#and now she’s left to watch the entire world move on without her. she’s still just standing in place | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chrissssssmut · 1 month ago

Note

Can you do the seven half-sisters thing again? With him going into the army before college, changing his appearance (becoming more handsome and looking more like a grown man), height and posture, even his voice , which was no longer that voice of a teenager

Bad Brother, Worst Sisters

Yandere w/ Smut

Yandere Ryujin, Lisa, Jo Yuri, Kazuha, Choerry, Rei and Miyeon x Male Reader

AN: Last story for this week! I haven't slept if anyone's wondering hahaha, I was too busy trying to finish this. This story was done by me but i was helped by a dear friend of mine.

Enjoy this one! I will be sleeping now hahaha XD

(God this lineup is so goated tbh)

The announcement of your enlistment was met with indifference. Your step-sisters barely reacted.

Ryujin was slouched on the couch, scrolling through her phone. She barely spared you a glance. “Cool. Have fun in boot camp or whatever.”

Lisa chuckled, twirling a strand of her hair. “Gonna get all buff, huh? Maybe you’ll actually become useful.”

Jo Yuri shrugged. “It’s not like you had a choice. Every guy has to go.”

Kazuha tilted her head, expression blank. “When do you leave?”

You sighed. “Tomorrow morning.”

Choerry smiled, but there was no warmth. “Well, don’t die or anything.”

Rei simply nodded. Miyeon muttered a quick “Good luck.”

That was it. No tears, no sentimental goodbyes—just a few passive comments before they returned to whatever they were doing.

It wasn’t surprising. You had always been more of an outsider in the family. Your step-sisters never went out of their way to be cruel, but they weren’t exactly warm either. They lived in their own little world, and you were just... there.

You left without looking back.

Months of grueling training changed you. When you stepped through the front door, the air in the house felt different.

Silence.

Then—

Ryujin appeared first. She stopped in her tracks, eyes scanning you up and down. Her usual lazy smirk was gone. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out.

Lisa leaned against the kitchen counter, her fingers gripping a glass of water so tightly it might crack. “Holy shit.”

Jo Yuri tilted her head, brows furrowing. “No way… that’s you?”

Kazuha stepped forward cautiously. “Your voice…” she murmured, as if hearing it felt unreal.

Rei swallowed, her gaze locked onto your face. “You look so… different.”

Miyeon placed a hand on her chest, a slow smile spreading on her lips. “You’ve grown into such a fine man, haven’t you?”

Choerry bit her lip, her gaze dark and unreadable. “And we just let you leave looking like that?”

You laughed awkwardly, setting your duffel bag down. “Well, yeah. It’s still me.”

But their stares didn’t waver. They were studying you—absorbing every inch of the new you.

That first night back, you could feel their eyes on you. Whenever you moved around the house, they were there. Watching. Observing. If you passed by the living room, one of them would be lounging nearby, pretending to be on their phone. If you went into the kitchen, you’d suddenly feel a presence behind you, too close for comfort.

The air was thick with something unspoken. Their casual indifference was gone, replaced with something else entirely.

At first, their behavior seemed harmless.

Lisa, who used to tease you relentlessly, started making excuses to be close. “You work out now, huh?” she mused, hands gliding over your arms. “I wonder how strong you’ve gotten.”

Ryujin, usually distant, started dropping into your room unannounced. She’d sit on your bed, stretching, acting like she belonged there. “I’m just bored,” she’d say. But the way her eyes lingered on you said otherwise.

Jo Yuri was the worst. She had always been a little playful, but now? Her touches lingered too long. Her words were too sweet. “You missed us, didn’t you? I can tell.”

Kazuha started bringing you snacks, feeding you piece by piece with her fingers. “Eat up. You need to keep your strength.” She always insisted on watching you eat, her fingers grazing your lips whenever she fed you.

Rei always found ways to touch you. A hand on your wrist. A brush against your neck. “You’re warmer now.”

Miyeon and Choerry started arguing over who got to sit next to you at dinner. It was eerie, how quickly things shifted. Miyeon would pull your chair closer to hers, wrapping her arm around your shoulders, whispering things too soft for the others to hear. Choerry, on the other hand, had a more aggressive approach—cutting your food for you, feeding you like a child, her smile twitching whenever someone interrupted.

The nights were the worst. You started locking your door. It didn’t help. Some nights, you swore you heard the doorknob turning. Other nights, you could hear soft whispers right outside your room. Once, you woke up to find your window slightly open, even though you were certain you had locked it.

The suffocation became unbearable. You told your parents, but they dismissed it. “They’re just happy you’re home.”

So you made the decision. You moved out.

The day you left, their reactions were… unsettling.

Lisa stood by the door, arms crossed, but her nails dug into her skin. “You’re seriously leaving?”

Ryujin scoffed. “Tch. Whatever.” But her eyes burned with something dangerous.

Jo Yuri stepped close, whispering, “You’ll come back. You always will.”

Kazuha simply stared, her grip tightening on the edge of your shirt before she let go.

Rei smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Enjoy your freedom while it lasts.”

Miyeon kissed your cheek. “We’ll be waiting.”

Choerry didn’t say a word. She just watched you walk away.

Life in your apartment was peaceful. You could finally breathe. But something felt wrong. No messages, no calls. No sign of them at all.

Until one night.

You unlocked your door after a long day at college. The lights were on.

And Lisa was sitting on your couch, waiting.

She smiled. “Hey, baby bro. Long time no see.”

Your stomach twisted. “Lisa? How did you get in?”

She stretched, making herself comfortable. “What kind of sister would I be if I didn’t have a spare key?”

What the hell?

You exhaled. “Alright, you visited. Now leave.”

Lisa pouted. “That’s not how you treat family, is it?”

Still, you sighed and decided to make dinner. Maybe if you played along, she’d leave faster.

You were halfway through preparing food when—

A hand covered your mouth.

Darkness.

When you woke up, your wrists were tied to your steel desk. The dim glow of your bedside lamp cast eerie shadows on the walls.

Lisa sat across from you, smiling. “You really shouldn’t have left, baby brother.”

Anger flared through you. “Lisa, what the hell is this?! Let me go!”

The door creaked open.

Six figures stepped inside, their eyes gleaming.

Miyeon smiled sweetly. “You really thought you could leave your family behind?”

Ryujin scoffed. “Dumbass.”

Choerry giggled, tracing a finger along your wrist. “You’re ours. No matter what.”

The air felt thick, suffocating, as the seven of them closed in around you. Your breath hitched when fingers—soft, lingering, possessive—brushed against your skin. One by one, they reached for you, tracing slow patterns over your arms, your chest, your throat. Every touch was deliberate. Every gaze was heavy with something dark, something dangerous.

"You shouldn't have left," Miyeon whispered, her lips ghosting near your ear.

"Bad boys need to be punished," Ryujin added, nails lightly scraping down your forearm.

Lisa’s fingers trailed along your jaw, tilting your head up to meet her smirk. "You really thought we'd just let you go?"

Jo Yuri exhaled a soft laugh, her hands pressing against your shoulders, keeping you in place. "You belong to us, baby brother."

Kazuha was quiet, but her grip on your wrist tightened, her touch possessive, unyielding. Rei leaned in next, her breath warm against your cheek. "Even if we’re siblings… it doesn’t change a thing."

Choerry giggled, her fingers brushing down your chest, teasing. "And tonight, we’ll finally make sure you understand that.”

As they slowly had their way with you—fingertips teasing the hem of your shirt, lips brushing against your skin, teeth grazing your earlobe—you felt your body tense, heat crawling up your spine. Every touch was deliberate, every action meant to remind you that resistance was futile.

Lisa chuckled against your neck, pressing a kiss just below your jaw. “Look at you… pretending you don’t like this.”

Ryujin’s fingers lazily traced down your chest, her smirk dark. “Your body’s shaking. Is it fear… or excitement?”

Jo Yuri giggled, hands gliding over your shoulders, her grip tightening when you flinched. “You can’t run, baby brother. Not from us.”

Then, Kazuha moved in. Unlike the others, she didn’t tease or hesitate. Her hands slid up to your face, her touch firm, claiming. Before you could protest, she pulled you in—her lips crashing against yours in a deep, breath-stealing kiss.

You tried to recoil, tried to move away, but it was impossible. Your wrists were still bound to the table, leaving you trapped as she kissed you like she had all the time in the world. Her tongue parted your lips effortlessly, tasting you, owning you.

Rei sighed, watching with dark amusement. “So unfair, Kazuha… You got to him first.”

Choerry leaned in closer, her voice sickly sweet. “Don’t worry… We have all night.”

Kazuha’s hands were everywhere—trailing down your arms, gripping your waist, pressing into your skin like she wanted to memorize every inch of you. Yet, her lips never once left yours, moving with a slow, deliberate hunger that made your head spin.

Without breaking the kiss, her fingers deftly unbuttoned your shirt, parting the fabric with agonizing slowness. A shiver ran through you as cool air met your skin, but the warmth of her touch quickly followed, tracing along your torso. Then, her fingers drifted lower, playing with the belt of your jeans, teasing, testing.

The others didn’t move. They simply watched.

Ryujin leaned back with a smirk, arms crossed as her eyes drank in your struggle. “Getting shy now? That’s cute.”

Lisa tilted her head, amusement flickering in her gaze. “Don’t fight it. You knew this was coming.”

Miyeon exhaled softly, eyes dark with something unreadable. “He looks so perfect like this… vulnerable.”

Jo Yuri giggled, resting her chin on her palm. “I wonder how long he’ll last before he stops pretending to resist.”

You squirmed, wrists still bound, but Kazuha held you firm—lips pressing harder, fingers tightening. You were completely at their mercy.

And they knew it.

You tore your lips away from Kazuha’s, chest heaving as anger boiled inside you. “You sick freaks—let me go! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Your voice echoed through the room, raw with fury, but the only response was soft, amused laughter.

Lisa leaned back, smirking. “Aww, he’s mad. Isn’t that adorable?”

Jo Yuri tilted her head, lips curling into a grin. “So feisty. I love it when he tries to act tough.”

Ryujin rolled her eyes, arms crossed. “He still doesn’t get it, does he?”

Your wrists strained against the bindings, but it was useless. No matter how much you fought, you were trapped. And they knew it.

Kazuha wiped her lips with the back of her hand, her eyes gleaming. “That wasn’t very nice of you,” she murmured, disappointed.

Before you could snap back, a sharp pain exploded through your arm.

You gasped. One of them—Miyeon, you realized too late—had tightened her grip around your wrist, her nails digging in, deeper and deeper, until the skin broke. Blood welled up beneath her fingers, and you let out a sharp, involuntary yelp.

Miyeon’s expression didn’t change. She simply leaned in, her voice deceptively soft. “If you do that again, little brother…” Her nails pressed in even harder, making you wince. “…we’re going to make it so much worse for you.”

Lisa smirked as she pulled out a small knife, the dim light reflecting off the sharp edge. Without hesitation, she pressed the cool blade against your skin, dragging it slowly, tracing little patterns with deliberate care.

At first, it was just a faint sting. Then the pain deepened, sharp and burning. You gritted your teeth, a muffled groan escaping before a hand suddenly clamped over your mouth.

“Shhh, be good,” Rei whispered against your ear, her breath warm. “No screaming. We can’t have that, can we?”

Your body tensed as Kazuha returned, her lips crashing onto yours with a hunger that left no room for escape. She kissed you deeper this time, her fingers trailing down your bare chest, nails grazing over fresh wounds.

Meanwhile, the others moved with unsettling coordination. Hands tugged at your belt, unfastening it with ease. The rustling of fabric sent a chill down your spine.

Then, with one swift motion, your pants and boxers were yanked down, leaving you completely exposed.

Lisa chuckled, pressing the tip of the blade teasingly against your thigh. “Now, let’s see how much more fun we can have.”

Lisa and Jo Yuri, leaned in, their breaths warm against your exposed skin. Without hesitation, their tongues met at your length, gliding over it in slow, deliberate motions as they shared every inch between them. Lisa’s touch was playful, teasing, while Jo Yuri moved slower, savoring every reaction you gave.

Meanwhile, Kazuha kept her lips firmly pressed against yours, refusing to let you pull away. Her fingers tangled in your hair, holding you in place as she deepened the kiss, her tongue claiming yours with dominance. Her eyes burned with something dangerous, something possessive.

"Don’t even think about running, baby brother," she whispered against your lips, her voice laced with amusement. "You were made for us—so just accept it."

Kazuha slowly pulled away, a satisfied smirk on her lips as she licked the taste of you off her mouth. "I shouldn’t be the only one having fun, right?" she murmured, her fingers trailing down your chest before stepping back, giving the others their turn.

Rei wasted no time. She grabbed your face and crashed her lips against yours, far rougher and more demanding than Kazuha had been. Her nails raked down your skin, leaving faint red marks in their wake, as if she wanted to carve her presence into you. Her tongue forced its way past your lips, claiming you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

Meanwhile, from the corner of your eye, you saw Kazuha slipping off her undergarments. She settled onto the chair across from you, spreading her legs ever so slightly, her fingers disappearing between them. Her breathing grew heavier, her lips parting in pleasure, yet her gaze never left yours.

"Don’t look away," she purred, biting down on her lower lip as her movements became more deliberate. "I want to see what you and Rei are doing."

As Rei kept her lips locked onto yours, her tongue exploring with a hunger that matched Kazuha’s burning gaze, Lisa and Jo Yuri continued sharing your length, their mouths working in tandem. Desperation clawed at you as you tried once more to break free, but before you could even shift, Ryujin, Miyeon, and Choerry’s hands were on you—firm, unrelenting.

"Ah, ah… where do you think you're going?" Miyeon cooed, pressing down harder, her nails digging into your wrists.

Ryujin smirked, tightening her grip. "You’re staying right here, baby brother."

Choerry giggled, her eyes glinting with excitement. "Guess it’s our turn now."

With that, Lisa and Jo Yuri pulled away, leaving a wet trail along your skin as Choerry and Ryujin took their place. Their mouths were impossibly warmer, tongues needier, eager to devour you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, suffocating—and yet, their eyes told you the worst was still yet to come.

Ryujin let the tip rest against her tongue for a moment, eyes flickering up to meet yours before she gave a slow, deliberate slap against it, her smirk sending a shiver straight down your spine. "Sensitive, aren't you?" she teased, her voice laced with amusement.

Meanwhile, Choerry was far less patient, her lips sealing around you with a desperate kind of hunger, as if she couldn’t get enough—as if this was her last chance to have you. Every movement, every flick of her tongue, sent heat pooling in your stomach, your body betraying you no matter how much you tried to fight it.

Within seconds, Miyeon’s fingers wrapped around your length, her touch slow and deliberate, using the slickness left behind by Ryujin and Choerry’s mouths. A shiver ran through you as she stroked you with an almost practiced ease, her grip just tight enough to keep you on edge.

She leaned in, her breath warm against your ear as she whispered, "You’ve always been ours. Since the very beginning. Fighting it won’t save you... it’ll only make things harder—for you." Her voice dripped with amusement, her pace never faltering, as if daring you to resist.

Your body tensed, every nerve on edge as Miyeon’s hand continued its merciless rhythm. You bit your lip, trying to suppress the inevitable, but the overwhelming sight before you made it impossible. Kazuha’s fingers worked between her thighs, her breathy moans mixing with the wet sounds of Miyeon’s strokes. Your other step-sisters were tangled in each other, their lips meeting in desperate, hungry kisses. The ones holding you down only tightened their grips, making sure you had nowhere to run, nowhere to escape.

"M-Mi… Miyeon, please—" your voice cracked, a mix of shame and desperation spilling from your lips.

Miyeon chuckled, her fingers never slowing, twisting just enough to make your hips jerk involuntarily. "Please, what?" she teased, her warm breath tickling your ear. Miyeon chuckled, her fingers never slowing, twisting just enough to make your hips jerk involuntarily. "Gonna cum?" she taunted, her warm breath tickling your ear. "Go on, don’t hold back. It’s not like you can stop it anyway."

As the pressure built deep inside you, your breath hitched, your body betraying you. Just as you were about to tip over the edge, Ryujin yanked Miyeon away. Before you could even react, Lisa seized your face, forcing your gaze to meet hers. "Go on, baby brother," Lisa purred, her grip tightening as her lips brushed against your ear. "Make a mess, and we’ll make you regret it. Be good for us—hold it in."

You bit down on your lip, forcing yourself to hold it in—not out of defiance, but because you were too weak to endure whatever punishment they had in store. The sting of your wounds still burned, fresh blood trickling down your skin. But despite your restraint, a small drop of release spilled from your length. Rei noticed instantly, her eyes gleaming with something dark. With a slow, deliberate motion, she swiped it up with her finger—then brought it to her lips, tasting you with a satisfied hum. Rei’s lips curled into a smirk as she sucked the remnants off her finger, her gaze never leaving yours.

“Hm… even when you're trying to behave, your body still betrays you,” she purred, tilting her head. “Didn’t Lisa tell you to hold it in, baby brother?”

Her eyes darkened with something wicked, something dangerous. “Looks like you need to be taught a little more discipline.”

"I won’t be a bad brother anymore… I swear," you pleaded, desperation lacing your voice. "I’ll go back to the house… just please, let me go."

Choerry cupped your face with both hands, her grip firm, her touch almost affectionate as she tilted your head forward. "Shh, don’t fight it," she whispered, guiding you closer to Kazuha’s glistening heat.

Kazuha’s breath hitched, her fingers digging into the table as she trembled on the edge of release. "Be good for us," she murmured, her eyes glazed with pleasure. "Take all of me… just like a good little brother should."

As Kazuha neared her release, she tangled her fingers in your hair, yanking you closer until your face was pressed against her soaked heat. A shuddering gasp escaped her lips before turning into a breathy, desperate moan.

“Fuckk—! T-Take it all… don’t you fucking dare pull away,” she whimpered, her thighs trembling as she rode out her high.

Her essence spilled over you, warm and relentless, coating your skin as the other sisters watched with dark delight. Laughter and whispers filled the air, their hungry gazes drinking in the sight of you—helpless, drenched, and completely theirs.

Kazuha’s grip was ruthless as she seized your face again, shoving you back onto the cold floor. Your wrists throbbed, skin raw from the restraints digging in, but none of them cared. Rei crouched beside you, her fingers trailing over the angry red marks with a mocking pout.

‘This is what happens to bad brothers,’ she murmured, voice dripping with sickly sweetness. ‘You should’ve known better.’

You tried to scream for help, but before the sound could escape, Jo Yuri was already pressing a strip of tape over your lips. She smiled, tilting her head as she traced a finger along your cheek.

‘Good boys stay quiet,’ she whispered, her voice dripping with amusement.

Jo Yuri, though reveling in the punishment they were putting you through, was growing impatient—eager to claim her reward. Wasting no time, she rushed toward you, lowering herself onto your length with a slow, deliberate motion. At first, she moved cautiously, savoring the sensation, but it didn’t take long before her pace quickened, her hunger becoming undeniable.

"Fuck, you feel so good,” Jo Yuri moaned, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

Your mind and body were already betraying you, blurring the lines between resistance and surrender. No matter how much you wanted to fight it, the pleasure was overpowering—forcing you to forget, even for a moment, that these seven had turned your own apartment into a prison. And now, lost in the heat of the moment, you couldn’t ignore the way one of your sisters wrapped around you so perfectly.

Ryujin and Miyeon knelt beside you, their gazes dark with possession as they claimed ownership over you. Ryujin’s fingers traced along your jaw before gripping it tightly, forcing you to meet her eyes.

‘You’re ours now,’ she murmured, her voice laced with dangerous sweetness. ‘If you even think about disobeying, we’ll make your life a living hell.’

Miyeon leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, ‘And you won’t tell a single soul about what happened here. Not unless you want things to get even worse.’

All the while, Jo Yuri shifted her position, moving back in front of you without ever slowing her relentless pace, her eyes locked onto yours with a dangerous gleam.

