdrop to your conversation.

“So, what’s your favorite part about bowling?” you asked, genuinely curious and trying to keep the mood light.

Suguru chuckled, a soft sound that warmed the chilly air. “It’s the combination of skill and luck, I guess. Plus, it’s fun to just throw the ball and watch it knock down the pins. It’s simple, but satisfying.”

You smiled, enjoying his enthusiasm. “Maybe we should go bowling sometime. It sounds like it could be a lot of fun.”

Suguru’s eyes twinkled as he looked at you. “I’d like that. I think you’d be pretty good at it. You’ve got a good arm from throwing those frisbees around at the park.”

You laughed, leaning into him. “You think so? I’ll hold you to that.”

Suguru wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. “It’s a promise.”

The warmth of his embrace was comforting, and you snuggled closer, resting your head on his shoulder. The night was quiet, and for a while, you just enjoyed the peacefulness of the moment.

Suguru glanced at you, his expression softening even further. “You know, despite everything that happened tonight, I’m really glad we ended up here. I like these moments with you. They remind me of why I care so much.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, your eyes reflecting the soft glow of the streetlights. “Me too, Suguru. It’s the simple things, like eating burgers and talking about bowling, that make me realize how much I enjoy being with you.”

Suguru gave a small, affectionate smile, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek. “Sometimes, it’s the simple things that mean the most.”

You sighed contentedly, feeling a deep sense of connection. “I guess that’s true. And, even though tonight didn’t go as planned, it ended up being pretty perfect in its own way.”

Suguru chuckled softly, his gaze fixed on you. “Yeah, it did.”

You both sat there for a while longer, sharing soft kisses and quiet laughter, savoring the simplicity of the moment. The night air was cool, but the warmth between you made it feel like the coziest place in the world.

Eventually, Suguru shifted slightly, pulling you closer as he gave you a tender kiss on the forehead. “Let’s head back. I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

You nodded, standing up and stretching as Suguru helped you off the car hood. “Sounds good. But we definitely need to plan that bowling trip soon.”

Suguru laughed, offering you his hand. “It’s a date.”

As you walked back to the car, hand in hand, the night seemed a little brighter, and the world a little warmer. The small, spontaneous moments were what made your time together truly special, and you both knew that, no matter what, you’d always find a way to cherish them.

[alvojake]

Left Alone | L.HS

「prompt」 : abandoned 「pairing」 : bf!heeseung x fem!reader 「word count」 : 1.5k

「synopsis」 : you and heeseung had been together for three years, but little by little, heeseung started to show signs of not being interested until it led to you being abandoned at the restaurant you had booked for your anniversary.

「genre」 : angst, fluff if you squint

「warnings」 : crying, cussing, arguments, breakup, reader gets stood up, mentions of alcohol, lmk if I missed anything!!!

masterlist ─ navi. ─ angstober list

“Are you ready to order yet, Miss?” The waiter walked over to your table for what seemed like the hundredth time, a look of pity gleaming in her eyes as she held out the little notepad in her hand.

Turning your attention away from the window where you hope by some miracle that Heeseung would show up in front of you. You offered her a sweet smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes before glancing down at the empty wine glass in your hand.

“Just another glass of wine,” you told her, your voice sounded defeated. She nodded before turning to walk away.

You tapped the dark screen of your phone until the time showed up. It had been about an hour and a half since he was supposed to be here. There had been not a single text or call, but as sad as you may be, you weren’t surprised. This was just the straw that broke the camel's back.

For the past two months, he has slowly started showing signs of disinterest in your relationship. It started out with his calls becoming shorter and his texts more dry. You had brushed it off as him just being tired from work, but it never got better, if anything it only got worse. Then it turned into him not putting a lot of effort in seeing you when he used to always want to see you any chance that he got before it went to him ignoring your calls and texts, even going as far as avoiding you entirely when you hung out with shared friends.

At first, it hurt you deeply, leaving you to cry into your pillows for hours on end at night. You wanted to confront him about his actions, but at the same time, you were scared to lose what you had because your mother had always told you that if you love someone, you can work through anything. So that’s what you were going to do, use this reservation you had booked for your four-year anniversary to ask him what was going on.

But just like the little voice in the back of your head told you, he stood you up.

When the waiter came back with your glass of wine, you thanked her before asking for the bill. She gave you a sympathetic smile and told you that she would bring it right out.

After finishing your glass of wine you settled your bill and made your way out of the restaurant. Just then, you felt your phone buzz in your hand, and a small flicker of hope bloomed in your chest that it might be Heeseung telling you that he had forgotten and he was sorry. But that spark was rudely dimmed when you saw that it was a message from Jake, your and Heeseung’s mutual friend.

You waved down a taxi and called the male. He picked up the phone just as you shut the car door behind you. Moving the device away from your ear for a moment, you told the driver your address before sitting back in your seat.

“Hey, y/n, where are you?” Jake asked. The music in the background was clearly audible, easily telling you that he was at a party.

“On my way home from the restaurant.” Your voice was void of any emotion, and Jake could tell that something was wrong.

“Restaurant?” His tone was confused, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly. You found it just a tad amusing that Heeseung didn’t even bother telling his buddies about your date when he wouldn’t waste a second telling them in the past.

“Yeah. Restaurant. I was supposed to be having a date.” You told him, your free hand twiddling with the hem of your dress and eyes focused on the passing buildings outside.

“What do you mean date?” Jake was beyond confused because Heeseung was with him at the party, so who would you have been with? Then the other part of your sentence clicked in his head, “Wait, supposed to have a date?”

Scoffing, you held back tears the further you got from the restaurant. "Why don’t you ask your best friend?”

Jake felt his heart drop, and he told you to give him a second before you heard shuffling on the other side, followed by the sounds of a door. The music grew louder, and you guessed that he had walked back into the house. You then heard him saying something to someone, but you couldn’t make out what was said due to the music. Then you heard another door close before the music became muffled once more.

“Jake, dude, what the fuck? I was in the middle of a game.” Heeseung’s voice echoed through the phone and your heart squeezed tightly in your chest. He had chosen to go to a party instead of meeting you at the restaurant for your anniversary.

“No, Hee, why the hell did you stand y/n up?” Jake’s tone was harsh as he laid into the older male, “you could have easily told me that you had a date I would have understood. Y/n matters more than some damn party you need–”

 “Oh my god, can you stop? The last damn thing I wanna hear about is y/n. Y/n this, y/n that. I don’t give a fuck!” Heeseung blew up, and his words left a gaping wound in your heart, tears rolling down your eyes. “I am sick and tired of hearing about her and how I should be doing this or that; guess what? She’s not worth my time anymore.”

Your hand covered your mouth to muffle the sound of your cries. You wanted to hang up, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. The other line fell silent for a moment before Jake’s voice came through again, anger lacing his words.

“So you waste hers?” Jake tried to control his volume, but it was getting increasingly more difficult as he took in Heeseung’s indifferent expression. “You could have easily just ended things, but you want to be an asshole and just lead her on?”

“Jake…” Your voice trailed on, trying to gain the male’s attention, but he couldn’t hear you.

“Not to mention it is low as fuck to just leave her hanging at a restaurant, not only that it’s late and she’s in the city alone.” Jake really laid into Heeseung, who just stood there, his expression becoming unreadable.

“Jake.” You called out louder, catching both of the male’s attention, and Jake quickly brought the phone back up to his ear, ignoring the shocked look on the older’s face. “Just forget it; he’s not worth it.”

Jake wanted to object, but you quickly reassured him that it was fine. He then turned and glared at Heeseung once more. Then he turned the phone on speaker, wanting Heeseung to hear whatever you were about to say.

“He’s not worth it anymore, Jake. Just tell him that we’re done, and I’ll leave all his stuff outside so he can pick it up. But I do not want to see him anymore.” Your voice shook as you tried to stop crying, but the tears were endless.

“Y/n–” Heeseung called out to you, but Jake moved the phone away from him.

Your breath caught in your throat at his voice, but you quickly swallowed it down before speaking, “What you did really hurt me, Heeseung; like Jake said, you could have just ended things, but you decided to make me suffer while you led me on. So we’re done.”

Heeseung took a step forward to say something, but Jake moved away once more and took you off the speakerphone. “You’ve fucked up, Heeseung, and I can’t and won’t stand for it.”

Then, without another word, Jake walked out of the room, putting the phone up to his ear so he could talk to you. He didn’t miss the quiet sounds of you crying making his heart hurt, a sigh pulling from his lips.

“Are you almost home?” he asked, and you told him that the driver had just pulled in. "Okay, I’m heading over, and we can watch a movie or something, and I’ll make you something to eat.”

His words pulled a small laugh from you as you shut the car door behind you once more, “No offense, Jake, but I don’t think I’mma let you cook anything.” You joked, wiping the tears from your face as you walked up to your front door, “plus, haven’t you been drinking?”

“No, Jay and I were the DDs tonight, and I’m sure Jay can handle them,” Jake reassured you. You knew that arguing with him would be pointless, so you just said okay.

Once the phone had been hung up you dropped your hands to your sides, eyes taking in the area around you. Pictures of you and Heeseung lined the halls making your chest tight with grief. Trying your best to ignore them, you got to your room so you could change out of the uncomfortable dress you were wearing.

Then, just like Jake had said, he showed up, offering a bag of fast food and some ice cream. You both then spent the entirety of the night watching movies until you both passed out on the couch. The thoughts of throwing your four-year-long relationship out the window were saved for another time, but for now, you just wanted to forget.

@alvojake | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[berzahoes]

“slut!” | tom blyth

summary: in a word full of boys, tom is a gentleman.

an: takes place before filming billy the kid

warnings: mean names hence the title also if you care, reader is the same age as tom lol

“so keep your boyfriends hidden because y/n is newly single!”

“how many boyfriends has she had in the last four years?”

“clearly she’s the problem if she can’t keep a boyfriend.”

you heard it all. the names people called you, the headlines, news reports. it was always the same. people would rather shame you for your love life than be quiet. in the past you did joke that you went on many dates, clearly the media didn’t care if you were joking or not.

your manager had even banned you from looking at the really negative comments on your phone. twitter was having a field day with your love life.

“slut!” was the phrase often directed towards you. while your loyal fans defend you, you could still see all the hurtful things people said about you.

“do you want to cancel tomorrow’s interview?” lisa, your manager, asked one day. you hadn’t answered your phone at all and she was concerned so she drove to your new york apartment and let herself in with the spare key she had. she had found you in the darkness of your room curled up with your plethora of blankets.

“cancel everything. i just want to rest for a while.” you managed to say. lisa was like your second mom. she cared about you more than anything.

“we can do that.” lisa assured.

“lisa?” you turned to face her.

“yes?”

“thanks for checking on me.”

“always.”

after that conversation, lisa made some calls and any movie or tv show deal you had were quickly cancelled. over the next few days, the media found out that you pulled out of many movies from big franchises like marvel and star wars. it was always a dream of yours to be in anything marvel or star wars related, but for now, those projects had to continue without you.

many friends and colleagues reached out to you, but all you could do was send a simple ‘thank you’ and be done with it.

days passed and you were still in your apartment. you didn’t mind being alone, you liked it better that way. sometimes lisa or your parents would drop by or even your upstairs neighbor, mrs. davis, a nice old lady who knew that your favorite cupcakes were red velvet so she made you some to cheer you up.

it was a tuesday afternoon when you heard someone cursing multiple out in the hallway. you figured someone got locked out so you ignored it. pretty much everyone in the entire building got locked out at least once. you were ignoring the cursing as you continued reading your book and ate your red velvet cupcake that your kind neighbor had made you. a few seconds later, you heard a knock on your door.

“no.” you groaned as you stood up to answer the door. you opened it to find tom. you had only known him because you had a mutual friend so you were surprised to see him at your door.

“hi,” he spoke. “i called and texted . . a lot. i just wanted to see how you were.”

“i’m alive as you can see.” you said.

“i know you’ve been asked this question a lot lately but are you okay?”

that’s when you broke down. you couldn’t keep it together in front of tom, but he didn’t mind comforting you. somehow he knew exactly what you needed to hear.

he would often come over to keep you company when lisa or your parents couldn’t. he understood you didn’t want to step foot outside so he didn’t force you. instead, you two would go up to the terrace of your apartment building and hang out. tom would bring lunch or dinner depending on the time that he decided to visit. during that time, you two would talk about whatever would come to mind. tom did his best to avoid talking about work, but you always asked how his filming was going or if he had auditioned for anything new.

“i got the part,” he admitted. “i’m playing billy the kid.” he smiled brightly.

“I’m so happy for you, tom! you deserve it!” you hugged him.

“it’ll be announced next week. you’re the first to know, well apart from my manager.” he chuckled.

“you deserve that and more.” you smiled.

“you do too. other people should see that,” tom said. “you’re so talented and amazing and everything about you is so. . . incredible. i wish people see you the way i do.”

you were speechless.

“are you okay?” tom asked when he noticed you were quiet.

fuck. fuck. fuck FUCK he thought to himself

“you mean it?” you managed to say. you could feel yourself start to blush.

“every bit and more. i enjoy being with you and if i could be with you for the rest of my life then i would die a happy man.”

[fushiguho]

You Never Called ☆ Geto Suguru

☆ WORD COUNT – 6.2k ☆ SYNOPSIS – In the midst of getting a tattoo, you can't help but to notice how familiar your artist looks. Wherever you've seen him, you can't seem to ignore the feeling he gave you, Maybe the feeling is mutual. ☆ CONTENT WARNING – Geto is mean :(, spit, name calling, creampie, strangers to lovers

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*: ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

You winced as he brought the gun closer to your skin. While sucking in a tight breath and furrowing your eyebrows, you braced yourself for the sharp burn of the gun’s needle.

“You know you picked one of the worst possible spots for a tattoo, right?” He grinned while flitting his gaze from your hip bone to your face, the needle hovering just above your skin.

“Oh, perfect!” You snarked as you rolled your eyes, silently berating yourself for even coming up with such a bright idea in the first place. A sigh fell from your lips as a hand came up to drape itself over your forehead.

“I’ll do just a small line first, ‘see how you can handle that.” He spoke.

You simply nodded as if telling him to go on.

Slowly, he was pressing the needle to your skin, beginning the line work of the small bumblebee he had traced just moments before.

The feeling wasn’t nice. Most of your friends described the feeling of getting a tattoo as a prickling, burning sensation that lasted far too long. However, they failed to mention that it would have you on the verge of kicking the poor artist in the face.

It felt as though hundreds of minuscule kittens were clawing away at your skin in hopes of locating the catnip hidden beneath your epidermis.

Maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but the feeling was pretty damn close. It was bearable though, not fun, but bearable.

“See? Not too bad, yeah?” He smiled while backing away to admire the little bit of work that he’s done.

“I mean it hurts, but it’s not the worst pain ever.” You jested.

“Yeah, definitely not the most pleasant feeling.” He responded while turning around in his chair to dip the tip of the needle into a small container of ink.

“Want me to keep going?” He was turning back around in his chair with an encouraging grin.

You nodded while mumbling a reassuring yes.

With that, he was pressing against your skin again with the needle of the gun, tracing the purple ink of the stencil he had outlined earlier. Slowly, he dragged the needle centimeter by centimeter along the bone of your hip.

It wasn’t until now that you realized how close the placement of the tattoo was to your center. His hand rested just above the thin underwear you wore. His hand brushed the skin every now and then each time he changed the angle of the gun.

You found yourself wincing as he neared your core. It seemed to sting a lot more as the needle moved closer and closer to your center.

“I know, I know.” He cooed, “It hurts a bit more here, huh?” He questioned. He must have noticed your discomfort.

“Yeah,” You breathed, casting your gaze away from the gun in hopes that it would somehow lessen the pain. “Doesn’t feel great.” You continued.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He apologized, “I’m almost done with this section. You’re doing pretty well for your first time though.” He complimented.

You wondered how he could tell it was your first tattoo. You don’t remember mentioning it to him. Maybe it’s just his tattoo artist intuitive—knowing whether it’s someone’s first time or not. Now that you’re thinking about it, it was probably pretty easy to tell.

“How’d you know?” You still questioned anyway.

He smiled, “An artist can always tell.”

You simply nodded.

“Why a bumblebee?” He questioned, flickering his eyes from the half-finished insect and onto your face.

You shrugged, “I’m not sure. They’re cute.”

“They’re cute?” He repeated as a grin began pulling at the corners of his lips, a small chuckle leaving his mouth soon after.

You have never been one to judge those who get tattoos that hold little to no sentimental value, including yourself. Bees are cute and you can’t argue with that. You believed that not all tattoos need to hold some sort of meaning, though those that do are just as cool.

Hell, if someone were to get a piece of corn tattooed on their sternum, you would do nothing but applaud them.

To each their own, right?

“I’ve seen you before.” You spoke, trying to make conversation to drown out the annoying hum of the tattoo gun.

“Yeah?” He stopped for a moment to meet your eyes with curious ones, “Where?”

“You really don’t remember?” You questioned, a hint of discontent beginning to lace your tone.

He backed away for a moment to lean back in his chair. He looked contemplative in thought as he kept his eyes on yours. His chin found itself resting in the palm of his hand as he took a minute to flip through the arbitrary cabinet files in his brain.

Suddenly, as if a broken lightbulb finally flickered to life above his head, his mouth fell open in realization.

“The farmers market.” He chimed, “I do remember you. Your hair’s different.” A smile made its way onto his face.

You returned the small gesture, smiling back in response.

For some odd reason, you couldn't seem to get that day out of your head—the day you two met .

You had first noticed him looking at jars of organic honey. From the looks of it, he was having trouble deciding which brand to get. He almost looked frustrated as he flitted his gaze from jar to jar.

His hair was long and dark, it almost reached the middle of his back. Half of it was messily tied into a bun while the rest flowed down his plain white t-shirt. You vividly remember him wearing sweatpants even though it was nearing a hundred degrees. You mentally noted that he was most likely insane.

He was attractive in a way that would make a woman swoon. His features were sharp and etched out damn near perfectly. His eyebrows were full and his ears were decorated with an array of black jewelry. You also noted that he had a scar running along his forehead.

You remember telling him which brand you preferred and when he asked you why, all you said was, “The bee on that jar is cuter.” With a small shrug.

You complimented the arm of his that was littered with tattoos. You told him that your favorite was the snake that wrapped around his bicep. He mentioned that it was one of the first ones he had ever gotten. You remember telling him that you’ve always wanted one.

The two of you ended up exchanging phone numbers at the end of the conversation, but it’s been almost three weeks and not a single attempt at a follow-up call was made from either of you.

“You never called.” He finally spoke, knocking you out of your thoughts.

“Neither did you.” You reminded.

Geto shrugged, “You make me nervous.” He replied as he began to press the needle against your skin once again.

“Nervous?” You laughed. “How so?”

“Pretty girls make me nervous.” Is all he said while turning around to dip the needle in the container of ink.

You grinned childishly, “So you think I’m pretty?”

Geto looked up at you and said nothing. His eyes almost looked as if they were trying to speak for him, saying something along the lines of, let’s be serious .

For some reason, the look he gave you had your lower stomach growing warm with a heat that slowly made its way to your core. You weren’t sure what it was, but the feeling had you on the verge of pushing your thighs together before him.

You looked around the shop’s interior as he worked away at your hip to distract yourself from the buzzing heat between your legs.You noticed that it was empty, there was no one there besides the two of you.

“Yeah, It’s slow today.” He commented.

You notice how he had been shuffling in his seat every now and then, almost as if he was readjusting himself. If you weren’t mistaken, his shorts seemed to be growing tighter by the second. Maybe it was just your mind getting the best of you, but it was getting hard to ignore.

That buzzing heat from earlier quickly turned into arousal and soon, you could feel the wetness beginning to trickle out of your entrance. It wasn’t long before you began to feel it drenching your underwear.

There was no doubt in your mind that he couldn’t see it. He was right there —right in front of your warm cunt, his hand dangerously close too as he worked his way closer and closer to your center.

“You hanging in there okay?” He questioned, a hint of concern flooding his tone, “Don’t pass out on me.” He was only half-joking.

He must’ve noticed your discomfort by the way you were pushing your thighs together in an attempt to alleviate the dull throbbing between your legs.

“No, I’m not—I mean I’m not going to pass out. I’m fine, I just,” You shamefully dropped your head to look at your underwear, but stuttered as his gaze followed yours. His lips parted slightly once he was met with the wet patch between your legs.

“Oh,” Is all he was able to say.

Your cheeks grew warm with embarrassment as you waited for him to say something, anything .

God , you had never been so ashamed in your life. Who gets turned in the midst of getting a tattoo? No one but you of course. But who could blame you? The way he looked at you, how close he was to your core, the way he himself was growing hard—it was all too much.

“You uh–you,” He stuttered as he tried to find the right words to say. Hell, are there even right words to say in a situation like this?

“I’m sorry,” You started, “It’s just–oh my God, I don’t know.” You mumbled as you began sitting up.

You were about to stand up to grab your pants off the chair beside you, but before you could, a hand was reaching up to grab at your arm.

“Look.” He muttered.

You followed his gaze until it landed on his shorts. Just as you thought, you weren’t mistaken. The bulge hidden beneath the fabric was large and prominent.

“Is it my fault?” You questioned, your voice quiet yet curious.

Geto hummed in response.

You brought your gaze back up to meet his and once you saw his eyes again, they were a lot darker than before. Maybe even a little wider. His pupils seemed to be blown out and filled with need.

“How ‘bout we take a break, yeah?” He asked, or more so stated. “Looks like we need one.” He finished.

You nodded in agreement as you began to sit back down. Geto was standing to his feet in front of you before beginning to walk closer, his beaming figure towering over you.

“Can we make a deal?” He questioned as he stood in front of you, eyes locked on yours.

You muttered a small yes .

“How ‘bout we help each other out, what do you think?” He hummed, “I’ll help you, then you’ll help me in return.” He continued.

You nodded almost immediately, embarrassingly fast.

“Yeah? You like that idea?” He spoke again as a grin began working its way onto his face.

As you silently nodded, his hand was coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb inched closer to your bottom lip until it was pushing itself into your mouth.

You wrapped your lips around him, beginning to suck on the salty digit like a baby. His mouth fell open at the sight of you so sweet and compliant. From this alone, he knew you’d do just about anything he’d ask.

“Fuck, look at you.” He muttered before pausing as he took his other hand to thread it through your hair. He began to slowly pull your head back, forcing your gaze onto the ceiling, your mouth still wide.

“Open a little wider.” He mumbled, his thumb still in your mouth.

You obliged, hesitantly opening your mouth just a bit more.

“Wider.” He repeated.

You opened your mouth even wider if that were even possible. Geto proceeded to gather saliva in his mouth before lolling his tongue out and letting his spit drip from his mouth into yours.

The sudden action shocked you so much, your poor brain couldn’t even process what was happening until he was forcefully closing your mouth with his hand before muttering for you to swallow it all.

“You don’t even know me all that well, yet you allowed me to spit in your mouth.” He commented. “Who does that?”

You remained quiet as you stared up at him, eyes full of nothing but desperation and want. You could feel your cheeks growing warm at his comment. You hated that he was right, who does that?

“What else would you let me do?” He questioned as he began to reach toward your damp underwear.

Slowly, he dragged his fingers along the fabric. You felt him press just a little harder as he neared your clit, eliciting a small whimper from your mouth.

“You’d probably let me fuck you, wouldn’t you?” He spoke, “I bet you’d beg me to cum inside too, huh? Beg me to breed your tight little cunt, get you fucking pregnant.”

As he spoke, he was beginning to pull your underwear to the side in order to slide his fingers along your folds. You found yourself nodding slowly as you sucked in a tight breath, eyebrows furrowing in arousal.

“You look like the type.” He commented.

He began to push two fingers inside of you without so much as a warning. You gasped as he bottomed out at his knuckles. He couldn’t stop himself from groaning at the feeling of your warm cunt wrapping around long fingers. He couldn’t help but to wonder what you’d feel like wrapping around his cock instead. He’d sure as hell find out though.

“Please.” You mumbled, your eyes begging for something, anything .

Ignoring you, Geto continued.