Lisa scoffed, her grip tightening as she leaned in closer. ‘You’ll never have a girlfriend,’ she said, her voice dripping with possessiveness. ‘If you ever want to be with someone, it should be with us—your step-sisters. Only us. No one else.’

She smiled, but there was nothing sweet about it. ‘Any other woman who tries to take you away? She won’t live to see another day.’

Jo Yuri then quickened her pace, sensing just how close you were. This time, there was no holding back—it was inevitable. A wicked smile curled on her lips as she turned to the others.

‘He’s about to cum,’ she announced, her voice laced with excitement.

Without hesitation, she lifted herself off you, replacing the sensation with the warmth of her mouth. The rest of your sisters watched hungrily, biting their lips, tongues teasingly sticking out as they eagerly waited for your release.

It only took a few strokes before pleasure crashed over you. Your body tensed, and despite the tape sealing your lips, a desperate, muffled moan escaped—

‘Mmmph—! Haaah…!’

Your climax spilled onto their expectant faces, their delighted giggles filling the room as they licked away every drop, satisfied with their claimed prize.

The sisters, now satisfied with their work, slowly removed the restraints from your wrists and peeled the tape from your mouth. But it didn’t matter—you were too weak to move, your body completely drained.

As you lay there, trying to catch your breath, one of them leaned in with a smug smile.

‘We’ll be moving in tomorrow,’ Miyeon announced casually, as if it were already decided. ‘So make sure no one else comes here. This place belongs to us now—just like you do.

The sisters slipped back into their clothes, their satisfied smiles lingering as they slowly made their way out of your apartment. But Ryujin stayed behind, her eyes locked onto your exhausted form.

She crouched beside you, brushing a few strands of hair from your face before whispering, ‘There’ll be more moments like this… whether you like it or not.’

Pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, her hand trailed downward, fingers wrapping around your sensitive length. She gave it a slow, teasing stroke, her smirk widening.

She watched you with a wicked glint in her eyes, savoring the way your body twitched under her touch.

‘Come on,’ she coaxed, her voice sultry and commanding. ‘Be a good boy and cum for me—right now.’

She pumped faster, her thumb teasing over your most sensitive spot, determined to wring out every last drop. ‘I don’t have all night,’ she whispered against your ear. ‘So give me everything before I go… unless you want the others to join in.’

With one last stroke, she pushed you over the edge, a satisfied smirk on her lips as she finally pulled away. Without another word, she stood up, adjusted her clothes, and walked out—leaving you panting, drained, and completely at their mercy.

As the last of your step-sisters walked out, the apartment fell silent, save for the lingering scent of them in the air. Your body was sore, your wrists still red from where they had bound you, yet the worst part wasn’t the pain—it was the realization that this wasn’t over.

They had made that clear.

Tomorrow, they would return. Tomorrow, they would move in. Tomorrow, your life would no longer be your own.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling, your mind racing. Could you escape? Call for help? But even as the thoughts formed, you knew the truth—there was no running from them. They had already decided. You belonged to them.

And deep down, despite everything, your body shivered at the thought.

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andersonsgf · 2 months ago

Text

modern roommate!abby

this shall be so criminally self indulgent :)

18+ bit of smut. minors dni.

modern roommate!abby who wasn't keen on you at first. manny had just moved out and it felt as though she had practically grabbed you from the street to make sure she could make rent that month. but she did not like living with a stranger. for the first week she kicked you to the curb, giving you minimal responses when you tried to talk. She looked at you with a frown most of the time, blinking at you when you suggested a movie on your third night. "I'm going out tonight" was her response, mentally noting to make sure to text manny to hang out now.

modern roommate!abby who after getting over her initial distaste realised you weren't too bad after all. at first she protested that you put little trinkets of yours around the apartment. "i don't see why you have to make this place look like one of your fucking video game stores", she complained when some lego blockheadz appeared near the tv. but after a little while she came to find that she didn't mind it so much, and after getting over the fact that manny was gone she realised you were filling all the little gaps he had left in your own way.

besides, you had pointed out all of her trinkets that were dotted around. "those aren't trinkets!", she had protested, arguing that her mass amount of classic books and classical music CDs dotted around were fine collections, and not "kids toys". you had for sure worn her down, though. you won the battle claiming that you deserve to have your fine collections around the apartment too. even though abby was annoyed that her entire apartment felt different now, she wasn't a dick. you were paying equal rent, you should have equal trinkets.

modern roommate!abby who after finally deeming that you weren't a threat to her little paradise at home drove you everywhere. your shiftwork at the local store was on her way to her work. it was the least she could do she felt, not trusting other people to keep you safe when walking around seattle on your own. she wouldn't tell anyone you were friends yet, still telling people that you were just her pesky roommate. still, she couldn't bear the thought of you shuffling through the torrential seattle rain to work, then walking back in the dark after. no, no. she was willing to be your chauffeur. she even gave you the aux. she would rub her forehead when she saw you put it on without her permission anymore, but she never made you turn it off.

modern roommate!abby who has a rigorous sleep schedule thanks to all of the rugby training she does cannot understand how one night you will be in bed asleep by 10, and the next she'll wake up for a glass of water and hear you shuffling around in your adjoining room at 2am. time and time again she would lecture you on not going to bed late due to your commitment to your playstation, but she soon realised it was no use. you were unfortunately a gremlin.

you consistently mocked her for going to bed at a "baby hour". it was always met with an eye roll and her telling you you would meet an early grave from sleep deprivation. come to think of it, she often told you that you'd die young. whether it be from lack of sleep, eating too much candy, not looking properly when confidently stepping out into the road, or just being oblivious to the world around you in general. "you gotta get healthier so i know my rent payments are still secure", she'd tell you whilst eating her perfectly counted macros meal after the two of you visited the gym together, watching you scoff your face with your version of a post-gym snack. a subway sandwich with four rainbow cookies.

modern roommate!abby was pleasantly surprised to find out that you were a gym rat too. she obviously had way more muscle, built like an ox, but you were doing pretty well for yourself too. different body types had different ways of showing muscle anyway. at first she couldn't really tell, you had moved in in the winter so wore baggy comfy layers to the gym. after a few months of joining in on her training sessions though, the seasons changing and the weather warming up, you started wearing your matching sets. abbys favourite was your dark blue ones, a cropped muscle shirt and shorts. not that she would ever ever admit to you that she had a favourite.

she would never admit that sometimes she corrected your form just to get a little closer. your form was never wrong, she'd taught you too well over the months. she was embarrassed, her eye contact when in the gym dropped completely, and she had never been one to shy away from that kind of crap. you were though, eye contact had always alluded you so you didn't notice the way abby could barely look at you, feeling terrible for ogling you in your new leggings when she helped you on the squat rack.

modern roommate!abby who when she got a text that you cracked your tooth on a skittle at work booked half her shift off and drove you to the dentist. she didn't even have to think about it, just told her boss she had a family emergency and had the 'holiday' booked within five minutes. she pulled up to the curbside with a screech, staring at you with an incredulous expression. "you're like four minutes from your work why did you start walking?", she had half yelled out the window.

"what? why are you out of work?", your hand was covering your cheek on the cracked tooth side of your face as if that would do anything. abby sighed, pushing the endearing thoughts towards you out of her head as she yelled at you to "get in the fucking car". she took you for a milkshake after it got fixed.

modern roommate!abby who got comfortable enough with you in her life to invite her friends around for an evening of drunk games again. manny made about ten jokes over the course of the night about how he was invited to his own apartment. you laughed at how he poked fun at how you ruined his old room. hearing your drunken giggles made abby smile a lot over the course of that night. you'd become a permanent fixture in her life, and as the drinks kept coming she kept sidling closer and closer to you on the couch, basically ignoring her friends as they cracked open a board game and ten more beers. you spent the night basically staring at her hands as they clutched onto the various beer bottles. they were just so fucking big, and attached to the biggest forearms you had ever seen.

at some point you got up to go make some toast, trying to preemptively cure the hangover you knew you were going to get. you had completely missed how abbys eyes narrowed into thin slits when one of her coworkers took interest in you and very clearly tried to chat you up in the kitchen. her hand almost crunched the beer bottle when she saw that womans hand on the small of your back. you had been clearly too drunk to notice much, but you did approach abby the next morning after finding a phone number slipped into your back pocket.

"you scored last night, huh?". abbys heart raced a million miles an hour as she looked at you. it shouldn't have mattered, she wasn't interested in dating, nevermind getting into it with a roommate. that was a terrible choice. but she couldn't deny the smirk she held back by sipping on some orange juice as you murmured about not being interested whilst throwing the paper in the bin.

modern roommate!abby didn't invite that particular coworker around again. you did question it when she was absent at the next hangout. "She's just busy, sweetheart", she was drunk enough to call you that as her hand covered your knee completely. she woke up humiliated at how many advances she had sent your way that night, but if you noticed then you didn't make it clear, entering the kitchen the same way you did every morning. your bright smile melted her heart.

after a while modern roommate!abby started cooking for you more. she wanted to make sure you were getting a good amount of protein and carbs with how much physical exercise you did each week. not as much as her of course, but still a hefty amount. it became a common occurrence for her to hand you some tupperware with your name on a post-it before she drove you to work. she never put a post-it on her own tupperware though, which you thought needed to be rectified. she was pleasantly surprised when she got to work, seeing "abby <3 :)" on her lunch. it did lead to her having to deny having a girlfriend at work though, her coworkers pestering her about it nonstop. it did get her thinking, however. you were sweet, maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing- no, no.

modern roommate!abby who decided to invite you to a rugby game for the first time. you knew she worked in an office for her main income, and obviously knew she was on a rugby team. what you didn't know was that she was in an actual major league team, the seattle seawolves. you also didn't know that she was such a star of the show that premiership teams were looking into scouting her for the next seasons. fucking hell. it now felt like living with a celebrity. you sat alone on the bench near the pitch, getting special treatment for being a special guest. a decent crowd showed and screamed loud when the seattle team had momentum. abby pushed harder than she ever had now that you were in the crowd. she pushed through tackles like the opponents were made of butter, easily reaching the end goal and slamming both herself and the ball onto the floor near the posts, making life easier for the kicker. you, meanwhile? drooling. straight up drooling. Her muscles rippled as she stormed across the pitch, her hamstrings and quads were sculpted and your eyes were pinned to them. suddenly you realised why people liked watching rugby.

it was a win, of course. she celebrated with her teammates on the pitch as the crowd slowly filtered out. it was incredible. abby won player of the match, scoring the most tries, letting her team win by a landslide. "well done!", you spoke louder to be heard over everyone as you reached her after hurrying across the pitch. abbys heart skipped and her ears rang as she saw you grin up at her before you went up on your tiptoes and wrapped your arms around her neck.

modern roommate!abby who after this had realised she was down bad. one hug should not have been on her mind for this long. and abby 'get the fuck away from me' anderson never normally craved another hug after someone held her. but no, she started even inviting you to match practices and being a tryhard just for the chance of you giving her another well done hug after. fuck, she was so screwed. she even found herself putting her hands on you when moving past you in the apartment, making sure to get your favourite snacks in if she saw you were out of them. she'd never done this when manny lived with her so she could not chalk it up to just feeling comfortable. she grumbled to herself when you arrived home from wandering around the city and she smiled too brightly during welcoming you home, huffing and puffing and making her sandwich too aggressively when you were back in your room.

"why are there so many finger marks in your bread?", you startled her. your chuckle reverberated around her heart, making it beat faster. she gave some pathetic excuse about literally hand planting her sandwich as she tripped coming back from the fridge. you believed it, shrugging her off as you sat down next to her and unwrapped another subway.

modern roommate!abby who made it all worse when acting deeply uncomfortable when you talked about dating apps. "i mean, i thought when i moved to the city that the choices in women would be better but its still 'katy and brent looking for their third', or 'just looking for some fun on my exchange!'. ugh does no woman in seattle just want a nice relationship or something?". abby looked up from her beer, looking a little frazzled that the topic of dating was now here. she painfully swallowed a hunk of pizza whilst absentmindedly agreeing with you. "what's your relationship take? do you have much luck here?".

she sighed, fucksake. "i don't really have one", she brushed you off, watching as you frowned at her. it's not like she could admit that her relationship take right now was you. "how can you not have one?".

"i mean one day it might be nice to settle down but like you said the dating pool is shit".

"yeah it is pretty shit. i dunno, i kinda like knowing the person first, might just delete hinge it's so ass", you grumbled and she watched you toss the application into the trash, her chest felt relieved. without the dating apps she didn't have to worry about you finding an actual person on there, now she could take her time in being a wimp around the apartment again.

modern roommate!abby who had managed to make it even more worse when you scampered through the apartment in just a shirt and your underwear after a shower, yelling in panic about how you left your pyjama bottoms by accident. even you in all of your beautiful obliviousness noticed the way she stared at your ass as soon as you were in view of the living room. you clearly gulped and scampered away even faster as you felt your face and ears flush. abby had to go and get a drink of water before shaking her head. you were her roommate, it was too complicated. but now that she had seen you in some simple black cotton underwear -to abby, the simple stuff was hotter- she knew she was fucked. not in the fun way.

before she knew it her car keys were in her hand and she was heading to mannys apartment. he enthusiastically invited her in and she immediately shared her woes about how she had fallen so hard for her new roommate. "dude, you can't do apartment-cest".

"don't call it that, that's gross", she shoved his shoulder and got a soda out of his fridge. "i didn't think i had a type before her but she's just so sweet y'know? like everything she says is like she's throwing rainbows at me even if she's complaining about how her avocado socks got soggy on a walk or some shit".

"dip your pen in the apartment ink, then", manny sat down on his couch whilst trying to subtly shove someones bra under a cushion.

"i could have maybe continued silently pining after her like a fucking loser but she caught me staring at her ass and fuck it was a good one". abby anderson basically whined when thinking about how she saw you at the apartment, her stomach doing that thing.

modern roommate!abby who hid at mannys apartment until 10pm when you had your shower at 5. she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole when you looked up at her as soon as she opened the door. you had been waiting for her with a tub of ben and jerrys, and you were wearing her rugby teams shirt as a pyjama shirt. fuck. her voice was strained when greeting you, biting the bullet and placing herself on the sofa too. "you were gone a while", you noted. all she could do was nod, her mouth going dry now she knew she'd seen the entirety of your legs. she had decided they were her new weakness. "sorry if i made you uncomfortable".

"the opposite, actually", she replied after a moment. and neither of you knew where to go from there. in every aspect of her life abby was headstrong, intimidating, said what she wanted. but when it came to women? useless. fucking useless.

the memo was received though. but you? also fucking useless. "okay i think we're both knowing where this is going", your voice was careful. terrified. you watched abby nod and shift to be facing more towards you. "maybe we can test to see if its awkward?", you looked up at her.

modern roommate!abby whose hand tentatively placed itself just above your waist as you both leaned in, awkwardly. your noses bumped, and she smiled with a huff before your lips chased hers. it was safe to say that it was a successful test. she worked her lips against yours and wondered why she hadn't been doing this the whole time. you tasted sweet, like orange juice, and her brain went static when you panted slightly as her hand moved up and down the side of your ribcage. sensitive.

modern roommate!abby who loved you hard as soon as you got past the awkward first week of not knowing how to be roommates and also go on dates. she took you out for some amazing burgers the day after your kiss and then got confused on what to do after. you both had the same home. some people may have retreated away to their rooms after, but not her. she straight up followed you into yours after your fifth date on week two, grinning as you laughed when she settled herself onto your bed. she just couldn't be apart from you, it seemed. not that you minded, especially not when you settled curled up against her chest as her hands rubbed your back. these days you could talk the nights away now that the useless pining was over. and you always found that one of abbys hands always found their way down your back and onto your ass, without fail, resting her hand there before falling asleep. think it's safe to say she's an ass girl.

modern roommate!abby who so lived up to that when she meekly asked if she could go from behind during your first time. even though she liked to be 'on top', she really was so shy during it. she made sure you had lots of pillows to be comfortable, she brushed your hair out of your face to make sure it wouldn't annoy you during it. the groan she let out when staring at your lower half, one hand cupping and squeezing it as the other worked the outside of your centre was enough to have you gushing. she worshipped you completely as she started off with one finger, aware that her hands were bigger than average. the small little whines were just not enough though, so she slipped another in, pumping them in and out softly as she gently rocked her body back and forth in time with her wrist, keeping her rhythm steady.

modern roommate!abby who over and over again murmured reassurances when she heard your soft whimpers. "you're okay, you're okay. so fucking hot", she'd slur out in a whisper, punctuating the end of her sentence with another squeeze to your ass before working you harder when she felt you near the finish line. she couldn't get over how good you felt, how warm, groaning when your back arched as she finally got you to the end, feeling ever so slightly proud of herself, and wondering why she hadn't bent you over sooner.

modern roommate!abby who proudly called you her girlfriend now when she brought you to rugby practice, pressing her lips to the top of your head before running off with a wink to go and batter some people. your eyes once again fixated on her thighs, definitely your favourite part of your girlfriend if you were quite frank. even though practice was her favourite time of week, the highlight of it really were those 'well done' hugs. only these days? she got a little kiss with them too.

#modern roommate!abby #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson tlou #a new series mayhaps??#headcanons #abby anderson #abby anderson smut

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maidragoste · 1 year ago

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Hiiii!!!! I (18) was wondering if you could write a Jace x his mothers handmaiden reader, where they have a secret relationship 🤙🏼🤙🏼❤️❤️

anon, sorry for taking so long to write your request. I hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading 🥰💖💖

btw it wasn't clarified so I didn't write reader as a low-born handmaiden (that is, the ones who clean the urinals and that) but as a high-born one.

likes, comments and REBLOGS are always greatly appreciated 🥰💖

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

A frustrated sigh left your lips as you tried to break free from Jacaerys's grip only for the prince to press your body even closer to his so you couldn't get out of bed. You turned to demand that your lover let you go but you remained silent, watching Jace's face. Even though he had his eyes closed you were sure by the lazy smile on his face that he was awake. He looked beautiful. He always looked beautiful but these moments only belonged to you. You wanted to wake up every day next to him but you couldn't. Your duty was to Princess Rhaenyra, you cannot allow yourself to be distracted. Besides, if she found out that you were having a secret relationship with her beloved son, she would throw you out and your family would be very disappointed in you for having wasted the opportunity that the princess gave you to choose you as one of her handmaidens. Not only that but your reputation would be ruined, if rumors spread that you no longer possess your virtue then it would be impossible for you to get a husband. You are a fool to continue with this romance, someday Jace will marry a girl from an even more important house than yours and you will have to sit silently watching everything. There is no happy ending to this.

“My prince, I have to go,” you said, hoping he would stop playing dumb and let you go.

“No,” he complained, lengthening the “o.” Your place is at my side” he moved his face closer to kiss you but you moved, he tried again but you avoided him again “What's wrong” he asked, letting you go so he could sit properly on the bed.

"It's late, I should go. At any moment your mother will wake up, I have duties to do” you responded without looking at him as you got up. You didn't even have a chance to look for your shoes when he tugged on your arm making you return to the bed. He turns you around so that you both face each other.

“What is wrong?” asked again the prince. “Talk to me, please, my lady,” he asked, looking at you with concern while gently taking your face in his hands.

“I think we should stop seeing each other, my prince.” The uncertainty in your voice was clear but still, your words were a dagger for Jacaerys.

“Why?” Your heart ached as you heard the confusion and anguish in his voice. “. I don't understand, yesterday we were fine”

“Yes, we were. But we won't always be. Someday you will have to get married and you will leave me. “I think the easiest thing for my heart is for us to finish our thing now,” you said, closing your eyes without being able to see the sadness in his eyes anymore. If you continued seeing him you were afraid you would go back on your decision.

Your heart skipped a beat when you stopped feeling Jacaerys's hands. You froze as you listened to him get out of bed and get dressed. You should take the opportunity to leave, it's probably what he wanted but you couldn't move. You really had finished everything.

You opened your eyes as you felt the prince's hands in your hair. Your heart raced as he carefully untangled the knots. Once he finished, he kissed your shoulder. “Finish getting ready so we can go talk to my mother.”

“We?” you repeated.

"Yes. I have no intention of marrying anyone but you,” Jacaerys said calmly as if his words wouldn't change your entire world.

“Jacaerys, marrying me is an idiotic move, my house is not that important, and the lords” your chatter was interrupted by the prince's lips capturing yours. You should be firmer and move away, but you can't, so you surrender to enjoying the taste of your lover's lips, feeling more loved than ever.

"I love you and if my mother wants me to be her heir, she will have to accept it," Jace declared and there was no room for argument in his voice. “You are the only wife I intend to take,” he promised before kissing you again.

Taglist for all my House of the Dragon works

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hotd masterlist

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bring-forth-his-sac · 3 months ago

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Not sure if this is too far but maybe some dads best friend mixed in with close calls and very rough stuff if ya know what I mean 😏

Stained

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings/Tags: rough sex, degrading name calling (slut), mentions of a facial, cheating (soz Lucille), alcohol consumption, hair pulling, semi-public sex

It happened again.

By now, Negan knows the routine. Argue. Say shit neither one of them can take back. Lucille kicks him out or else Negan reaches his limit and storms out. Make up later. It’s their pattern.

But tonight is different.

They were supposed to go to a friend’s house for dinner, which threw a wrench in their usual routine. A part of Negan still wanted to go. Sure, he dreaded the tension-filled conversation, Lucille throwing in her usual passive-aggressive digs, but there was a silver lining: he could vent afterward. He needed to. To someone who’d actually get it, without the sugar-coating.

Negan has been friends with your dad for years, long enough to know they could trade a few sharp words and move on without it turning into some dramatic scene. Sometimes, Negan could really use that kind of blunt, no-nonsense talk with another guy.

But hell, he wouldn’t mind shooting the shit with you either. You always got his humor and honestly, you were the only one who could make him laugh without trying so damn hard.

Instead of your home, he finds himself at a bar. Lucille was quick to call dibs on going solo to your parents house, not wanting to deal with Negan in front of friends.

He left without another word, driving to the local watering hole like a man on a mission.

The bar is the usual kind of dimly lit place that doesn't ask questions. Negan doesn’t need questions tonight. What he needs is a drink and a distraction.

He settles onto a chair by the bartop and orders a whiskey, the burn of it going down smoother than he expected.

Lucille’s parting words echo in his head, the sharpness of her dismissal stinging all over again. The way she had shut him down so easily, almost like telling off a child. Negan can feel the frustration creeping back in. He could’ve used a laugh tonight but instead, he’s stuck here.

Alone, as usual.

On a typical night, Negan hates how quiet the bar is. He can’t stand silences, everything about it gets on his nerves. The patrons are too tight to even cough up a quarter to play a song on the jukebox. It always feels like the kind of place where the air is thick with nothingness and every minute stretches on longer than the last.

Negan doesn’t have the luxury to brood over that on this particular night. Instead, the loud chattering of a group of girls fills the bar, cutting through the silence like a chainsaw.

Just a handful of them crowd around a table, all bright-eyed and wide smiles, laughing as though the weight of the world hasn’t yet found them.

His brow furrows as he watches them out of the corner of his eye. They’re not doing anything wrong but the racket they’re making feels invasive in the normally subdued space.

Every time they laugh, the sound hits him like a hammer to his skull, ringing in his ears. It’s like a constant, steady hum of disruption. Negan can appreciate a little noise and some new life in the place, but tonight?

Tonight, it’s too much. It’s frustrating him. He takes another swig of his whiskey but it doesn’t quite block out their high-pitched, frantic laughter.

One of the girls spills a drink, and the others burst into a fresh round of giggles, the kind that seems to echo through the entire room.

He’s about to look away when another girl quickly picks up the drink and continues to say something. She's sitting across from the others, leaning forward and talking animatedly, her hands flying through the air with each word.

One of her hands subtly goes to her thigh and she tries to discreetly yank down her dress.

Negan wonders if women know they don’t need to wear tight mini dresses or the crop tops to get laid. But he supposes that’s the joy of being a youngster. They do stupid shit, wear stupid shit, drink stupid shit. Some grow out of it while others still say stupid shit and end up drinking alone at a bar.

His eyes flicker over her figure. Negan can’t see her face, the angle of her head and the way her body is half-turned away from him hides it.

Negan doesn’t mind. He can still appreciate her thighs and the curve of her ass from his seat at the bar. Her hair and back covers most of her upper body too so Negan can’t appreciate any titty action just yet.

His fingers drum against the bar and he catches himself, realizing that he’s staring. He quickly looks away, taking another drink of his whiskey as if the liquid will wash away whatever was just stirred up inside him.

In a way, Negan’s glad you’re not like that. You’re pretty without all the extra shit. Since elementary school, you've never been the type to crave attention or stand out in a crowd. Yet you're not the kind of introvert who keeps completely to yourself either.

You fall somewhere in the middle, comfortable with who you are without needing to put on a show for anyone.

There’s been plenty of times you’ve been the most entertaining thing to Negan at your parent’s dinner parties. He loves the witty remarks you toss his way and how you both quietly poke fun at the evening while the others remain oblivious. Those little moments are the highlight of his night.

But, of course, there are also those other times. When a careless comment from your father or mother hits a nerve and you retreat into yourself, disappearing into the background. Negan can always tell when that happens; the sharpness in your eyes dulls and the sarcastic remarks you usually offer him vanish.

He wonders if you’ll be disappointed tonight, when it’s only Lucille who arrives for dinner. You make the dinners bearable for him but surely you reciprocate that feeling. Both of you are as thick as thieves in your own subtle way.

The woman he’s been checking out stands, saying one more quick thing to her friends before she turns and heads for the bar.

Maybe it’s because you’re already clouding his thoughts that seeing you in person hits him even harder. He’s imagined you a thousand times, with your quiet demeanor and the casual clothes you wear that make you almost invisible.

The mental image of you is so vivid, it’s like you’ve been etched into his mind… yet here you are, so different than that.

You do the same action that you did earlier, yanking down the end of your dress as it threatens to ride up your thigh. Negan lets out a gulp, not sure how he feels at the fact that he’s been checking out his friend’s daughter.

Turning back to say something to your friends, you let out a laugh as you clog along in your high heels to the bar.

This is exactly what you needed. A night away from all your worries and stresses… and your parents.

Besides, you're an adult now. You’re allowed to have fun! Whether that be crazy golf, drinking until you need your stomach pumped or smoking whatever. No matter how much guilt or pressure your parents try to put on you, tonight is yours. You’re no longer bound by their expectations. You can take a break from being the person they want you to be and just be.

Maybe that’s why the words “Lydia found out her boyfriend cheated so everyone was going to go over to hers and cheer her up!” came out of your mouth when you told your parents you couldn’t stay for dinner instead of “We all want to go out and down tequila shots!”.

Whether your actual reasoning would’ve worked or not, it doesn’t matter because they let you out with no more than a remorseful look as you left to help your heartbroken friend.

“Get more salt sachets!” a giddy Lydia calls out as you clip-clop up to the bar.

You’re so caught up in your own little bubble of excitement that you barely notice the guy at the bar. You wait beside him, leaning on the counter and waiting until the bartender comes over. When you feel his eyes linger, you glance his way, wondering if you’ve found some fun for the night.

You look over, pre-emptively batting your eyes lashes everything seems to slow down. There, standing just a few inches away, is Negan. Your dad’s friend.

You freeze for a moment, excuses caught in your throat, as you realize that it’s not just the familiarity of his face that’s throwing you off. It’s the way he's looking at you. Negan’s expression is unreadable but the way his gaze lingers has a weight that catches you off guard.

You try to swallow the sudden lump in your throat. What is he thinking? How long has he been standing there? And why, of all people, did it have to be him?

You hate it. On one hand, you want to ignore him. Maybe give him a nod of acknowledgment before pretending like you’re not in front of someone you’ve known since you were a kid.

But on the other hand, you know what Negan’s like and the last thing you want is for him to loudly draw attention to your… friendship?

Ushering yourself closer, you hurriedly whisper “What are you doing here?!”.

Negan struggles to maintain his composure, forcing himself to keep his eyes on your face instead of letting them wander.

“What am I doing here?” His jaw clenches as if readying himself to barrage you with questions “What are you doing here, dressed like that? Are you drunk? Do your parents know you’re here? I swear….”.

You scoff defensively, glancing down at the glass of whiskey in front of him. “Oh so I can’t go out with friends but you’re allowed to drown your sorrows?”.

Negan doesn’t even entertain your question, immediately waving it off. “That’s not the damn point,” he hisses “I’m not the one with my tits out and stumbling around a bar!”.

He shoots some other patrons a glare as they try to eavesdrop, making sure they keep their eyes to themselves. You gasp, putting a hand on your chest. Maybe your dress is a lower cut than what you’d usually wear but your boobs aren’t about to pop out of the thing!

“You— you can’t talk to me like that!” despite how your face flushes, you stand your ground. You’ve always known Negan to be raunchy but not once has he ever spoken to you like this before.

"Can't talk to you like what?” Negan doesn’t give you the time to ponder that rhetorical question, crossing his arms as he continues to lecture you.

“You think you look appropriate right now? You think your parents would approve of this outfit?" his eyes narrowing dangerously.

“I’m out with friends, not at dinner with my parents!” You defend, deciding to add in your own jab “Besides, I thought you were at theirs tonight, having dinner with Lucille… not drinking alone”.

Negan can’t keep still. He’s too antsy, wanting to shake some sense into you but trying to stay cool in public.

With an elbow propped up on the bar, Negan points a finger at you “Watch it, before I haul your ass outta here”.

This is the closest you’ve ever seen Negan to real anger. Whenever he’s been at your house, it’s always been the aftermath of it you’ve witnessed. His sullen mood and Lucille’s small comments at him whenever the conversation allowed; both of them handling their simmering frustration in their own way.

To not only witness his anger first hand, but to have it directed at you… you’re not sure if you want to pout or get on your knees right then and there.

You scoff, trying to seem unbothered. “Enjoy your drink, I’m going back to my friends,” you say it with just enough sass, turning to retreat back to your table.

You know it’s a pointless endeavour.

Negan won’t allow it. And you know it.

His hand snakes around your upper arm, his grip firm but not painful. "Oh no you don't,” he tugs you back, urging you to face him again “we’re leaving. Now”.

You were hoping for a little more time here, a bit more back-and-forth, rile him up before hopefully breaking down those stubborn walls.

“You can leave, but I’m not!” you snap, digging your heels in.

He leans in close, his anger flaring back to life as his voice drops into a dangerously low growl. “I’m not asking you, sweetheart, I’m telling you” the pet name slips out like a command, making something tighten in your chest.

“You’re drunk, you’re dressed like a goddamn slut and you’re not staying in this bar another second”.

Is it bad you can feel the heat between your legs as he degrades you? How is it your dad’s friend, someone you kinda considered your own friend too, is calling you a slut so easily? And why does he keep trying to steal quick glances at your chest?

Heh, well, you know the answer to that last question.

Still, you play your part and you slap his arm. “Don’t call me that! Jackass” you say with a defiant huff.

His eyes widen but Negan doesn’t acknowledge the slap in the way you wanted him to. Instead of continuing to bicker, he grabs his leather jacket from the back of his chair and throws it on, his movements sharp.

“Jackass?” he repeats, clearly not amused.

“Yes! You’re acting like a major jackass!” you fire back, though there’s a glimmer of amusement in your voice.

Negan grins, that mocking, almost wicked smile spreading across his face as steers you away from the bar.

“Yeah, and you know what else I am?” he asks “The one dragging your drunk, barely dressed ass out of this bar before you make a complete fool of yourself”.

He starts tugging you toward the exit. “I had like… two drinks!” you protest, stumbling slightly to keep up.

But just as he’s about to drag you out the door, you use all the momentum you have to shove him into the door right next to the exit.

The ladies toilets.

Your friends giggle as you both disappear from sight, assuming you’re hooking up with the stranger. They’ve always known you have a thing for older men but little do they know who he really is…

Negan stumbles into the bathroom, his mind still trying to process how he went from the exit to somehow ending up in here instead. His brow furrows as he takes in the situation.

Before he can say a word, you speak, your voice steady but firm “Negan, I’m not leaving”.

He steps closer “Yes. You. Are. We’re leaving. Right. Now”. His hand shoots out to grab your arm, but you’re already one step ahead. You sidestep him, narrowly avoiding his grip.

“No!” you exclaim, more forcefully than you intended. Hoping to get through to him, you soften your tone, offering a sliver of vulnerability. “My parents don’t know I’m here… they think I’m just at a friend’s place” you admit.

Your words hang in the air, a soft confession of rebellion. But Negan’s response is as expected—he rolls his eyes, the action exaggerated as if he’s heard this excuse a thousand times before.

“I don’t give a fuck if your parents ground you for a year!” He snaps, his voice low but intense “You’re not staying here dressed like that and acting like this”.

“Acting like what? Having fun?”.

His jaw clenches. “By acting like you’re only worth a quick fuck in the backseat of someone’s car,” Negan replies, the words carrying a weight that makes your stomach sink.

The insult stings, but you refuse to back down. With a small scoff, you shake your head and tilt your chin up slightly. “You’re telling me you didn’t do that when you were young?” you challenge.

Negan’s expression falters for a split second, his lips twitching as if he’s about to crack a grin but he maintains his steely expression.

He exhales sharply through his nose, his stance stiffening. “I did it because I’m a guy,” he mutters, his tone clipped “so it’s different”.

“That’s misogynist,” you point out as you cross your arms, unintentionally making your cleavage more noticeable.

For a moment, you catch Negan’s gaze flickering downward before snapping back up to your eyes, his face strained.

His lips press together in a tight line, his eyes briefly closing in frustration as he fights to maintain his composure. “Fuck, can you just…” Negan gestures vaguely at you “Cover up or something?”.

Without waiting for an answer, Negan turns away, running a hand through his dark locks.

You let out a quiet sigh. “I didn’t bring a jacket,” you say flatly, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered.

He mutters something under his breath, too quiet for you to catch. With a dramatic huff, he whips off his leather jacket. “Of course you didn’t. On top of everything else, you want to get hypothermia too” His voice drips with exasperation.

Negan turns back to you, holding out the jacket, his eyes briefly look to your chest again before quickly darting back to your face, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

You catch the slight pause, the way his gaze betrays him, but you choose not to acknowledge it— at least, not directly. You stare him down, not hiding the smirk plastered on your face. Then, in one swift movement, he practically hurls the jacket at you.

“Here,” he says, the word a little too resigned.

Instinctively, you catch the jacket, but you don’t put it on. Instead, you hold it in your arms, letting it drape over them as you roll your eyes at his comments.

“I’m not some delicate little flower,” you tease, your smirk becoming playful “maybe I like it rough”.

The words slip out without thinking, a little too flippantly, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks.

Maybe those two drinks were enough to get you tipsy after all.

Negan’s eyes narrow at you and you can see the gears turning in his head. There’s a flicker of something in his expression. Maybe amusement, maybe disbelief, but before he can say anything, you catch the faintest hint of a smirk forming on his lips.

He steps closer, his imposing frame shadowing you as he leans in. “Damn, you’re something else,” he says, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place.

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the overwhelming presence he has, but for the first time tonight, you feel a small shiver run up your spine.

“Rough, huh?” His words are like a threat, his tone smooth and dangerous.

Before you can respond, his hand shoots out, and suddenly, he has a firm grip on your hair, tugging it just enough to pull your head back.

“Ow! Negan!!” You whine, your voice a mix of surprise and irritation. Good job at proving you like it rough.

He loosens his grip, but his fingers stay tangled in your hair, holding you captive in his gaze. He stares down at you, his dark eyes boring into yours.

“You think I don’t notice how gorgeous you are?” he murmurs, his voice low, almost possessive “But this? Telling me you like it rough? Tsk, tsk, tsk”.

Your heart skips a beat at the admission, and your eyes widen ever so slightly. The words settle in your chest, warm and electric, and for a split second, everything else fades away.

Negan thinks you’re gorgeous.

You can barely process it but you don’t get a chance to let the moment settle. His fingers tighten in your hair again, this time with purpose.

“There’s a difference,” he growls, his voice rougher now, “between making eyes at some random guy at a bar and teasing a man who actually knows what to do with you”.

You swallow hard. His grip on you, the way he towers over you, his scent— all of it feels like a pressure you can’t escape. You can barely breathe.

“And you…” You pause, testing the waters “You know what to do with me?”.

And then, possibly the most un-hot thing happens. A toilet flushes. The sound is loud and sudden, causing you both to freeze. It comes from one of the stalls at the end of the room and it’s quickly followed by the drunken shuffling of feet and a zipping noise.

Without a word, you and Negan lock eyes, an unspoken agreement passing between you in that single, charged moment.

“Shit,” Negan mutters under his breath, his hand still tangled in your hair, but now pulling you toward the nearest empty cubicle with urgency.

“Ouch!” you whisper, batting at his hand and making him untangle his hand from your hair. You barely have time to shoot him a glare before he’s guiding you into the small space, his body close behind you.

Just as the cubicle at the end of the room unlocks, the lock to your cramped cubicle slots into place with a soft click.

For a moment, you both hold your breath. You’re pressed together in the cramped space, his chest against your back, your bodies flush together.

You hear the drunken patron stumble, mumbling something unintelligible as they turn on one of the taps and start washing their hands. You both hold still, waiting for the heavy footsteps to move away. Negan holds you against him, one hand on your waist to keep you close.

Although that’s not the only thing that’s touching you.

It’s hard not to notice the unmistakable press of his semi-erect cock nestling against the curve of your ass. It feels firm yet pliant, a promise of things to come.

Turning your head just enough to look up at him through your eyelashes. He doesn’t meet your gaze, too busy zoning into some spot in the stall door as he listens intently to the patron outside.

His brow furrows just slightly, the lines on his forehead deepening as he focuses. You can tell he's strategizing, weighing up different excuses in case he’s caught in the ladies room. Negan’s lips are pressed together, a slight tension around them, but it's not a scowl.

Deciding you want some attention, you press your ass back slightly. You hear a grunt.

“You’re not making this easy on me,” he huffs. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your neck as he looks down.

Through the thin walls, you can hear the drunk go on their way, their footsteps slowly fading as they stagger out of the bathroom. The door swings shut with a final, echoing creak.

As if to prove his point, Negan moves his hips forward, forcing his erection against your ass. He’s harder than you thought and you shudder at the mere size of the thing in his pants.

He makes a quiet, pleased sound against your ear as his hand trails up your waist, teasing passing the side of your breast before settling on the back of your neck.

“Fuck, you're responsive…” He pulls back slightly, making sure you can still feel him.

“Is that a good thing?” you ask softly.

He chuckles, his voice low and husky. “It's a dangerous thing, darlin,” he squeezes your neck teasingly “Nothing good ever comes from being too responsive... unless you're trying to drive a man wild”.

“Maybe that’s exactly why I’m trying to do” you push back against him again, this time bending your body slightly to really accentuate your ass.

Except all that does is encourage your dress to ride up your thighs again, stopping just before your ass. Grabbing his leather jacket from your arms, Negan tosses it up on the stall door before moving to your thighs.

Negan isn’t a one to waste time, especially when it comes to taking advantage of certain situations. Bringing both hands down to your thighs, he helps you dress by tugging it up in one swift movement. You let out a gasp as the cool, thankfully air conditioned bathroom making the skin on your ass get goosebumps.

“Negan! I-“ you move to turn away so he can’t see your ass but Negan’s one step ahead this time.

Looping an arm around your torso, he makes sure you keep the squirming to a minimum. With his other hand, he brings it down between your legs and presses a finger against your panties.