“And this little ass shirt,” He paused as he brought a hand up to roughly grope your chest through the fabric, running his fingers along your hardening nipples, “You probably planned this, didn’t you?”

You frantically shook your head, muttering a small no .

“Don’t lie to me. Like I said, you look like the type.” He scoffed. “Take this off.” He demanded as he tugged at the fabric of your shirt, fingers still buried in your cunt.

Almost immediately, you were slipping your shirt over your head and dropping it beside you, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. You sat sheepishly in front of him as his eyes took in the sight before him.

Your pretty tits were on display for him, nipples nice and hard. He dragged his gaze down your body until he met with your waist and how it branched out into beautiful, wide hips. As he brought his eyes down a bit further, he was met with his fingers as they were tucked away inside of you.

He pulled them out of you completely before shoving them back inside. He repeated the action until he found a pace that had you reaching for his hand in an attempt to slow his thrusts.

“Move your hand.” He muttered.

Reluctantly, you pulled your hand away and allowed it to rest at your side. Geto began using his thumb to rub tight circles on your sensitive clit. Your mouth fell open at the feeling as your head began to fall back onto the chair.

“Feels s’good.” You whimpered, chest beginning to heave in arousal.

“Yeah? You want my mouth on you too?” He questioned.

He gave you no time to respond as he was falling to his knees before you so that he could be face to face with your warm cunt. Immediately, he was replacing his thumb with his lips as he began to suck on the bundle of nerves, eliciting a shallow gasp from your mouth.

“Oh… oh my God.” You cried as your hands threaded themselves through his hair, attempting to pull him closer.

His fingers never stopped pumping inside of you as he dragged his tongue along your clit. His pace remained steady while his tongue lapped at every bit of arousal that slipped from your leaking hole.

Moan after moan fell from your lips as he pushed you closer and closer to an inevitable orgasm. You rolled your hips against his tongue, back arching up off the chair at every sudden flick of the wet muscle. Geto’s free hand was slipping under the small of your back, helping you maintain that pretty arch.

He hummed in satisfaction as he licked through you, eyes locked onto yours to ensure you were watching his every movement. Every now and then, when your eyes would flutter shut, Geto would mumble for you to keep them open for him and that if you closed them again, he would stop.

The lewd squelching of your walls sucking him in so greedily filled the room, along with your whimpers and his hums of contentment. The many different sounds created a harmonious echo that seemed to reverberate off the walls of the parlor, filling your ears peerlessly.

You could feel yourself beginning to flutter around his fingers as he pushed them in and out of you, the sensation becoming overwhelming.

"Please–fuck," Was all you managed to cry as you felt the impending orgasm building deep inside of you, threatening to snap at any given moment. Part of you was afraid you wouldn’t even have time to warn him.

Geto pulled his fingers out of you, only to replace them with his tongue. He shoved his tongue inside of you in an attempt to taste you from the inside and God , did you taste good.

You laid there before him, mouth wide and chest heaving whilst he fucked you with his tongue. His thumb found its way back to your clit and it began tracing circles onto the bud once again.

You whined as you felt your lower stomach beginning to tighten, begging for some sort of release. That feeling spread throughout your body, making its way to your toes and even the tip of your nose.

“M’gonna cum,” You mumbled, “Please–m’gonna cum.”

Geto quickly replaced his tongue with his fingers to urge you to cum for him. His voice was hoarse and needy as he spoke.

“Cum on my face,” He muttered, “I know you’ve been wanting to.”

You didn’t need much encouragement because with that, you were releasing yourself before him, panting and whimpering like a fucking puppy, mumbling nonsense that neither of you were able to comprehend.

As your walls fluttered around his fingers, his pace never faltered. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking harshly in an attempt to get more from you.

He hummed as he lapped at your release, drinking you up and continuing to slip his fingers inside of you as if he were trying to collect all of your cum.

After enough begging and attempts to push him away, he finally stood to his feet, face glistening in both your arousal and cum. Without warning, he was leaning down to connect his lips with yours, forcing you to taste yourself on his lips. He didn’t even bother to wipe his face before kissing you but you didn’t seem to mind.

You even took it upon yourself to clean it up for him, dragging your tongue along his face to drink up the mess you’ve created. You hummed as you licked at his skin, collecting every last drop of your release before finally reconnecting your lips with his.

“God, I knew you were nasty.” He mumbled, lips still slotted against yours.

Your tongue was slipping into his mouth, desperate to feel his pushing against yours. Once his tongue met yours, you hummed as his hand began reaching for the back of your head in an attempt to deepen the kiss. Your mouths moved in sync with one another, teeth nearly clashing as the two of you explored each other's mouths.

Geto eventually had to will himself to pull away from you in order to move you from the chair and onto the floor below. With a hand to your head, he was forcefully pushing you to your knees before gripping at the waistband of his shorts to pull them down, along with his underwear.

Slowly, he stroked himself before you, your face directly in front of his cock. He held out a hand in front of your face, just below your mouth before asking you to spit in his palm to which you quickly obliged. Immediately, you were gathering saliva in your mouth before lolling out your tongue, allowing it to messily fall into his hand.

“That’s a good fucking girl.” He praised while using that same hand to stroke himself once again, coating himself in your saliva.

“You wanna put your lips on it, don’t you?” He questioned as he began to drag the tip of his cock along your wet lips before gently prodding them. You could taste the bittersweetness of the precum that coated the head.

You nodded slowly as you looked up at him. His eyes were low, hooded and filled with nothing but lust. You could feel yourself growing impossibly wetter as you kneeled before him.

God , he was so fucking hard. The tip wept with several beads of precum while the remainder of him seemed to gently throb with arousal. His balls even looked nice and full, begging from somewhere, anywhere to release themselves.

“Yeah, I know you fucking do.” Is all he said before pushing himself all the way into your mouth, eliciting a gag from your throat.

“That’s it,” He muttered through gritted teeth, “I want you to take all of it.”

You allowed him to pull himself out of your mouth before shoving it right back inside until he hit the back of your throat, forcing yet another gag out of you. Already, you could feel your eyes beginning to brim with thick tears that would eventually fall whether that be sooner or later.

Your mouth felt so full as he began to fuck your face. You could hardly breathe as his cock stretched out your poor jaw. With each thrust, you swore he was somehow reaching deeper and deeper.

Silent grunts and choked breaths began to fall from Geto’s lips as he pushed himself in and out of your mouth. He sucked in a tight breath once he felt his balls graze your lower lip. God, he wished your mouth was deep enough to fit them in there too.

Both of his hands found themselves threading into the hair at the nape of your neck. He began to push your head onto him as he thrusted into your mouth. Gag after gag fell from your lips as he continued to abuse your poor throat.

Each time Geto pushed himself down your throat, a visible bulge could be seen from the outside. He took a large hand to place it over your throat, holding it there for a second just to admire the way his cock would disappear and reappear each time he slid back into your mouth. The feeling of his hand around your neck made your stomach flutter. He loved how big he looked inside of you.

“So fuckin’ good,” He groaned, his head falling back to dangle over his shoulders as his eyes threatened to roll to the back of his head.

He held himself still for just for a moment, still buried nice and deep. He admired the way you gagged and sputtered around him. Saliva slipped from the corners of your mouth and down your chin.

Geto brought a hand down to your face to wipe away the saliva with his thumb. He brought the wet digit to his mouth to suck it clean. You could feel more and more of your arousal slipping from your entrance at that action alone.

“You make me wanna cum.” He breathed, “God, you make me wanna cum so much–so fuckin’ pretty for me.”

You took it upon yourself to hollow your cheeks as you felt him beginning to twitch in your mouth to help him out just a little. Your attempt was immediately cut short when Geto was quickly pulling himself out of your mouth to avoid cumming before he wanted to.

“Not yet,” He panted, “Inside–I’m cumming inside of you.”

You felt your lower stomach begin to flip in arousal as you imagined the feeling of his thick, white seed dripping out of you. He’d probably make you put on your underwear immediately after so that none of it would go to waste, not that you minded that anyway.

Geto was walking away to kneel on the opposite end of the long chair in which you sat. He began moving closer so that he could push your legs apart before moving your underwear to the side. He was then lining himself up with your leaking entrance.

Without saying much of anything, Geto was slipping himself inside of you with a hiss. Given how wet you were along with your saliva that dripped from his cock, he slid in almost too easily.

Your mouth fell open as he pushed himself completely inside of you, bottoming out in a single thrust. His warm, fat balls were pressing against your ass as he held himself still for just a moment, admiring how full you looked from him already.

“Ah–fuck, I knew this slutty little pussy would take me so fuckin’ well.” He groaned as he began to draw his hips back before snapping them forward to meet with yours. “So fuckin’ tight–God.”

He repeated the action––drawing his hips back far enough until the tip of his cock was just barely resting at your entrance before slamming himself back inside of you with a groan of pleasure. He continued to do this until he picked up a quick enough pace that had your tits bouncing in front of him.

He watched as your mouth hung agape while small pants and whimpers fell from it. His eyes dragged from your lips, all the way to your chest, admiring the way the fat of your breasts would jiggle with each thrust.

He was dragging a harsh hand up your body to massage your tits, rolling and pinching your hardening nipples between his fingers. He even took it upon himself to lean forward in order to slip one of the buds into his mouth before sucking on the sensitive spot with a content hum.

“So good,” You moaned, vision going hazy as he continued to fuck himself into your tight little cunt. “You’re s’good–feels too good.”

“Yeah?” He hummed as he began to trail sloppy kisses up your chest.

He dragged his lips up your body until they were pressing against the skin of your throat. His tongue was then sliding along your neck before gently nipping at the skin with his teeth. A shallow gasp fell from your lips at the action.

Geto’s hands found themselves slipping under your thighs in order to push them up, pinning them to your chest. This way, he was able to fuck himself much deeper inside of you.

As he began to fuck you like this, you swore you could feel his cock all the way in your throat. He was fucking you with all of his weight as his hands pressed against the back of your thighs.

“I bet no man has ever fucked you like this,” He paused for a moment to allow a guttural moan to fall from his lips, “Legs pressed to your chest with a cock buried inside of you.”

You could only whimper in response, furrowing your eyebrows as your mouth hung wide.

“You like getting fucked like this?” He continued, “Like a fuckin’ slut, hm?” His words were immediately followed with a groan.

You only nodded, no sound seemed to form.

“Answer me, don’t just fucking nod your head.” He spoke as one of hands were reaching up to grip at your face, squishing your cheeks in the process.

You began nodding once again, but this time you were mumbling small yeses and pleads.

Geto pulled himself all the way out of you, the tip of himself resting just at your entrance. You almost wanted to frown at the loss of contact.

With one of his hands, he took his cock and began rubbing the head along the expanse of your cunt, careful as to not miss a single part of you. The head easily slipped around, gliding and glistening in your arousal, coating his shaft in a nice, sleek layer.

He dragged himself from your clit, all the way down to your entrance again, pushing in the head just a bit, only to pull it out just as quickly. He did that a few times, seeing how long you could endure the torture before you would eventually lose your fucking mind.

It wasn’t long before you started whining at the absence of him. Geto wasn’t even surprised. It hadn’t even been more than a few seconds before you started huffing irritated breaths, whimpering his name, and muttering all kinds of pathetic pleads.

As if to shut you up, Geto was pushing himself back inside of you with a barely audible whimper.

“You’re just so desperate,” He moaned. “I bet this isn’t even enough for you, is it?”

You shook your head. You wondered how he could tell.

“You want more?” He queried, leaning down so that his lips could hover just above yours as he spoke. “I know you do.” He cooed.

“Yes.” You whined while lifting yourself up to connect his lips with yours, “More… I need more, please.”

With that, Geto was slipping himself out of you before turning you around. He had you on your knees while your hands gripped the chair in front of you. He was then pushing your legs apart so that he had the perfect view of your leaking cunt from behind.

You felt him running his fingers along your folds, dipping inside your hole every once in a while, further spreading your arousal.

“You don't even know me,” He began, “I’m practically a fucking stranger, yet you’re letting me fuck you raw, no condom, nothing .” He continued, beginning to whisper toward the end of his sentence.

He stuffed three of his fingers inside of you, forcing you to cry out. You whined as you felt him beginning to pump them inside of you, not because it was too much, but because it simply wasn’t enough.

His fingers came nowhere near as long and thick as his cock. You almost felt empty as he fucked you with his fingers. You rolled your hips against his hand in an attempt to get more from him, but it still wasn’t enough.

You need him––not only his cock, but his cum.

“What? My fingers aren’t enough for this needy little pussy?” As he spoke, he was leaning forward to speak into your ear, his lips brushing the skin.

You quickly shook your head.

“You want more?” He cooed as he began to drag his lips along the skin of your neck. He placed several openmouthed kisses to the area before pulling away to turn your head toward him. “You want my cum?”

You nodded your head as he forced your gaze onto his. As he kneeled behind you with your face in his hand, his grasp was tight enough you have your lips sitting in a cute little pout.

He placed a wet kiss to your pouty lips before letting go of you to turn you back around. He proceeded to push your body forward, forcing your face to collide with the cushion of the chair. 

He began to push himself inside of you once again, but held his hand on the back of your head as he fucked you. He had a feeling you’d move far too much so this was his attempt at keeping you grounded.

“You should’ve called me.” He muttered, thrusts never faltering, “Could’ve had you like this weeks ago, crying and stuttering around my cock.”

You could only apologize as his balls slapped against your ass, creating a wet, squelching noise that only seemed to add to your arousal. You mumbled apology after apology, regretting never having called him.

“It’s okay because you know what?” He began talking but cut himself off with a chain of heavy moans. “After I’m done with you, you won’t ever stop calling me.” He grunted.

“You’ll call me every fucking day, begging me to fuck you like this again.” He continued, “‘Cause no one fucks you like this. No one knows how to satisfy this needy little cunt like me, do they?”

All you could do was shake your head in response, unable to properly respond.

And though you hated to admit it, he was right. After this, there was no doubt in your mind that you would become a cock-drunk slut that would only crave him. You were afraid that you’d somehow become dependent, needy, and useless without his cock buried inside of you.

“No one knows that you like having someone else's spit in your mouth, or that you like to be fucked like a dog. No one knows that you enjoy being called a nasty little slut, do they?” He spat.

You whimpered at his words, whining as tension began building in your lower stomach. The feeling of your abdomen clenching, begging for some sort of release had your walls fluttering around his cock, indicating that you were close, so fucking close.

He dropped his head so that it could rest within the crook of your neck before speaking, “And no one knows that you like letting strangers cum inside of you, do they?” He spoke, his lips pressed to your neck.

“No,” You breathed, chest heaving, “No–no one knows.” You said while panting.

Geto scoffed. He almost found it pathetic, sad even. Never in his life had he met someone who would let a literal stranger fuck them senseless without even knowing their full name. It amazed him how willing and compliant you were for him. He wondered if you were always this way when it came to sex.

“Oh, God.” He groaned, head falling back to dangle over his broad shoulders.

He could feel his lower stomach growing with a need for release, begging for somewhere to create a sticky mess. His cock began to twitch, throbbing in hopes that soon it’d be able to cum inside of you.

As Geto neared his high, you felt yourself beginning to release all over his cock. A continuous chain of moans and whimpers fell from your lips as you began coating him in your milky-white cum. The way your legs started to tremble, threatening to give out beneath you had Geto reaching for your hips with both hands to keep you still as he was about to fuck his seed into you

“Look at you, makin’ such a mess–fuck.” He groaned, “M’gonna fill you up then fuck it nice and deep.” He breathed, the tension in his stomach threatening to snap at any given moment.

Geto’s pace started to slow in the slightest, but his thrusts were just as forceful. His breathing picked up as he began to pant like a fucking dog, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“M’cumming… holy fuck–oh, God. I’m cumming” He whined, hips stuttering as he began releasing several ropes of his seed inside of you, coating your walls in the sticky substance.

He continued to fuck you through his orgasm, ensuring you were stuffed nice and full. There was absolutely nothing stopping you from getting pregnant and there was no doubt in your mind that you’d end up all big and round with his baby inside of you.

“God, look at this.” He spoke as he began to pull himself out of you, “Such a fucking mess.” He began dragging his finger along your folds, collecting the mixture of cum before pushing the digits inside of you.

You winced at the feeling of his fingers pressing against your sensitive cunt. The feeling was a bit much. His intentions weren’t to get you off again, but to make sure none of his cum would go to waste. Once he was finished stuffing you full, he proceeded to pull your underwear back into place, watching in admiration as the fabric dampened with his release.

The atmosphere was warm and it smelled of sex. Geto watched as you reached for your shirt, slipping it over your head before shooting him a sheepish smile. He returned the small gesture, grinning in response.

“You think you’re gonna call me this time?” He jested as he began to pull his shorts back up his thighs.

You hummed in feign contemplation, though you already knew what your answer was. As you repositioned yourself back into the chair, you watched as he walked to the nearby sink to wash his hands before slipping on a new pair of black latex gloves.

“Maybe by the time I finish your tattoo, you’ll have an answer for me, though I’m pretty confident I know what you’re thinking.” He responded almost knowingly as he walked back over to where he previously sat.

Little did you know, this was the beginning of a newfound obsession. An unprofessional one at that. What the fuck did you just start?

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*: ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

Hey, you! Did you like this? Click here for more!

[shibaraki]

AN OBSERVER OF LONGING ┊ IWAIZUMI HAJIME

synopsis: with a few days remaining, the five of you run from Tooru and Hajime's impending departure for a little longer—and tackle some unearthed feelings along the way.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader, childhood best friends to lovers, romantic + sexual tension, mutual pining, a lot of casual physical affection, sharing a bed, angst + fluff, masturbation, festivals, alcohol consumption (everyone) + smoking (makki), yay love confessions, emotional hurt/comfort, eventual smut, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (reader rec.)

wc: 18K

↳ written in three days while in my feels and on new medication: for the komorebi collab hosted by yours truly lmao ↰

Like most impulsive plans it stemmed from a tipsy throwaway comment. Ruddy cheeks, the warm, honey tinge of whiskey on his breath, Hajime’s lips came loose. 

“We should go somewhere together,” he’d said, ensconced by the booth cushions. Your gaze met meaningfully across the table, half lidded and dopey. Even as Issei’s arm wrestled its way around his neck and jostled him, wrangled him closer with the promise of teasing, Hajime had not looked away from you. 

“Oh! Let’s rent a little bus, like in the movies. That’s a cute idea,” Tooru enthused, inflection slurred by the warmth of his liquor. “Hajime, who knew you could be so cute?”

“Hajime has always been cute,” Issei drawled, eyes gleaming as his knuckles successfully rub back and forth over Hajime’s skull, even as the man squirms against it. “But you’re both leaving again soon. We can’t go far, or for long”.

It had been pure luck that Tooru and Hajime managed to synchronise their brief visit home in the first place. You think that they might’ve even conspired to match their flight times as close as humanly possible, just so they could find one another in the airport upon arrival. 

“Now look. Poor ‘kawa,” Takahiro strummed his finger over Tooru’s puckered bottom lip, pink and plush as it bounces back. “Quick. Tell him he’s cuter before he starts crying”. 

And just like that, the drink-addled idea passed. You, however, let it marinate in the morning that followed. Knowing that it was Hajime who suggested it felt significant. He’s the quiet sentimental type. With both his and Tooru’s upcoming departures you had fully expected to be inundated with their company—savouring the remaining time you had left, never quite touching on the topic, still too tender for the three of you. It surprised you. A trip felt final. Another last hurrah. The tying of loose ends, to separate on a good note. 

Ultimately you decided to forward a link to an article detailing different overnight itineraries and festivals to the group chat with hopes of bringing it to fruition. Now you found yourself standing beside Hajime’s car under an early eventide in a pair of old sweatpants too long at the ankle and listening to them bicker, wondering why you ever got the ball rolling. 

Phone, check. Keys, check. ID, check. Wallet, check. Overnight bag—

You glare down at the offending object propped on the ground beside your feet. A good twenty minutes of your frantic afternoon had been spent trying to zip the thing shut. Check.

“But Hajime, the otter cafe!”

Tooru yelps, and you glance up in time to watch as Iwaizumi jostles and loosens his grip, “No. We don’t have time. We’re sticking to the plan".

“Are those even ethical?” Issei wonders under his breath, bending at your side to lift the case and ignoring your weak protests. It’s handed off to Hajime with ease, and you allow yourself a brief appreciative glimpse of the muscle flexing under his fitted shirt. 

You shake your head, full of mirth as you call to him, “Tooru”.

The sinking sun is crowning his head in a dewy flare. Tooru looks up from Hajime’s back and the halo slips, highlighting the hidden wispy strands of ginger by his temples. Balmed lips pouted, his brow arched in question.

“Stop fussing and sit with me”. 

The curiosity smooths out and he looks increasingly pleased at the request. It lasts a few sweet moments, broken by the smug uptick of his mouth. Tooru grins, “Of course you want to sit next to me. I’m your favourite after all”. 

Years of repetitive back and forth taught you that arguing that point was futile. With a fond eye roll, you reach across in his approach to pinch at his bicep. “Just get in the car before I change my mind,” you say. 

You duck in to sit beside Tooru as he scrambles for the window seat. Hajime is angled toward you while he fiddles with the centre console, a muscled arm wrapped around the headrest, deliberately waiting for you to meet his gaze. When you do, he mouths the words, “Thank you”. 

From the minute you met there’d always been something there. Maybe it was pheromonic, the way you know something is right the instant you find it; or maybe it was the chubby, six year old hands that plucked the cicada shell from your hair one summer morning. Presque vu, years spent waiting on the tip of your tongue. It doesn’t escape you that this might be the last chance to do anything about it. 

You’re shaken from your reverie when the car rocks on its axles. Issei throws himself into the far right passenger seat beside you with a heavy sigh. Broad shoulders push you closer into Tooru, thighs pressed together and feet parted awkwardly on either side of the rear suspension. 

Takahiro excitedly clambers in the front with an energy drink in hand, uncapped, earning an indignant shout from Hajime when he slams the door with too much force. 

“Oi—!” 

You grin as he struggles to dodge Hajime’s successive smacks. “Alright, alright! I’m sorry, be nice!” 

“I told you already, it's my dad’s car. That means no tracking dirt, no spilling anything, and no smoking inside. Capiche?”

“Aye-aye,” Issei drones, knuckles grazing your hip where he fastens his seatbelt. There is little space, yet it is oddly comforting. Tooru snorts, slumping until a head of unkempt brown hair rests heavily against your shoulder, tilting briefly to nuzzle your jaw. 

The radio switches on automatically as the engine starts, an initial splutter tapering off into a gentle hum. You reciprocate Tooru’s affection and rub your cheek over his crown, inhaling the familiar scent of coconut milk shampoo. He takes your weight without complaint, and when Issei leans forward to receive a sip of Takahiro’s energy drink, your knees knock together. 

Hakone was the chosen destination, thanks to a local festival taking place tomorrow. Of the five of you, Hajime is the best driver in terms of navigation and road knowledge. Issei is a close second. Both Tooru and Takahiro got their licences for the sake of convenience, but you doubt they could make their way around a clockwise roundabout without crying. 

Takahiro whoops, his hand thudding in line with the beat on the car roof, “Road trip!” 

The scenery becomes less and less familiar, turning onto streets you do not recognise. Heading west out of Tokyo toward the Chuo Expressway, it isn’t until a passenger window is opened and a gust billows into the car that you shake the final dregs of sleep. Tooru’s hair is whipping in the wind as Hajime reaches for the radio and switches channels, bass vibrating through the speakers. 

Reality sets in like a slow simmer and excitement buzzes under your skin as the giddiness swells. You lean forward, cheek squashed unflatteringly to the back of the driver's seat, and paw at Hajime’s arm. 

“Turn it up, Haji”. 

Above the road ahead is a large blue sign detailing directions to Lake Kawaguchi—a purposeful detour, for the sake of acting like tourists. There’s a spot with a perfect view of Mount Fuji. Despite having lived only a forty minute ride from Tokyo, you can’t say you’d ever thought to look at it outside of a postcard. 

It’s nice to step into the shoes of another. View the country through a less acclimated lense. You’re taken through winding roads that thread between verdant mountains; entrenched by nature, only to be thrown out into the open as the foliage breaks. 

Lake Kawaguchi greets you brightly, the sunset surface glittering across a vast horizon. You are yelling harmoniously with Takahiro as it comes into view. Issei’s phone is already pressed against the window, scenery rolling across the camera screen as he repeatedly taps his thumb to recalibrate the focus. 

“I can hear you laughing at me,” he casts a suspicious look over his shoulder. 

You grin, “You’re such an old man”. 

“We’ll park just up here. There’s a good spot for pictures down by the bank,” Hajime says, the heel of his hand flat to the wheel as it turns left. “Not too far to walk. Pretty sure there’s a cafe just nearby, too”. 

You watch his reflection in the rear view mirror, admiring the soft crinkles by his eyes. His mouth isn’t visible but you know he’s smiling. Issei bumps his knee into yours—again. Simultaneously, Tooru bends make quiet kissing noises against your ear. Swatting them isn’t justice enough, and threatening to throw them out of the moving vehicle only makes them snicker. 

The car park is entirely deserted and unmonitored, surrounded by brush. No line markings or need for payment, just a part of the ground carved out and filled with gravel that crunches beneath the tires as it displaces. Cruising toward the far end of the lot, Hajime chooses the spot right by an old staircase that appears to lead down the bank. 

He pulls the handbrake with a resounding click and shuts off the engine. Comfortable silence befalls you as the radio cuts out. Soft, muted chirps rippled throughout the treeline, and as Issei popped open his car door, those first few notes bloomed into many more.

You climb out and step onto the uneven ground, the crisp air pinching the tips of your ears. You reach up and rub at them, running your palms over your cheeks in hopes of warmth. It isn’t cold—just refreshing. Cool enough to feel it in your sinuses when you breathe. 

“Come on,” Tooru whines. He’s already stood by the railing, weight shifting restlessly between his feet. You smile at the bounce of his hair, frame outlined in darkening sunlight, breaking through the curls like a canopy. 

An arm snakes loosely around your back and Hajime pulls you into his embrace. You fall in line with him, his pace purposefully slowed to remain at your side. He guides you forward, and once you’re close enough, the others begin to descend the staircase. 

You hear Issei whistle. Glancing up from the final step, you’re met with a watercolour come to life. Open skies, there lay smudges of orange, red and pink. No telling up from down. The surface of the lake is completely still, reflecting a perfect mirror view of Mount Fuji. 

“Wow,” you murmur, breathless. Hajime hums in agreement, awe bleeding into the sound. Tooru is crouched near the water, struck with wonder, idly swirling his fingertips over the surface as Takahiro and Issei station either side of him, the pair deep in thought. 

Dragging your eyes from the picturesque view, you take in the emotion on Hajime’s face. People always claimed him to be intimidating—he could be, without question. But to you, Hajime was made up entirely of soft lines, deliberate kindness and telegraphed movements, as though he were a gentle giant, despite being the shortest of the four players. 

He still carries some chub in his cheeks. You know, because you’re often inundated with the urge to pinch at it. This is your Hajime, the one you’ve always known; only now there’s stubble lining his jaw. 

“It’s grown back again already,” you comment sotto voce, careful not to disturb the pensive atmosphere that has settled by the lakes edge. “You really are a big boy now”.  

“It’s annoying”. 

“Looks good though,” you muse. “Kinda rugged. I like it”. 

His throat flexes as he swallows, hand coming up to itch his jawline, and you try not to stare. It’s always so easy to turn him pink. “You do?” 

Too much, you think, poking the swell of his cheek in lieu of a response. It yields under the pressure, and as he smiles it takes on the appearance of a dimple. 

Casual affection was second nature, now. You found yourself thankful for the excuse to touch, and knowing that he’ll be leaving soon has emboldened you somewhat. All those years ago you’d preemptively decided that crossing the threshold would lead to rejection, but the initial borders defining your relationship have long since blurred, and it’s hard not to wonder where you truly stand. If you got it right.

“Guys,” Takahiro demands your attention, hand cupped by his mouth with a lit cigarette held precariously between his fingers. The other is in the air waving his phone back and forth. “We’re here to marvel at the miracles of mother nature, not each other!”

You step out of Hajime’s embrace, disguising your reluctance. 

Joining their lanky huddle rewards you with a chorus of cheers as Tooru latches on to your back and props his chin atop your shoulder. He flashes an effortless peace sign. The others attempt to fit themselves into the frame mirrored on Hanamaki’s phone screen, an iridescent crack running from one corner to the other, Mount Fuji’s blushing snowy peaks crowning your heads. 

“You really gotta get that fixed,” you hear someone say. Their voice is muffled, as if they’d been talking with their lips closed, and one glimpse finds Issei trying resolutely to keep his posed smirk in place. Your own mouth flattens into a thin line to keep yourself from laughing. 

The camera shutters.

You groan, “I wasn’t ready for that one”. 

A few more are taken and sent to the group chat, eyes on you while you set a particularly sweet one as your wallpaper. Crowing with delight, you find yourself surrounded by bodies and squeezed in a firm group hug. 

“Alright, alright,” you huff. The discomfort stems more from the insistent, cramping sensation in your stomach. Your smaller hands meet a hard, muscled abdomen, pushing fruitlessly. Neither man budges. If anything, your resistance only encourages them to coil tighter. “You’re all too heavy. Get off!” 

They relent, but only at the sound of your gut rumbling. “Hungry?” Hajime asks. The sheathing sun reflects in his irises, burning bright, verdant green, as though he were part of spring itself; soft in apology.

“Food is that way,” Issei points toward a stout, cosy structure further along, tucked atop the edge of a hill and half hidden by a cradle of Japanese maple. If you squint you could make out the moving silhouettes inside. “Looks like it’s open. Maybe”. 

Tooru cranes his neck, lips comically pursed as he looks toward the cafe. “It’s pretty romantic out here. If we have Hajime get on one knee for a picture, think they’ll give us a free meal?” 

Hajime shoves him half heartedly and clicks his tongue, “Why me? Do it yourself”. 

You watch as they share a long, unspoken moment, conversing without words. Tooru offers him a scathing look, one of total incredulity and that alone is enough to break the suspension. Hajime juts his chin in the opposite direction and turns his back, beginning a stiff march toward the cafe. 

“What was that all about?” 

“He’s so bullheaded,” Tooru muses, knuckles rapping gently to your skull as he passes. When you are offered nothing but a fond laugh in the face of your confusion, you stalk off after them. 

Petulance has you speeding ahead of the group, further picking up the pace at the sound of hurried feet. The natural instinct to run nips at your heels. As the earth begins to incline upward and your strides broaden, there’s a burn in the back of your thighs that Takahiro seems to have no issue with, if his sudden sprint ahead has anything to say about it. 

“Last one there has to pay!” 

“Bastard,” Issei hollers from the back, refusing to run and carried by his heavy gait. “Just because you’re unemployed!” 

Your lungs are burning with the exertion, laughter coming in short bursts. Issei remains in last, Tooru second, Hajime fourth. From the terrace, Takahiro pieces his thumb and forefinger together into the shape of a heart, nowhere close to apologetic. “Buy me something and I’ll give you a big wet kiss,” he returned in a singsong voice.

Issei lumbers through the gate, movements broad and slow. His brow arches, Takahiro immediately losing bravado. “You’d do that for free”. 

“Get me out of here,” Hajime mutters. “Kill me”.

You take pity on him and herd them all through the doors, “Less flirting and more pastries, please”. 

Inside is painted in rich deep browns. The fresh air weaves well with the aroma of freshly baked goods. You breathe it in, your hands dancing over shelves sparsely stocked with baskets of flatbread, loaves and cakes. While quaint, the ceilings are high, held up by large beams on which decorative lights and plants are carefully draped. 

You feel slightly awkward and out of place in your shabby old sweatpants. A calming melody is playing overhead. Soft spoken voices belonging to the few employees and fewer patrons encourage you to lower your own into a whisper. 

Hajime subtly leans down to listen as you say, “I think we should get our food to go”. 

He hides his amusement against your shoulder and you accept the brief weight with a grin. Then you feel him nod in agreement. 

Issei holds his hand out when you reach the counter. There are already multiple paper bags tucked under his arm. “Give me the goods before I change my mind,” he says, exasperation set plain on his face. 

“Thank you Issei,” you recite like a child, pressing two sweet rolls shaped like a cornet into his palm. Hajime chooses comfort—curry bread. Shared on countless late night walks home; the memories stir something melancholic deep within your chest that you’d rather not examine right now. 

Your initial concern about being out of place were not entirely unfounded. The employee behind the register greets your group kindly enough, and her smile is genuine, but you cannot ignore how her eyes seem to flicker back and forth to the disgruntled customers seated by the terrace. 

If you had to guess, they were regulars. Retired elders that lived nearby and had the privilege to spend their evenings here. Though irritating, you are honest enough to admit that your gaggle of idiots would certainly fracture this place’s peaceful ambiance. So Issei pays, feigning nonchalance at the long, wet kiss Takahiro leaves on his cheek, and you trudge back to the car with food in hand.

Tooru ambles around to the front passenger seat, hip checking Takahiro toward the back where he previously sat. You knew he might do this at some point during the trip. Eating before a car ride made him prone to nausea, and since he was young he’d claimed sitting in the front helped. Anpan held between his teeth, Tooru peers at you through the headrests and smiles with his eyes, entirely too pleased. 

Takahiro nudges your side as he clambers in. Lifting your hips, he buckles the seatbelt, and soon after you are half-draped over his lap to allow Issei to do the same. You glare at him as he wiggles his eyebrows, stopping short when he flashes you his phone. There’s a picture, this time of you and Hajime at the lake curled into each other; you’re cradled by his arms, and he by the mountainside, entirely in your own world. 

You relent, “Send me it”. 

“As I thought,” he mutters smugly. 

The lake is rarely out of view. Heading south to Hakone, the road hugs the water for most of the journey. Tooru connects his carefully curated road trip playlist to the speakers and the car swells with an old city jpop song. You pick at your sweet rolls, barely humming along; choking on feelings left to fester in your throat, unacknowledged and unspoken. 

You remember the day they told you their goals for the future. Plans to leave. Together, across from you, hands wrung in their laps. Grief filled your body like lead, and you recall thinking to yourself, half-hysterically, ‘How can I do this alone?’

That was a time in your life you couldn’t imagine a world without Tooru or Hajime in it. Day in, day out, seasons passed side by side. Three small stars converging on the same path. It never needed to be clarified—all plans were made with the tacit promise of being together. The unwillingness to part pulled even your families along and you were hard pressed to recall a first New Year shrine visit without their relatives present. Until they decided to leave. 

It’s loneliness tinged with a smidgen of guilt. You’re not truly alone. Issei and Takahiro are some of your best friends, and they weren’t going anywhere far anytime soon. Still, you can’t help but brace for the ways your orbit will further unfurl in Hajime and Tooru’s absence when they return to their lives.

Hakone is tucked in the shadow of Fuji-Hakone-Izu national park. Long, mountainous roads lead you toward an expanding vista. Faces sun drenched in varying hues of red maple, pink blossom and youthful green. The next hour and a half passes in the blink of an eye and the destination closes in. You angle your head, stretching across Takahiro’s lap and squinting up to make out the shape of ropeways cutting across the burgeoning sky. Tiny, far off carriers glide along the cables. 

Something about it compels everyone to stop and take a breath. You lapse into pleasant silence. The car slows to cruise through the busy streets, music lowered into a faint buzz. It is larger than life. 

While advertised as a quaint getaway from the chaotic, fast paced lifestyle of Tokyo, in actuality Hakone is made up of seven separate villages, each with its own distinct history. Lush hills are crowned with cumulus clouds of smoke from the hot springs; young families stand beneath tall, crimson painted torii gates; vendors shelter from the sun in conical straw hats tied beneath their chins with silk. 

To get to Gora, you must first cut through Yumoto—a lively, compact area lined with shops and restaurants that have attracted an uncomfortable amount of foot traffic. Hajime drives with his body strung tight, knuckles losing colour as yet another tourist almost walks out in front of his car. 

“Almost there, man,” Issei offers sympathetically.

Hajime grunts, “Don’t talk to me”. 

Tooru is too preoccupied with taking pictures to notice his best friend's struggles. The small noises of awe only seem to push Hajime’s shoulders higher. You have to duck away from the rear view mirror and bite your inner cheek so as not to laugh.   

Eventually, the place you’ll be staying at comes into view. You all release a collective sigh of relief. The modernised ryokan is much larger than most family run facilities. It sits conspicuously on the end of a private road, concealed by forest and threadbare canopy that casts shadows across the windshield as the car pulls in, sliding effortlessly into one of the empty spaces. 

Four staff members adorning pastel yukata’s greet you by the wide genkan with a deep bow. The woman standing behind the reception desk mirrors them when she meets your eye. You’re offered a pair of new grey slippers and gently ushered out into the lobby with your outdoor shoes in hand while Hajime heads to check in. 

When he rejoins the group his expression is distinctly uncomfortable and pinched in a way you recognise as embarrassment.

“There’s been a mix up with the room—suite, I guess,” Hajime admits. Hesitant, his gaze drags up from the floor to where you’re standing beside him. “I showed her the booking but no dice. We’re stuck with a standard tatami room and bathroom, but she promised there’d be enough futons to roll out”. 

While it was last minute they’d all designated tasks to each other, and his task had been booking accommodations. Having expressed that he would make the effort to get you your own room for the sake of privacy and comfortability, despite your protests, you understood his immediate reaction. Letting people down—at least, his own arbitrary idea of it—never sat right with Hajime. 

“Let me go talk to her, Iwa-chan. I might even charm her into giving us some extra amenities,” Tooru grins wolfishly, already fiddling with the cuffs of his sweater. Faint freckles scattered along his forearms, some newer from the summer months. Tendons flexing with determination, he takes the proffered print out and saunters toward the counter. 

“I can be charming,” Hajime mutters childishly, shucking the cross bag higher up his shoulder. He frowns you. “Am I charming?” 

You pat his cheek. His pride always rears over the most obscure things. “In your own way”.

Takahiro voices his amusement with a heavy clap to Hajime’s back. “Yeah, man. You appeal to people’s baser instincts. Makes me wanna get knocked up in a cave and nap while you’re out hunting for boar, or something”. 

“Shut up, idiot”. 

Tooru leaned his body against the counter, closed the distance and tilted his head, a coy sequence you’ve paid witness to a thousand times. You can imagine how he’s holding the receptionist's attention, speaking in low, dulcet tones that slide through her like warm butter. 

“What a bastard,” Issei sighs. Hajime grunts his agreement, and you realise that the four of you are lined up, watching them unashamedly as if it were a piece of theatre. 

“Alright, weirdos. Move it,” you prod insistently at Takahiro’s waist, snickering when he flinches away from your fingers. “Stop staring and get your bags together so we’re ready”. 

“You sure are confident in him,” Issei smirks, picking up his luggage nonetheless. There’s a loud click as you extend your suitcase handle, pulling with force when it jams halfway. 

“You’re not? It’s Tooru—” your voice abruptly halts at the heat of another, their hand encompassing your own. Hajime relinquishes your grip and readjusts the handle without fanfare. Flustered, you clear your throat, “He always pulls through for us. Though I still think this is all a bit unnecessary”. 

“I, for one, am glad he’s with us and not against us,” Takahiro snorts, eyes flitting between the two as Tooru tips his head and laughs. The sound is trim, practised and forced to your own ears, yet manages to make the employee blush. “Kinda scary, isn’t he?” 

Unfettered affection pulls at the corner of your mouth. You smile, turning away from them before they can see and tease you for it. Without a doubt, you had missed being with them more than you realised, and the giddiness was hard to temper. 

When Tooru returns, it is with a self satisfied grin, a new set of keys and a slip of paper. “That her number?”

“Yep,” his lips pop as he flips it over between his fingers, flashing the numerical digits scrawled on the back before flippantly sticking it in his jacket pocket. “We now have a modern double, a tatami room and a private onsen. Don’t all thank me too quickly, now”. 

Hajime accepts the keys with a begrudged sigh. “You should worry about texting and thanking her before we leave”.

“Stop trying to make me a better person,” Tooru sniffed, allowing himself to be herded toward the cramped lift. You trail closely behind, shaking your head. 

The room is bigger than expected. Family sized, you’d say. Traditional with a modernised touch. The main tatami room flowers in the early moonlight as it floods in through the sliding lattice doors. Behind them comes the promising sound of running water and after setting all your shoes in the modest genkan—pointed outwards—Takahiro rushes to discover the private onsen.  

Hung in a recessed alcove is a silk scroll inscribed with calligraphy. Staggered shelves frame a small flatscreen TV, neatly decorated with painted clay art and incense. Tucked away in the corner is a closet full of freshly aired futons. The rice straw flooring yields softly under your feet as you explore. 

Two other rooms are cordoned off, a smaller tatami room for the futons to be lain and one largely taken up by a double bed featuring a western style ensuite bathroom. Tourists must love this place, you think. It offers a palatable amount of Japanese culture, while simultaneously providing them with the simplistic comforts of their own. 

Issei makes work of the futons, nudging the low table and cushions into a corner and dragging the blankets over to the other room. Lip worried between your teeth, you find yourself hovering uselessly with no task to attend to aside from unpacking, which you thought to be just as useless. 

A hand snakes around your arm. Tooru’s, you soon recognise; impressively soft given his choice of career, lithe, and slightly balmy from a fruity smelling moisturiser his sister gifted him from her travels in South Korea. “Come on,” he insists without explanation, a dramatic weariness about him.

You are guided into the modern room and handed a travel sized torch identical to his own. You flinch away from the bright light as it abruptly begins to blink, but catch on quickly. ”Look everywhere you can think of”. 

“What’re you guys doin’ in here?”

Ignoring Takahiro’s question, you bend to flash the torchlight into the plug sockets. As Tooru peeks into the vents—giving the theatrical whisper of “all clear” with every check—you circumvent around the bed, looking under the frame and the nearby closet. 

“Makki, stop hovering like a ghost and check the bathroom for cameras. Actually, I’ll do it,” Tooru waves him off dismissively, sleuthing precariously into the small bathroom. “Gotta check the shower head. Can’t have my darling friends showing up on some dark web auction…”

Once Tooru is mollified that there are no hidden cameras the group allow themselves to settle. You are set up in the double room. It is the only door with a lock and a private bathroom, and you suspect that is why it was foisted onto you. 

Still you are conscious about the proximity, or lack thereof. Listening to them bicker and scuffle through the walls, their footfalls and voices passing beneath the crack in the bathroom doorway. Your fingers lingered on the turning lock for too long and in the end, you’d left it horizontal. The intense anticipation in your belly culminated into what you recognised as yearning—longing. 

The shower can only be described as a transparent box. Aside from a few shallow shelves left to house the complementary body wash, you’re surrounded only by clear, frameless glass panels that do nothing to obscure the view of your naked body. Anyone could walk in at any time. Standing under the warm spray, pressure just right against your shoulders, even as the dense steam fogs up the glass your gaze still falls back to the door handle. 

You run a washcloth over your skin and ignore the muted arousal that flares between your thighs. Sounds can be heard over the white noise, muffled by hollow mortar yet still clear enough that the sounds are coalesced into words. 

“Get your shoes off my futon,” Hajime demands. Hand braced against wet tile as though to touch the baritone of his voice, the other passes innocently over your sex, and you shudder. Thoughts wander. 

Tentative, you slide your fingers through your folds. Massage wet, loose circles around your clit. Eyes fall closed and you dip into your imagination. There’s a firm body behind you, cock grinding tantalisingly slow against your ass. Shaped around your back as though you were an extension of him. Your rhythm stutters when Hajime nuzzles below your ear. Tender kisses forge a path to your shoulder while his hands smooth across a resting stomach toward your chest.

Curtained by hot water as it patters away at the tension in your muscles, droplets slip into the seam of your lips and they part for breath. You lean on the tiled wall, seeking cool relief where the steam starts to overwhelm you, and slip abruptly on the condensation. With an undignified yelp, you quickly find your footing—though not without first knocking over the travel sized bottles of body wash. 

Deafening silence follows. You inhale deeply, exhaling to steady your breathing. A hesitant knock to the door gives you pause. The handle remains mournfully upright. 

“…You alive in there?” 

Your face twists into a grimace as you attempt to recompose yourself. You clear your throat. “I’m fine, Hajime. Sorry. The only thing I’m dying of is embarrassment”. 

His short laughter is warm and uninhibited. It rings true in your ears long after he’s gone. Turning away from the spray, your head tips forwards until it thumps against the glass. Shame prickling behind your eyes, you groan, “What the fuck is wrong with me”. 

Surprisingly there are no teasing comments awaiting you when you leave the privacy of your room, dried and redressed. All the screen doors have been pulled open, connecting the main room to the spare tatami room where they’ve rolled out all the futons to create one large bed. Five, together. You smile but don’t mention it. Issei greets you with a lazy wave from his place amongst the blankets. 

“Makki’s just havin’ a smoke,” his thumb points to the door leading out toward the private onsen. Through the lattice you can make out a blurred silhouette standing on the small veranda. 

“The other two?”

“Headed downstairs to ask about the festival tomorrow, and dinner”. 

“Are you looking forward to it?” you perk up, kneeling to sit cross legged on one of the beds. 

Issei smirks at your enthusiasm and hums an affirmative. Your eyes are drawn to the subtle movements of his hands where they fiddle with the inseam of his jeans. “Yeah. Heard they’re lighting some bonfires”. 

Your mouth parts with a sound of recognition. “On the mountainside, right?” 

“That's the one,” he nods and bows forward to rest an elbow on his thigh. You straighten up as he pins you under an intense stare. “I can slip away with the guys, if you want. Tomorrow. It would be a good time for you to talk to him”. 

Heat prickles over your face. Your pinch your cheek between your teeth, eyes instinctively darting to the hallway. You’re not sure whether it’s his consideration of you or your own piteous transparency that makes you want to cry. It has been this way for years; you’re caught in a tentative dance that never seemed to end. They all know and you wished you could still be ignorant of that. 

“Do you…” you clear your throat as your voice cracks. Issei’s gaze softens and you feel naked. “Do you honestly think that’s a good idea?”

After a short, pensive silence, Issei exhales a long breath and lays his hands flat on the futon. He leans and pushes onto his knees to drop his body heavily beside yours. 

You struggle against his dead-weight as he slumps, flinging both arms around your waist. “Issei—!” an aborted yelp falls from your mouth when he hooks his chin over your shoulder and locks his jaw, pressing it hard into your back. 

“Stop! That hurts, bastard!” you squawked, pushing down against the forearm cinched across your middle like a belt. They flex under your hands, not moving an inch. You can feel his cheeks lifting as he grins. 

“Sure. When you stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he offers slyly, tightening his grip. “C’mon,” you grow slack as the fight bleeds from your body. There’s a familiar burn behind your eyes, closely followed by a swell in your throat that the words can’t quite seem to get around. “And for the record, I do think it’s a good idea”. 

“It’s a terrible idea,” you intone, smile fraying at the edges. “He’s leaving again after this, Issei”.

Issei must hear the clear defeat in your voice because he gathers you against his chest to hug you properly. “I know that,” he murmurs. You breathe in the light notes of amber lingering on his skin, his big hand splayed between your shoulders.

Then you feel the unmistakable press of a kiss to your crown. “You’re a coward,” your brows knit together as you glare up at him. It's just like Issei to make it sound like you’re fussing over nothing after you’ve spent years building it up in your head. His grin widens, crooked. “But you’re our coward, and we want to see you happy”. 

You feel your irritation melt away at his sincerity. A smile curls at the corner of your mouth. The sweet atmosphere is swiftly soured as he adds, “So hurry up and fuck already”. 

Takahiro’s return is poorly timed. Shutting the lattice door behind him, he strolls in with scent of tobacco following close behind, “Who’s fucking?”

A wave of embarrassment washes over you. It makes you go hot and cold in quick succession. Issei surrenders and rolls onto his back, cushioned by the futon as you push him away, loud cackles bouncing off the walls. 

“Nobody is. Be quiet, the pair of you”.