He holds you in place, bent at the hips and ass against his crotch. You can feel the dampness of your panties against your heat. The wetness seeps into the fabric, making it stick to the lips of your pussy.

“Fuck me, you are soaked!” with no qualms about modesty, Negan swipes the tacky panties to the side and gets a feel of your folds himself.

You stop a moan from escaping, not wanting to be too eager. "Goddamn, you're a sticky little mess, ain't ya? All wet and sloppy, just fucking dripping” he teases your hole, momentarily pressing a finger to it but never dipping inside.

Hoping to gain some control, you go to stand up straight. The thoughts of looking into his eyes as he fingers you is more appealing than your view being the wall of a bathroom stall.

But Negan isn’t as fond of the idea. The arm looped around you quickly makes its way to your back, forcing you to stay bent. You let out a scoff as the side of your face smushes against the wall.

“Negan, what the fuck?” You whine, blindly throwing one of your arms back at him “If you’re gonna finger me, at least let me enjoy it!”.

“Nuh-uh,” he grabs your arm and presses it against your back, restraining you before he continues his exploration of your pussy “I get to decide how the fuck we do this”.

You quieten down when you feel a finger trace your folds, spreading your wetness around. “You this much of a slut for every guy or am I just lucky?” He asks, chuckling at his own thoughts “Your friends were cheering like this is a usual thing for you”.

Before you can reply, Negan plunges two fingers deep inside your dripping cunt, his thumb grinding against your clit. “I— ah!” You mewl, trying to give a coherent response “N-no, never!”.

Negan picks up his pace, loving how you give in, basically slumping against the wall. “See, doll, I want to believe you. I mean, I don’t know that many sluts that get this fucking wet from just a little grinding… it’s shameful, really” he curls his fingers to hit the perfect spot, making your squirm.

“But in saying that,” Negan continues, his breath hitting against your neck as he leans closer “I don’t know that many modest gals that wear something like this”.

Deciding you know better than to repeat your mistake and move again, Negan takes his hand off your back and paws at your chest instead. But in true Negan fashion, he needs to up his antics.

Tugging down the low cut neckline of your dress, you hear a ripping noise as he pulls at the fabric and forces it down past your bra.

“Huh… surprised your modest enough to wear a bra” he comments, quickly rectifying the situation. Without warning, Negan roughly shoves the bra cups up, freeing your tits completely. "Fuck, look at these," he growls, appreciating the sight of your breasts spilling out.

The fingers he has working your hole pause and retreat, much to your disappointment. You take the opportunity to turn around to face him, starting to feeling a crick in your neck from being smushed up by the wall.

“Asshole, you tore my dress“ your voice is laced with frustration, although that may be from how much you want him to stop teasing and fuck you already.

With an amused scoff, Negan goes to hold up his hands in surrender. His fingers glisten with your juices. “I’m trying to be a gentlemen here, doll” he chuckles as he defends himself.

You fight the urge to cover yourself, knowing that’s what he’s waiting for. He wants to see that shy side, to see you blush and get flustered.

You glare at him instead “How is this being a gentleman?”.

“Well, I coulda just ripped it clean off, but I left ya some dignity,” Negan smirks, crowding you again. You’re left no choice but to back into the wall, holding your glare as you look up at him.

“And I've fingered ya before fucking ya which is pretty damn noble” he adds, seeing you battle between staying annoyed and wanting to blush. You open your mouth to complain but a loud moan comes out instead as Negan pinches one of your nipples.

He thumbs your hard nipples, chuckling as they perk up even more under his touch. “Damn, always knew you’d have a good pair on ya," he muses “fuckin’ perfect”.

Negan doesn't hesitate, leaning down to engulf one nipple in his mouth. He sucks hard, letting his teeth graze the sensitive bud as he kneads the other breast roughly. Groaning around your nipple, he switches to the other, assaulting it with the same fervent enthusiasm.

With a grunt, Negan grabs your thighs and hoists you up, pinning you against the wall with his muscular body. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, arms going around his shoulders.

Negan grinds his still clothed cock against your bare pussy, applying just enough pressure to make you whimper.

The rough denim of his pants provides no comfort, each thrust of his hips pressing his erection directly against your sensitive clit. "You feel that?" He asks against your tit “Want you to beg for it, gotta hear ya saying it”.

You have no hesitation. There is no reluctance to beg for him, not when you’re this close to getting what you thought would always be a wet dream.

"Please, Negan, I need it!" you beg, your hips bucking against his pants in desperate attempts to get friction. “I’ve wanted you for so long, to fuck me in my bedroom o-or on the dinner table! Fuck, anywhere! I don’t care!”.

That seems to convince him. Reaching down and fumbling with his jeans, Negan has his cock out in record time. He grips the base, stroking it a few times as he lines it up with your soaked pussy.

The head of his cock presses against your entrance, the tip barely peeking out from between your folds. Negan slowly eases in, allowing you to adjust to his massive size.

You writhe and moan against him, trying to keep your body relaxed as he enters you. Trying your best to keep eye contact, you let out a string of whimpers as he fills you completely.

"Damn, I actually fit," he says, stretching you out in a way you’ve never felt before. Negan pulls out carefully, as if testing the waters before plunging back into your needy pussy with vigor.

"Holy fuck, even tighter than I imagined. Built for my dick, aren't you?" he grunts, starting to fuck you hard.

Each brutal thrust of his hips drives his thick cock deeper into your pussy, stretching you wide open. "Fuck, you're so tight it feels like my dick is splitting you in half. Love it. Fucking love it" Negan rambles on and grabs your thighs, spreading them as wide as he can.

"Fuck, Negan... you're so..." you try to speak "ah!”. It’s all too much in the best way possible. That delicious ache of being so thoroughly penetrated, the feeling of absolute fullness with each deep thrust.

"More... fuck me more..." your hips arch up to meet his thrusts, trying to keep up.

Negan angles his hips upwards, hitting that spot inside you over and over as he pounds into you. "Look at me," He growls, "Look at me while I break you in half with my dick. You like that? You like feeling so stuffed?"

“I-I've never been this full before…” you say with teary eyes.

Negan notices your body tensing and shuddering beneath him, your pussy walls starting to flutter wildly around his thick cock. "Holy shit, there it is... Your cunt's squeezin' me like a fuckin' vice. You gonna cum on my dick?".

The pressure is building to an unbearable point, your entire body trembling as your orgasm approaches. Your mind goes blank, unable to answer his question as he hits that perfect spot.

Just as your orgasm hits, Negan feels your pussy clamp down around him like a silken fist. "Holy fuck..." you gasp, back arching as pure pleasure courses through your veins.

Your entire body quakes, inner muscles milking his cock as you ride out your intense orgasm. You dig your nails into his shoulders, legs trembling uncontrollably.

Negan grunts, fucking you through your intense orgasm with deep, deliberate strokes. He can feel your pussy spasming wildly around his shaft, coating him in your slick arousal. As the last waves shudder through you, he finally pulls out, his cock glistening with in the light.

He lets you stand for a moment but you legs are so wobbly, it’s difficult to support your weight after that intense orgasm.

Before you can even catch your breath, Negan grabs your shoulder roughly and forces you onto your knees. Your body complies in an instant, unable to fight against such force.

Your knees ache as they hit the bathroom floor but that’s the least of your concerns. You look up at him in wide-eyed shock, lips parted as you anticipate him coming all over your face.

"Fuckin' hell, such a pretty face..." He strokes his throbbing cock with his fist, ready to explode.

But instead of aiming for your face, Negan aims his cock at your chest, unleashing a thick, hot load of cum all over your tits. He groans loudly as he paints your breasts with his seed, the warm liquid dripping down between your cleavage and seeping into the fabric of your dress.

“Next time you’re either swallowing it or you’re getting a facial courtesy of yours truly” he informs you, although the only piece of information you truly savor from that is ‘next time’.

Doing the gentlemanly thing, he grabs some tissue from the toilet paper dispenser and hands it to you. You dab at your chest, knowing the dress is a lost cause and will probably have to be thrown out later.

“Help me up?” You ask, somewhat shyly once you’re done.

Taking your arm in a much more gentle grip than before, Negan helps you up, subtly looking over your chest to make sure you’ve wiped off all of him. “You feeling alright?” he asks lowly, as if remembering the public place you’re both in.

You blink, giving yourself a moment to calm, your body still humming with the aftermath. “That was…” you pause, collecting your thoughts, “...wow.”

A soft chuckle rumbles from his chest, and he slips his leather jacket off the stall door. “Well, that’s a better response than I expected,” he says with a smirk, draping the jacket around your shoulders and gently guiding your arms into the sleeves. Without a word about how the jacket nearly swallows you whole, he zips it up, pulling it snug to cover your chest.

This is a completely different side to the Negan you’ve seen tonight. This is the Negan that gives you a small, reassuring smile after your parents throw some off handed insult your way.

The two of you stand close, your breaths mingling. Slowly, the space between your faces narrows, as if drawn by some unspoken pull. You gently tilt your head, just enough to bring your lips into alignment with his.

The kiss is a tender brush. Featherlight and hesitant. It’s the kind of kiss you’d expect before going at it like a bunch of animals… not afterwards.

The kiss lingers, still tasting of warmth and something unspoken. Pulling back just enough to rest your forehead against his, you can feel the soft touch of his lips still tingling on yours. You mutter against his lips, almost sheepishly “Can you drop me home?”.

His lips curl into a quiet smile, a slight glint in his eyes as he nods. “Considering I didn’t get to finish my first glass of whiskey, yeah I should be good,” Negan gives you a playful look.

Unable to help yourself, you give him a small smile. It’s not as seductive or teasing as the ones you have given him previously. In all honestly, it feels like Negan has fucked the seductiveness out of you– if that’s even possible.

“... So this wasn’t some drunken mistake?” you ask coyly.

Negan wraps an arm around your shoulders as he unlocks the stall door and carefully guides you out. ”Wear a dress like that the next time I’m at your parents for dinner and you’ll find out” he replies with a smirk.

Besides his tousled hair, Negan still looks fine. He’s not dishevelled or out of breath or having trouble walking… all things you attribute to yourself.

Negan notices your state too, keeping his arm around you as you subtly leave the bathrooms and head for the exit. If it’s even possible, Negan pulls you closer, guiding you out like a drunk that’s had one too many. His presence is possessive in the gentlest of ways.

You give your friends a knowing look as you both leave, one that says you’ll explain everything later.

The sound of drunken chattering and laughter fades as you step out into the night, the streetlights casting a soft glow on the parking lot.

When you reach the car, he opens the door for you with a small smirk, his eyes never leaving yours as you slide into the seat. A few moments later, Negan slides into the driver's seat and the engine rumbles to life.

The car doesn’t even get out of the parking lot before Negan’s hand finds yours. The ride home is quiet. He doesn’t say much, and neither do you, but the silence between you feels relaxed.

Every now and then, his thumb gently brushes across the back of your hand like a quiet reassurance. He doesn’t mention the contact, simply letting it linger.

The soft, rhythmic motion of the car becomes like a lullaby and with every mile, the weight of the night lifts just a little more. Every so often, you glance over at him, his face relaxed. When your eyes meet, he offers a smile and you sleepily return it.

Negan doesn’t pull up directly outside your house. Strategically stopping his car a little down the street, he sighs.

“Hate to say it but I’ll need that jacket back,” he gives you a once over, as if to memorize what his leather jacket looks like on you.

Fiddling with the zipper, you mumble “So I’m supposed to walk in there with a ripped up dress?”.

He laughs at that, shaking his head before reaching into the backseat. “Here, I know it’s dirty but it’s the best I can offer,” Negan hands you a sweatshirt.

The sweatshirt is faded, its fabric softened from years of use. The sleeves are slightly frayed at the cuffs and a few small holes hint at its age. On the front, several dark oil stains mark where hands have wiped off grease, probably from Negan when working on his motorbike.

But most importantly, it smells like him.

As you take off his jacket and put on the sweatshirt instead, Negan gives you some privacy and looks away. “Are you coming in too?” You ask, gently placing his jacket on his lap once you’ve changed.

Taking that as his signal to look, Negan gives you a sympathetic smile. “Not tonight, darlin,” he replies “think Lucille would chop my nuts off with your mom’s fancy silver if I showed my face”.

“You two are fighting that bad?”.

Negan shrugs “Same old, same old”.

You try not to fidget with the frayed sleeves of his sweatshirt, not wanting to pick at it right in front of him.

“And… this?” You focus your attention at simply inspecting the sleeves instead of picking at them “I mean, I know you said it wasn’t a drunken mistake but still… I get it if you wanna pretend like it never happened”.

As much as you wanted quick reassurance, you’re met with silence.

Negan leans back in his seat, taking his eyes away from yours and looking at the street. Up ahead, he can see the porch light on to your parents house. Although, he doubts Lucille will be leaving anytime soon. She’ll probably stay late, try to wait it out until Negan has drank himself silly and fallen asleep.

“Tonight shouldn’t have happened,” he says with little emotion “It ain’t right. I know it. You know it. Hell, anyone in a ten mile radius would call me all sorts of names if they knew about it… fucking your friend’s daughter is a whole mess”.

You stay quiet, unsure whether you should just get out now.

“But shit, if you wanted to suck my dick right now, I wouldn’t say no,” he chuckles “it’s a fucked up thing to say but I wouldn’t mind something like this happening again”.

That puts a smile back on your face. Getting ready to leave, you say “Maybe if you come to dinner next time, I will suck your dick”.

Negan watches you with narrowed eyes. Of course you’d be able to make his dick twitch again, making him feel like a teenager that could get it up over and over again.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he warns as you get out.

“Good,” you hop out of the car, giving him one last flirtatious smirk before going “I hope you do”.

Closing the door, you strut along the pavement, your heels clicking as you go to your house. Walking has never seemed so hard, not only because of your shoe choice but from the aching in your gut and your legs wobbling more than you’d like to admit.

Still, you try to do your best to walk straight, knowing Negan is watching.

When you get to the front door, you give Negan one last glance before disappearing inside. He wait a few moments before starting up his car and leaving.

The first thing you hear is a chorus of polite laughter from the dining room. Great, looks like they’re still in the midst of dinner. Before you have a chance to debate if you could get upstairs without them hearing, you hear your father call out your name.

“Is that you?” He calls out.

Reluctantly, you walk in, lingering by the doorway. Your parents to turn in their dining chairs to face you. Whereas Lucille has you right in her line of view. She offers you a gracious smile as you enter.

“I thought you were staying at Lydia’s tonight,” you mom says, eyeing your sweatshirt and what appears to be a skirt. Thankfully she doesn’t comment on how short it is.

“Eh, Lydia talked things out with her boyfriend so they’re back together again,” you lie casually “you know how they are; fight, break up and make up”.

Lucille casts her gaze down slightly, as if your words hit a little too close to home for her. You shift uncomfortably.

“There’s some leftovers in the kitchen if you’re hungry” your mom says, blissfully unaware.

“I’m ok,” you give her a smile “I think I might just shower and head to bed early”.

“Alright,” she already waves you off, turning back in her seat “if you’re sure”.

You don’t linger, giving them a polite nod before leaving. It’s only when you turn to leave does Lucille look at you again.

She’s never believed in coincidences. And she’s never believed you to be into repairing cars. She knows the faint stains on your sweatshirt, mainly because she’s the one who spent hours trying to scrub them out… only for Negan to reward her with new stains on the damn thing.

Nodding along with whatever it is your father is saying, Lucille’s mind strays further and further from the dinner and to Negan instead.

Something’s happened. What exactly, she’s not sure. But you’re involved and so is her damned husband.

—————

A/N: thought I’d put in a quick note just to say thanks for reading and apologies for disappearing all month! My family almost got scammed out of 11k (it was insane) but!! More importantly!! I got seriously bad writers block so apologies if this fic is a little choppy, I’m still getting back into my stride!!

#negan fanfiction #negan smith fanfiction #negan x reader #negan x you #twd negan #negan #negan smith #negan twd #twd smut #jeffrey dean morgan x reader #twd x reader #negan the walking dead #the walking dead negan #negan smith smut #negan smut

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scoupsakakitty · 1 month ago

Note

hii hope youre doing great btw !!! i really love your stories and writing !!

so i wanna ask how about scoups dating an idol, and when they have to perform in the same events, but his partner suddenly fainted when her groups just finished performing. i just wanna know like how he would react hehehe thank youuu and im so sorry for my broken english since its not my first language :( but i hope you would understand it !!

In the Moment | idol!Scoups x idol!reader | angst

The atmosphere backstage was electric as Seventeen prepared for their own performance. The awards show had everyone on edge, but Seungcheol couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. His eyes were fixed on the stage where Y/N’s group was performing, and despite the cheers of the crowd, he couldn’t ignore the unease building inside him.

Y/N’s movements were slower than usual. She looked off—tired, shaky, and strained in a way that didn’t seem right. Seungcheol watched, his heart pounding, as she struggled to keep up with the choreography. Every move seemed like it required more effort than the last, and he couldn’t stop the worry building in his chest.

He could see her pushing herself through the performance, but with each step, it was more obvious that she was fading. Her body seemed to be fighting against her, but she held on, determined to finish the routine.

And then, at the climax of the performance, it happened. Y/N stumbled. Her knees gave way, and before anyone could react, she collapsed to the ground, right in front of the stage.

Seungcheol’s heart stopped.

He didn’t think. He didn’t even wait for the signal. His mind screamed at him to act, and without hesitation, he turned to the staff beside him.

“Get her down here. Now!” Seungcheol shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.

The staff members hesitated for a moment, but Jeonghan, standing beside him, quickly jumped into action. "Call an ambulance, and get a doctor—now!" His calm demeanor masked the concern in his eyes, but his voice was sharp, urging the staff into motion.

Seungcheol didn’t care about anything else. His focus was entirely on Y/N. The moment he saw her fall, he felt the world slow down around him. His heart was in his throat, and he couldn’t afford to waste another second.

Within moments, two staff members appeared at the side of the stage, carefully lifting Y/N's limp body, guiding her toward the backstage area. Seungcheol was already there, waiting, pacing nervously.

He didn’t care who saw him. He didn’t care about the crowd or the performance waiting for him. All that mattered was Y/N.

As soon as they reached the backstage door, Seungcheol rushed forward. He gently but firmly took her from their hands, cradling her in his arms as though she was the most fragile thing in the world.

“Y/N, come on wake up you're safe now.” he murmured, his voice thick with worry. Her skin was cold and pale, and he could feel her shallow breathing against his chest. She was out of it, barely conscious, but he could still feel the faint pulse beneath his fingertips.

His heart hammered as he moved swiftly toward a quiet room. He didn’t let go of her once, even as the staff tried to clear the way. He carried her as if she weighed nothing, each step more urgent than the last.

When they reached the room, he gently laid her on the couch, pushing aside any distractions in his path. His hands shook as he brushed a lock of hair from her face, checking her temperature with his palm. She was still too cold, her breathing shallow and uneven.

The staff was quick to follow, bringing in a doctor, but Seungcheol didn’t leave her side. He stayed close, hovering protectively, watching her like a hawk. His eyes never left her face as the doctor began to check her vitals.

“Is she going to be okay?” Seungcheol asked, his voice tight, almost desperate.

The doctor nodded, though his expression was serious. “She’s just exhausted, overworked and dehydrated. We’ll need to keep an eye on her for a bit, but she’ll be fine with rest.”

Seungcheol let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He leaned over and gently stroked Y/N’s hand, whispering to her, “You scared me, Y/N. Please, don’t ever do that again.”

Her eyelids fluttered, and she gave him a small, weak smile. “I didn’t mean to... worry you.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, you know that, right?” he said softly, his voice low but firm. “Just take care of yourself. You’re important to me.”

Y/N blinked slowly, still feeling the effects of the exhaustion. "I pushed myself too hard."

He shook his head, his brow furrowing. “It’s not worth it, Y/N. I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

The doctor gave them a moment before leaving to check on the rest of the team, leaving Seungcheol alone with her. He stayed close, holding her hand, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, not caring if anyone heard. “I’m here. Always.”