“Is it about Hajime?” he continues, crouched before you with eyebrows wiggling suggestively. Takahiro jumps backwards with a snicker when you angle your hips to kick at him. The bitter smoky smell is much stronger around his fingers. He grabs your ankle to keep you still but Takahiro’s smug air dissipates in an instant, mouth falling open as you drag him down. “Hey—!”

Issei stays quiet with his arms tucked behind his head, happy to no longer be the target of your ire. 

That is the scene Tooru and Hajime returned to only a minute later. Having rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, Makki had accidentally pushed you down into Issei, the three of you tumbling backwards in fits of laughter. 

Spurred by the need to be included, Tooru took it upon himself to flop unceremoniously into the pile. Your pained yelp had caused quite a stir, the image of Hajime’s face twisted in worry playing on a loop in your mind. 

Later, you inhale deeply and grimace in discomfort. The air is humid. You can feel it sticky in your lungs, right beneath the fresh bruise blooming across your rib. Tooru’s eyes flicker, caught in the movement as you rub at your sternum. The corners of his lips downturn. 

“Sorry again,” he mumbles over the sound of gentle, trickling water from the nearby spring, knocking your elbows together. You’ve strayed toward the back of the group to walk alongside him, his stride slowed to keep pace as you wandered around the low lit gardens to kill time before dinner. Flowers are few, evergreens abundant, stone lanterns guide you forward. 

With a forgiving sigh you link your arms to keep him close. Tooru’s rigid posture relaxes as you nuzzle against his bicep. “Nobody died. It’s fine,” you laugh quietly. 

“If it were up to Iwa-chan I might’ve”.

You roll your eyes. “I can handle a bit of roughhousing. Grew up with you, didn’t I?” 

Tooru’s face is thrown into stark relief as moonlight filters through the canopy, and you watch his small smile scrunch up into a moue. “With my sister you mean,” he says, with a fondness betraying his expression. “What a beast”.

You have vague memories. Downy brunette hair fisted in a small hand. Eyes swollen with tears. A young boy sent to the corner to think about his actions. Tooru always started those fights, not that he would ever admit it. But you knew he was fighting for his older sister’s attention more than anything else at the time. 

“Liar. She spoiled you all the time,” you tell him. “And you were as bad as each other”.

Tooru hums, the way he often does when he doesn’t believe you. Your paths converge, misstepping as he sways and you throw his too-innocent act a look of suspicion. “So,” he starts a beat later. 

It’s apparent in his eyes. That gleam of curiosity, and hesitance. Bingo. Tooru barely moves as you push into his side and attempt to veer him onto the grass in protest. “No,” you reply. 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“No? Well if it’s not about me confessing to Hajime then please, do carry on”. 

Tooru makes a petulant, frustrated noise. There’s an indent in his cheek where the inner flesh is pinched between his teeth. You roll your eyes, scuffing your shoe to the stone path. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to confess now,” you tell him quietly. 

“You’re just scared,” Tooru returns under his breath. His expression is solemn now, as is his tone.

“And what if I am?” your voice raises a bit, rousing the attention of the men up ahead. When they look back you muster a smile and give a reassuring wave. Your attention momentarily drawn to the huddle behind them by the bamboo gate. A small family shuffled by, heads bobbing with gratitude as the boys made room, when their toddler took notice of Takahiro and became appropriately delighted by him. 

While the mother spilled panicked apologies and took her daughter's hand, the girl stood on the very tips of her purple jelly sandals and Takahiro bent to let her pat him on the head before departing. Tooru drops the topic with an offended hum as you abandon him to rejoin the group, examining the trim of his nails to feign disinterest, “She only liked you because your hair is pink”. 

“Actually it’s strawberry blond,” Takahiro snarks, equally affronted and amused. “Just heavier on the strawberry”.

Their movements coalesce, blindly shuffling after one another back into the hotel lobby. “Should probably head back soon,” Hajime mutters as an afterthought, his gaze trailing wall to wall before landing on the clock hung above the main desk. “Should we buy some drinks and stuff for tonight?” 

“I can get it,” you volunteer at the same time that Tooru interjects with, “We’ll go get it”. 

You glare at him.

Hajime is reluctant. At the very least he’s worried. It’s apparent in the flex of his fingers, the set of his jaw, the earthen eyes narrowed at the pair of you. “Will you be okay together?” 

“Yes, Iwa-chan. This isn’t an episode of ‘My First Errand’,” he reaffirms his grip on your arm, giving it a decisive squeeze. “We’re adults. It’s no problem, right?”

“Right,” you say, the decision clearly made for you. You turn your attention from Tooru’s pointed smile back to Hajime and the others. “We’re good. Text us what you want and we’ll bring it up to the room”.

Murmured acquiescence ripples through the group, and Tooru ambles you out through the main entrance as you part ways. Your entwined shadows elongate, the wall mounted sconces leading a path to the small sundry nestled in the east side of the hotel. 

“You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

“No”.

“Not even if I say please?”

“No,” Tooru chimes again, tugging you through the automatic doors. The cashier acknowledges your arrival with a quick smile and continues to restock the empty shelf in front of them. 

The temperature drops as you turn onto the drinks aisle and Tooru opens the closest fridge while refusing to let go of you. “I just don’t understand why you’re not taking the chance,” he continues, frowning at the bottle labels. When he plucks the umeshu from the rack you know it’s for him. “I don’t want you to regret it”.

“They’re asking for beer and shochu,” you read tiredly from the phone in your free hand. The text chat bumps as another message comes through. “Uh… Issei wants dried calamari. We should get seaweed tempura, too”.

“Stop changing the subject”.

Annoyance sparks in your chest. “This is what we’re here to do,” you grumble, shoving your phone into your pocket and opening the adjacent fridge door with more force than necessary. You shiver at the gust of cool air. 

An indolent sigh seeps from him. “C’mon. You have to know,” Tooru murmurs, moving closer to hook his chin over your shoulder. He softly knocks your heads together. “The chances of you being rejected are less than zero”. 

“No, I don’t know that. And—even if that’s true, what then?” you shake your head, chewing your lip. “Like I told the others, it’s not a good idea”. 

“Okay,” Tooru replies, standing upright and turning to saunter away. He draws out the word as he does whenever he concedes an argument he still thinks he has won. You stare at his retreating back with a bereft sense of defeat until your eyes sting, now cold where your arms had been linked. 

“Tooru,” you say. He makes an inquisitive noise, his nose wrinkled as he rummages through the deep fried snacks. “Being rejected and watching you two leave again—I can’t do both”. 

Your voice cracks. That strikes a chord square in his chest, his sudden crestfallen expression is evidence enough. Tooru abandons the tempura shelf and tucks the bottles of liquor under his armpit while tucking you under the other. You're a mess, a cacophony of emotion threatening to spill out through your tightly closed eyelids.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to push you”.

“Yes you did,” you laugh thickly, and Tooru has the decency to appear sheepish. He rubs his hand down your side. “But it’s okay. I know you mean well, you all do”.

It’s enough to see that it comes from a place of love. The extent of your yearning has affected him just as much as anyone. Tooru watched consistently over the years while you stood in place and dug, and dug, and dug, for somewhere to put your feelings. Some point along the line it became a crater you couldn’t climb out from. And while you were desperate to make it hospitable, desirable, to be a person Hajime could want, he had managed to blindly pivot around it his whole life. 

The electrical buzz emanating from the fridges is abnormally loud as Tooru, for a precious second, actually stalls to gather his next words. “Look. I’ve been thinking,” he says with a rather rehearsed air. 

“That’s not good”.

“Don’t be mean. Hear me out,” he grins. “It was weird for Hajime to suggest a trip so last minute, don’t you think?” 

You purse your lips thin with a contemplative hum, grabbing the snacks and shuffling along the aisle while he talks. You had thought it significant, that being the main reason you encouraged Hajime’s idea in the first place. “See, he’s a straightforward, honest guy. And he’s earnest. That’s why you think if he returned your feelings he would’ve said something, isn’t it?”

The cashier furtively looks you over as you wander closer to the counter and set them down. You offer a strained smile. “Hi, that’s everything. Tooru—what’s your point?”

Tooru pulls out his wallet and emphatically states, “My point is you’re wrong!” He hands over the money, “Oh, here. Keep the change. Thank you”. You take the carrier bag, wincing when the glass bottles clink together. “Anyway,” Tooru exhales a heavy breath, visible as he steps into the night air, “You’re underestimating his cowardice”. 

Coward was not a descriptor you’d ever ascribe to Hajime. Yourself, sure. You shoot Tooru a sidelong glance, and he smiles at your clear scepticism. “Iwa-chan is bad at being selfish. He feels a certain responsibility toward the people he cares about. Did on our old team, and with the guys, and especially with you,” Tooru continues, a warmth to his tone. “He’s probably not thinking about his own feelings. He’s mostly worried about you, and yours”.

Your pace lags until you’ve come to a stop. Tooru does so a few steps ahead. “So he brought us here for what? To let me down gently?”

“Did you listen to a word I just said?” Tooru cocks his head, the moon crowning his head, light threading through his hair as his expression is shadowed. “I think he was always aware of what could change if he outright confessed. He needed to be sure, and he needed a reason, because his gorilla brain thinks it’ll ruin your whole relationship. That’s why we’re here,” you blink at his lithe fingers, waving in your face and wriggling. “It's an excuse. A final push. Because he wants to try!”

Eyes wide, caught in the place between awed disbelief and crippling anxiety, your fingers almost slip from under the bag handle. The trip being symbolic of Hajime’s resolve—could that make sense? You swallow against the lump in your throat. Memories of every recent there-and-gone-again touch and gentle look hold new meaning as they resurface. “He said that?” 

“Well, no”.

And the lump in your throat, presumably your heart, drops straight into your stomach. You march past Tooru into the hotel lobby with a bitter laugh. 

“Wait, would you—! You’re both so frustrating”.

“Me?” you whirl around to glare at him. People linger at the edge of your vision. Those prim, soft looking women that greeted you mere hours ago gather at the reception desk and pretend not to stare. Lowered into a broken rasp, you tell him, “What happened to not pushing? You aren’t being fair, Tooru”. 

“This isn’t about fairness. You said you're scared,” Tooru says. Your eyes dipped low to avoid the surety in his gaze. “And that’s fine. I just want you to consider that maybe you’re not the only one who’s scared”.

His words register gradually, and they ache, like a deep bruise. The implications become clearer, and your reply comes quietly—not whispered, with a voice that carries no strength. “Fine,” you lift your head, ball your fist tighter and the plastic handles dig into your palm. The tension smooths in Tooru’s brow. His eyes soften, squinting at the corners, and you realise you’ve begun to smile too. “I’ll keep it in mind. You’ve said your piece. What now?”

“Oh. Now we go back to the room before Hajime sends a search party, eat as much as we want and drink until we fall asleep,” Tooru says, casting a quick glance to your surroundings. He drapes arm around your shoulders haughtily, “Then at the festival tomorrow I’ll conveniently slip away with Makki and Mattsun to leave you and Hajime alone. Do with that what you will”. 

You snort, feeling an unrestrained fondness for your friends, and will yourself not to cry. “You all already had this planned, didn’t you? Issei told me the same thing”. 

“He wants to talk to you. Confess, don’t confess. Either way, I think it’ll be good for you both,” he says resolutely. Tooru’s one armed hug has the steadiness of home. You return it, hooking around his lower back, and walk together. His strides that much longer, and you a little braver.

Returning to the room you’re greeted by the sight of three men crowded in the genkan pushing to get their shoes back on. As Tooru anticipated they were preparing to go out looking for you both. The smile on your face only grows at Hajime’s admonishments now you're considering the love behind them, Tooru’s words on a loop in your mind. 

If Takahiro and Issei exchange a look at the bounce in your step, well. You happily ignore it. 

Clothes had been laid out neatly for each of you to wear for dinner. Once you’ve changed you putter into the main room and settle on your knees, resting back on your calves. The floor is comfortable underneath your shins. Set on the table is a lavish spread of food brought up to you by the ryokan staff. 

The heat of another body radiates to your left. Hajime smiles when you look at him. Your heart thunders. He’s unbearably handsome in his complimentary robe, a darker blue than your own, and he has it loose at the neck. You feel a headache coming on with the effort it takes not to ogle his chest. 

To your right Takahiro’s navy coloured garb is worn equally loose, somehow managing to look dishevelled rather than natural. As though he had pulled it on haphazardly in his excitement to get to the food. 

Tooru saunters into the room alongside Issei. His robe matches your own. It is drawn tight at the waist and closed at the collar, closely outlining his upper half. You are always startled by how broad Tooru truly is, given how lithe his movements are. He huffs when he notices the spots rather side of you are taken. 

“Ready to eat?” Issei rumbles, sitting opposite at the low table looking nonplussed as ever. You can’t help noticing his belt is barely holding tension and could fall open at any time, both sleeves rolled up to the elbow.

“Ready as I’ll ever be. It smells incredible,” you say. The dinner is beautiful, a healthy array of colour, covered in mouth watering glaze. Seasonal flowers and leaves and decoratively cut vegetables have been used as finishing touches on each dish, artistically expressing the end of the summer. Your stomach twists in hunger as both palms come together in synchrony, “Thank you for the food”. 

You take your chopsticks and reach for the dish closest. Limbs cross over the table top. A familiar, homely scent of saffron, garlic and onion fills your senses. The gloaming moon watches you eat in the relaxed atmosphere. Soft sounds of satisfaction, the clang of cutlery. “S’good,” Hajime says. He catches your gaze and lifts his chopsticks toward you, free hand cupped beneath it. “Want to try?” 

It’s unnecessary in the best way. “Mmn,” you replied, leaning forward with an indulgent smile. You don’t trust yourself to speak, the spark of giddiness was doing embarrassing things to your body. 

Could Hajime really return your feelings? Tooru certainly thinks so. Issei and Takahiro. Seemingly everyone that has been within twenty feet of you.

Tooru watches the interaction over his glass of umeshu, radiating a smugness that can only be interpreted as I told you. You don’t particularly enjoy being seen to the bottom of; it makes you want to shrink away. It’s the strange flicker of determination on Hajime’s face that keeps you from doing so. 

You’re not the only one afraid to say something, a voice insists in the back of your head. 

The food falls apart gently on your tongue. You give a pleasantly surprised hum, engrossed in the rich flavours, and you almost miss how Hajime preens. His mouth pulled into a small, boyish grin, unable to look you in the eye. 

“Hey man, give me some of that,” Takahiro bemoans, his tone on the precipice of teasing. You recline to allow Hajime to pass the dish across and instinctively know what will come next. “Oh, I see how it is. Not gonna feed me too? Favouritism at its finest—” With a flat glare Hajime scoops a large chunk of rice and shovels it into Takahiro’s mouth mid sentence, and you hide a laugh behind your hand. 

As the plates empty your imagination wanders. The whole evening had been a whole unravelling of doubt. Until this point you’d navigated every one of your relationships with a certain level of trepidation, Hajime most of all. Taking a forward step only when certain it wouldn’t creak. Years of doing nothing, saying nothing, because it was the safe option. You had been prepared to spend your life in that unspoken purgatory if it meant keeping Hajime, and there had been comfort in that decision. 

But now you have permission to hope and you don’t know what to do with it. You’re quieter than usual, though nobody points it out. If anything they seem relieved. Three of the four, atleast. Hajime won’t stop sending you worried glances. You wonder if he’s overthinking his actions, and your reactions, the way you’ve always done. 

The main room is fragrant with the remains of dinner. You’ve gathered some pillows, shared out the snacks and poured their drinks, five sups in and counting. The boys are bickering over which movie to watch. Sake heats you from the inside out, plucks you right from your entangled thoughts and back into the present with loose limbs and a looser tongue. 

You speak loudly over them, “How about a comedy?” It’s the first one you can think of. “Tampopo?”

Issei, Takahiro and Hajime pause to consider. Tooru groans, already knowing he has lost the majority vote. “I wanted to watch ‘Before we vanish’,” he whines. “Sci-fi is better than comedy!”

“We always watch sci-fi,” Hajime remarks as he works the remote, switching the movie category to comedy and searching for ‘Tampopo’. 

“There’s a drinking game for this one,” Takahiro adds. “I think you sip every time somebody says ‘ramen’”. 

“If you want to be put on a waitlist for a new liver go ahead,” Issei says. 

The room briefly fades to darkness, lighting up not a second layer as the studio logo whirls onto the screen, emphasising the shadows of Hajime’s laughter lines. “We should drink every time there’s a weird food-porn montage instead,” he suggests, sinking back onto his elbows. Your traitorous mind immediately notes the few inches between your hands. 

“Well I’ll be drinking in protest,” Tooru turns his nose up though his eyes betray him, fixed on the screen with obvious interest. “And I’m not sure I want to hear the word ‘porn’ from your mouth ever again”. 

“Porn,” Hajime says. “Porn, porn, porn”. 

“Quiet,” you hiss, focus absorbed by the opening scene. An odd pair of lovers, one delicate woman and her white-suited gangster, enter a movie theatre. Their uniformed entourage scurries behind them with champagne and a wicker basket of food, setting up a small table as though in a restaurant. 

“Oh,” the dapper man’s voice bleeds through the speakers as he approaches the camera to break the fourth wall and harangue the viewer. “So you’re at a movies too. What are you eating?”

“Dried calamari,” Issei answers loftily. Takahiro snorts into his drink. 

Scene to scene, you drink when prompted and settle into uninhibited contentment. Feet tucked up under your thighs, propped on a plush pillow. The heat from Hajime’s hand grazes your skin. Closer and closer until the simple stretch of your fingers would see them entwined. 

The movie is funny. It is also unabashedly sensual and hedonistic, and heavy handed about its themes surrounding food. From oysters to noodles, including a scene involving the two lovers using their tongues to move an egg yolk between their mouths before it bursts, you're barraged with wet slurping sounds as the characters on screen eat, and eat, and eat. 

“Hot,” Takahiro slurred, while Tooru cried, “What the hell are we watching?”

You drank twice for that one. Too tipsy to parse whether the hot flashes through your body were embarrassment or arousal or an intermingling of both. You’re overly conscious of Hajime’s movements and his closeness, so much so that the plot passes through one ear and out the other. 

The dim lamplight from the ensuite room pools across the tatami, the door left ajar to luminate the spot where you’ve lined up the liquor bottles. You squint at the labels. Fuzzy. Laughter ripples through the group at the ongoing scene, an elderly woman being chased around a grocery store and hit with a fly swatter for seemingly—fingering the food? 

You smile at the sound as you lift Tooru’s umeshu bottle to the light to discern how much remains before pouring it into your glass. A hand circles your ankle, shifting back and forth to fit the peak into the gaps between his knuckles. The soft evocation of your name. Hajime is holding out his own empty cup with a half lidded gaze, the left side of his face thrown into stark relief by the TV screen. 

Something hot flares through your chest, your perspective on his tactile habits shifted; the initial desire suffuses to the very tips of your fingers. Now you’re restless with it. He’s so handsome, you think. And he’s still looking at you. 

You hear his wordless request and fill his drink too, with hope the alcohol will not steal these warm moments come morning. 

Once the movie was over your sprawled out bodies eventually migrated toward the futons Issei prepared. You forgo the double bed to crawl into the covers, to the surprise of no one, and let your eyes trail after Tooru. The flush across his nose has steadily deepened throughout the night. He flicks on the electric fan and kneels to roots through his luggage, pulling a compact from the front pocket with a triumphant noise. 

“Comfortable over there?” Tooru circles the pad of his pinky into the balm and brings it to his mouth. The faint strawberry scent is enticing, preferable over the heady, bitter smell of beer. His brow quirks when you don’t reply. 

“Want some?” he asks. Slowly, you nod, and he flashes a wry smile, setting down the pot before stretching to reach you. The motion draws you in, tipping your chin up. His fingers are soft on your cheek, splayed out and cradling your jaw. You’re happy to indulge him.

Tooru kisses you. Your heart maintains a steady rhythm. It’s a friendly, chaste press of lips; you rub your own together as he pulls away not a second later, finding them smoother. Sweeter. The hints of strawberry linger right beneath your nose. Caught in your own world you fail to notice the other two men staring.

“Oh no,” Issei drawls, turning off the lights as he saunters in. He drapes himself across an already prone, drunk Takahiro, tilting his head in Tooru’s direction. “My lips are so dry”.  

The atmosphere sparks a little. Issei’s teasing, syrupy tone is like flint striking steel. A fond, honeyed sensation settles around your bones—or perhaps that was the alcohol easing the tension. Flirting came easily amongst the others because it was without expectation. The silly pet names and heavy handed affection; it’s all a playful toeing of the line. People found your group dynamic odd no matter how much you tried to articulate it to them. You think in the end, it boiled down to trust. To safety. They all loved you in their own, individual ways, as you loved them. Maybe that's how you'd managed to be so content with Hajime's friendship. It had been enough.

Tooru hums and sits cross legged on his futon. He settles back onto his hands, smiling hazily as Hajime kicks his foot in passing, “I’ve noticed”. 

You can’t help appreciating how genuinely coy it is. Patently different to the way he behaves with strangers—not so forced. With his friends flirting is more about working for Tooru’s permission. It’s more fun that way. 

Issei purses his lips expectantly. Tooru leans forward. 

“You okay?” 

You blink. Hajime lowers onto the futon beside yours. His yukata has fallen further open to display his firm chest. Not that you’re looking. You’ve been cordoned on the far end of the room together. Takahiro was too drunk to make any purposeful decision but it was obvious—at least to you—that Tooru and Issei chose from the remaining futons to keep you and Hajime together. 

“Sleepy,” you say, the lull to your voice earning a gentle smirk in response. 

“Want any, Iwa-chan?” Hajime’s frowns at the interruption and looks over his shoulder, taking in the suggestive intermittent puckering of Tooru’s mouth. You think at this rate there’ll be no balm left. 

“No thanks,” he says. 

“Have it your way,” Tooru grumbles from his place beside Takahiro, right in the centre. Pale legs kick at his covers until they’re rumpled a certain way, apparently satisfying to him, and he wriggles down into the mattress. “Still think we should’ve watched ‘Before we vanish’. I’m going to have nightmares about oysters”.

Issei snorts. He turns on his side, laid at the furthest end from you. “But does your nerdy sci-fi movie use an egg yolk to symbolise orgasm?” his hand makes a sweeping gesture in the shadows, “I don’t think so”.

“Tha’s cinema baby,” Takahiro abruptly slurs, mouth muffled against his pillow. A beat passes. You meet Hajime’s gaze. His lips are pressed thin, trembling. You hear a smothered wheezing sound coming from Tooru’s futon, and a beat later the stillness is broken by a unanimous fit of laughter. 

“Shit,” your cheeks ache, your stomach is in knots as you pull the covers up over your persistent grin. The collective glee tapers. “I’ve,” Hajime starts after a deep breath, rubbing at his eyelids, “missed you idiots”.

Tooru sniffles at that. “Don’t make me cry,” he says, clearing the emotion cloying in his throat. You feel a pang of sympathy, overcome with it yourself. “I’ll wake up with swollen eyes and I forgot to bring gel masks”.

“Use a cold damp cloth or something”. 

“Mattsun, you're so primitive”.

Eventually the murmuring between the boys settles into silence. The kind of silence that makes the shadows in your room a little darker, dense branches spreading across the ceilings and walls into a daunting canopy. The electric fan and the cicadas hum a cohesive song into the night. 

Through the thick of it, you hear a new whisper. Hajime calls your name and there’s barely any voice behind it—uncharacteristically timid. Blinking away the haze, your eyes adjust to the lack of light. You can see an inviting, wide open embrace. The corner of a blanket pulled back to expose his torso. 

Intention clear, you first glance at the sleeping figures over his shoulder. Tooru curled into a cocoon with his bedsheets tucked under his feet. Takahiro laid out on his belly, open mouthed and drooling. Issei on his side, arm bent beneath the pillow, breathing so shallow you’re tempted to pinch him awake. 

Hajime waits while you think. Your vision has sharpened enough to make out the trepid smile on his face. Emboldened, you crawl out of the futon and into his. 

“Looked cold over there,” he reasons. 

You hum in agreement. Compared to his body heat, you’d say it had been freezing. Despite all the hard earned muscle over the years, Hajime is pliable when he’s relaxed, doughy, and he yields when you begin to adjust your shared position. You guide his arm down to cinch around your waist and nestle against his chest, legs overlapped. Made up of yourselves but also each other. 

“Better?” he murmurs, breath tickling your ear. A final shiver dances the length of your spine as your nerves settle and anticipation thaws. You can feel his heart beating like a wing beneath your palm. 

It reminds you of when you were kids. The jagged shape of a tall, lego Godzilla had forced you to find home between him and Tooru more times than you could count. Everything had been so much bigger. Scarier. Still, those gauzy memories don’t quite hold a candle to this. 

Hajime’s hand glides down your back in repetitive, methodical strokes. It makes you feel delicate, like something in you might fracture. You try to ease your breathing as he pulls you closer. The proximity isn’t anything new, but this is something else. Different. It always is, with him, only this time you don’t need to convince yourself otherwise. 

Fingers twisting into the thin cotton of his yukata, you mumble, “Thanks, Haji”. 

You feel his lips on your temple like hot wax. Your eyes flutter closed, and all at once you feel brave enough to say it, but the moment passes as his head drops against the pillow. 

From the recesses of your mind rose the rehearsed speeches, the recipes for honmei chocolate, the imagined cliche scenarios that you left dog-eared in highschool. All the ways to say ‘I love you’. 

Hajime has always expressed love in smaller ways. You’ve observed, over the years, his little habits. Easing small burdens. He’d take the clothes off his own back if it could make your journey smoother but wouldn’t ever dream of asking you to stray from it. That’s where you differed, and what you feared. 

If he got cold feet you would need to be the brave one. 

For all that you had doubted about the nature of Hajime’s feelings towards you over the years, you could have some faith in it now. The thought of him leaving again without hearing it from you—without knowing you were an option—doesn’t bear thinking about. 

Vague and half-formed, you succumb to sleep on the end of a drowsy self imposed promise. Tomorrow, you’ll tell him. 

Wading through a cottony haze, your consciousness sharpens in increments. Every single physiological response in your body is shouting that it is far too soon to rise. You groan, tilt your head and let it loll against your arm; the other is flung outside of the covers, fingertips skimming the futon edge. 

You’ve turned on your side in the night. Slowly, you realise a firm body has conformed to your back, knees nudged up behind your own, bending them toward your chest. The way you melt into their warmth and nudge against the cradle of their hips is instinctive. Then the shallow, steady breaths brushing the nape of your neck stutter on a sharp inhale and your eyes fly open, remembering where you are. 

Hajime. 

After a few seconds endured with bated breath you release the tension in your muscles. He’s asleep. 

There’s stark relief. The initial terror in your chest ebbs. Careful as you go, you slip out from Hajime’s grip. A crease forms in his nose, frowning at your absence, and you stay to see how he reaches for you even subconsciously. 

A long yawn forces your jaw open, tongue sitting like cotton as the last dregs of sleep fade. A quick look around the room tells you Takahiro is the only one up. The latticed door to the onsen is cracked open. You pull your yukata tighter to your chest to shield against the slight draft. Blood rushes down to your toes as you walk, prickling white noise filling both legs. 

Bordering the onsen is a quaint patio area mimicking a traditional veranda. There’s a mosaic garden table and two matching folding chairs, one of which is occupied by a visibly hungover Takahiro. 

“Anyone would think you had a wild night out,” you murmur, closing the door behind you. The air is cool again. Birdsong carries over from the trees.  Takahiro peeks at you through his lashes, a permanent frown etched into his brow. A headache, if you had to guess. He’s slumped in the chair with long legs stretched outward, a cigarette nestled in the ‘V’ between his fingers, held up by a loose wrist like it alone was too heavy.

The tip glows red as he takes another drag and turns his head away to exhale the smoke into the dew laden air. “Never let me mix drinks again,” he rasps.

“You say that every time,” you cross your arms over your middle and sit down. The metal is cold under your thighs, felt through the thin fabric. “Sleep well, atleast?”

“Like the dead,” he flashes a conspicuous smile as he brings the cigarette to his lips. “You?”

His nonchalance falls flat and betrays his interest. Subtle in his teasing. Despite already knowing he would’ve seen you and Hajime on his way to the veranda, the confirmation leaves you feeling hot.

“It was comfortable,” you reply stiffly, braced to defend yourself ad nauseam. Takahiro’s eyes softened in the rousing grey-blue daylight. 

“Good,” he says. 

“That’s all?”

“What, you want me to force the subject? Figured you've had enough of that already”. 

“No,” you sigh, sinking into your chair. “…Thanks, Makki”. 

Takahiro shrugs lightheartedly and stubs his cigarette out. There’s movement from inside the room. At that moment the door slides open, and Hajime pops his head through the narrow gap. 

Your fingers twist hard around your belt. He looks sleep mussed where he’s sitting on the tatami, pushing the door further open to lean against the frame. There’s recognition and relief in his gaze as he glances from Takahiro to you. No indication he was awake before. 

“Hey,” Takahiro says. 

“Morning,” Hajime replies, sounding as though his throat is dry. A draft dances through and his face scrunches slightly at the nicotine smell. “I set an alarm for breakfast. They’ll be here in any minute”.

“The other two up?” you ask. 

“Mostly,” Hajime nods in their general direction. “Tooru’s getting in the shower and Issei’s on the phone to his little brother”.

Takahiro takes a deep inhale and pushes his centremost knuckle to his forehead. “I’ll go help put away the futons,” he states with a groan. Hajime tucks his legs in to allow him through and swats at the hand that scrubs over his hair in passing. 

He turns his attention to you. A crease from his pillow marks his cheek. “Have you been awake long?” 

“About ten minutes,” you reply, staring hard at the dense garden and dwindling into silence caught somewhere on the knife’s edge between awkward and companionable. Running water streams from the wooden spout into the onsen, making the surface ripple. You latch onto the sound. “Shame we didn’t use the onsen”.

“We’re still here another night,” Hajime says placatingly. “Use it when we’re back from the festival if you want”. 

You nod, adjusting your yukata without reason. The simple need for distraction. “Maybe,” your mind can’t help veering toward the worst case scenario. What would’ve changed by that time, tonight? What would you say, and how, if anything at all? The thought makes your stomach twist. You’re not sure you could recover if he reacted poorly. 

Blinking out of your reverie, you realise that Hajime had been talking. Heat prickles under your skin. “Sorry,” you grin awkwardly, and it feels brittle on your face. “Got lost in my thoughts”.

“About what?”

You wet your lips, like that could soften the blow. “I’m going to miss you,” you tell him. His expression falls. “Both of you,” you add hastily, which does little to reassure him. “When’s your flight again?” 

Hajime’s mouth thins, eyes dipping low. “Late tomorrow night. Or early I guess,” he answers. His shoulders shake and he laughs ruefully, “I’ll miss you too, y’know. Not sure you realise how much,” like it was a matter of fact. The earth would go around the sun and Hajime would miss you.

“Like a hole in my head,” you murmur, so quiet you’re not certain he heard you. Then, slightly louder, “Are you excited to get back to California?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m excited to leave. Got a lot of interesting stuff coming up this semester, though,” he perks up when you gesture, encouraging him to continue. Inwardly, selfishly, you only want to hear him speak a little longer. “One thing I’ve really wanted to do is biomechanical testing. We use it for detailed analysis of our players movement. So…”

The air stifles as the sun rises and drapes across the private veranda, warming the wood panels beneath your feed. Once breakfast has been laid out—and you’ve been bid an enthusiastic ‘good morning’ by the staff—you gravitate toward the same seating arrangement as the night prior. 

It’s nothing short of a buffet. A traditional Japanese-style breakfast, hot rice and miso soup, grilled fish, dried seaweed and shellfish boiled in soy sauce and sugar, all served across four hand-woven bamboo trays. There are western elements to the spread, including coffee and bread, which Tooru happily reaches for. 

“A person like you should really avoid stimulants,” Hajime muttered as he came to sit at the table. 

Tooru startled, hands poised over the steaming coffee pot. He pouted, “A person like me? What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Paranoid, is what I mean”.

“If you're so concerned about my overactive limbic system maybe try being nicer to me!” 

The morning crawls onward with an atmosphere of trepidation. As if waiting for the other shoe to drop. You squirrel away in the ensuite bathroom again to get dressed, taking longer than is necessary. Condensation from Tooru’s earlier hot shower sticks to the tile and the mirror’s surface. The reflection is foggy, your figure like a smudge.  You regret not bringing nicer clothes for the festival—knowing you’ll be surrounded by all that beauty and colour and you worry you’ll look dull in comparison. 

Regardless, you smooth out any lingering creases in your outfit. Dull or otherwise it flatters your silhouette nicely. 

“Oh”.

You step out just as Takahiro angles his mouth to exhale. Smoke plumes out the open door in delicate wisps, swept away by a humid gust of wind. “Shit—sorry,” he mutters, a little flustered as he scrambles to shield you from the smoke, eyes roving over your form. 

“You okay?” you ask, unsure if you should be amused or insecure. 

He stubs his cigarette out into the ashtray balanced on the side table and wipes his hands on his jeans with such speed you worried it might create static. Then, suddenly, he’s across the room with his thumb sinking into the swell of your left cheek, tobacco fingertips framing the right. He pushes them together until your mouth is puckered. There’s nothing sweet about it. Rather, it looks as if he wants to squeeze you like a clementine. 

“You’re all glowy. And determined,” the crease in his brow deepens, and he adds pressure to his fingers until you’re squirming, flustered. “And you look cute”. Issei emerges from the garden at that moment. Hand up his dark turtleneck shirt, scratching idly at the hair on his belly. 

A deep groan rumbles in his throat. “What are you two doing?”

“I think it’s finally happening”. 

Drawn to Hanamaki’s incredulous outburst, Issei stares at your confused, squashed face as it is turned in his direction. His mouth parts and he squints, as though he were searching for the right words. 

What the fuck, you think. 

“What the fuck,” he says, as if plucking the thought from the air. 

“Right?”

They sidle either side of you. Tall and looming, their overbearing presence has anticipation swooping in your belly. Issei smells it like blood in the water and hooks two fingers to pinch the bridge of your nose. “Well look at that,” he teases, bending forward until your eyes cross. “Wonder who you’re getting all dressed up for. Us?”

“Fuck off,” you grumble, though it comes out muffled and terribly nasal. Takahiro laughs, and his thumb skips over your rabbit-footed pulse as his hand slides down the column of your throat and away. 

“Oi. In all seriousness you do look good,” Issei smiles. His kind eyes squint with it. They’ve made a clear effort themselves. That’s part of the fun. 

A voice floats in from the genkan, “Who are we talking about?” Tooru looks up from his phone and he beams. “Oh! You look cute,” he says, tone light and pleasant. “Hajime will like it”.

“Your reactions are worrying me a bit,” you reply dryly in favour of ignoring the heat in your cheeks. “Anyone would think I usually look awful”. 

“No,” their three voices overlap as they protest. “You never look awful,” Tooru says, shaking you by the shoulders. Then he stops to consider his words. “Well. Maybe that time we thought you had strep throat”.

“What Oikawa wants to say is,” Takahiro cuts in with a flat glare in the other’s direction, “We’re here to support you today, and stuff. That’s all”. 

“And stuff,” you repeat, a fond smile coming unbidden to your lips. The surge of affection has you trying to stretch your arms around three big bodies. “You’re being overbearing. But thank you”. 

Their arms come up to wrap around your back and reciprocate. You are corralled into a long, strong hug, compressed from every direction. They release you when Hajime returns. He is visibly stupefied at the scene, brow knit as he fiddles with the collar of his dark denim jacket. 

Your spine straightens, taking an unnecessarily deep breath. “Hi Hajime,” you say. It feels so different now, now there's all that premeditated intent behind it. Like ‘IloveyouHajime’ bunched into a single word. 

“Hi. You look…” Hajime's throat bobs. “Good. You look good”.

You glance at the boys and chew the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress your grin, “So I’ve heard”.

The sun is at its highest point when you leave the ryokan together. You are swallowed up by gold beneath the gingko trees flanking the road, a mosaic of dappled light filtering through the partial canopy and intermixed with the softly shaded ground. 

Foot traffic grew dense on the main street, teeming with life. “Stick close,” Hajime murmured next to your ear. You suppressed a shudder and took his arm so as not to stray far. The crowd herds your group closer to the heart of the festival. Sound assailed you from every direction. Thousands of lanterns have been strung up, forming a blushing canopy over the yagura, a makeshift stage housing performers and musicians, handsome taiko drummers setting the pace for participants to gather around it and dance along in circles.

There’s a sense of harmony, pigments blended into one another. Families are swathed in beautiful kimonos and silks, jinbei and traditionally woven hats. Your group stood out for their height alone—Mattsun especially, the tallest of the four men. People part to let you through, and children look skyward with awed eyes, jumping in place to see how high they can get. 

The current pushes you towards the stalls, where an amalgamation of savoury scents pervade the air. Sweet, crisp okonomiyaki sauce, intense pickled ginger, charcoal smoked meats. Hunger knots in your stomach. Hajime looks over the heads of people and spots some vendors. 

“Guys,” he raises his voice and drops his arm around your back with firm reassurance. The others pause, colliding with the moving bodies around them. “Food first. Then we can go to the games”.

You’re suitably satiated after takoyaki. The folded boat-shape container they’d handed over to you is warm in the already throbbing heat. It burns at the nape of your neck; the sun and the many stares of those around you. Takahiro, Issei and Tooru, too, keep flicking their eyes over, as if waiting for something to happen, or some kind of sign. 

Music plays over the din. A quick-tempo showy melody, like one would hear at a circus. Takahiro points at the ring toss stall. “Hey, ‘kawa. Win me something,” he says. 

“Win it yourself!”

“Don’t be like that babe,” Takahiro laments dramatically, his movements becoming languid and sloppy as he drapes himself around Tooru’s shoulders with his mouth curled into a smarmy grin. “You’re so much better at tossing than me”.

At your back, Hajime trembles with restrained mirth. Issei catches your eye and shakes his head while Tooru sniffs primly, attempting to scrunch his own smirk into a displeased pout. “Fine,” he relents. “But one of you needs to win me a mask at the rifle-shooting game”.  

“I don’t need to do anything,” Issei replies dryly as they start toward the ring toss game with startling synchrony. You glance at Hajime’s face, at another tentative, uncertain beginning of a smile, and feel the limitless joy of being together ballooning inside you.

“Did you want anything?” he asks as you walk. 

Giddy, you cling closer. Part of your brain is stuck on the thought that anyone on the outside looking in would probably assume you were a couple. “If you’re feeling generous,” you exaggerate the flutter of your eyelashes, making Hajime snort. 

Hours slip through your fingers like sand. In no time at all the sky began to darken. There’s a bubbling anticipation in your chest the later it gets. You lift your head to be met with the ochre of evening, azure blending into vivid orange at the horizon. 

Issei tips his head back to take in the sky. “Fireworks are starting soon,” he announces. Tooru’s eyes flicker to you. The tangible sense of finality that had permeated the afternoon comes to a long awaited fulcrum. You’re tempted to linger amongst the stalls, simply to vy for extra time. 

“You two should go and find somewhere to sit,” Tooru insists, shaking his finger from Hajime to you, “We’ll go grab some more food and join you later”.

Hajime levels him with a flat look. “All three of you are needed for that?”

“Yes,” Tooru smiles back, an intensity to his expression. You shift your weight from left foot to right and wait with bated breath.

After a moment of anticipatory silence, Hajime exhales his acquiescence and turns to you. “Come on then. Let’s find a spot”.

You’re pulled along with him, casting a lasting glance toward your friends and their encouraging gestures as you go. He leads two steps ahead, shoulders drawn to his ears, which are now notably pink. The fingers around your forearm are clammy and loose enough that you could break free. Instead, you overturn your wrist and slide up into his palm, aligning your hands to properly hold him. You squeeze three times, and the rigidity in his posture lessens.

Hajime leads you away from the crowded centre toward the river bank as the display starts in an explosive burst. Couples and families have dispersed there to watch the fireworks. When he manoeuvres himself to his knees you bend to sit beside him, the soft blades of grass flattened under your weight. 

The fireworks go on for close to half an hour, great pulsing strobes, fiery dandelions and starbursts of light brightening both the sky and the water. You hear nothing over the noise, not even your own breathing. A streak of gold shoots up, few becoming many, fizzling into pinpricks of light mimicking fireflies.

You wonder after it ends, "Are the Californian displays better?"

Hajime binks at you, registering the question. He makes a contemplative sound. "Bigger, yeah. Especially on the fourth of July," he brings your joined hands over his lap and you stare as he absentmindedly strokes the back of your knuckles. "Wouldn't say that makes it better. Better depends on the company".

You mumble your agreement, "Think the others missed it?"

"Would be pretty hard to miss," he smirks softly, falling into a comfortable silence. Childlike laughter chimes around you, sparklers of every colour glowing etching names and shapes into the darkness. “They’ll be around here somewhere”.

You lift your gaze, staring at his profile. Your eyes traced the line of his jaw up to the delicate shell of his ear. “Hey,” you mumble, drawing his attention away from the surroundings. Speckles of light reflect in his irises as he turns to face you, cheekbones burnished with a soft red afterglow. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something”.

His brow arches in lieu of a response. Every movement he made you mirrored without meaning to. Quieter than before, you start, “I…” and as fast as it comes your resolve withers. Stretches and thins into weak, fibrous threads.

“What’s wrong? Is it that bad?” he tries for a grin. Hajime puts on a brave face for you, he always does. But you can hear the genuine concern in this voice, and it spurs you on.

"Just don't want you to think I'm being selfish".

“You can be selfish sometimes," Hajime argues.

“Even with you?”

“Especially with me”.

You scrunch your eyes shut.

Hajime frowns and rushes to wipe the stray tear with his thumb, swiping right through it like spider silk. "Take your time," he murmurs, hands an unsteady counterpoint to the surety in his voice. Your heart beats, a desperate rattling behind your ribs. Trembling hands, damp skin. The swoop in your stomach that makes you feel as though your body is precariously balanced on a cliff's edge. This could be everything you’ve ever wanted. This is it.

A slow burn has to catch fire eventually.

So you reach inside and twist the spigot of your heart. A trickle becomes a flood fit to burst. It’s all encompassing, like love and heartbreak at the same time. You look at him and blurt, tremulously, “I’m in love with you,” then wince for having said it, as if you hadn’t really meant to.

“I have been for as long as I can remember. You’re my best friend and I was scared to say it and…” you continued, voice all in a rush, with the pained expression of someone who hadn’t meant to say that either, “I still am. Scared, that is. I'm sorry it took this long. My feelings for you were always at odds with my fear of losing you. And I’m sorry if it’s selfish. I know we don’t have much time left until you leave, and this could make everything weird, but you deserve to know that you're loved. That I love you. And—really, Hajime, if you could just stop me whenever you feel like it that would be great,” you snapped your mouth shut, white hot with embarrassment.

Hajime remained motionless, jaw slack and muscles wire-tight with tension for a long, sickening moment. The sting has you backing off, away, trying to think of something to explain, some excuse—

—Hajime surged forward and kissed you.

It is not like you imagined. There's nothing slow about it, no hesitance nor gentility. Hajime kissed as if trying to press the full weight of his want upon you. As if gravity were a mere suggestion. You suck in a sharp, surprised breath. Relaxing into it your arms instinctively wrap around his shoulders to pull him impossibly close, drinking in his soft shudder when you brush the nape of his neck, making all the little hairs there stand endwise.

Hajime's lips are smoother than they look. His hands roam over your hips, kneading the soft parts of your body, and you give way to indulgence. You tilt to kiss his shallow cupid's bow, down to the corner of his mouth. Teeth nibble at your lower lip, the tip of his tongue hatching hundreds of butterflies in your stomach as he traces the seam with promise.

Another loud bang startles you out of the kiss. Laughter and whispers. You sharpen to the surroundings, noting the distant acrid smell of smoke. Rather than release you, Hajime wrapped his arms around your waist and tucked his nose into the hollow where your jaw and neck met. Faint stubble tickles your throat. Your heartbeat clamours in your ears, the blood in your body blush rushing to your head.

"Sorry," you hear him say. His lips drift across your skin as he speaks. The apology fills you with immediate dread. "Should've asked before I did that," he continued quietly.

"Fuck. Is that all?" you slump in his grip with a quiet, wet laugh. "You scared me".

Hajime rears back to look at you, enough room to share a shallow exhale. His palm, large and rough, rose to cradle your cheek. He leans his forehead against yours. You feel like you’ve eaten the sun, brimming with inexpressible tenderness.

"Sorry," he repeats, understanding washing over his expression and a sheepish, fond smile playing on his lips. Pinker than before, not cold bitten, but kiss bitten. "Waited to do that for a long time," his eyes soften in the shadows, half lidded as they flit across your features.

"You have?"

"Used to think you would be my first kiss. First everything, really," Hajime's smiles broadens at your uncertainty, awed and dumbfounded, as he maps out the curve of your jaw with his thumb. Light over your fluttering pulse point. His hand drops and the heat lingers on your neck. He swallows, a sobering moment. "I love you too. Not sure if there was ever a time that I didn’t," he pauses then, looking out toward the orange glow flickering through the treeline, expression unguarded and open. “I kept trying to find opportunities to tell you. I didn't know how. Thought it wouldn't be...”

"Fair?" you finish for him. Of course.

The bonfire has been lit. Cheers can be heard across the river. Your thoughts splinter, stuck in the present while wondering if the others found their way, or if they were hidden somewhere, watching it all unfold. The mental image of them crouched in a random bush together makes you snort, and Hajime's brow pinches.

"Just," you rush to explain, grasping his forearm. You're halfway into his lap. When had that happened? "I imagined the guys hiding somewhere trying to spy on us. S'stupid".

An impish grin graced Hajime's face, ducking his chin as though to hide it. "I wouldn't put it past them," he says. And it hits you that—Hajime has always looked at you like this. Has been saying he loved you, for a long time.

You dither, your skin suddenly cool, and your palms clammy. "Hajime," you say at the same time as he begins to speak.

"Oh—you can—"

"No, you".

"I was going to say we should head back," his voice is infused with fond exasperation, gaze dipping to your union. He clears his throat, "For some privacy. I can't touch you the way I want to, out here".

“Right, right,” you nod slowly through the rush of adrenaline. It prickles in your fingers, the skin on your arms pebbling as Hajime eases you to your feet and a strong arm snakes around your waist. His lips brush your cheek.

“This okay?” 

Melting into the crook of his elbow like it was a space carved just for you, you return a kiss to his jaw and tell him, “You don’t need to ask”. 

“Noted,” he says roughly. 

The walk to the ryokan is a blur. You hardly remember the faces of those you passed. The dancers had been bright in your periphery, their movements reduced to streaks of colour, and every beat of the taiko drum thundered in your chest. 

The quick text you sent to the group chat receives an overwhelming litany of winking emoticons and exclamation marks. Inwardly you hope Hajime doesn’t read them until after—whatever it is you’re heading back to do. Hajime notices. “What’re they saying?” 

“That, uh,” the phone screen dims as you lock it and shove it deep into your pocket. Your legs keep moving. “They promised not to be back for a while,” you shared a meaningful look and wet your lips at the ideas flitting through your mind. The taste of him lingers. Takoyaki, toothpaste and lip balm. 

Together you stumble through the lobby to your room. Hajime remains close at your heel; not once do his hands leave your waist, steadying your movements. You feel drunk. Exhilarated and swept up in the newness of it, as if in a free fall. The keycard almost slips from your trembling fingers as the door beeps open. You step into the shadowed genkan and swivel to take his face into your hands. Another beep as the door closes. You press yourself to Hajime’s front and kiss him. Natural as anything. 

Hajime leads you deeper into the room. The tatami yields under your feet. He sighs blissfully as your tongue swipes along the seam of his mouth, opening up for you and coaxing you in. It’s languid and without demand. The soft, wet sound makes your skin hot. You shudder as he sucks on your tongue, letting go to take the flesh of your bottom lip between his teeth.  