Y/N let out a faint sigh, finally allowing herself to relax, her body sinking into the cushions. And for the first time that night, Seungcheol allowed himself to breathe, knowing she was safe with him.

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rothpie · 5 months ago

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❝FIDELITY❞ |part8

MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank

Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.

Warnings: slut shaming(?)

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Could you really call yourself an adult now?

I mean, honestly, is there some magical age that makes you a certified grown-up?

If it’s all about age, then nope—you weren’t an adult. Maybe a “young adult” at best, but even then, the life you were living? Let’s just say it was… a bit different.

When everything started happening so quickly, keeping up felt impossible. And let’s face it, that was normal. If you managed to juggle everything with calm composure, you’d probably qualify as Wonder Woman. Life came with its ups and downs, but throw pregnancy symptoms into the mix, and things got extra tricky.

You liked to share what you wanted with others. Talking about your plans openly was just how you were. It wasn’t about bragging; you just enjoyed sharing your happiness. But every single time—without fail—whatever you talked about? It never happened.

That Venice trip you’d been set on for the summer? Canceled.

The dream university? Rejected. That car you were this close to buying? Nope, didn’t happen.

It was like clockwork. Every time.

And the thing was, you never learned. Not really. You’d repeat the same mistake again and again. Life’s law, right? Someday you’d figure it out… though that day clearly wasn’t anytime soon.

Pregnancy, though, wasn’t exactly something you could go shouting about to everyone. That was off the table. But moving?

If you weren’t pregnant, there’s no way you’d have kept quiet. You’d have made sure the entire island knew. And naturally, that would’ve meant it wouldn’t happen.

This time, though, you zipped it. The only person who knew was JJ—and, well, he didn’t really count. Or, okay, maybe he did. Of course, he was important, but not the kind of person to stand in your way. On the contrary, he had your back. He even offered to help you with the whole moving process.

Things happened so fast, you could hardly believe it.

Your dad came home from his work trip, you visited the mainland, met with a realtor friend of his, checked out potential homes—it was like someone had hit the fast-forward button.

You couldn’t decide on anything. You were even okay with a cute little apartment. The list of occupants was simple: you and your daughter. You didn’t need much more.

Your mom, however, had her opinions. She didn’t want a mansion either, but she was firm about the house having enough rooms. One for you, one for your daughter, and a guest room—because naturally, grandma duties. And a yard, because she wanted to watch her grandchild play outside.

So apartments were out. Houses it was. After seeing what felt like a million empty ones, you were ready to scream.

But finally, you found it. The perfect house. The yard alone sold it. You could already picture the memories you’d make there with your daughter. Maybe a swing or a hammock… some comfy furniture on the porch.

You never imagined you’d get so close to your dream so quickly.

It had the three rooms your mom insisted on, was two stories, and honestly, it was beautiful. You loved it. But the idea of living there alone was terrifying.

Still, the deal was sealed.

It didn’t take long—two weeks, tops. When your mom insisted on hiring an interior designer, you didn’t argue much. Secretly, you liked the idea. And once your belongings were packed, it was all done.

All that was left was you.

There weren’t many people to say goodbye to on the island, which was, honestly, fine. Who were you supposed to bid farewell to? Rafe? His family, who didn’t even know you were pregnant? Your friends, who’d probably broadcast the news to the world? No thanks.

Except for JJ.

You’d have been a total ass not to acknowledge his help. Even if his support wasn’t entirely physical, his presence had been a huge emotional lift.

So saying goodbye wasn’t hard.

Ignoring the support he’d given you would’ve been dumb. When you decided to give him a nice surfboard as a thank-you gift, you didn’t overthink it. You just thought about who JJ was—someone who loved the ocean and surfing. Beyond that? You didn’t know much. So you kept it simple. Spoiler alert: he liked it.

You hesitated, thinking a gift might make things unnecessarily sentimental, but he deserved it. Nobody else in his position would’ve treated you as kindly. Even Kooks barely treated each other well. Expecting a Pogue to go out of their way for you? Yeah, no.

But JJ had.

You weren’t super close, but during one of your conversations, he’d mentioned how much he liked the rare nights when his shift ended early. He worked at a pub. In your head, you’d given him two weeks before he got fired—or kicked out after starting a fight. You were that sure of it.

A week ago, knowing the end of his evening shift, you parked near the pub, sitting on your car hood to wait for him. The plan? Give him the surfboard. Maybe even give him a ride home if he needed one.

Fifteen minutes passed. He hadn’t come out.

You started questioning everything—maybe you’d gotten the wrong day? Or maybe you’d messed up the time?

Waiting around for nothing felt miserable. You should’ve paid better attention when he’d been talking about his schedule.

Not that the gift had been planned or anything. The idea had hit you on a whim. You just wanted to do something before you left. After all, there weren’t many people to say goodbye to. And texting JJ a quick see ya felt way too impersonal.

“What are you doing here?”

You snapped out of your thoughts, your eyes shooting up from your phone. JJ stood a few steps away, mid-turn before he stopped and faced you fully. His eyes scanned the car before landing on you.

Quickly, you shoved your phone into your pocket. “Making sure you didn’t pick another fight.” Sliding off the hood, you smirked.

JJ rolled his eyes, flashing you a sarcastic smile. “Ha-ha. How funny.”

Unlike him, your grin was genuine. Why should he have all the fun pissing people off? It was your turn.

Unlike him, your lips curled into a genuine smile. Was it always going to be him getting under your skin for his own amusement? No, this time, it was your turn.

You heard him say your name, his tone serious. “No, really. What are you doing here?”

Keeping surprises wasn’t exactly your specialty, but you couldn’t resist messing with him a little. After all, this was the first time in days you’d left the house—and only in your baggiest clothes. Might as well enjoy it.

“Just hanging out.”

He frowned, his eyes scanning the area before gesturing around. “Here? Outside the pub?”

The confusion on his face was nearly comical—borderline annoyed, maybe?

You mirrored his glance at the surroundings, raising your eyebrows. It wasn’t much to look at. Just… a place. “What’s wrong with here?”

JJ let out a frustrated sigh, and for a moment, you couldn’t believe you’d actually managed to annoy him. He genuinely looked upset. “Are you serious right now? You—” He stopped himself, clenching his jaw as he stepped closer. Lowering his voice, he added, “You can’t drink. You’re not even supposed to be hanging around.”

So, he thought you’d come here to drink? That’s why he was so worked up?

It was kind of… cute. But poking the bear was way more fun.

You let out a dramatic hum as you crossed your arms. “Not allowed? Says who?” You tried not to laugh at the look he shot you, a mix of exasperation and disbelief, like you’d lost your mind.

“Me. You’re not drinking. Not here, not anywhere. Have you lost it?”

Your lips pulled into a grin, and despite his attempt to scold you, his irritation only made it funnier. Especially since you hadn’t even done what he was accusing you of.

The second JJ caught onto what you were doing, his annoyed expression melted away. As your laughter echoed, he pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly unimpressed. “Yeah, yeah. Hilarious. Now, can you just tell me what you’re actually doing here?”

You clutched your stomach, your laughter dying down into a lingering smile. Sure, he wasn’t amused, but you were, and that’s all that mattered.

“I’ve got something for you.”

JJ’s eyebrows shot up. He straightened, intrigued. “Yeah?”

You stepped away from the car’s front, glancing back to see him still rooted in place. You gave him a quick head nod to follow. With a sigh, he finally moved. “If this is a gun for self-defense, just so you know, I’m not really clear on the rules here,” he joked with a wink.

You snorted, shaking your head. “Please. If I gave you a gun, you’d be arrested in, like, two seconds.”

He laughed, but you could tell he was curious now. Opening the back door, you reached inside. “It’s a thank-you gift. Kind of.”The surprise on his face was priceless. He clearly wasn’t expecting this. Honestly, neither were you until the idea struck.

JJ tilted his head, his expression skeptical. “Thank you? For what? For telling you not to pick fights?”

You rolled your eyes. He couldn’t be serious. “No, JJ. For helping me out.”

He smiled, but it was that classic, goofy grin of his. Any trace of his earlier irritation had completely vanished. He didn’t even glance into the car. “Oh, I get it. Like a ‘without JJ, my life would’ve fallen apart’ kind of thank you? Go on, feed my ego. I live for this.”

For a split second, you considered slamming the door and driving off. Instead, you laughed. Sure, there was some truth to what he said, but no way were you letting him win.

Taking a deep breath, you opened the door wider and stepped back. “Nope. It’s just a small gesture. Don’t read too much into it.”

JJ walked over and held the door open, his eyes going wide when he spotted the surfboard wedged into the backseat. His fingers ran over the smooth edges and the blue-and-white design. “You got this for me?” he asked, his voice softer now as he inspected it.

You couldn’t suppress your grin. “Yeah. I mean, I know it’s kind of random, but I figured you could use your own board for a change. For everything you’ve done—” You hesitated, trying to find the right words. “It meant a lot.”

JJ’s smile was different this time. It wasn’t cocky or teasing. It was genuine. “If I don’t take this, I feel like you’d be really annoying about it,” he muttered, pulling the board from the car.

“Absolutely. You wouldn’t want to hear me talk about how I poured my heart into its design,” you teased.

He froze, eyes narrowing. “Wait—you designed it?”

You smirked, holding his gaze. “No. But it’s nice that you believed it for a second.”

JJ laughed, shaking his head as he leaned the board against the car. For once, he wasn’t mocking or making jokes. Instead, he looked at you with something softer, something you couldn’t quite place. “This is… perfect. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know. I just wanted to.”

He hesitated, glancing at the board before meeting your eyes again. “I was just trying to help. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

And that was it, wasn’t it? That’s how it felt. Deep down, you’d even envied the way he was with his friends. He didn’t know you. In fact, he hated your group. But if he treated you like this—who knew how he treated his friends?

You weren’t used to people doing things for you without expecting something in return. Sure, you had a hunch JJ liked money. Not just you—everyone on the island knew that. But still, the way he talked to you, made time for you… it mattered. It broke the prejudice you had against him.

It wasn’t anything grand. He didn’t buy you houses or cars. He didn’t shower you with jewelry. But he talked to you like no one else did. He made you feel—like you were someone. Like someone whose decisions shouldn’t be dictated by anyone else’s words.

And that? That was worth more than jewelry. More than anything money could buy. It was something most people—Rafe included—didn’t have.

From the moment he heard, he didn’t tell anyone. What friend would do that? Ruthie? Sophie? Who?

JJ did.

And he wasn’t even your friend.

That’s why it mattered. He was just being himself, and you needed that.

“It felt like that.” JJ was holding the surfboard, his eyes catching yours. A strange silence fell between you. Neither of you had expected such a gesture—not just surfing, but the support he’d given you.

You hadn’t expected his support; that was his gesture to you. And he hadn’t expected a surfboard from you; that was your gesture to him.

JJ lifted the board to examine it, the usual smirk still on his face. He was clearly trying to ease the tension hanging between you. “So, I have my own board now, huh? I don’t have to give this one back, do I? Because when it comes to stuff like that, you’re pretty stubborn.”

“No, it’s yours,” you said, smiling. You were grateful for his teasing—it cut through the awkwardness. You could’ve stayed silent for hours. “But if I catch you getting into another fight, I’ll beat you with that board.”

JJ laughed, shaking his head. His gaze flicked between the board and you. He was ridiculously excited about the surfboard but trying hard not to show it. “Fair deal. But just so we’re clear, every cool move I pull off with this board? I’m crediting you. ‘Thanks to Princess for this wave,’ that kind of thing. You’re my sponsor now.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny his antics made you laugh. He was fun to be around. You were glad the whole “status” nonsense between you two seemed to be fading. It wasn’t just you—he had his own assumptions about you too. But it felt like you’d both moved past that. “Okay. Sponsorship’s over. Go find your wave.”

JJ carefully propped the board against the wall, his expression softening. “Jokes aside, thanks. I mean it. This means a lot. Just don’t tell anyone I said that—gotta protect my image.” He smiled, dimples showing as he ran a hand through his hair.

You smiled back, nodding quickly. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe.”

As you both grinned, JJ’s eyes flicked from you to the surfboard. Following his gaze, your eyes drifted to his hands, gently tracing the board like it was fragile.

“I’m leaving the island tomorrow.” The words tumbled out, and you saw his hands freeze. His gaze landed on you, but you kept your focus on the board, pretending to admire its design. It really was a beautiful surfboard. “So—I wanted to say thank you.”

His blue eyes pierced through you as if that was even possible. JJ didn’t say anything to make the moment heavier, just nodded. For several seconds, neither of you spoke. Realizing the air had gotten heavier, you shifted your tone to something more casual. “I could drive you home if you want.”

You weren’t the kind of person to offer, but making him carry a surfboard all the way home felt cruel.

JJ opened his mouth to respond, but a car horn blared from down the street. Both of you turned toward the sound. Outside the car, John B and Kiara were leaning against it, with Pope, Cleo, and Sarah visible through the windows. Pope waved at JJ from where he hung halfway out of the window.

When Sarah’s eyes met yours, you instinctively tugged at your shirt. There wasn’t anything visible, but still—you felt uneasy. “Wow,” you said, feigning amusement. “Your entourage is here.”

JJ hesitated, looking momentarily torn. Finally, he sighed, a guilty smile creeping onto his face. His gaze dropped to your hand still fidgeting with your shirt. For a split second, it seemed like he wanted to grab your hand, to stop you.

“Nothing’s showing,” he said, his eyes lingering on your waist. You knew that, but the idea of anyone finding out still terrified you. Especially someone from Rafe’s family. He didn’t want them to know, and neither did you. That’s why you felt the need to be extra cautious around Sarah and Wheezie.

“I know. It’s just—” You stopped, shutting your eyes briefly before opening them again. It was paranoia, but understandable. “Relax. No one knows, I swear.” His hand almost reached out to your arm, but he stopped, remembering his friends were watching from the car.

“Go,” you said, shrugging. You composed yourself. “Looks like you’ve got a ride after all.” You smiled.

JJ paused for a beat, then flashed a crooked smile. He hated the awkwardness lingering between you. “If this board isn’t as good as you said, you’re getting an earful. I’ll call you.” He walked backward, teasing. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his words.

As you walked toward your front door, you noticed his movements slow. He stopped, turned, and looked back at you. It was like he’d remembered something he’d forgotten to do. Placing the surfboard down gently, his eyes briefly darted away from yours.

Then he walked up to you and stopped right in front of you. After a brief, silent pause, you felt his arms wrap around you. Was he… hugging you? Seriously? The gesture caught both of you off guard. You’d never imagined this kind of closeness. But then again, you hadn’t imagined buying him a surfboard either. So, it didn’t feel wrong. If buying him a gift made you feel this close, then it wasn’t strange that he’d feel close enough to hug you.

You returned the gesture, wrapping your arms around him. His grip was firm, and the scent of salt and ocean filled your senses. How did he always smell so much like the sea?

The hug was short, but both of you felt the strangeness of it. Once again—you felt like you’d crossed a line. Broken some unspoken rule.

JJ shrugged as he pulled back. “Yeah, that’s it. See you, uh… whatever.”

You took a deep breath, watching him stand there. You hated goodbyes. You were going to miss this island, and now—

“Yeah… goodbye.” You pushed your hair behind your shoulders, trying to steady your voice. You didn’t understand why you felt like you were losing a friend. Like you were going to… miss him?

Stop. Don’t even think about it.

JJ nodded, picking up the surfboard as he walked toward the car. You watched him for a moment before turning to the front door and stepping into your car. Through the windshield, you caught a glimpse of Kiara muttering something to Sarah. Whatever she was saying, you couldn’t hear.

When JJ got into the car, he paused, lowering his head for a brief moment before looking outside again.

He mouthed something to the group. Not to you, but to the friends in the car. “Just shut up.”

When he gave you a quick nod, you returned it before starting your car. Watching them drive off, you felt a strange mix of relief and melancholy. You’d thanked JJ, and that was all you wanted. It was done.

Except for the quiet ache of losing a friend.

You’d left only a few clothes back at the house on the island. The furniture and everything else stayed in your room. Your parents insisted the room remain untouched—they wanted you to know there was still a home for you there. They even promised not to change a thing.

The first few months were bound to be hard; you knew that. Living alone was going to take some getting used to. But you hoped it’d all be worth it when you finally held your baby.

Now, you were sitting on the couch in your new place, sipping a green smoothie. You’d have given anything for a coffee, but pregnancy meant sacrifices. A little caffeine might not hurt, but you didn’t want to risk it. The smoothie was healthy, though it tasted awful.

It had only been six days since the move. You’d allowed yourself time to explore the area, taking walks around the quiet streets. Your parents had offered to stay with you for a few days, but you politely declined. You wanted to settle in on your own. Leaning on their warmth and presence only to have it ripped away later would have made the loneliness worse. You couldn’t let that happen.

Morning sickness had eased enough for a few walks, so you’d wandered the calm streets near your house. Quiet, orderly, nothing like Outer Banks. You couldn’t help but compare the two. Everything here was different. The people, the lifestyle—it all felt so structured and tame. But a part of you missed the chaos of the island. The freedom. The absurdity of going to the store in a bikini without anyone batting an eye. That tight-knit community where everyone knew each other’s names.

You’d visited the local park a few times. It was rarely crowded, and you hadn’t met anyone yet. By the time you arrived, most of the adults and kids were just beginning to trickle in.

So, here you were: your own place. Did that make you an adult?

How did adults even make friends? Scratch that—how did anyone past a certain age make friends? As a kid, it was easy. Just ask someone to play with you, and that was it. Middle school? Same thing.

But now? You didn’t know a soul here. What were you supposed to do? Walk up to someone and introduce yourself?

Terrifying thought.

Still, maybe worth trying, right?

Socializing wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

Your eyes scanned the park’s scenery. The leaves rustled gently in the breeze, and birds chirped in the branches above. A group of kids played in a sandbox, their laughter mingling with the faint sounds of distant traffic.

You clasped your hands over your stomach, exhaling deeply. “Maybe this is good for me,” you thought.

But the whole idea still felt horrifying. Sitting at home would’ve been worse, though. At least you were out, breathing fresh air.

Introducing yourself to someone, though? Out of the question. No anxiety attacks, but your chest tightened just thinking about it. No, you’d just sit and enjoy the park for a bit. That would be enough.

Your gaze dropped to the book in your lap: Healthy Nutrition and Development During Pregnancy. You fiddled with the corner of its cover. Would someone else find this funny? Carrying a guidebook instead of a novel wasn’t something even you would’ve expected a few months ago. But here you were, on the verge of a whole new chapter. Screw what anyone thought—you were preparing for your future.

Suddenly, the bench shifted slightly as someone sat down beside you. The movement snapped you out of your thoughts. You glanced up to find a middle-aged woman with an energetic demeanor. Her dyed-blond hair revealed a hint of gray at the roots, and a steaming coffee cup rested in her hands.

“Ugh, I hope I can finish this before it goes cold,” she muttered to herself before calling out to the playground. “Tati! No running, sweetheart!”

She waved toward the child before turning back to you with a wide smile.

“Lovely day, isn’t it?” she chirped.

You gave her a polite smile, nodding. “It is,” you replied, subtly shifting your book closer to your lap. Her eyes flicked to the book in your hands, narrowing slightly as if trying to make out the title. “Is that a… guidebook?” she finally asked.

You tilted your head slightly. “Yes,” you said simply, hoping that’d be enough to end the conversation.

“A pregnancy guide?” she pressed, her curiosity accompanied by a cheerful smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “How sweet! Helping out a sister or expecting a niece?—Oh, where are my manners? I’m Viola.”

Her question caught you off guard. You hesitated briefly before giving your name. “Uh, no. It’s for me,” you said with a small smile.

Her expression shifted instantly. Her eyes widened, her grin turning stiff and awkward. “For you? Oh…”

You nodded, feeling heat creep up your cheeks. She had seemed friendly at first, but the subtle judgment on her face now was impossible to ignore.