“Need you. On the bed,” you murmur, threading your fingers into his cropped hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. Starting at the crown, you make your way down the back of his head to the nape of his neck where you found him to be sensitive. He shudders, goosebumps spreading over his skin, and arousal seeps through your core. 

“Anything you want,” he breathes. A frisson of anticipation zips up your spine when he steps forward to crowd you against the bedroom door, fumbling at the handle. It swings open and your stomach tightens at the abrupt inertia, stumbling onto the bed together with an oomph. 

Hajime rises onto his forearms, flicks on the lamplight before bracing either side of your head. His nose bumps yours, a warm puff of air against your mouth as he bends his knees, slotting your hips together. You kiss him again. It’s more of a press of mouths, because you can’t stop smiling, and neither can he. 

The outline of his cock is pressed hot against you. You hook your heels into his lower back and breathe his name into his mouth. Flint sparks in your belly as he instinctively ruts forward, rising frantically to meet him. Lips part above your own in a shaky groan, quivering as he deepens the kiss. 

There’s tension buzzing under your skin, the restless, pleasant kind that diffuses into every fibre of muscle and leaves you shaking. A soft hitch of breath. You rock your hips in search of relief, feeling his cock hard in the tight confines of his jeans. “More,” your voice dwindles into a weak moan.

“Slow down,” he calls to you, gentle and placating in a way that makes your eyes sting. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” and you wish that were true.

The rustle of fabric as you undress is inordinately loud in the intimate atmosphere he draws you into. Hajime’s eyes deign to stray from you as he shucks his jacket off and pulls his shirt over his head. The blush on his chest looks like the aftershock of a shot of sake; colour that seeps through his body and stains his skin. He’s gorgeous in the warm dim light, emphasising the shadows of his pecs and the downy hair on his navel. You trace a finger through it and preen at how his abdomen clenches. 

A rough hand slips behind your knee, not quite prying them apart. Hajime thumb strokes the skin there. “Can I taste you?”

Desire tugs at the base of your spine, heart racing. You’re wet. You can feel the cool kiss of air between your thighs. With a surge of want they fall open to him. The quiet hitched breath doesn’t escape you as he looks at you. 

Palms smooth down the backs of your thighs. They ache and stretch to accommodate him. Hajime descends, forging a languorous path of wet kisses on his way. Your stomach twists in anticipation when he blows lightly over your pussy, bringing your legs up to straddle his head, kneading the soft flesh there. 

Hajime’s eyes can’t find a place to call home. Flitting from your sex to your chest to your face, mouth hovering just above where you want him. Even so you find yourself wanting to kiss him again. Wanting for more hands, more mouths, more time to learn him with. 

“You’re beautiful,” he rasps, pressing praise into the delicate skin there. It’s the expression on his face that makes you throb. The intense, unabashed want. You’ve never seen him look like that. “You’ll tell me what you like, yeah?”

You concede with a barely audible mumble, unable to trust your voice. The corner of Hajime’s mouth quirks into a smirk. Then his thumbs are tucking into the innermost creases of your thighs, gently spreading your folds. He presses a chaste kiss to your clit before licking a broad stroke through your folds. 

Forcing his eyes open, Hajime clutches at the fat around your hips. He laps at your pussy, alternating between slow and fast, firm and languid, finding a rhythm that plays your body until your hips are rolling against his face. You cling to the bedsheets, head dropping back into the pillows. “Like that. Hajime,” you gasp as flickers back and forth over your clit, breathlessness abated by the sudden rush of air to your lungs. “Fuck. Don’t stop—!”

You hear his deep inhale, and his eyes scrunch shut with a long groan as he keeps pace. It sends an echo of pleasure through you—makes you clench around nothing, an innate plea from your body. He kisses your pussy, open mouthed, sweet and precise. Heat gathers in your belly like a solar flare. The pressure has you bursting at the seams. 

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you say, voice caught in your throat. Your thighs wrap around his head, toes curling. He doesn’t push, or adjust his pace, or let his enthusiasm get the better of him. A broken moan spills from your lips, pelvis undulating with each wave. Hajime maintains the rhythm—exactly as you need it, right as your spine arches into the sheets, and your orgasm ripples through you. 

Your breathing begins to steady. Your legs fall slack, hung limp over Hajime’s shoulders. He hums, a satisfied little noise, and rests his cheek against your inner thigh as his tongue slides lazily through your folds. You take in the arousal and spit coating his cheeks, half lidded stare, the sheen of sweat on his brow, and feel a surge of affection. 

Your fingertips graze his temple. His eyes flutter at the tender touch, and Hajime tips into it, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Good?” he asks, smiling. 

“Good?” you repeat with disbelief. You grab at his shoulders to coax him back up, pleased when he goes willingly. You readjust as he buries his arms under you and gathers you close to his chest, kissing the corner of your lips. You turn and murmur into his mouth, “You’re a little too good at that”.

Hajime laughs, lolling his forehead to yours. “Just good at following instructions,” his voice goes tight at the pressure against his cock, your hips raised to feel him through his briefs. “Fuck”.

“If you want to,” you tease dazedly. He nips at your lip in retaliation. 

“Don’t feel like we have to,” Hajime reassures after a beat, hand coming to rest on your waist. He strokes up and down your flank. “I don’t have any condoms. And I know this has been pretty fast”. 

You consider him closely, love suffusing through you like a warm, pleasant fog. It spurs you to admit things you wouldn’t have otherwise. “I’m clean. We can stop if you want to,” you kiss his cheek, “But I’ve waited enough. I want you,” you kiss the bridge of his nose, “Wanna know what you feel like inside me,” you kiss his slack mouth, tasting yourself. “Want you to know what I feel like when I cum, so you can think about it when we’re apart—”

Hajime pins you to the bed like a butterfly, his jaw set tight. His eyes are dark, gone is the colour of nascent spring. You feel swallowed up by him. “Keep talking and you’re going to make me cum,” he rumbles, reaching to push down his briefs. 

“I don’t care if you cum as soon as you put it in,” you squirm, tucking your chin to watch the moment his cock slips free. He sits in his palm and wraps his fingers firmly around the base, leaning deeper into the cradle of your hips, legs splayed overtop his firm thighs.  

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Hajime replies dryly, dipping to kiss you again. You’ve lost count of how many. He positions his arm above you by the headboard and the hot weight of his cock settles on your sex. You share a soft sigh as he guides the tip through your folds, the underside nudging against your clit. 

“You know what I mean,” your focus is torn between talking and angling your hips to take more of him. “Doesn’t have to be mind blowing I just—want to be with you,” you mumble, quiet like an admission, and Hajime’s concentration comes apart at the seams. 

The air is stolen from your lungs as the tip slips in. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, seeking—something. Leverage. A tether. Chest to chest, Hajime presses you deeper into the mattress as his cock sinks into you. Slow, attentive to your shifting expression while you adjust to the stretch. 

And when he bottoms out you feel full. He’s thick. it has a sense of contentment spreading throughout your body. Eventually, “You can move, big guy”. 

Hajime gives a gasping breath, groaning your name on the next. The rough timbre of his voice makes you pulse around him. The corded muscles in his arms flex as he shifts. There’s a dull sting while he pulls out, and a startling emptiness, immediately sated as he rocks his hips forward. You arch upward, angling your hips to take him deeper, and his eyes screw shut, lips parted in a silent moan.

Hajime fucks you with slow, deliberate thrusts, gradually building a rhythm, finding a pace that you respond to. You can hardly bear to look away from him. Flushed pink with exertion, the light lovingly kissing the left side of his face, mouth swollen and red. He’s murmuring little incantations of praise that you strain to hear over the sharp slap of skin, every thrust plucking another breathless sound from your throat. 

And he’s looking right back, almost reverential. A desperate pinch to his brow. You dig your heels in, nails biting at his back. It’s all you can do to hold on. His kisses grow clumsy as his attention wanes, reaching a spit-wet hand down to play with your clit as he pistons his hips. 

“M’close,” he grunts like it pains him to admit. 

Your ears are ringing. The sticky, wet echo reverberates around the room as Hajime fucks you. His strokes press impossibly deeper and you choke on a moan, feeling him in your throat. His fingers rub faster over your swollen clit. Pleasure spreads through your belly, blood rushing between your thighs. 

“Please,” you cradle his cheek, hot against your palm. He takes it in his free hand, interlocking your fingers against the bedsheets. The intimacy has your mind going numb. You’ve become a knot of a person. That new vulnerability, the love he’s immolating you with, is what knocks you toward the edge. “Hajime,” you cling to him desperately. “Hajime”.

“Fuck. I’m coming, I’m—” Hajime buries his face into the crook of your neck, intermittently squeezing your hand. His thrusts are harder, sloppy. He shudders to a stop, his orgasm carving him straight down the middle with a drawn out moan. 

The tension seeps from him all at once. You laugh breathlessly at his collapse, the weight both comfortable and bruising. His pelvis is nestled perfectly against your clit, and every twitch creates another wave of pleasure. You undulate your hips to chase the friction. 

The only indication that Hajime notices is the smile curling against your throat. He lets his lips drift across your pulse, folding his arms around yours until the world and it’s axis are just that—Hajime. Without needing to ask, he stays close and circles his hips even as his cock softens inside you, tipping you over the precipice. 

Time is difficult to measure while swaddled in your intimate little bubble. You’re not sure how long you spend simply holding one another, commiting how the other feels to memory. Hajime kisses your forehead. “I love you,” he says.

“Love you,” you croak back unattractively. He flinches at the sound, and props himself up to search your face. 

Eyes wide and earnest he asks, “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No, I’m alright. Just processing everything,” you reply, blinking away the sting behind your eyes. Hajime doesn’t look convinced. 

“Tell me,” he gently encourages. There’s an anxious edge to his tone that you want rid of. 

“Besides the fact that I had sex with the guy I’ve been in love with since middle school and everyone is going to know that when they get back?” you laugh. Hajime’s mouth curls at the sound as he carefully manoeuvres you both onto your sides. Better. “I’m just scared about what this means for us, I guess. Are we—you know, together now? Doing the long distance thing?” 

Giving a thoughtful hum, he hooks your knee over his hip. Whether it’s to put off the mess a little longer or keep you close, you’re not going to complain. “I want to be with you,” he says. 

“Even though we’ll be…” you squint as you think and reach inward for the specific number “…five thousand three hundred and fourteen miles apart?” 

“You looked that up?” Hajime’s smile widens, dopey and fond in a way that makes your heart ache. “But yeah. We’ll take it one step at a time”. 

“Then what’s the next step?” 

“Next?” he says. Another tender kiss to your temple, a deep, pensive inhale. “Next, we use the onsen”.

EXTRA:

You can’t be sure how long you stand there, sluggish and unblinking, fixated on the distant threads of grey cutting across an otherwise dark sky. It felt dissonant to the torrential downpour in your chest.

A warm body comes up behind you. Issei rests his chin on your crown, rubbing it back and forth as Takahiro knocks your elbows together, “Ready to go?”

No, you think. After a few beats of silence you phone buzzes in your hand and you scramble to check it. The background is the picture Takahiro took of you and Hajime by the lake, in a world of your own. A notification bar cuts across the screen. 

Hajime (03:34): I love you. I’ll call when I land. 

You swallow that thought and uproot yourself, “Yeah. Yeah I think so”.

[fvsm4x]

‚ 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜, 𝐈‘𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧‘𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 ‘ — 𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐬

𝐜𝐰. Best friends to fwb / fwb! gojo satoru x fem! reader / one sided love? / smut / gojo is kinda a whore / jealousy / kinda angsty / 18+ content / oral (f receiving) / fingering / p in v / 5k words

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠. : @starlightanyaaa @froufrousnowman @101strawberries101 @dazaisfavgf @the-lazy-perfectionist @maiiluvs @lukiaheart

November 26

The city skyline glittered under the moonlight, a sprawling array of lights against the night sky, painting a mesmerizing backdrop to the chaotic rhythm of the urban jungle. From your balcony, perched high above the city streets, you watched as life carried on below, oblivious to the turmoil brewing within you.

You picked up your phone, the screen glowing softly in the darkness, displaying a single message from him.

Satoru: you busy?

October 2

The neon lights of the bar flickered in the darkness, casting an ethereal glow over the crowded room on that Friday night. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol and the hum of conversation, creating an atmosphere charged with anticipation. Lost in your own thoughts, you sat at the bar, nursing your drink in silence, observing the world around you.

“Fancy meeting you here,” a voice drawled beside you, jolting you from your reverie.

Turning, you found Gojo Satoru sliding onto the stool beside you, his trademark smirk in place. “Can't say the feeling's mutual,” you retorted, taking a sip of your drink and pointedly ignoring him.

He chuckled, undeterred by your icy demeanor. “Come on, don't be like that. I'm just trying to be friendly.”

Rolling your eyes, you resisted the urge to scoff at his feeble attempt at charm. “Save it, Satoru. I've heard it all before.”

Raising an eyebrow, a hint of amusement danced in Gojo's eyes. “Touché. But you have to admit, we make quite the pair.”

You scoffed, downing the rest of your drink in one gulp. “Speak for yourself.”

As the night wore on, the tension between you grew, fueled by a potent combination of alcohol and unspoken desires. Arguing and bantering became your shared language, trading barbs and insults with the ease of long-time adversaries. But beneath the surface, a different kind of tension simmered—a tension born of attraction and longing, a tension that neither of you dared to acknowledge.

“You know, for someone who claims to hate me, you sure do spend a lot of time with me,” Gojo remarked, his lips quirking up into a sly grin.

“Maybe I just enjoy watching you make a fool of yourself,” you shot back, though the words rang hollow even to your own ears.

He chuckled, leaning in closer until his breath fanned against your ear. “Or maybe you just can't resist me.”

You tensed at his proximity, the heat of his body sending a shiver down your spine. “Don't flatter yourself,” you replied, though the words lacked conviction.

He leaned back, his grin widening into a smirk. “I'll take that as a yes.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't deny the truth in his words. There was something undeniably magnetic about him, something that drew you in against your better judgment.

“Why do you always have to be such a pain?” you muttered, though your words lacked the bite of true conviction.

He chuckled, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. “Because it's fun.”

You swatted his hand away with a scowl, though your heart wasn't in it. “You're impossible.”

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “And yet, you love me.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words died on your lips as his gaze locked with yours. You furrowed your eyebrows and turned away from him.

“I could never lower my standards for a rodent like you.” you said, averting his gaze,

Gojo's smirk faltered for a moment, before he masked it with a nonchalant shrug. "Ouch, that hurts, (Y/N). I didn't realize I was dealing with such high standards."

You clenched your jaw, frustration bubbling beneath the surface as you struggled to maintain your composure. "High standards? More like basic human decency," you shot back."You're not nearly as interesting as you think you are." You lied.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable as he studied you in silence for a moment. "Is that so?" he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, refusing to meet his gaze as you focused on the empty glass in front of you. "Yeah, it is," you spoke, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

With a heavy sigh, Gojo leaned back, "Such a meany“ he muttered, a hint of playfulness in his voice.

You chuckled, shaking your head at his dramatics. "Oh, please," you retorted, rolling your eyes. "You love it when I give you a hard time. Keeps you on your toes."

Gojo's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that, (Y/N)," he teased, "But deep down, you know you couldn't live without me."

You feigned a gag, a smile playing on your lips. "Don't flatter yourself, Satoru," you replied, though there was a hint of fondness in your tone. "I've managed just fine without you before, and I can do it again."

“Yeah, right,” he quipped, a playful glint in his eyes as he leaned back against the bar.

You arched an eyebrow at his retort, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. "You doubt me, Satoru?" you replied, your voice dripping with mock indignation. "I'll have you know, I'm perfectly capable of thriving on my own."

He chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "Sure, sure," he said, his tone teasing. "But let's be honest, (Y/N). You'd miss me too much if I were gone."

You rolled your eyes, though there was a small kernel of truth in his words that you couldn't deny. "Yeah, right," you muttered, though the words lacked conviction.

As Gojo's phone buzzed with a notification, he glanced down and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. With a smirk, he tapped on the message, and his smirk widened into a grin as he turned the screen toward you.

"Look," he said, his voice tinged with amusement.

You glanced at the screen, expecting to see a harmless message or maybe a meme, but your eyes widened in shock as the image loaded. It was a picture—no, several pictures—of a woman in various states of undress, her features blurred out but her intentions unmistakable.

Your jaw dropped, heat rising to your cheeks as you struggled to process what you were seeing. "Are those...?" you started, unable to form a coherent sentence as your mind raced with a million questions.

Gojo chuckled, his amusement evident as he scrolled through the messages. "Looks like someone's eager to get my attention," he said, his voice dripping with arrogance.

You tore your gaze away from the screen, a mixture of embarrassment and anger bubbling beneath the surface. "That's disgusting," you muttered, unable to keep the disdain from your voice.

Gojo continued scrolling through the pictures, his expression shifting from amusement to mild annoyance. "Girls these days really are something else," he remarked, shaking his head,“I know i‘m handsome and allat but they need to chill out.“

You glanced at him with a deadpan expression. "Thats your fault," you replied, the words dripping with sarcasm.

He hummed in response, his attention still fixed on his phone. "You're not gonna go to her place after she sends you something like that?" you asked,

He shrugged, finally looking up from his phone. "Why should I?" he replied, his tone casual. "It's nothing new—I get pictures like that every day."

Your eyebrows shot up in disbelief at his nonchalant attitude. "Ah, right. I forgot my best friend is a whore," you retorted, unable to stop the words from slipping out.

Gojo's eyes widened in surprise at your accusation, a flicker of hurt crossing his features before he masked it with a practiced smirk. "Hey, now," he protested, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I prefer the term 'charming ladies' man,' thank you very much."

You rolled your eyes at his flippant response, unable to hide the hurt that lingered just beneath the surface. "Yeah, well, whatever helps you sleep at night," you muttered,

He leaned in, his playful demeanor shifting to something more serious. "You know that I wouldn't leave you just to be in another woman's bed" he said, his voice softer. "I'd rather be here with you to be honest.“

"Thats not what happened before" you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper.

He reached out, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. "The past is the past, (Y/N)," he said, his tone sincere. "You're the most important person in my life except for suguru. I wouldn't leave you here hanging for some chick, especially when you‘re drunk."

You looked up at him, searching his eyes for any hint of deception. But all you saw was the familiar warmth and mischief that had always drawn you to him. Despite everything, you couldn't help but smile.

He chuckled, his hand still resting on your shoulder. "Seriously. I know it can be hard to deal with me sometimes but if you ever need anything, you know I'm here for you."

You nodded, appreciating the sincerity in his words. "Yeah, I know."

The moment was interrupted by another buzz from Gojo's phone. He glanced down and sighed, rolling his eyes. "Not again," he muttered,

"What now?" you asked, curious despite yourself.

He turned the screen toward you, revealing another message from the same woman. This time, it was a video—equally suggestive and equally unwelcome.

„Don't show me that—” you muttered, turning away from the screen,“could've just said that you got another pair of nudes send“

"I don't wanna be the only one seeing that, gotta share it with someone.“ he replied, while letting out a soft chuckle.

You sighed.

„Didn’t I already tell her that it was a one-time thing?" Gojo muttered under his breath.

You couldn't help but snort at his predicament. "Looks like someone's not getting the hint."

He shook his head, quickly typing out a reply. "Some people just don't understand the word one-time thing," he grumbled,“I don't mind if women send me nudes though, it boosts my ego up.“ he replied with a chuckle after.

„Of course it does..“

You watched him for a moment, a thought forming in your mind. "Why don't you block her?" you suggested.

Gojo looked up, "I guess I could," he said slowly. "But that would be admitting defeat."

You rolled your eyes. "How would that admit your defeat? Only you would see it that way."

He chuckled, his fingers hovering over the block button. "Alright, fine." he said, finally pressing it. "She wasn't anything special anyways. I can always find a replacement for her.“

You rolled your eyes.

Gojo put his phone away and turned his full attention back to you. "So, what were we talking about before we were rudely interrupted?"

You smirked, leaning back in your chair. "How much you adore me, I think."

He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh, right. That."

For the rest of the night, the conversation flowed easily between you. The barbs and insults remained, but they were laced with affection rather than frustration. The alcohol loosened your tongues and you found yourselves reminiscing about old times, sharing secrets, and laughing at inside jokes.

As the night drew to a close, you realized how much you valued these moments with Gojo. Despite his flaws and his infuriating arrogance, he was your best friend. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Walking out of the bar, you stumbled slightly, the effects of the alcohol making themselves known. Gojo steadied you with a grin, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

"Easy there," he teased. "Can't have my best friend falling over."

You leaned into his embrace, grateful for his support. "Thanks, Satoru," you murmured, your voice soft.

He looked down at you, "Anytime, (Y/N). Anytime."

The walk to your apartment was filled with laughter and playful banter, the cool night air doing little to sober you up. The alcohol had settled into your system, making your steps uneven and your thoughts a bit hazy. Gojo's arm remained around your shoulders, guiding you along the familiar path.

Finally, you reached your door, fumbling with the keys as you tried to unlock it. Gojo chuckled, taking the keys from your hand and smoothly opening the door.

"You'd be lost without me," he teased, his breath warm against your ear.

"Shut up," you muttered, but there was no real bite in your words.

Inside, you kicked off your shoes and stumbled toward the couch, collapsing onto it with a sigh. Gojo followed, sitting beside you and stretching his arms out along the back of the couch.

"Do you need help with getting to the bedroom?" he remarked, his voice softer now.

"No it's fine," you replied, closing your eyes for a moment. When you opened them, you found him staring at you, his blue eyes intense and unreadable.

"What?" you asked, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

"Nothing," he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Just thinking how pretty you look even when you‘re drunk."

You rolled your eyes, but the compliment, however casual, warmed you. "You’re such a flirt," you said, your words slurring slightly.

"And you love it," he shot back, leaning in a bit closer.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the way his gaze seemed to pull you in, but you found yourself leaning in too, your breath hitching as the space between you shrank. Before you could second-guess yourself, your lips met his in a tentative kiss.

-

November 26

Satoru: you busy?

It had been the same message countless times over the past months.

The memory of that first night flashed in your mind. It had been a typical Friday evening, and you and Gojo had decided to unwind at your favorite bar. You had always been close, best friends who shared everything from secrets to inside jokes. But that night, something had shifted.

Gojo had looked at you differently, his gaze lingering a bit longer, his touches more frequent. You had felt a spark, a pull that you couldn’t ignore. The drinks had flowed, loosening your inhibitions, and before you knew it, you were back at your apartment, your lips crashing into his.

The next morning, tangled in sheets and the aftermath of a night you couldn’t quite believe had happened, Gojo had suggested the arrangement.

“Let’s keep it casual,” he had said, his tone nonchalant but his eyes intense. “No strings, just fun. What do you think?”

Caught between the high of what had just happened and the fear of losing him, you had agreed. You told yourself it was a good idea, a way to enjoy each other without complicating your friendship. But as the weeks turned into a month, it became clear that things weren’t so simple.

You replied to his message, your heart already racing at the thought of seeing him.

You: "No, come over."

Minutes later, there was a knock at your door. You opened it to find Gojo standing there, his familiar grin in place. He stepped inside, his presence filling the room. He was always like this—effortlessly confident, always in control.

“Miss me?” he teased, slipping off his shoes and stepping closer.

You forced a smile. “Yeah.”

His gaze lingered at you for a moment before he chuckled. His hands found your waist, pulling you into a kiss. It was intoxicating, the way he kissed you, but you knew better than to let yourself get lost in it. He was good at making you feel wanted, but there was a distance in his touch, a barrier you couldn’t breach.

As his lips moved against yours, you felt a familiar rush of heat. Gojo’s kisses were always intense, a blend of passion and skill that left you breathless. He deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with a practiced ease that made your knees weak. For a moment, you let yourself forget, let yourself drown in the sensation of his mouth on yours, his hands roaming over your body.

But then, reality intruded. The knowledge that this was all it would ever be, that he would never give you more, clawed at the back of your mind. You broke the kiss, gasping for air, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Something wrong?” Gojo asked, his voice husky with desire.

You shook your head, forcing a smile. “No, just… catching my breath.”