“How far along?” she asked, as if the question was perfectly natural.

“Sixteen weeks,” you mumbled, pretending to smooth the book’s pages. The weight of her gaze made your skin crawl.

“Ah, so young,” she murmured, taking a long sip from her coffee. When she lowered the cup, her eyes lingered on you, as though dissecting every detail. “How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Twenty,” you replied, keeping your tone neutral but feeling the words land heavier than you intended. You watched her eyebrows knit together as she took a sharp breath.

“Twenty? You look barely old enough to drive!” she exclaimed, clearly not trying to be subtle. Then, almost conspiratorially, “But… you must be married, right?”

Your hands instinctively moved to rest on your stomach, but you hesitated to respond. The silence must have been answer enough because her eyes flicked from your belly back to your face.

“Oh,” she said knowingly, her smile tightening further. “So… is the father still in the picture?”

What was this, an interrogation?

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. Was it the tone of her voice? Or the audacity of her questions? Whatever it was, it stung. “That’s not something I need to discuss with you,” you said firmly, fighting to keep the frustration out of your voice.

Viola shrugged, but her scrutinizing look didn’t waver. “Fair enough. But raising a baby at your age, and without… well, you know. It’s going to be tough. Don’t you think this was a bit… impulsive?”

Her words hit like a cold wind. You tightened your grip on your stomach and tilted your head slightly. “That’s none of your business,” you said, your voice harder now.

Viola didn’t back down. “Yes, maybe you’re right. But people talk, sweetheart. And usually, they judge the ones they think made the wrong decisions…” She paused, pursing her lips. “Well, they judge.”

That was all you needed to hear. You tucked your book under your arm like you were putting it in a bag, got up, and said, “I think it’s time for me to leave,” your tone colder than even you expected.

Viola raised a hand as if trying to smooth things over. “Oh, I didn’t mean to offend,” she said, but the look in her eyes betrayed the opposite. “I’m just saying this for your own good.”

You could shove your “thoughts” up your ass.

Turning on your heel, you walked toward the park’s exit. The sound of her coffee cup being placed on the bench and her murmuring words echoed behind you. A fresh start sounded nice, you thought. But a new beginning wasn’t a guarantee of escaping old judgments.

There was no way you were going out to socialize again anytime soon. You hated that woman. With every fiber of your being. The way she judged you with that smug little brain of hers—it made your blood boil. You had no memory of how you even made it back home.

You made yourself some hot cocoa, hoping it would calm your nerves. Honestly, lying flat in the grass wouldn’t have been enough to shake off the anger at this point.

Even though you tried to distract yourself—knowing full well that stress wasn’t good for the baby—it wasn’t working. The incident replayed in your mind on a loop. You were certain you’d shiver every time you walked past that park again.

Who did she think she was, anyway? How could someone pass judgment on a stranger like that? The sheer audacity—it was baffling.

The sound of your phone notification pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts. Glancing over, you reached for the phone resting on the couch.

You waited for a reply, but when nothing came, you set the phone down again. At least one of you was having a good day. Even though you felt like you were on the verge of exploding, you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

The sudden ring of your phone startled you. You looked over, eyes narrowing slightly in surprise. JJ Maybank was calling you. Right now.

Pressing the phone to your ear, you grabbed the half-full cocoa mug from the table with your other hand. You weren’t going to drink it anymore. You were too annoyed to even think about washing it, but you figured you could at least move it somewhere out of sight. JJ’s voice came through the speaker, and despite everything, a small smile crept onto your face. For all his antics, he was a decent guy.

Heading toward the kitchen, you heard the cheerfulness in his voice as he began, “Used it this morning.” He was talking about the surfboard, excitement practically dripping from his words.

Frowning slightly, you placed the mug on the counter. This morning? Shouldn’t he have been at work? “This morning? Weren’t you supposed to be at work?”

There was a brief pause before JJ let out a muffled laugh. “Got fired,” he said casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Honestly, with him, it kind of was. You couldn’t help but laugh a little.

You weren’t surprised—of course, you weren’t. With the phone still pressed to your ear, you wandered over to the window and glanced outside. “Figured,” you said, your voice laced with playful sarcasm.

JJ didn’t miss a beat, his tone now teasingly accusatory. “Wait a second. Did you bet on me?”

Smiling, you shook your head even though he couldn’t see it, your attention momentarily caught by a cat wandering down the street. JJ cleared his throat, bringing you back. “No, but I wish I had,” you said.

His response came in the form of a dramatic groan. “That’s the meanest thing I’ve heard all week. You’re better than this.”

You turned around and walked toward the kitchen, your tone a little sharper now. “Get used to it.”

JJ responded immediately, his voice carrying a hint of challenge. “Never,” he shot back. Then, after a brief pause, his tone softened, but he added a teasing edge. “Pregnancy hormones have turned you into a completely different person. And it’s only been six days.”

The way he always knew how to push your buttons—and somehow make you smile instead of snap—was maddening. You found yourself tapping the corner of the table with your fingers, a habit you didn’t even notice until it happened. “I take pride in that,” you said, a playful grin tugging at your lips.

JJ came back stronger, more confident this time. “Hey, do you think it’s the hormones, or is it because you haven’t seen my handsome face for six whole days?” There was that familiar cocky tone, but you could tell he was trying to make you laugh. “I’d bet everything it’s because you haven’t seen my handsome face.”

“Even your surfboard?” you teased, your voice lifting just enough to show you were fully invested in the banter now. You moved toward the living room and dropped onto the couch, your gaze briefly flitting to the TV. But your attention was fully locked on JJ.

“Not a chance,” he replied instantly, almost defensive. “The board’s off-limits. Too precious.”

You chuckled, grabbing the nearby blanket and pulling it over your lap. “Then you’ve lost everything except the surfboard,” you said, shaking your head in mock disapproval. JJ’s laugh echoed through the phone, rich and warm, before he quipped, “You’ve been extra rude lately,” his voice carrying a mix of mock hurt and teasing amusement.

You didn’t just roll your eyes—you sank deeper into the couch, grabbing a pillow to prop yourself up. Of course, he’d called just to mess with you. Was he bored? Had he decided you were the best target for entertainment? “I’ve always been like this,” you replied with a shrug he couldn’t see.

“Nope,” JJ shot back instantly, his tone softer but still certain. A brief silence followed, filled only by the sound of your own breathing, before he spoke again. This time, his voice was a little more sincere. “So… how’s it going? Living alone and all?”

You didn’t hate that he asked. Actually, it felt nice to talk to someone. As an adult—or whatever weird in-between phase you were in—socializing wasn’t exactly easy. It hadn’t been easy on the island either, but at least that had been your choice. This wasn’t.

You took a deep breath, realizing the question was harder to answer than you’d expected. “It sucks,” you admitted finally, the honesty not surprising you in the slightest.

“Why?” JJ’s voice was softer now, laced with just enough concern to feel genuine but not suffocating. It was like he always knew how to navigate these moments without overstepping. And honestly, it was strange—good strange.

You tried to sort through the chaos in your head. “I don’t know,” you said with a faint sigh. “I haven’t really connected with anyone. I don’t know anyone here.”

JJ, ever the problem-solver in his own weird way, jumped in with his trademark ease. “Then make friends with the stray cats,” he said, that classic carefree tone of his bringing a smile to your face despite everything.

“I already have you,” you teased back, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “I couldn’t possibly betray you.”

His laugh from the other end of the line was contagious. “Not funny.”

Fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, you hesitated before mumbling, “Are you okay? How are you?” Somehow, over the phone, it felt easier to ask—less intimidating than it would’ve been face-to-face.

“I’m amazing,” JJ said, his voice taking on a flat, almost robotic tone that screamed deflection.

“Your ego is exhausting,” you retorted, matching his sarcasm. Why couldn’t he just answer the question for once? Did everything have to be a game? “Seriously. How are you? After… you know, that day.”

JJ exhaled deeply, and when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost reluctant. “I don’t live with my dad anymore.”

You sat up straighter, grabbing the remote to lower the TV’s volume. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Packed up my stuff and left.”

It wasn’t exactly shocking. In fact, you were relieved he’d done it. Knowing he’d been living with someone who hurt him was unbearable. But still, you couldn’t stop your brow from furrowing. You couldn’t shake the worry. “Are you staying with John B?”

JJ’s silence was unexpected. You listened to the sound of his breathing, the faintest hitch before he finally answered. “Kind of?”

“What does that mean?” Your voice sharpened with concern. Why was he dancing around the answer when he could just tell you?

JJ sighed again, his tone shifting as though he’d stepped further away from the phone. “They don’t know I left yet. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

He hadn’t told his closest friends? Why? They weren’t the type to judge him. You didn’t know them well, but you were sure of that much. It didn’t make sense.

Even as your worry grew, you knew pressing him wasn’t the right move. “So where are you staying?” you asked cautiously.

JJ’s tone hardened. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.” There it was—his three-year-old tantrum mode. Did he really think people didn’t have the right to worry about him? Idiot.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, already feeling your patience wearing thin. “As your friend, I’m allowed to be concerned about your safety, JJ. Just tell me where you’re staying.”

His tone shifted again, this time lighter, more teasing. “Friend, huh? That’s nice. Kook and Pogue forever.”

“Shut it,” you snapped, your irritation clear. All you wanted was to know he was safe. “Just tell me already.”

JJ paused, then let out a soft laugh—the kind you knew was covering up something deeper. Even a toddler could tell. “I stayed with them for a few days. Been figuring it out since.”

You frowned. That wasn’t a solution. “You need to tell them,” you said gently.

He responded with the same stubbornness you’d come to expect, but his tone hinted at a smirk. “This is my problem, princess.” Then, as if to shift the mood, he added, “This is the first time we’ve talked on the phone. Cute, right? Now, tell me about your day.”

Despite the worry gnawing at you, you relaxed just a little. He wouldn’t be joking around like this if things were terrible… right?

You hoped so cause—JJ is your friend.

478 notes · View notes

vunblr · 25 days ago

Text

Tangled (#5)

Pairing: Cecaelia! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Slight Angst. Fluff. Slow Burn. Eventual teratophilia.

Summary: Between fear and fascination, a solitary creature struggles to protect his hidden world -and himself- after an unexpected encounter with a curious human woman makes him question everything he thought he knew about trust, danger, and boundaries.

Word Count: 7.k.

Previous Chapter

It hurt.

The bite throbbed deep in her arm as a dull ache radiated up to her shoulder, and she was so cold. Once she started shivering, her body didn’t stop. Her wet clothes clung to her skin, heavy and chilled, sapping the little warmth she had left.

“I need...” Her teeth chattered as she spoke, breath puffing in short bursts. “I need to dry myself and change, alright? If not, I’m going to get sick.”

She wasn’t sure if he would understand, or if his mind was still fogged with the taste of her blood, but after a long pause, he gave a slow, reluctant nod and uncurled his fingers from her arm.

“Good,” she whispered, as much to herself as to him, before she pushed herself up and stumbled a little. Her fingers fumbled at her soaked shirt, peeling it off her skin with effort, since the fabric suctioned to her body.

Once she got it off, she quickly wrapped the towel around herself, but the shivering still wouldn’t stop. Her bra was next, the damp fabric was icy against her chest as she struggled to undo it with trembling hands.

She was dimly aware of his gaze following her every move. He didn’t look away.

But right now, she didn’t care. She was too cold, too lightheaded to bother with modesty.

Besides, her mind reasoned through the fog, his kind probably didn’t think much about nudity. Surely used to it, like creatures in the wild, like sirens and mermaids always told in stories, glittering tails, and bare skin, some accessories perhaps.

She told herself that again as she let the fabric drop and quickly scrubbed her skin with the edge of the towel, trying to rub some warmth back into her body.

But he kept watching.

There was a flicker of something in the way his eyes tracked her movements, a slow, deliberate study. His head tilted slightly as if seeing something he didn’t quite understand.

Because he didn’t.

Nudity for his kind -as she had guessed-, wasn’t special. Wasn’t private. It was natural. But in her… she was always covered. Always wrapped in fabrics and strange layers, and her softness was hidden from view. Seeing her now, vulnerable, nipples pert with the cold and her skin marked with his bite, it was different.

He stared longer than he meant to, drinking the sight of her body as if it were something forbidden. Something meant only for his eyes, though he couldn’t name why that thought nested heavy and possessive in his chest.

His tentacles shifted slightly against the stone, a faint echo of his thoughts, but he kept them to himself, restrained. He could still smell her. Her blood, yes, but also her, the scent that had first drawn him close. Now mingled with salt, with the faintest trace of fear and the iron tang of what she had given him. It curled inside him, deep and primal, stirring something that had little to do with hunger and everything to do with something else entirely.

She took a shaky breath, glancing sideways at him.

“Are you... feeling better?” she asked softly, voice hoarse from cold and strain.

His eyes locked on hers for a long moment, and then, finally, he gave a slow nod. She exhaled shakily and turned her attention to the first aid kit, moving clumsily but determined. "Alright," she muttered under her breath, more to herself than to him, "Let's fix this so I can dress and not drop dead of hypothermia." She grabbed the bottle of alcohol and, without giving herself time to think, poured it over the bite.

"Fuck!"

The sharp curse burst from her lips, echoing in the cave, and for a moment he startled, drawing his brows together in surprise. His head tilted slightly, watching her as she hissed between her teeth, muttering another string of crude words under her breath.

He hadn't expected such fire from her.

Still, he kept silent, observing as she wrapped the wound in gauze with trembling hands, muttering about how she "should’ve known better" and "what the hell was she thinking."

Once done, she finally slipped on a sweater, and her shivering eased just a little as the dry fabric clung to her chilled skin. "Alright," she breathed again. "A little better." But as she reached for her leggings, realizing they were plastered to her skin like a second, icy layer, she cursed again under her breath.

She tried to peel them off with some effort, pulling at the waistband and wriggling her hips to shimmy out of them, but they wouldn’t cooperate. The damp fabric clung stubbornly to her, twisting and resisting every tug.

And all the while, he kept watching.

His gaze had grown sharper, more focused. He was watching her legs with undeniable interest, tilting his head slightly as his eyes followed the movements. She noticed, of course. It was impossible not to, though she pretended to focus on the impossible task of freeing herself from the wet clothes. Still, her cheeks heated slightly.

He had seen legs before, of course. Summer was full of women running along the shore, with their bare limbs glinting under the sun. And when he shifted -when he took on the human shape he loathed- he had a pair of his own. But this was her.

And her legs...

They fascinated him. The smoothness of her skin, the way they parted as she moved. He shouldn’t stare. His kind didn’t stare. But he couldn’t quite stop himself.

By the time she managed to peel the leggings down to her knees and tug them off entirely, she was panting, sitting half-wrapped in the towel, glaring at the offending garment like it was to blame for all her troubles.

"Goddamn leggings," she muttered darkly, tossing them aside.

Only then, noticing the weight of his gaze, did she glance back at him.

“What?” she asked, more breathless than she meant to be.

He blinked, and his tentacles gave a faint shift, but he said nothing.

There was no need to.

The way he was watching her said plenty.

And despite everything -the blood loss, the cold- her heart gave a traitorous little flutter. "Well, for as much of a curious creature as you are," she said, exhaling sharply, "I have to change my underwear, so turn around."

His head tilted slightly, watching her with sharp eyes.

She sighed and gestured firmly at her soaked panties, sensing her cheeks going warm again. "I'm not taking these off in front of you."

That made something flicker in his gaze, a subtle shift of understanding. Of course, his kind had their own way of keeping things private -concealed, protected within their bodies- but for a heartbeat, maybe he had been curious if she would treat it as casually as she had her top.

Her brow furrowed, noticing that flicker. "Oh, come on, you know what I mean. You have the same idea of modesty, don’t tell me you don’t."

His lips pressed together in a thin line. A little twitch of a tentacle gave him away. He had been curious at first, but now he looked like a kid caught with his hand in the jar.

"For God’s sake," she muttered under her breath, rubbing her temple before fixing him with a sharp look. "You're not going to see my- that. So either turn around or close your eyes. I don’t care which. Just... respect, okay?"

He huffed through his nose, a sound that might have been a sigh. Then, rolling his eyes in a way that feigned complete nonchalance -though she wasn’t fooled for a second- he turned his back to her. His shoulders shifted with the effort, and his tentacles dragged slightly behind him in a slow, reluctant sweep.

"Yeah, thought so," she muttered to herself, a tiny smile pulling at the corner of her lips despite everything.

He was quiet, not peeking, though she noticed the way some of his limbs twitched, betraying that sharp attention he couldn’t quite suppress.

She worked quickly, fumbling with cold fingers to get her soaked underwear off and dry herself as best she could with what little she had left. The wetness was clinging to her skin, and she gritted her teeth as she pulled on something dry, shivering all the while.

Finally done, she hugged herself and sat down on the driest patch of rock she could find. "Alright," she called, her voice quieter, more tired. "You can turn around now."

He turned smoothly, fixing her with an expression that was just shy of smug, though she could see the glint of amusement in his eyes.

She looked properly at him, taking in the mess of torn flesh and deep purples that still marred his skin, but at least now he didn’t look dead. Not like before. His eyes followed her closely, sharp as ever despite the sluggish way his tentacles curled against the rock.

"I’m going home," she muttered, shivering as she hugged herself tighter. "I need... a hot shower and... and lie down."

He blinked at her, and the weight of her words sank in his brain as he noticed again how exhausted she looked, the way her lips trembled from cold. Right. Humans only threw themselves into the sea in summer, and even then, briefly. She was in no state to be standing, much less after what she gave him.

His gaze dropped to her arm, where his teeth had torn her skin, marking her. He swallowed hard, and the shame knotted heavy in his chest. Maybe he had taken more than he should, no, definitely more. His jaw clenched, and without a word, he reached out a hand toward her, palm up, curling slightly his fingers as if unsure if she’d accept the gesture.

"Thank you," he said, in a low and rough voice.

She looked at his hand for a moment, then reached out and took it, he noticed her grip weak, but warm despite the cold seeping into her bones. "I’m glad you’re fine," she murmured, and she meant it.

He gave a small nod, though something flickered in his eyes, something unreadable. He didn’t let go immediately, and his fingers stayed around hers as if trying to say something he couldn’t put into words.

She squeezed lightly before pulling back, swaying a little on her feet. A million questions were buzzing in her head -what had happened, who had hurt him, what kind of enemies could do that to something like him- but this wasn’t the time. She was half convinced she’d pass out right there if she pushed herself to stay longer.

He knew it too. Watching her stand there, weak and trembling, made something tighten painfully inside him. She had offered herself to him when his own kind had only wanted to see him dead. And now she could barely stand because of that. Because of him.

"I’ll be back," she said softly.

His eyes met hers, dark and deep. "Rest," he murmured, in a low rumble.

----

The first two days after she left him in that cave, Bucky barely stirred. He slept, as his body devoted all energy to repairing itself, mending his muscles, scarring the jagged wounds, and regrowing the piece of tentacle. The frozen fish she had brought wasn’t the same as the living, thrashing prey he normally hunted, but sustained him.

By the third day, he could move -slowly, carefully- and though his limbs ached, the worst of his condition was behind him. His skin had sealed itself shut, though angry scars marred now his sides and his arms. He traced them absently. He didn’t mind them. Scars spoke of survival. Of strength. A warning to anyone foolish enough to try again.

Still, she did not come.

Five sunrises and sunsets passed without a trace of her, neither at his cave nor her usual spot near the shore. His eyes scanned the waves every time he surfaced, but her figure never appeared.

The longer he waited, the more restless he became.

Was she angry? Had she regretted offering herself to heal him? Afraid of what she had done? -what he had done- Or worse, had he taken too much from her? And now…

The last thought pierced deep in his chest like a shard of ice. His claws dug into the stone as he remembered her weak, trembling form.

By the sixth day, the question haunted enough at him to make him decide. He had to see for himself. When the moon climbed high in the sky and bathed the waves in silver, he slid into the water and swam, silent and swift, cutting through the dark sea like a blade.

Reaching the cliffs where her lair stood far above, Bucky hesitated for a breath, then he braced himself.

His skin tingled first, like thousands of tiny needles pricking over every inch of his body. His spine arched in a weird angle as the transformation followed its course. He clenched his teeth, and a low snarl ripped out of his throat as his muscles pulled and twisted, and his bones reshaped and grew.

His lower half, powerful and fluid as the sea itself, writhed violently, tentacles snapping and curling in agony as they shrank, fused, and tore themselves into a new form. Flesh molded into legs, the sensation was like molten heat in his veins, like razors under his skin. His lungs strained as they adjusted, and a sharp burn flared in his chest.

By the time he stood in the shallow water near the rocks, the moonlight illuminated his pale, wet human form. His legs trembled under him, not used to hold his weight, and he cursed low under his breath, leaning against the cliff wall for support.

It had been too long since he walked on two feet. He hated it.

The jagged rocks bit into his bare soles as he stepped forward, slow and awkward, but he didn’t stop.

He took the narrow, winding road she always used, the one he had watched her walk countless times from the water, seeing her figure become small against the towering cliffs. Now, every step was a struggle. His legs, still weak and unsteady, burned as he forced himself up the steep path.

When he finally reached the top, his breath was ragged, and his chest heaved with the effort. Her den -house, he reminded himself- was farther inland than he had realized, nestled between wind-battered trees and rock.

His naked skin prickled under the cold night air, and for the first time in years, he truly felt what it was to be cold. The chill seeped into the bones of this fragile form and he cursed as he instinctively wrapped his arms around himself, tightening his jaw as he pushed forward.

When he finally stood before her door, he stared at it for a long moment, suddenly unsure. His hand, pale and scarred, reached for the handle, but when he fumbled to turn it, it didn't give in. Locked.

He growled low with frustration. His fingers trembled slightly as he pulled and pushed at it again, as though it would suddenly yield to his desperation. But it didn’t. With a hissed curse, he stepped back and looked around, circling the building with a hunter’s eye. Every window was shut tight, covered with wood panels. No way in. No gaps.

The wind whipped around him, and his teeth clenched against the biting air as he made his way back to the door. He stood there, staring, then lifted his fist and banged against it. Once. Twice. Harder the third time.

Nothing.

His brow furrowed, and his heart pounded harder now, but not from the climb. He leaned in, pressing his palm flat against the wood, and then knocked again, slower. Please.

Still nothing.

“Hey,” he called out, voice rough and lower than he expected. He swallowed and tried again, stronger.

“Hey!”

Still no answer.

He hesitated, then called her name, soft at first, as if unsure it would be right to say it here. He knocked one more time, then leaned his forehead against the door, closing his eyes.

Maybe she was afraid. Of course she should be, he thought bitterly, as he leaned heavier against the door. Who in their right mind would open to a stranger pounding at their home in the dead of night? And yet, a part of him still hoped.

Then the faint shuffle of movement inside. His head jerked up. A sliver of light glowed under the door. Something stirred.

A sharp click of a lock being drawn back made his muscles tense, but he stayed rooted. The little spy door creaked open just enough for a pair of familiar eyes to peek out, wide and cautious.

They stared at each other. For a heartbeat, neither moved, only silence between them as if both were unsure this was even real.

She blinked fast, as if trying to clear her vision as if he might vanish if she looked too long. But he didn’t. He just stood there, pale and silent and very real.

With a rasp of metal, she unfastened the remaining locks and opened the door with a creak that seemed too loud in the quiet night.

Her nightgown hung loosely from her shoulders, soft and rumpled from sleep, socks drooping around her ankles in old slippers. Her hair was a mess, but her eyes, wide with surprise, roamed over him slowly, taking in every detail she could.

The salt clung to his skin, and streaks of sand still stuck to his legs, calves to thighs, like he had dragged himself straight from the shore without even bothering to shake it off. He looked like something that should be part of the sea but now stood shivering on her doorstep, with dark and tired eyes.

She didn’t even hesitate, just stepped aside and gestured for him to enter. "Come in," she said softly, like her throat was too sore to be louder.

He moved past her, and the warmth of the house wrapped around him. She quickly shut the door behind them, wincing as a cough broke from her chest, deep and rattling.

He turned immediately, so close now, like he couldn’t bear to put distance between them. His body, tall and broad even in its human shape, nearly caged her against the door as he stared down at her, searching her face.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, in a hoarse voice, forcing her gaze to stay on his face and not slide down to- well, other human attributes he clearly hadn’t thought to cover before coming.

"You didn’t come," he murmured, in a low tone, almost childlike in its simplicity. His eyes were heavy with something like worry, something that twisted in her chest. "Me- I thought I hurt you bad," he added, almost apologetic, as if unsure if the words were even right.

Oh.

Her heart ached, just a little. He had come all this way, dragging himself in a form that clearly still pained him, because he thought he was the reason she was gone.

She coughed again, sharp and cutting, leaning back against the door to steady herself. "I'm just sick," she said, trying to make her voice sound stronger than it felt. "I have-" she hesitated, knowing asthma meant nothing to him. "My lungs aren’t in good shape. And that dive... it didn’t do me any favors."

His eyes stayed locked on her, wide, dark, and so worried. All that cold sharpness she was used to seeing in him, was gone. He looked... lost.

"Normal people would just get a cold," she mumbled, trying to lighten it, but she could see that wasn’t helping. "I just feel worse, but I’ll be fine." Something in him seemed to crumble a little at her words, and she felt bad for it. "Let me..." she rasped, pushing herself upright. "Let me get you a blanket, alright? You’re freezing."

He opened his mouth like he wanted to protest, to say no, to be proud or stubborn, but his body betrayed him with a violent shudder as if all his strength was finally giving out now that he was inside, now that he was with her. With a small exhale that sounded almost like surrender, he stepped aside, giving her space.

She shuffled carefully toward the couch, holding onto the backrest for support, and grabbed one of the afghans draped over it, thick, soft, and worn from use. With a tired gesture, she motioned him over with her hand, a silent come here that he obeyed without question.

As he moved, still shivering slightly, she wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and, with a gentle but firm push on his chest, made him sit. He blinked up at her, surprised by how easily she handled him. She knelt in front of him, tucking the edges of the blanket closer around his body to keep him warm, and brushing her fingers against his chilled skin.

Only when he settled back against the cushions, adjusting to the warmth entering his body, did he notice the small, uneven squares stitched together in the fabric. His fingers ran lightly over the seams, following the path of color changes and shapes.

"You made?" he asked quietly, eyes wide with a kind of awe that made her blink in surprise.

"Yeah," she exhaled, sitting on the carpet, wrapping her arms loosely around herself as another wave of chills ran through her frame. "What I do on the shore... usually they're pieces of things. I finish them here, later. For me, or to sell."

His gaze lingered on the patchwork, gently rubbing a corner between his thumb and forefinger, as though the stitches themselves were something rare. "Pretty," he said after a pause, a faint, soft smile curving his lips, almost shy as if he wasn’t used to giving praise.

She smiled faintly, watching him, but his mind was already wandering. To sell, she had said. So she was a maker, a weaver of things. That much he had known, from all those hours watching her at the shore, seeing her hands moving fast with hooks and yarn. But now he understood that it was how she earned her living too.

His eyes drifted away from the blanket, scanning the room as if seeing it properly for the first time. Little pieces of her were everywhere; the curtains had a lace edging, delicate and clearly handmade. There were small woven mats on the floor, some with shells and stones embroidered in. Trinkets and small crocheted baskets on shelves, filled with things he didn't understand.

Her lair, he thought, amused for a moment at the word. A soft, safe place she had built for herself. And now he was sitting right in the middle of it, wrapped in her warmth. He wondered, idly, if she had more of these blankets in her nest. If she slept under them, bundled in soft, colorful things.

She stood up, grabbed another blanket, and wrapped herself in it, sinking onto the couch beside him with a sigh.

"You surprised me," she murmured after a moment, glancing sideways at him. "There were stories... but I didn’t know you could shift."

He just nodded, not offering more. His eyes flicked toward her, watching her face as she spoke, but his mouth stayed in a tight line.

"So you came because I didn’t show up," she continued softly, turning to face him more fully, "and thought something bad happened?"

He shifted uncomfortably, slightly hunching his shoulders, and gave a short, curt nod.

A small smile tugged at her lips, gentle and warm. "That was very nice of you. Thank you."

Nice.

The word caught him off guard. He had been called many things over the years, but nice had never been one of them. He didn’t quite know what to do with that word. His jaw worked, sharp teeth clicking softly in his mouth, an old habit when he didn’t know how to respond.

She noticed, but didn’t push. Instead, she shifted the conversation with a little grin. "Tell you what," she said, nudging his arm lightly. "If we don’t fix your situation, you’re going to be sick too. Why don't you get a bath, and I’ll find you some clothes to wear?"

He furrowed his brow, clearly confused. "Bath? I came... wet."

"Oh no, darling," she said, her smile widening just a bit, teasing but kind. "I mean a hot bath. Or a shower. To clean, and warm up your body. No offense, but you’re leaving sand everywhere."

His frown deepened, and his eyes narrowed slightly. "Shower?"

She raised a brow, tilting her head. So he could shape-shift but clearly hadn’t spent enough time as a human to pick up on basic things -or, he did it a long time ago when certain things didn’t exist yet-. "A water spray to wash your body," she explained patiently. "It’s nice, you’ll see. Like rain, but hot."

"Don’t like rain," he grumbled, and his expression soured at the thought.

She let out a low laugh, shaking her head. "You’ll like this!" Pushing herself up with effort, she extended a hand toward him, waiting. "Come on. I’ll show you how it works."

He stared at her hand for a long moment before reaching out with a quiet huff of breath through his nose.

She led him gently by the hand, still wrapped in the blanket, toward the bathroom. "Alright," she said, flicking on the light with a soft click that made him blink. "This the bathroom."

He looked around curiously, eyeing the strange room with its bright tiles and mirror.

“And this is the shower.” She opened the curtain and turned the handles, causing the water to rush out from above. He startled at the sound alone, tensing his body, and the second the water burst to life and sprayed downward, he jumped back with a sharp hiss, all wide eye and defensive.

"Hey, hey! it's okay." she soothed quickly, holding her hands up. "It's just water. See?" She reached in and let her fingers run under the stream. "It comes out warm. Or, well, you can make it warm."

He didn't move closer, but he didn't back away either. His eyes narrowed, still suspicious, and then he sniffed the air cautiously.

"Look," she added gently, reaching for the handles, "This controls how hot or cold it is. This one," she twisted slightly the one at the left “gives you hot water, and this one is the cold water."

Tentatively, he reached out, grazing the stream with his long fingers. His eyes widened a fraction, then narrowed thoughtfully. "Hot," he muttered, a little pleased as if this was something he could appreciate.

"Exactly." She picked up the soap and handed it to him. "This is to clean yourself. You rub it on your skin while the water runs, then rinse it off."

He turned the soap in his hand like it was a strange rock, sniffed it, and made a face. "Smells weird."

"Yeah, but it works. Trust me."

She turned to the shelf and picked up a bottle. "And this is shampoo. You use it for your hair. You rub it in and rinse it out. And this-" she lifted a second bottle "is the conditioner. For after the shampoo. Makes your hair soft."

He looked at her, then at the bottles, and back to her again, clearly overwhelmed. "Too much," he grunted, frowning.

"You'll figure it out," she said, softer this time, trying to sound reassuring. "Just... do your best."

His fingers tightened slightly around the soap before he looked at her again.

"You stay?"

Her lips parted, caught off guard. "Well… it's usually a private thing," she explained, suddenly hyper-aware of how small the space was.

He tilted his head slightly as if considering that. Then, his gaze flicked toward the shampoo bottle. "Help," he said simply, though the way his eyes glinted suggested he knew he was pushing his luck.

She exhaled, shaking her head. "Ok, I’ll stay here sitting on the toilet, if you need company," she relented. "But I am not washing your hair there, it's not proper."

Like a creature like him would give a damn about propriety.

"If you can’t figure it out, I can help you later in the kitchen sink. But-"

Before she could finish, he shrugged off the blanket and stepped into the shower, completely unbothered.

Her brain took half a second too long to catch up, and in that half-second, her gaze dropped and…

Oh my god

Heat rushed to her face as she promptly yanked the curtain closed between them.

There was a sharp hiss of irritation and she saw his hand tugging the curtain.

"No! Don’t pull that or you’ll splash water everywhere!" she called, catching the fabric before it slid open. "Just… do what I said, alright? I'm going to get you some clothes, and I’ll be back in a second."

There was a pause, then a small grunt in response.

She remembered a box of old clothes -possibly Arthur’s or the last tenant- in the upper section of the bedroom’s closet. It had been tucked away but now seemed like the perfect moment to rummage through it.

Kneeling, she flipped the lid open and sifted through the contents. Most of it was outdated or too stiff from being folded away so long, but eventually, she pulled out a red henley and a pair of black sweatpants. They smelled a little musty, the way fabric does when left untouched for too long, but she grabbed a bottle of fabric refresher, giving them a quick spritz to make them more tolerable.

She didn’t bother looking for underwear. Somehow, she had the distinct feeling he wouldn’t want to wear any.

With the clothes in hand, she returned to the bathroom, settling back onto the closed toilet seat. “Alright,” she called over the sound of the water. “I’m right here. When you’re done, just shut off the handles and wait for me to hand you a towel.”

A grunt of acknowledgment.

She sat there, listening to the water run, idly picking at the fabric of her sleeve. After a while, his voice broke the quiet.

"Done."

She had a split second to react before she heard the curtain shift.

Thinking fast, she grabbed the towel, snapped it open, and held it up just as the curtain was yanked aside. The thick fabric stretched between her hands, covering him from the ribs down, effectively shielding his modesty.

He blinked at her, slightly surprised.

"Here," she said, firmly but without meeting his gaze. "Wrap this around yourself, then go to the bedroom. You'll find clothes there."

She turned on her heel before he could say anything else, slipping out of the bathroom and pulling the door shut behind her.

Let him figure it out from there.

----

He did as she instructed, stepping into the dimly lit room where the clothes lay atop a large, soft surface. It was covered in layered fabrics -those stitched squares she seemed to favor- and… in something else.

Her scent. It was stronger here than anywhere else.

Her nest.

The thought sent a subtle ripple of interest through his body, especially as he realized no other scent clung to it. No lingering trace of another human, no competing claim. Just hers.

But the clothes… those were different.

As he picked up the garments, an unfamiliar perfume clung to the fabric. Faint but there, something aged and stale, like it had been tucked away for too long. Beneath that, a lingering scent of an adult male, distant but undeniable.

Something in him bristled at the intrusion. His teeth clicked together in irritation, but he forced himself to put the clothes on. The scent was old and faded, and if he wore them long enough, his own smell would replace it, overwriting whatever trace of the other male that could linger on it.

He fumbled briefly with the fabric, getting a feel for it, but he wasn’t stupid, he figured out how to wear them well enough. The material was strange against his skin, it felt confining in ways he wasn’t used to, but it would do.

Once dressed, he went to the other room, finding her seated, coughing into her sleeve.

When she looked at him, two things stood out immediately.

One: Arthur’s clothes were definitely too small for him, stretching across his broad frame, and clinging in places she absolutely shouldn’t be staring at.

And two: his wet hair was a dripping mess, with strands clinging to his face, and the ends soaking into the too-tight henley, leaving a growing trail of water on the floor.

She huffed and grabbed a clean kitchen towel, stepping closer to drape it over his shoulders. He stilled at the touch but let her.

“That’s to keep you from getting everything wet,” she muttered, smoothing it down. “Did you even wash your hair?”

He looked at her, then simply said, “No.”

A pause. Then, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “You do.”

She opened her mouth, then shut it. Technically, she had told him she’d help if he couldn’t figure it out. And since he was now standing in her kitchen, dripping on her floor, looking at her expectantly… she only had herself to blame.

“Alright, big guy…” She exhaled, gesturing toward the kitchen. “C’mon.”

He followed her as she led him to the sink, watching as she adjusted the faucet.

“It’s really long,” she remarked, barely brushing her fingers on his hair. “Doesn’t it get in the way? Feel heavy?”

He hadn’t thought much about it. It had been a long time since he last cut it, always with sharp shells, never bothering to care about evenness. It had simply been a necessity. But now, out of the water, yes, he could feel its weight. “Heavy.” He conceded.

She nodded. “I could trim it for you after we wash it if you want.”

His muscles tensed, just for a second. The thought of her holding something sharp near his neck sent a flicker of warning down his spine. He had lived a long time surrounded by danger, and he knew better than to let someone close with a blade.

But she had saved him. Given him her essence, cared for him when she had no reason to. If she wanted him dead, she could just have left him rot in that cave.

So, after a moment, he nodded.

She smiled, just a little, rolling up her sleeves. “Alright. Close your eyes,” she instructed as she guided him into place. “It might sting.”

He obeyed, and the next thing he felt was the warm rush of water over his scalp, and her fingers threading softly through his hair, untangling the knots with careful, patient movements.

----

She patted his shoulder when she finished rinsing the last of the suds from his hair. "Alright. Go sit," she instructed, nodding toward one of the chairs.

He did as she said, shaking off excess water before lowering himself onto the seat, with the damp strands clinging to his skin. He watched as she moved around the small space, opening a drawer, then a cabinet, before disappearing for a moment.

A cough echoed from the other room.

His jaw clenched. Right. She had gotten sick for helping him, and here he was, sitting there comfortably, being served like she was some kind of thrall.

When she returned, with brush and comb in one hand, and scissors in the other, he frowned and lifted one of his hands. "Rest."

She blinked at him. "What?"

He gestured vaguely. "You are sick. Rest."

A small, amused breath left her lips, though she tried to smother it. "I feel better," she reassured. "And cutting a little hair isn't going to kill me."

He didn't look convinced, and his sharp gaze flickered between her and the items in her hands.

She sighed, shifting her grip on the scissors. "How about this? Once I'm done, we can sit on the couch. And talk. Properly."

His brow furrowed. It felt like a bribe, one he wasn’t sure why she was offering. But she had already moved in front of him, kneeling slightly to meet his gaze. She held up the scissors, clicking them open and shut. "These are scissors. They cut through things, cloth, paper, hair. See?" She snapped them once more before setting them aside.

Then, she ran her fingers through his damp strands, gently working through some stubborn tangles. He stiffened slightly at the contact but didn’t pull away. She picked up the brush next, starting at the ends and working her way up in slow, careful strokes. "The brush gets rid of knots," she explained. "Makes it easier to manage the hair."

His lids drooped slightly as she continued, finding the rhythmic pull of the bristles oddly soothing.

Once she had smoothed out most of it, she switched to the comb, working through smaller sections. "This one makes sure everything's neat before I cut," she said absently, more focused on her task than his reaction.

He hummed low in his throat. This was... new. Different from his usual crude attempts at grooming.

She set the scissors down for a moment and ran her fingers through his now untangled hair. "How much do you want to cut?"

He considered, then lifted a hand to his shoulder.

"That’s a nice length," she commented.

Something warm bloomed in his chest at her approval, but he made an uninterested shrug.

She started cutting then, slow and methodically, with the snip of the scissors as the only sound in the room.

With each careful comb-through, and each precise trim, he felt a strange sense of weightlessness. His eyes grew heavier, as the gentle pull of her hands and the repetitive motions slowly lulled him. Before he realized it, his head had dipped slightly forward, and the sleep finally took over him.

She hesitated when she noticed, stilling the scissors in her hand. For a long moment, she just watched him.

The slight furrow of his brow had smoothed out. The corners of his eyes held the faintest wrinkles, softened by the rest, rather than tension. And the freckles, the small constellation near his ear.

Her gaze drifted lower, to the shape of his lips.

Handsome. So, so handsome.