He smirked, his hands sliding down to your hips. “Then let’s keep going.”

He picked you up by the thighs, and walked to the bedroom with you in his arms. He laid you down on your back, and hovered over you, his eyes dark with desire. He kissed you again, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You arched into him, your body responding instinctively to his touch.

He nibbled your neck, his hands slipping underneath your t-shirt, teasing your skin as they moved upwards towards your breasts. You moaned softly, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. His touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine. You wanted him, needed him, but there was a part of you that longed for more than just the physical.

"You like that?" he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and filled with heat. "You like the way I make you feel?"

"Yes, Satoru," you breathed, your voice trembling with desire. "I love it."

"Good," he growled, his hands cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. "I’want to hear you say my name."

You arched into his touch, your body alight with sensation. "S’toru," you moaned, the sound of his name slipping from your lips like a prayer.

"That's right," he murmured, his lips trailing down your body, his hands working to remove your clothes with practiced ease. "I want you to remember this. Every touch, every kiss. I want you to crave me."

You shuddered beneath him, your body responding to his words and touch. He undressed you slowly, savoring every moment, his eyes dark with hunger. When you were finally bare before him, he paused to drink in the sight of you, his gaze intense and possessive.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, "So perfect."

Your heart ached at his words, knowing they were just a part of the game he played. But you let yourself believe them, if only for a moment. "S’toru," you whispered, your voice filled with need.

He smiled, a dark, predatory grin. "I know," he said, his hands sliding down your body, caressing every curve and dip. "I know exactly what you need."

He kissed his way down your body, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of fire in their wake. When he reached the apex of your thighs, he paused, his breath hot against your skin. "Tell me," he demanded, his voice a low growl. "Tell me what you want."

"Please, Satoru," you begged, your voice a desperate whisper. "I need you. I need you inside.."

"Not yet," he said, his eyes glinting with mischief,“Want you to beg for it.“

You whimpered, your body trembling with anticipation. "Please," you repeated, your voice breaking. "Please, Satoru, I need you."

„More.“

You closed your eyes,“please, please s‘toru. Please.“ you begged.

He chuckled, a dark, satisfied sound. "Wasn’t so hard now was it?“ he said, his hands parting your thighs.

His fingers slipped between your thighs, teasing the sensitive skin there. "S’ wet for me," he muttered, a smirk playing on his lips. He slid a finger through your folds, gathering your arousal and spreading it over your clit. “All for me, right?”

You reopened your eyes and looked at him, only to find him staring at your body instead of your face. It reminded you that he was doing this only for pleasure. “Yeah, only for you,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady despite the emotions swirling within you.

His finger moved in slow, deliberate circles over your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body. “That’s right,” he said, his voice low and filled with satisfaction.

Your breath hitched as he increased the pressure, his touch expertly finding that perfect rhythm. “Satoru,” you moaned, your hips bucking against his hand.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “I love the way you say my name,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “Say it again.”

“Satoru,” you gasped, your voice a desperate plea. The sensation of his thumb on your clit, combined with the way his fingers teased your entrance, was driving you to the edge.

“That’s it,” he growled, his lips trailing down your neck. “Let go for me. Show me how much you need it.”

With a deliberate slowness that was both torturous and electrifying, he slipped a finger inside you. You cried out, the feeling of him filling you causing your body to arch off the bed. He started a slow, steady rhythm, his finger curling inside you to hit that spot that made you see stars.

“God, you’re so tight,” he murmured, adding a second finger. He moved them in and out of you, his pace unhurried, savoring the way you responded to his touch. “I could do this all night.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. But the pleasure was too intense, too consuming. With a cry, you came undone, your body trembling as you climaxed around his fingers.

He watched you intently, a satisfied smirk on his lips. “So beautiful,” he murmured, his fingers still moving inside you, prolonging your pleasure.

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, the aftershocks of your orgasm still rippling through your body. “Satoru, please,” you whispered, your voice filled with need.

He grinned, his eyes dark with desire. “Don’t worry,” he said,

Without warning, he withdrew his fingers and shifted lower on the bed. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wide as he settled between them. The sight of him there, eyes dark with desire, made your heart race.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. “I bet you taste even better than you feel,” he murmured, and then his mouth was on you.

His tongue flicked out, teasing your clit with feather-light strokes that made you shiver. He started slow, savoring every reaction you gave him, before gradually increasing the pressure and speed. Your hips bucked against his mouth, a moan slipping from your lips as he licked a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit.

“Fuck, Satoru,” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as you tried to hold on.

He hummed in response, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through your body. “You taste so good,” he muttered, his words muffled against your skin. He sucked your clit into his mouth, his tongue circling it in a way that made your toes curl.

You could feel the heat pooling in your belly, the tension building with every skilled movement of his tongue. He alternated between sucking and licking, his fingers slipping back inside you, pumping in rhythm with his mouth.

“More,” you pleaded, your voice trembling with need. “Please, Satoru.”

He looked up at you, his eyes locking with yours as he continued his relentless assault. “You like that?” he asked, his voice husky with arousal.

“Yes,” you moaned, your head falling back against the pillow. “Don’t stop.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. His tongue moved faster, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made you see stars. The combination of his mouth and fingers was overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You nodded, unable to form coherent words as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable level. “Please,” you gasped, your body arching off the bed. “I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice a low growl. “I want to taste you.”

With a final, shuddering cry, you came undone, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. Your body trembled, your hands gripping his hair as you rode out the pleasure. He didn’t stop, his tongue and fingers working you through every pulse and shiver, prolonging your release until you were a quivering mess beneath him.

Finally, he pulled back, his lips glistening with your arousal. He looked up at you, a satisfied smirk on his face. “You’re even more beautiful when you come,” he said, his voice rough with desire.

You lay there, panting and spent, your body still humming with aftershocks. “Satoru,” you murmured, reaching out for him.

He crawled back up your body, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, the intimacy of it making your heart ache. “I’m not done with you yet,” he whispered against your lips. “Not even close.”

He pulled back from the kiss, his breath hot against your lips as he murmured, “Turn around.”

You blinked up at him, a slight frown of confusion crossing your features. “What?”

“Turn around,” he repeated, his voice firm but not unkind. “Gonna take you from behind like always.”

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, something that made your heart clench. But you complied, rolling over onto your stomach and then up onto your knees, your body still thrumming with the lingering aftershocks of your orgasm.

He positioned himself behind you, his hands gripping your hips. You felt the tip of his cock brush against your entrance, teasing and relentless.

You moaned in response, your body arching back toward him. “Please, Satoru.”

Without another word, he pushed into you, filling you completely in one smooth thrust. You cried out, the sensation of him inside you overwhelming. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust to the feeling before he started to move, his pace steady and controlled.

His hands tightened on your hips, holding you firmly in place as he fucked you. Each thrust was deep and precise, hitting that perfect spot inside you that made your vision blur. “God, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice low and rough. “So tight.”

You whimpered, your body moving in time with his, the pleasure building once again. “S’toru,” you gasped, your fingers gripping the sheets.

He leaned over you, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “You like it when I fuck you like this, don’t you? When I take you from behind?”

“Yes,” you moaned, your body trembling with each thrust. “I love it.”

“Good,” he growled, his pace quickening. “Because I want to hear you scream my name.”

You could feel the tension coiling in your belly, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level. “Satoru,” you cried out, your voice breaking.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “Come for me. Let me feel you come around my cock.”

With a final, shuddering cry, you came undone, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. He followed moments later, his own release spilling inside you as he groaned your name.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing, the feel of his weight pressing down on you. Then he pulled out and rolled onto his back, a satisfied smirk on his face.

You lay there, your body spent and trembling, your heart aching with a mixture of satisfaction and something more. “Satoru,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He looked over at you, his expression unreadable. “What is it?”

You hesitated, the words you wanted to say stuck in your throat. But in the end, you just shook your head. “Nothing,” you murmured, closing your eyes.

“Good,” he said, his voice distant. “Get some rest.”

And as you lay there, your body still humming with the afterglow of pleasure, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was all you would ever have with him. The physical connection was undeniable, but the emotional distance felt like an insurmountable chasm.

But for now, you would take what you could get. Because even if it was just physical for him, for you, it was something more. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Gojo’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. He sighed, reaching over to grab it.

“Yeah?” he answered, his voice returning to that familiar, nonchalant tone.

You could hear a faint voice on the other end, though you couldn’t make out the words. Gojo’s expression shifted, the playful glint in his eyes replaced with a more serious look.

“Alright,” he said after a moment. “I’ll be there soon.” He ended the call and turned to you, his demeanor already changing.

“I have to go,” he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing up.

“Now?” you asked, unable to keep the disappointment out of your voice.

“Yeah,” he replied, pulling on his clothes with practiced efficiency. “Work stuff.”

You watched him dress, the familiar ache in your chest growing stronger. He was always slipping away, always leaving you with just a taste of what you wanted.

“Will I see you later?” you asked, hating how vulnerable you sounded.

He paused, looking at you with an expression that was hard to read. “Sure,” he said, though the word felt empty. “You know where to find me.”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Be safe.”

He gave you a quick nod, his usual smirk flickering across his lips. “Always am.”

And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the dimly lit room. The silence felt deafening, the weight of his absence pressing down on you.

You sighed, pulling the sheets around you as you tried to gather your thoughts. The physical connection with Gojo was incredible, but it always left you wanting more, longing for something deeper that he seemed unwilling or unable to give

© fvsm4x 2023/4 : do not translate, plagiarise or steal my work.

[barcaatthemoon]

jenni's girl || alexia putellas x reader ||

alexia gets jealous watching you hang around your ex.

minors dni, 18+, smut ahead, bottom reader, top alexia

alexia was seething as she watched jenni flirt with you and buy you drinks. she knew that you knew what was going on, and yet, you still let it happen. alexia had pretty royally screwed up earlier in the day by completely dismissing you, but she still hadn't expected you to go running into jenni's arms the moment that you got into the club. especially not with the history surrounding the two of you.

that was why alexia was so scared. both of you had dated jenni, but alexia could see the lasting mark that had on you. sometimes she felt like all you wanted was to go crawling back to the older woman. she did her best not to think about the fact that she had been your rebound for jenni, but when she saw the way you hung off of the other woman's arm, it was impossible.

"has anyone ever told you that you need to relax?" mapi asked as she draped an arm around alexia's shoulder. alexia was quick to shrug it off as she continued to glare at you and jenni. "she wouldn't do that to you. maybe you're getting so upset because you're pro-,"

"i would never!" alexia shouted as she shoved mapi back. mapi's brows furrowed in anger before she stormed off. they were all supposed to be happy and celebrating, but alexia was having a bad enough time to ruin anybody else's night. you glanced away from jenni for the first time in probably 10 minutes to see alexia sitting by herself, obviously upset.

"go to her, but be careful. i wouldn't want to see you get hurt," jenni said. she pressed a kiss to your cheek, which alexia definitely did not miss. she got up from her seat and began to walk towards the exit, completely ignoring you as you followed her. the two of you managed to get outside and to the parking lot before alexia finally turned around to face you.

"i'm surprised you're not back in there with jenni," alexia scoffed. you frowned at her, deeply upset by the accusatory tone that she was using. "come on, i know that you miss her. i know that deep down, you'll always be hers because she had you first."

"it's not a competition like that, alexia. i'm with you because i love you. yes, i love jenni, but as nothing more than a friend now. you two are friends, and i don't act like you are whenever she asks you to hang out, do i?" you crossed your arms over your chest. if alexia wanted a fight, you were more than happy to give it to her. she was acting ridiculous, and there was no way that all of her anger had come from a single interaction between you and a mutual friend.

"prove it. prove to me that you're not jenni's girl anymore," alexia challenged.

"are you serious?" you asked her. alexia's facial expression didn't soften or move at all, giving you your answer. you rolled your eyes as you moved past her to get in the car. alexia was pissy with you on the drive home, ignoring you until the two of you got back home.

you learned just how serious alexia had been in the parking lot whenever the two of you got home. she had a tendency to shut you out a bit whenever she got jealous, but the tension between the two of you had been extremely horny. alexia found a good balance of that in pinning you against the wall and sliding her thigh in between yours while also denying you any sort of softer affection.

she seemed to relish in the desperate little whine you let out after being denied for several kisses. alexia was staring at you with watchful eyes, darkened by the thoughts of all the ways she'd turn you out to prove that you'd do anything for her. she couldn't wait to bend you over every surface in the house to fuck you senseless.

"ale," you pleaded with her after being denied another kiss. you looked up at her with your best puppy dog eyes and pout, which usually would have worked at any other time. you realized that you must have really messed up back at the club if she wouldn't even give you a second look now. "i'm sorry ale. please, just give me a kiss."

"jenni used to kiss you when she fucked you." alexia wasn't asking because she knew how jenni fucked. you let out a whimper as you crumpled against the wall a little. her face softened for a moment as she sighed and pulled you back up to stand straight. "cari?"

you were at a loss for what to do. you had apologized to alexia and tried to explain yourself, but she wasn't listening to you. in that moment, alexia could see the turmoil that she had been causing you. once she had softened, she looked more like your alexia. you had been fine playing things up whenever you knew that she wasn't genuinely pissed at you.

"i'm sorry," alexia apologized as she pressed a kiss to your forehead. you stepped forward into her arms, pushing both of you away from the door. "you have every right to be mad at me for acting like an ass."

"fuck me hard enough to make me forget about you being a dick. better yet, fuck me hard enough to make me forget how jenni used to." alexia looked surprised by the glint in your eyes, but she went along with it anyway. and if she needed a little more motivation, you had it ready on the tip of your tongue. "god, i don't think anybody has ever made me feel that satisfied. she used to fill me up so fucking good ale, i don't think you under-,"

alexia didn't even make it to the bedroom with you. she spun you around and pushed on your shoulders to bend you over the back of the couch. barely half a second passed before you felt alexia's body weight press against yours as she leaned forward to whisper into your ear, "stay right here, just like this. if you move an inch, i'll let you go see if jenni will take your bratty ass back."

you swallowed thickly as alexia backed away from you. she disappeared down the hallway before coming back just a couple of moments later. you wanted to turn your head to look at her, but you didn't doubt that she'd kick you out for the night. there was an edge to her voice, one that came along with a look of anger that you had seen earlier in the night. you knew that you'd be lucky if alexia let you finish by the end of the night.

"color?" alexia asked as she placed her hands on your skirt. you had worn a very short, leather miniskirt out. alexia had been appreciative of it on the car ride there, but not so much once everybody had filled into the club. many of the girls on the team thought that you were attractive and had attempted to get with you in between your relationships with jenni and alexia.

"green," you answered. alexia, thankfully, didn't rip your skirt as she removed it from your body. it was definitely something that she wanted to see you wear again, even if the moment someone else looked at you, she'd get all jealous and grumpy. alexia carefully set the skirt on the couch next to you, just barely in your eyeline.

"i'd mark your ass up, but i think you'd enjoy that a little too much," alexia told you. you knew that was far from the truth. all it had taken for you to decide that you weren't a fan of being spanked was one particularly wild night whenever you had first gotten together with alexia, one that you were surprised she remembered.

"fuck, ale," you moaned as you felt her fingers run over your center. your underwear were still on, but the press of alexia's fingers was anything but gentle. she wanted to make sure that you could feel everything.

"don't worry, i will," alexia promised. she pressed a line of kisses along your back as she slotted herself right up against you. you let out a gasp as you felt the strap-on that she had chosen for the night press against your cunt. alexia smirked with her lips pressed into the crook of your neck. "i just don't think you can handle it just yet. even with all that big talk, i'm not quite sure you could take my new toy."

"new?" you tried to turn your head back to look, but alexia held your neck firmly in place. you let out a whine as you were denied what you wanted, pulling a chuckle from alexia's lips.

"careful, if you keep this attitude up, i'll bring someone around and make you watch," alexia threatened. it was something the two of you had spoken about quite a bit, and despite how into it you were, alexia knew it would drive you wild. "imagine someone who would be good for me like ona getting all of your orgasms and kisses while you have to sit there all by yourself."

your cheeks were flushed and burning as your head was forced down. alexia's free hand came around to tear your underwear open. you were glad that alexia didn't get in moods like this often or else you'd be going broke trying to replace your clothes. she slipped two fingers inside of you slowly, scissoring them to stretch you open before she added a third.

"breathe," alexia instructed. she kept her hands still as she monitored your breathing. you took deep breaths, ones that alexia matched with gentle thrusts of her fingers. "when i take my fingers out, i'm putting the dildo in. it's the last time i'll be gentle for a while, are you ready?"

"wait!" you shouted out before alexia could move her fingers. "can i have a kiss first, please? alexia, it's all that i want."

"after, i promise," alexia said. you let out a little whine, but nodded for her to take her fingers out of you. she stayed true to her word, replacing her fingers with a harsh thrust of what was definitely a new toy inside of you. you hadn't gotten to see it, but it was thicker and longer than what you were used to.

alexia didn't break out the strap with you very often, generally only if you asked for it or she was really tired. this felt like she had custom ordered it or bought it from a high-end place. there were ribs and ridges that you could feel every bit of as she pounded into you harshly. the icing on the cake, however, was the slight curve that made sure she was fucking into all the right places with every thrust.

"fuck, ale. i'm cumming!" you were lucid enough to know that it was too quickly, but alexia didn't stop. she only grabbed you by the hair and fucked you even harder through your orgasm. she was being rougher than you had ever thought to ask her to be, knowing that she usually hated it a little.

the grip on her hair didn't let up as she continued to fuck you harshly. she managed to get you into your second orgasm quickly, which was when your legs really started to feel like jelly. alexia was supporting you fully now, your body not even touching the couch anymore. alexia briefly pulled out of you just to flip you over and place your body against the couch once more, only this time facing her.

"give me your legs," alexia commanded. you lifted them as much as you could, which wasn't very much at all. alexia scoffed as she just grabbed your thighs and manhandled you into the position that she wanted you. "color?"

"green," you answered weakly. alexia seemed to check on you before she took you at your word. the toy felt completely different from the new angle, and you were screaming out at the first few thrusts.

"shh, just take it," alexia told you. this stretch was completely different than the one before. "breathe, i won't have you passing out on me."

you tried to find a good breathing pattern while she was fucking you, but there really wasn't one. still, you took deep breaths when you could to keep your vision from going fuzzy around the sides. alexia leaned her forehead against yours, but she kept her hand on your jaw to keep you from leaning in any closer. she seemed to remember what she told you, which you had hoped that she wouldn't.

"one more, i know you have it in you. cum for me one more time and i'll give you all the kisses you can handle," alexia promised. you closed your eyes and pushed her head down towards your chest. alexia let you move her a little, knowing that you were getting so close.

"ale, fuck. i don't know if i can." your eyes were squeezed shut as you tried to focus on her fucking you. it was hard, but you knew that you had to try. you felt almost like you were going to cry as your body teetered on the edge of another orgasm. you were so sensitive that your body wasn't sure whether or not it liked the pleasure anymore.

"come on, please. i just want to watch you cum for me, please baby. show me that you're mine," alexia begged you. it was not what you had expected to hear, and the little whine in her voice sparked something in you.

"i'm yours, ale, yours," you repeated over and over until the words jumbled together. this time, you weren't screaming and moaning like the others, your mouth fell open silently as your head dropped back. alexia felt a gush of liquid coat her thighs and drip down onto the floor between your bodies.

"good girl," alexia mumbled as she leaned forward to kiss you. you were too out of it to properly kiss her back, whining once again. "are you okay?"

"i'm fine, ale," you promised her. she nuzzled her head against your neck to pepper a couple of kisses there. "how are you?"

"a little soaked, but i expected as much." you hadn't expected alexia to tell a joke. she carried you into the bathroom and laid you in the corner of the shower as she turned on the water. it wasn't until alexia was standing in there with you, cleaning you off, that you realized what she had said.

"you talked to jenni about fucking me, didn't you?" a part of you was angry, but it also intriguied you quite a bit. "that's how you knew what would happen if you switched with the third. you never take me from behind like that."

"i like to look at your pretty face," alexia said. she grabbed your cheeks and pressed a kiss to your lips. "next time, i'll ask first, i promise."

"next time?" you asked, incredulously. alexia nodded as she turned the water off and stepped out first. she wrapped herself up in a towel before grabbing the fluffy robe for you. "fine, but we need to talk about what you're going to do for me."

"excuse me?" alexia was taken aback by your tone more than anything else.

"i came for you like you asked, even though you were playing games with me and didn't tell me. you said i can have whatever i want, remember?"

"(y/n)," alexia sighed.

"no, alexia, you promised." you crossed your arms over your chest.

"okay then, what do you want?" alexia asked you.

"i want jenni to join us for a night next time she flies in to visit," you said. alexia's jaw dropped, but she couldn't argue with you. besides, she had ideas of her own along that vein that this would be a good trial for. "you promised, ale."

[just4koo]

Hii! How are you doing? Can you please write hurt to comfort with Jungkook, when he walks out to cool off after an argument and Y/n thinks he left her? :)

i'm doing well, i hope you are too! i kinda got carried away on this request and wrote a lott of angst haha... (it hurt my heart)

never go to sleep angry - jjk.

summary: one of the most important rules of your relationship was to never go to sleep angry. when the rule was ignored, it led to an argument and a huge misunderstanding.

word count: 5.0k

genre/warnings: established relationship, a lot of angst, comfort, misinterpreting words, argument between them, y/n feels really shitty, mutual confusion, cute ending though

-- ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ --

There was one rule that you and Jungkook always had set up in your relationship. It was one of the reasons that you two were able to stay together for so long. How you had gotten through so many tough times, arguments, and disagreements. One thing that you two agreed on for the past 4 years you had been together.

Never go to sleep angry.

Even though it seems like something that may not matter too much, it had always worked for you two. Being in a relationship meant disagreeing on things. Relationships could be hard, but loving Jungkook was always easy. He made all of the hard times worth it. There weren't many things the two of you fully argued about because of this one rule. Communication was key in your relationship, and the two of you were always able to deescalate the situations so they wouldn't blow up.

It was the rule until now, it seemed.

If you had realized the way that you were making your boyfriend feel, it could've turned out so different. He hadn't spoke up about it because he knew how stressed you were. Later hours at a job meant that you didn't have time for the things you used to. After covid wiped through the world, your company had taken a huge hit. Budget cuts meant people being laid off of their jobs, and the ones that weren't fired got their work loads doubled, or even tripled.

Your job was a work at home -- returning late from work hadn't been the problem. Even if it was, Jungkook knew. He understood how consuming work could be, but he had been working crazy hours everyday since he was 13. He knew how his schedule worked and how to arrange things to make time between the two of you. This workload was new for you, and so he didn't get angry when you were stuck to your laptop for hours after your scheduled workday ended.

It was more of the way you dealt with the stress that got to him. Being stressed meant that you had been getting more irritable. If he tried talking to you when you were working, he was met with a dry "mhm" or a short look that told him you weren't interested. If he tried actually getting your attention, he would just receive snippy answers. He was trying to be understanding, but that also meant ignoring the most important rule of your relationship. Just like you tried to prevent, everything blew up.

"I've just been stressed out, Jungkook! I thought you said you understood!" You shouted at your boyfriend. What had turned into a simple conversation about him asking if you could spend your free day going on a date for the first time in a couple months had turned into this argument. You wanted to take the single free day off to rest your fingers from typing until your fingers locked up, he finally felt the festering irritation out, and it wasn't turning out pretty.

"I do understand, _____! If anyone does, it's me! You've been thinking about yourself this whole time! I try to be nice, I try to be understanding. You just shut me out! Just because you're stressed out or having a hard time doesn't mean you're allowed to treat me this shitty!" You were almost speechless as you listened to him vent to you about his feelings. You had been trying to justify yourself, but the longer this argument continued, the more you realized how you had been treating him.

"I tried so hard. You only try to push me away now. I've always had draining schedules, but I never took it out on you. I knew that this whole thing was new for you, I gave you time to adjust. But I just can't stand this anymore!" Jungkook groaned, putting his face in his hands. You had become ignorant about how your boyfriend felt, trying too hard to explain why you were treating him this way. He had enough of this. You were angry right now, and anger led to you being irrational.

He knew that he needed to get out of the house before the two of you said anything else you regretted. He didn't want the two of you to be blinded by anger and the best thing to do was to cool down. He tried to take in a deep breath as he turned around to walk towards the coat rack. You watched in disbelief as he started to put on his coat and lace up his shoes. Was he really walking out on the argument?

"Are you serious right now!? You started this argument, and now you're just trying to walk away from it?!" You accused him, crossing your arms over your chest. All Jungkook did was shake his head to himself. If you wanted to be petty, then it was only fair for him to do the same. He wasn't going to let himself be a personal punching bag anymore.

"You're right, I am walking away. I can't do this, ______. Get your shit together." You only scoffed at what he said, rolling your eyes in annoyance. Too consumed by your own pride, you didn't say anything as he left, didn't try to stop him. If he wanted to walk out, that was his problem. You felt like you had an excuse for the way you had been. You hadn't even realized how badly your treatment had gotten.

You spent most of the day grouchy now, too sidetracked to focus on your work. The argument happened pretty early in the afternoon, meaning you got most of the day to think about it. You knew he was going to come back before it was bedtime, or at least you thought you knew. Because it had been the most important rule, right? So you spent the whole day trying to formulate an argument to use against him.

The longer you thought about it though, the more uneasy you felt about the situation. It was growing later and later with every passing minute, and there was no sign of your boyfriend. No text or call, no jingling of his keys in the doorway, not even a text from his brother asking what had happened. Him and his brother were very close. He was usually the person Jungkook went to whenever you got into arguments, and his brother had even helped the two of you. He always texted when Jungkook showed up at his place, but there were no notifications.

You had already taken your nightly shower and was sitting on the bed in silence, huffing to yourself. He was being too petty, you thought. Why couldn't he just understand that you were busy? He was one of the busiest people in the world after all, he should be understanding that you didn't have hours of the day to dedicate to your relationship anymore like you used to be able to do.

While stuck in your thoughts, you sort of froze. He was one of the busiest people in the world. He had countless shoots for music videos, songs, magazines, variety shows. Your boyfriend was a member of one of the most renowned music bands. He spent almost everyday practicing and even spent nights in the studio trying to perfect things. If anyone knew what it was like to live a busy life, it would be him. You'd seen how busy his schedules, how full they were. He had something almost everyday. 

Yet he still made time for you.

You recounted all the times he had come home tired from work or exhausted from a performance. The days he returned with a frustrated or irritated expression from something that happened at work. Not one of those times did he ever take it out on you. He never let things that happened outside your relationship affect how he treated you. Before covid happened, he would be gone even more. Even though he had more time after the pandemic, things were getting back into motion.

He shared how overwhelmed he had been with everything. 2020 had been a break that he didn't even know he needed. He loved his fans, loved his band. But even then, he was still human. Not a machine that could work and be pushed through his schedules. When everything shut down, it meant him also being locked in his house and quarantined from everything. Now that there had been vaccinations and the urgency of the virus had died down, he was thrown right back into everything he had gotten used to being away from.

He had an album releasing soon, and it was taking a lot from him to get back into the flow of things. But he never blamed you for it. Before your job had you working crazy hours, he never got angry whenever you called him during his practices or came to surprise him at his workplace, taking away from his rehearsal time. Because it wasn't your fault for wanting to spend time with him or see him.

A pit was beginning to form in your stomach as you stared down at your lap. All of those times where you interrupted him from his work, you never realized how frustrating it could feel. Not until now when you were also working hard to produce quality work. You thought about all of the times he might've been irritated because he was trying to practice or so close to getting something right, and you came to stop him.

Yet every time he saw you, he was so excited and treated you with love. Even if you were distracting him from his job of performing in front of millions, even billions. Yet you had been doing the exact opposite. You were blaming him for wanting to spend time with you. Mad at him just because he wanted some time with his girlfriend. Fuck, you had been an idiot. Created an unnecessary argument just because you forgot to appreciate him.

You immediately reached for your phone, pressing the contact at the top of your favorites list. It was late now, almost 9pm, and you were worried. You wanted to at least see when he was coming home so you could be sure to stay up until then. You wanted to follow through with your number one rule and wait for him. You wanted to be waiting by the door when he came through to apologize to him.

Frowning when the call immediately went to voicemail, you were almost sent into a stupor. He always answered your calls, no matter what. It was strange for the phone go straight into voicemail, because in his car he always had a phone charger. One quick glance out of your window was the confirmation you needed, he did take his car. 

He had his charger with him. Did that mean he was ignoring your calls then? The phone didn't even ring before it went to voicemail, quicker than any person could decline a call. You weren't someone who worried too easily, but whenever something didn't feel right it made you extremely anxious. This was one of those moments right now. There was something off about the whole situation and you didn't know.

You tried his phone at least two more times, and the same thing happened. Not even a single ring. Every time you were met with the voicemail the two of you had recorded together a couple years ago, the giggling one you recorded with him saying that if he wasn't answering the call, he was probably too busy with his beautiful girlfriend. Your heart hurt when you heard that. How much things had changed scared you.

You went to text him, sending a few messages asking if he was okay. You stared down at the notice that the message had failed to send, the frown in your face getting even deeper. You went back into your contacts app, calling his brother instead. To your short relief, the phone was ringing. But after a few long rings, the phone also went to voicemail. You felt the urge to throw your phone at the wall but instead just cursed under your breath.

You weren't even sure how slow or fast the time was passing right now. All you could do was blankly stare down at your phone, hoping for a call. Had the argument been that bad? Was he really not going to come home after 4 years of sticking to that rule? The clock was nearing 12AM now and you were fidgeting nervously. Going over the argument over and over in your mind again. One particular line suddenly caught your attention.

"You're right, I am walking away. I can't do this, ______."

Your heart practically dropped as you remembered that. It was something you overlooked in the moment because you had been so angry with him, so consumed by your own pride. Those were words he never said to you. Sure, he had left the house a few times to cool down when arguments got too heated. But he would always leave with a reminder that he would be back before dark, that he was going to his brother's house.

Did you really ruin the relationship? All because you had been too focused on your work? You could feel your heart beginning to pound in your chest. He told you that he was walking away from you, that he wasn't going to do this anymore. This, as in the relationship? And you didn't do a thing to stop him when he left. You were so stupid.

Now all of the worst thoughts were going through your mind. Any rationality was leaving you. The calls weren't going through still. Had he blocked you? That was the only conclusion you were believing at the moment. You had been treating him like he was a nuisance for the past few months even though he had always been nothing but loving towards you no matter how crazy his schedule became.

You had been ignoring him whenever he wanted to do something with you or tell him something that had happened during his work. You had taken the small amount of free days you got and spent time relaxing and focusing on yourself rather than spending time with the person you loved more than anything, the person who loved you more than anything. You forgot that a relationship was about loving someone even through hard times.

Any hope you had for yourself was draining as you dug yourself into an even deeper hole. You were someone who worried a lot, but it was something that Jungkook had always helped you work out. Without him here, the problems were coming right back. Especially because this was about him. You had been an asshole of a girlfriend and he had enough. He left, walked out, and blocked you.

All of the years in your relationship felt like they were coming back at once. All of the years you spent together. Loving each other unconditionally. You comforting him whenever he was anxious and insecure, him surprising you with date nights or coming home from trips early to spend time with you. Spending his free days surprising him with things like his favorite dinner. You guys argued as well, but it was what happened in any healthy relationship.

This didn't feel like an argument anymore. Usually they would be resolved, this just felt like the end. You were a shitty girlfriend and he could probably find anyone much better. There were so many girls out there who admired him like a god, who would treat him as such. Girls who didn't take who they got for granted until it was too late and they had already gone.

He left. He was really gone. Those words kept repeating in your mind, and yet it felt like everything was a dream. It felt like you couldn't breathe at the moment. You were the reason this happened. The panic attack was coming quicker than you could stop it, and it was hitting at full force. The clock read 2AM by now. You had been sitting in the bed since 8PM waiting for him to walk into the bedroom. He wasn't coming.

Your whole world was crashing in on itself. Tears were welling up inside your eyes as you laid back on the bed, not feeling enough strength to hold yourself upright again. As you laid down on the bed, you were greeted with the smell of your boyfriend. Was he even your boyfriend anymore? His scent flooded your senses, the familiar smell you'd grown to love so much over the years. It was your breaking point.

With shaky hands you grabbed the blanket, hugging it to your body as the sobs started. Your whole body was trembling with them, curled up as you tried desperately to grasp onto what you felt like was the last of your relationship. The only thought in your mind was that all of this was your fault. Like the ignorant person you were, you lost the most important person to you.

You felt like you would do anything to fix this. To just get one more chance to see him. You would beg at your knees if you needed. Anything to promise him that you would be a better girlfriend to him. But he wasn't going to give you another chance. You only realized now how insignificant your work seemed when he left you. You'd been too distracted by your work that you forgot about the one thing that was more important.

You wanted to do so many things. Scream, throw your laptop at the wall, go out and look for him. But you just couldn't. The realization you felt, the pit in your stomach, the overwhelming sense of guilt. It was all too much for you to move a single limb. You felt overly nauseous, like you would throw up if you moved. 

You weren't someone that was completely dependent on Jungkook. You didn't need him to go about your day correctly. You could spend time apart with him. It was something you actually got used to with him going off on tours. But at this moment, it felt like your world was caving in on you. He was the one person who was always there for you no matter what, and now you had to come to terms with that changing. You sobbed even harder as you realized that.

This was the state that Jungkook saw as he walked back into the house. He knew that he had been gone for a long time, well over 12 hours. He had been cooling off by himself. He didn't even know how long he'd been out. His brother had been gone on vacation, meaning that he didn't have a place to go to. He didn't want to bother his bandmates with his relationship problems, so he could only think of one thing.

He spent the whole day hiking. One of the things he had done as a child growing up in Busan, it was something that helped him clear his mind. He drove a couple hours to the mountains and spend a big majority of the day in the nature. He had no service when he was out there, which helped him refrain from calling you before he had the opportunity to sort out his thoughts.

It had been well past nightfall when he got back down the mountain and he hadn't even realized how late it was. Not until he gained his signal back after he spent even longer at the small village by the bottom of the mountain. He had spent quite a while speaking to some of the elders that he lost track of time and saw it was nearly midnight. He had quickly said goodbye and promised to visit again before leaving.

It was only when he had gotten back onto the main highway that his signal returned and the notifications flooded his phone. He frowned as he looked at all of the missed calls from you, the worried texts. Your most recent one was the most concerning one, one that you had sent just twenty minutes prior.

"i'm sorry i was so shitty. i can pack all of my stuff and be gone in the morning."

He was confused as to why you were texting him that. Why were you packing your stuff and talking about leaving? He tried to call you multiple times, but none of the calls picked up. His own panic was building up as he stepped on the gas, speeding more than he would've liked to admit. It was a two hour drive back and right now he was cursing himself for picking a place so far away. 

You usually never called or texted him when you were separated to cool down from arguments, so he knew that something was different this time. He couldn't think of what was different this time, what had happened that led to you saying that you would be packing up to leave. Was he too harsh on you? Should he have just pushed the problem off even more?

You didn't even register the sound of the door opening, too consumed by your grief. Jungkook had rushed into the apartment, looking around for you. He checked the living room first, and then went straight to the bedroom. He stopped completely in his tracks when he saw you. Curled up on the bed into a ball, clutching your shared blanket to your chest, shaking with quiet and violent sobs.

For a few moments he could do nothing but stare at the sight. Wondering if he really had been too hard on you. He didn't think that his words were too harsh when he was saying them. He had only been speaking his feelings. But as he watched you right now, he felt his heart shattering. He never wanted this. He regretted ever saying anything.

You jumped as you felt a hand lay on your shoulder. Your eyes were swollen from all of your crying, you could barely make out the sight of Jungkook knelt down beside you, frowning with immense concern. You almost couldn't believe that he was right in front of you. Your sobs died down a bit as the two of you stared. You were the first one to break down.

"J-Jungkook, I'm so sorry. I was too consumed with my work and I didn't realize how shitty I treated you. You were right. You've always been so busy with work and you never treated me the way I treated you. I was so stressed by my job that I let it out on you. I was such a bad girlfriend, and I understand why you don't want to be with me anymore. I'm just sorry I didn't notice how bad I was." The way you spoke with small sniffles almost broke his heart and distracted him from what you said.

After he processed his words, his frown only deepened. Why were you speaking to him like this? Saying that you would pack all of your stuff, that he didn't want to be with you anymore, that you were a bad girlfriend? All of his anger was completely gone now and at the moment he just felt extremely confused along with distraught from how destroyed you looked.

"Baby, what are you talking about? Why are you saying all of this?" Jungkook asked with pure bewilderment in his tone. This made you look back at him with an equally confused expression. You weren't expecting this response from him. He seemed like he genuinely didn't know what you were talking about and it made you question everything.

"But.. you blocked me. You said that.. that you couldn't do this and were walking away?" You questioned, your voice cracking with how weak it was after sobbing. Jungkook tilted his head a bit as he tried to recall when he ever said that. After going through the argument in his head, the realization hit him. His eyes widened as he recalled what he said in the heat of the moment. He hadn't clarified what he meant and you had been left alone for however many hours thinking that he had ended the relationship.

"______, I know how those words seemed, but that's not at all what I meant. I was saying that I couldn't do the argument, not the relationship. I would never end things off. I only said I was walking away so I could cool off." Jungkook explained as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Not at all irritated by you, but instead angry at himself. He had only said what he was feeling in the heat of the moment and left.

"What about your phone..? None of my calls went through." You asked him, your voice still full with hurt and doubt. He felt terrible for even making you think for a moment that he wanted to end the relationship. Even though he had been pissed off, he would never end the relationship like that in the heat of the moment. Even enraged he knew it would be the worst mistake he would ever make.

"I went to the mountains to hike and get everything off my mind. My brother is on vacation so that's why I didn't go to him. The place I went had no service and so none of the calls or texts could've gotten through." He told you, and your eyes slightly widened. He was really telling the truth? He didn't want to break up with you? At this point you just felt like you had fallen asleep and this was all a dream.

To confirm this was real, you couldn't hold yourself back anymore and reached out for him, and he wasted no time. He sat down on the bed next to you and pulled you right into his arms. Your body froze as you felt his familiar warmth, smelled his scent with the addition of the smell of nature he'd been around all day. This was real. He wasn't leaving you.

The tears instantly started falling from your eyes, but it was different this time. It was relief. You spent so long crying because you thought he had broken up with you, but it all ended up being a misunderstanding. He wasn't leaving you and you had nothing to worry about. In the past 12 hours it felt like your life had completely ended, but it hadn't.

Jungkook held you closely to him, his fingers carding through your slightly tangled hair while his other hand rubbed small circles into your back. He rested his head on the top of yours, knowing that it was better for you to just get all of your feelings out. Even though nothing made him feel worse than knowing he was the reason that you were crying like this, it was better for you to just let it all out so it didn't bottle up. He had been doing that for the past few months and it turned out like this.

You didn't know how long you had been laying like that in his arms, but when you were finally able to stop crying, you noticed the beginnings of light peeking through the windows. The whole time Jungkook was there for you, whispering sweet things to help you calm down. How much he loved you, how he wasn't going to leave you, that he wasn't angry with you. Anything he could think of to help you calm down.

When you finally had a level enough mind to fully process everything, you felt so much relief. But you still felt the same guilt from before. You were the one that disregarded what he felt and now he was comforting you after an argument that was your fault. You needed to say something to him, to apologize and promise that you would be better. There was no way that you were ever going to let your work consume you again.

"I know I already said this, but I want to say that I'm so sorry. I was so stressed out with my new hours that I got angry and irritated whenever you just wanted to spend time with me. I never should've done that and I realize now how much I took you for granted. You've always made the time for me and I should've done the same for you. I know now how wrong and unfair I was being to you, and I want to be better." You said to him, your voice filled with regret.

Jungkook smiled lightly when he heard your apology. There was no longer any anger in his eyes. No resentment. To him, that was all in the past now. He could hear the sincerity in every word you said. After all, this was the reason that he had started dating you. You were so sweet and considerate towards others. You just needed to realize what you were doing wrong. You were distracted and didn't know you were bring rude.

"It's okay, my love. I know how stressful it's been for you and I'm not angry anymore. I understand how you feel and I accept your apology. I know you didn't realize how you were treating me." Jungkook replied, putting his fingers under your chin so he could tilt your head up to look at him. Even with your red, puffy eyes and runny nose you were so beautiful to him. He gently kissed the tip of your nose before resting his forehead against yours.

"I love you so much. Thank you for always being the best." You mumbled, closing your eyes as you took the time to let yourself bask in the moment. Letting go of all doubts that you felt previously. There was no reason to dwell on this argument, because you knew that you wouldn't make this mistake anymore going on.

"I love you too, always. No matter what happens." Jungkook replied with a bit of reassurance in his tone. You smiled as he said those words to you, leaning forward to close the small gap between the two of you. You were fully calmed down as your lips met and any thoughts that you had melted away in the moment. Everything was okay in this moment. 

Even though this argument had been rough, the two of you had stuck to your most important rule. The two of you went to sleep shortly afterwards, no more feelings of anger or resentment. You would never go to bed angry anymore, realizing just how important that rule was.

[storywriter007]

can you do a “fighting for the first time” preference/headcannons with the HoO boys ? i love ur work!!

Fighting for the First Time - HoO Boys x Fem!Reader

author's note: thank you for the request!! and i'm so glad you like my work, this literally made my day. this is what i feel like first fights (non-quest related) would go but add your ideas in the comments!!

genre: angst ending in fluff

word count: 1.5k but it's all in bullet points

-> heroes of olympus masterlist

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send me requests here! (these are my guidelines)

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percy jackson

the first time you guys seriously fight, it goes one of two ways

either a.) he doesn't care about who's right and just wants things to go back to normal or b.) he thinks he's right

option a is the preferred option

he tries to talk to you, finding you whenever and wherever

he refuses to leave until the problem is sorted out

and he is upset the entire duration of the fight

he apologizes for anything

"i'm sorry if i did anything at all to hurt you" kind of apology

option a fights would be over things like unintentionally hurting each-other

like accidentally saying something mean or sparring too roughly with each-other

or it would be over his reckless behavior

in which he understands why it worries you

this first fight wouldn't last long

maybe a day before you guys are all good again

option b is the worst

when he's convinced he's right, he tunes you out

not intentionally, it's just that he's too caught up in what he's feeling to properly listen to you

you guys go back and forth in circles

practically yelling at each-other

his eyes get dark and he becomes angry quickly

refuses to listen to you until things reach a tipping point

either you or him storm out and leave the other one alone for a few days and talk it out once they've cooled down

or one of you starts crying, and the anger is overshadowed by guilt and heartbreak bc of their ignorance

this fight would probably be over his loved ones

if you had pointed out a flaw about them or something they did which you didn't appreciate

or maybe just a passing comment you unintentionally made

i mean the loyalty on that man is crazy

lots of hurt feelings during this fight

and it would last a while - the most being a week

however, both fights would have a mutual apology

where both of you apologize for the things you've said and done

and you guys agree to do better in the future

you probs end up falling asleep in cabin 3 that night

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jason grace

to get in a serious fight with him, it's gotta be something big

jason is calm and level-headed

he takes a walk the first time things get heated and comes back to you with a clear mind

he talks to you calmly, treating the fight more like a debate

don't get it wrong though: internally he's freaking out

he's lost a lot, and he doesn't want to lose you

honestly your first serious fight with him would be over reckless behavior (on your end) or him being walked over

your first serious fight spawns from how deeply you two care for each-other

either he's mad you don't care about yourself and doesn't know how to tell you calmly bc you don't listen

or you're mad that he's ready to die for gods and kids who don't care about him in the least

you guys only fight about these things because light-hearted conversations don't send the message

jason, especially, stays stern during the fight

you wonder if he even cares tbh

but then you notice how he pauses and searches for words, how his lip twitches when you say something snappy, and the look in his eyes

he barely raises his voice, and only does it when you interrupt him constantly

the first fight would end within a day

it would end with revealing why you are reckless or why he is so selfless

it would be a calm, vulnerable conversation

would probs end in a make-out session bc he was so afraid he was gonna lose you

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leo valdez

i'm going to be so real rn: the fight starts because he's feeling inferior

he loves you sm and he considers himself lucky to have you

but bc of that - his feeling of inferiority would be on the back of his mind

he's not really jealous, but more-so afraid you're going to leave him at the drop of a hat like how everyone else has

so he gets upset if you're spending too much time around any other guy

the book series repeatedly talks about leo's insecurities and how he feels like he's not good enough and how he feels everything is his fault

insecurity runs deep and it would most definitely be a reason for a fight

you guys do raise your voices bc at first you're not understanding each-other

you think he's jealous and he thinks you don't want to be with him anymore

after you guys are done with your screaming match, leo would coop up wherever his machines are

he would stay there for a long time and think

he 100% is over analyzing every single thing you said to him

he's convinced you guys are going to break up and you're going to leave him

and he deserves it because it's his fault for starting the argument

even though he isn't jealous or thinks you're a cheater, he just let his insecurities get the best of him

and he feels like it's over for you two

he doubts himself; wondering if he should even try to talk to you or just let what he believes is the inevitable happen

so he doesn't even try to apologize

he is convinced it is all his fault

overworks himself in an attempt to distract himself from all of his terrible thoughts

you, on the other hand, have your time alone and want to talk to him

it's nighttime and he's nowhere to be found

you go to his little lab and voila, there he is

his eyes are red and sunken and his hands are shaky and dirty

you don't say anything, you just hug him

he breaks down and tells you why he was actually mad

he profusely apologizes and doesn't blame you if you want to break up

you explain to him that you are with him because you love him and that one little fight would never make you leave him

you reassure him that he is more than enough

this fight doesn't last more than a day or maybe two

the fight would end with a really intense kiss

and you would probably spend the rest of the night with him in his little work area

you'd watch movies, make jokes, laugh a lot, and company him while he manically works on something

that something is metal flowers as an apology for acting the way he did

it's his way of saying "we're stuck together and i love you :)"

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frank zhang

it's difficult to get into a serious fight with frank

but if you do, it would be over reckless behavior (on your end, c'mon y/n) or his own insecurity

your reckless behavior specifically with fire

frank and fire do not get along - it's well known

he literally can't stand you doing something dangerous in general

but with fire, it's even worse

he's convinced something terrible is going to happen and he lashes out at you bc of his previous experiences with fire

this fight would be short-lived though, bc you would understand why he feels that way

you'd apologize to him and he would apologize for lashing out

you'd agree to stop joking around with fire, but you'd convince him to start getting over his fear

this first fight actually ends up more helpful in the long run as frank slowly overcomes his fear of fire with you by his side

however, if it's his own insecurities, this would go another way

as mentioned, frank has been bullied

and he repeatedly feels like an outcast because he doesn't have dyslexia/adhd, he's an archer but he's a mars kid, and his life depends on a piece of firewood

your fight would start bc he felt left out with you

but it's just him overthinking

(if you use a sword) it's you sparring with jason or percy for practice

and it kinda makes him feel like "i want to help my gf but she needs someone who's actually good"

if you hang out with another mars kid for too long

makes him think "what i should be"

if you made a jab at him that he took a little too seriously

frank is a gentle giant, so he wouldn't yell in the least

you guys would argue and he'd be lost for words, kind of stuttering and repeating himself a lot

he'd just kinda walk off during an argument

this would make you mad bc he started the thing and doesn't want to listen to you

but really, he just wants to talk to you when it's not so heated

you'd go hide in your cabin/room

frank would be walking around and comes to the realization that walking out on your argument was a douchebag move

he shapeshifts into like a rat or a bug or something to go see you in your cabin and make sure you're not hurt

you'd see some random animal in your cabin and you get freaked out

he turn back into himself and apologizes for being rash

he'd be honest and tell you that he was just overthinking things and that he just got in his own head

you accept his apology and tell him to communicate better

to tell you if he feels left out or if he doesn't think something is funny, and to tell you that's he's leaving the argument bc he wants to think abt it

this fight is over by sundown

and you spend the rest of the evening practicing archery with him