She exhaled slowly, shaking herself out of it. Carefully, she made the last few cuts, finishing her work with a light touch to sweep away stray strands. Then, just as gently, she placed her hand on his arm.

He stirred at the contact, blinking groggily. His body felt oddly down by something unfamiliar, comfort. The notion hit him promptly. He had fallen asleep.

His breath hitched as he straightened, rolling his neck to ease the dull ache from the angle he had held his head. He had never allowed himself to such a vulnerable position before others, not on land, not in the depths of the sea. Yet, with her hands in his hair, smoothing, cutting, working with deliberate care, he had let his guard slip.

"All done," she murmured. pulling him from his thoughts. "If you want to see how it turned out, go check the mirror."

He sat there for a moment longer. Then, without a word, he pushed himself to his feet and padded toward the bathroom.

She watched him go, still brushing a few stray strands of his hair off her hands.

He hesitated just inside the doorway, eyeing the mirror with suspicion. It was strange, this human thing, a glass that reflected, capturing an image too perfectly. Some whispered that mirrors could steal a soul, trapping it within their depths.

The thought nagged his mind, but, she had one in her home, in a place she used daily. If it were so dangerous, why would she keep it so casually? And when he’d caught a glimpse earlier, nothing strange had happened. No shift in the air, no pull on his spirit.

Still, something in him resisted.

From behind, he could feel her waiting, watching, likely assuming he hadn’t understood her instruction. She had no idea of the war waging inside his head.

He exhaled sharply, steeling his resolve, then gave her a short nod before stepping inside.

He stared.

The face in the mirror wasn’t the shifting, distorted thing he had seen in water, nor the dull, vague glint of himself reflected in metal. This was clear. He could study himself the way he studied others.

His gaze traced his own features, the sharp cut of his jaw, the lines of his mouth. He bared his teeth slightly, then ran his tongue over one incisor.

His dark hair -shorter now- felt lighter when he moved his head. He cast it to the side, tilting his neck, watching the way the tendons shifted beneath his skin. He traced them with his middle finger. Would she find this appealing? Did it look… manly? He frowned, lips pressing together.

The mere thought irritated him. He shouldn’t care.

But he did.

Because that afternoon on the beach, before everything spiraled, before he had almost drowned in pain, she had let him sense her. Sensed him. And then, she even saved him with her own life force, offering herself freely. That had done something to him, crept under his skin like the tide creeping over the sand: slow, relentless, and impossible to ignore.

And now? Now, he found himself standing before this strange human glass, inspecting himself through her eyes, wondering if she would approve.

He tilted his head the other way, observing the length of his now-trimmed hair, and again, the sharp angles of his face, considering this unsettling, foreign feeling, this desire to be seen. To be… liked?

Then, her voice called out from the other room.

“Everything fine there?”

He blinked, startled, like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t. One last glance at his reflection, then he turned away, stepping back into the warm light of her home.

Next Chapter

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #merman! Bucky #cecaelia! Bucky #cecaelia #bucky x curvy!reader #Mer! Bucky

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mononijikayu · 27 days ago

Text

somebody does love (but im thinking ‘bout you) — ryomen sukuna.

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden frustration. “I just—” “There’s no ‘what if’ with that, you know that right?” he said firmly. “I’ll be here. Like always.” The conviction in his voice made your chest tighten, warmth spreading beneath your ribs. Since you had known Sukuna you were aware that he wasn’t the type to make promises, but you knew when he said something, he meant it. “…Okay.” You whispered back at him. He grinned then, nudging your shoulder playfully. “Good. ‘Cause you’d be lost without me.” You scoffed, shoving him back. “More like you’d be lost without me.”

Genre: Alternate Universe — Modern! AU;

Warning/s: General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Slow Build, Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Pet Names (Shorty, Sweetheart, Etc), Hurt/Comfort, Hurt, Angst, Established Relationship, Protectiveness, Childhood Friends, Family, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Yearning, Feeling, Light-Hearted, Humour, Slice of Life, Domestic, Teasing, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Happy Ending, Childhood Friend! Sukuna, Childhood Friend! Reader;

Words: 20k words.

Note: this was a commission by @lillycore from a while back!!! they were gracious enough to allow everyone to go and read this by sharing it with all of you. so im fulfilling that request now~ give them a lot of thanks and love too!!! by the time this posts, i might still be on my trip!!! i enjoyed writing this one, and you can tell!!! please enjoy it until i come back!!! i love you all <3

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kayu's comms corner;

YOU WERE NERVOUS TO BE HERE AT ALL. But you had to be here now. That’s what your mommy said when you had a tantrum this morning, kicking at your blanket and curling into a ball beneath it, as if hiding would make everything disappear.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself back to sleep, back to a world where you were still home, where you didn’t have to wake up in this unfamiliar house, in this unfamiliar town. But the covers couldn’t keep reality away.

Your mommy’s voice had been gentle but firm as she sat on the edge of your bed, smoothing your messy hair. She smelled like the lavender lotion she always used, the same as before, but somehow it didn’t bring you the comfort it usually did.

“Sweetheart, I know this is hard, but we can’t go back.”

You had sniffled, turning away from her, gripping the edges of your blanket. "Why not?" you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep and frustration.

Mommy sighed. "Daddy’s job is here now. We have to be here too."

You hated those words. You hated how final they sounded, how they left no room for argument. You hated that no matter how much you cried, no matter how much you begged, nothing was going to change.

You couldn’t avoid it.

You couldn’t ignore it.

No matter how much you wanted to.

Because in the end, you were just a child. You had no say in where your family lived. No power to stop the grown-ups from making decisions that turned your whole world upside down. What could you do in the world of adults?

Nothing. All you could do was follow. Even if you didn’t want to. Even if it felt like your entire world had been taken away from you. Because that’s what happened, wasn’t it?

In no time, your family had packed up everything from your old life. You watched them pack everything up. From your clothes, your toys, even the little drawings you had taped to your bedroom wall and be put into those boxes taped over and over again.

And all of them were now moved into a strange new house in a strange new neighborhood. The grown-ups kept talking about opportunities and fresh starts but none of that made sense to you. Perhaps it never will. But it still makes you upset, an upset that you were sure would last for a little while longer.

Your home is gone. Your friends were gone. The playground where you played every day, the familiar streets where you ride your bike, the little store where the old man behind the counter always gave you a lollipop when your mommy bought groceries—all of it was gone.

And now you are here. In a town that didn’t feel like yours. In a house that didn’t smell like home. In a bed that felt too big, too empty. Now, everything felt unfamiliar. And you hated it.

The streets, the houses, even the air smelled different. Your new bedroom didn’t feel right, the walls were too bare, the ceiling too high, and the bed felt too big and too cold. Everything was just so unknown to you.

You missed the way things used to be. You missed waking up and knowing exactly what your day would be like. You missed hearing your best friend call your name when they saw you at the playground.

But none of that mattered now. Because no matter how much you wished for it, you weren’t home anymore. And you weren’t sure if this new place would ever feel like home. That’s just how it was going to be now.

Here you are now, standing stiffly at the front of this strange, unfamiliar classroom, your small hands curled into the hem of your shirt as feeling your stomach twisted into tight knots the longer you continue to stand there.

The teacher had introduced you, said your name, told the class you were new. But their voices had already faded into the background. Because all you could focus on was the sea of eyes staring back at you.

All wide, curious, indifferent, bored, amused. Some kids merely tilted their heads like they would rather be somewhere else, some were whispering to their seatmates with sly smiles on their faces, while others just stared. You gulped, feeling the panic creep up your throat.

You weren’t sure how long you had been standing there, but it felt like forever. The classroom stretched endlessly in front of you, the desks lined up in perfect little rows like tiny islands, and you were stranded at the front. Like you were in a small boat lost at sea, unsure of where to go, unsure if anyone would even let you dock safely.

The air felt thick and heavy, like it was pressing down on your shoulders. Your fingers twitched at your sides. You wanted to run. To turn around, to rush out of the door, to tell your mommy you had changed your mind, that you couldn’t do this.

But there was nowhere to go. So, you did the only thing you could—you stared back, wide-eyed, frozen in place, wishing more than anything that you could disappear. This was what you were afraid of.Not the new house. Not the unfamiliar streets. Not even being in a different school.

This was where you had to be, even if you didn’t want to.

The moment where you had to stand alone. Where everyone could see you.Where you had no friends to sit beside you, no one to whisper to, no one to make you feel safe. There was no place that could be a safezone.

“I know I introduced you already, but it would be good for them to know you more properly, with words coming from you..” The teacher smiled at you, trying to be reassuring. "Go on, sweetheart. Introduce yourself to the class."

Your throat felt tight. Your hands gripped the hem of your sweater. You had never been good at talking to new people. You were shy. Awkward. The kind of kid who preferred watching from the sidelines rather than being in the spotlight.

But there was no escape now.

You had to deal with this with all your strength.

You had to survive, even just today.

Taking a shaky breath, you forced yourself to speak. "I-I’m..." Your voice came out barely above a whisper. You tried again. "I’m..."

The words stuck in your throat like glue.

Someone in the back snickered.

Your face grew hot. Your eyes stung.

"Why’s their voice so weird?" a boy whispered, just loud enough for others to hear. A few of the kids laughed under their breath, little giggles that felt like needles against your skin.

Your stomach twisted. You wanted to disappear, to shrink into your oversized sweater and never come out again. But before you could lower your head in shame, another voice cut through the noise. It was brutish, it was loud, it was clear, and most of all it was childish, yet laced with irritation.

"Shut up."

The room went silent.

You turned to see who had spoken, and your eyes landed on a boy sitting near the window. He had pink-tinted hair and a bored expression, arms crossed over his chest. Scarlet eyes gleaming against the sunlight. Even though he was just another five-year-old like you, he carried himself like he owned the place, like he was above all of this.

The boy who had laughed immediately dropped his gaze, shrinking in his seat. No one else dared to say a word. How could they, when that pink-haired boy proudly raised his head, still looking at them like he was in control of the room?

"Tch. Bunch of idiots." the pink-haired boy muttered, rolling his scarlet eyes before looking back out the window as if none of this was worth his time. “Let her go and do her thing already.”

You stared at him, unsure what to say. He hadn't looked at you, hadn't said anything kind or reassuring, but still… he had stood up for you. He had made sure you could do what you had to do. You swallowed the bile down your throat.

“I’m….I’m [last name] [name].” You say to all them, still nervously fumbling with your fingers. “I’m five years old….and I like cats.”

The words tumbled out of your mouth, small and uncertain, but at least they were out. You stood there, still fumbling with your fingers, feeling the weight of all those stares pressing down on you. But after what had just happened, they felt… lighter. Like maybe, just maybe—they weren’t waiting to laugh at you this time.

There was a brief silence. Your mouth was opened, but no words would come out. You were trying so hard to get those words out. Because you do have those words. You knew those words. All you needed was to get it out.

“That’s it?”

Your head snapped up, eyes wider. The pink-haired boy was looking at you now, one brow slightly raised. His expression was unreadable, but there was something almost amused in his gaze. You swallowed hard. Have you said something wrong? Were you supposed to say more? Did he think you were boring?

“…I also like drawing, coloring too when my mommy gets me markers.” you blurted out quickly, shifting on your feet. “And um… cookies, the ones my daddy makes.”

For a second, he just stared at you. Then he snorted at your words. “Pfft. Whatever.”

He turned his head away again, leaning against the window as if he had already lost interest. You let your lips fall flat in a small line. The teacher, who had been watching the whole thing unfold, cleared their throat.

“Well, thank you for introducing yourself,[name]-chan.” they said, offering you a small, encouraging smile. “You can take a seat now. There’s an empty spot over there.”

You followed where they pointed, and your stomach flipped. It was near him. The pink-haired boy. Your feet moved on their own, but your mind was still racing. As you slid into your chair, your fingers instinctively curled into the fabric of your clothes. You weren’t sure what to do. Wait, should you say something? Should you thank him?

He was just staring out the window again, looking like he couldn’t care less about what had just happened. But you cared. He didn’t have to speak up for you. He didn’t have to stop that other kid from laughing. And yet, he did.

You hesitated before shifting slightly toward him. “Um…” Your voice was small, almost drowned out by the classroom noise. “T–thank you…”

He didn’t look at you. “Hah?”

You fidgeted. “For… earlier.”

For the first time since you sat down, he turned his head toward you, his red eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then he scoffed. “Tch. I wasn’t doing it for you.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

His lips curled into something that was almost a smirk. “That guy was just annoying. I always disliked him, even when we first met in the playground.”

Your mouth opened slightly, unsure how to respond. Before you could think of anything, he looked away again, resting his chin on his hand. You sat there for a moment, letting his words sink in. Maybe he didn’t want to admit he had helped you. Maybe he really didn’t do it for you.

But still…You peeked at him from the corner of your eye. Even if he didn’t say it outright, even if he pretended he didn’t care, he had helped you. And for the first time today, in this big, scary, unfamiliar classroom, you didn’t feel so alone.

SOMEHOW, AGAINST ALL ODDS, YOU AND RYOMEN SUKUNA ARE STUCK TOGETHER. It wasn’t on purpose. But it was decided by your teacher. You didn’t choose to be around him. He didn’t choose to be around you. But somehow, it just kept happening.

Every time you turned around, there he was beside you, childishly grumbling, stealing, pushing his way into your space like he owned it. Teasing you. Annoying you. And yet, somehow, still helping you when you least expected it.

Like when your crayons rolled off the desk and scattered across the floor, and before you could even bend down, he was already kicking them back toward you with his foot, all the while grumbling the whole time. But of course, he would still be doing it anyway.

Or when you got stuck on the monkey bars, too scared to jump down, and even though he called you a baby he still climbed up, sat next to you, and stayed there until you felt brave enough to drop down.

Or when you tripped on the playground and scraped your knee in a horrible way, before you could even start crying and bawling, he quickly shoved a Band-Aid at you with a scowl. “Don’t be a crybaby. Just put it on.”

You blinked at him. “Where did you even get this?”

“None of your business.”

(You later found out he stole it from the teacher’s desk.)

Maybe it was just like fate.

Maybe it was just a stupid curse.

Either way, you were stuck with him.

Incident #1: The Recess Betrayal

You were sure that the recess room was dangerous territory. Everyone had their own little groups, their own tiny kingdoms of lunch trays and juice boxes. You, being new, had no kingdom. You were just trying to survive.

So when you finally settle down with your carefully packed lunch box, your favorite cookies sitting right there, untouched, pure, ready to be eaten— a hand swiped one away. Your soul left your body almost instantaneously.

You turned immediately, eyes wide with horror.And there he was. Ryomen Sukuna. Standing there so annoyingly confident, slyly smiling at you as he was chewing your precious cookie. The ones your loving daddy made.

“You!?” Your little fingers trembled, pointing at him. “That was mine!”

He had the audacity to shrug, mid-bite. “You said you liked cookies.” Another bite. Of your cookie. “You didn’t say you liked sharing them.”

You gasped, your kindergarten heart shattered into a million crumbs. “You—you thief!”

Sukuna didn’t even blink. “It was just sitting there.”

“That’s where food goes! On the table!”

“I did you a favor, didn’t I?” he said, licking a crumb off his finger. “It wasn’t even that good.”

You seethed. “Huh!? My daddy made them, of course they’re delicious! You stop lying about my daddy’s cookies right now!”

He looked entirely unbothered. “You can have my veggies if you want.”

You stared at the sad, mushy pile of overcooked peas and carrots he was offering. It was a pathetic offer, in comparison to the lovely, yummy, cookies your daddy had made for you. You looked up at him, eyes narrowed harshly. Meanwhile, he merely smirked at you. Still eating the cookie.

“You think this makes up for my cookie?!” you demanded.

“Dunno. You like food, don’t you?” Sukuna said, resting his chin on his palm. “Eat that, and we’re even.”

You gasped. “That is not even! My cookie was made with love and care! Because my daddy made it with all his love for me! Your veggies look like they were made by someone who hates kids!”

He grinned, teeth showing. “Yeah. That’s why I don’t want them. But you can have ‘em. Fair trade.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. Then, with the dignity of a child forced into a terrible deal, you picked up a spoon and begrudgingly took the peace offering. As you miserably chewed the world's worst peas, Ryomen Sukuna leaned back in his chair, looking way too pleased with himself.

“See? That’s called negotiating.” he said smugly.

You glared. “That’s called scamming.”

Sukuna just grinned wider, eyes gleaming like he had won something important. For the first time in kindergarten history, a cookie was traded for vegetables. And somehow, you just know that this was just the beginning of this all.

You were still glaring at him, unhappily chewing the mushy peas he has, wondering if revenge was worth suffering through another bite. That’s when Sukuna casually opened his milk carton, taking a slow sip like he had all the time in the world.

“I didn’t know you were this loud, new kid.” he said, tilting his head at you with an amused smirk. “When you introduce yourself in the classroom, you were all stuttering and everything.”

You nearly choked on a pea. Your face immediately burned, ears hot as you remembered the absolute disaster of your introduction earlier that morning. The way you had stood there, frozen, feeling the weight of the whole classroom staring at you, your words tripping over each other until they just stopped completely.

You slumped forward, stabbing a sad carrot chunk with your fork. “I wasn’t stuttering.”

Sukuna snorted. “Uh, yeah, you were. You were like, ‘I-I’m [name]… I-I like c-cats…’” he mimicked in a high-pitched, wobbly voice, squinting his eyes dramatically.

Your jaw dropped. “I did not sound like that!”

“You totally did.” He slurped his milk obnoxiously, grinning like a menace.

“I did not!”

“Did too.”

You huffed, crossing your arms, cheeks puffed out in frustration. “W-Well, maybe I was just nervous! That’s normal!”

Sukuna shrugged, not at all impressed. “Then why aren’t you nervous now?”

You froze at his words. Oh.

That was… a good question.

That was a really good question.

You blinked at him, suddenly realizing that you weren’t nervous. You had just been yelling at him, arguing, fighting for your cookie’s honor like your life depended on it. You had completely forgotten to be shy.

“…Because you’re annoying.” you finally said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Sukuna burst out laughing. “That’s the dumbest reason ever.”

“Well, you’re the dumbest person ever.” You pouted back at him.

He laughed harder at that, shaking his head. “You really don’t shut up, huh?”

“You started it!”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

And just like that, the two of you went back and forth, bickering like you had known each other forever. The vegetables were forgotten. The stolen cookie was not forgiven. But somehow, without even realizing it, you had made your first real friend in this new town.

Incident #2: The Great Nap Time War

Nap time was supposed to be peaceful. Quiet. A sacred hour of rest. But it was not peaceful. Because that punk Ryomen Sukuna stole your blanket. You woke up feeling exposed to the cruel, cold air of the classroom. Your blanket? Gone.

And then you spotted it. Or rather, him. Sukuna, wrapped up like a sushi roll, cocooned in the warmth that rightfully belonged to you. His pink hair stuck out from under the blanket, his scarlet eyes closed in peaceful slumber.

That traitor, you think to yourself. You poked him. No response. You poked him harder. Still nothing. You grabbed the edge of the blanket and yanked. His darkened eyes snapped open immediately. He was suddenly glaring at you.

“What the—?” Sukuna’s voice was groggy, annoyed, his pink eyebrows scrunched as he tightened his grip on the soft fabric in his hands. “What do you want?”

“It’s my blanket you’re using, you meanie!” you insisted, pulling with all your might.

Sukuna refused to let go. He dug his heels into the floor, gripping the blanket like it was his birthright. “I had it first.”

“You stole it while I was asleep!” you accused, voice rising in righteous fury.

“That’s not my problem, shorty.” he shot back, not even looking guilty.

“Oh my gosh, you’re just so mean!”

“I don’t care, shorty. Now go away, I’m going to continue my nap.”

And just like that, the war began. A fierce tug-of-war. Neither of you gave in. Neither of you surrendered. You pulled. Sukuna pulled harder. At some point, your feet slid across the nap mats, but you refused to fall. At another point, Sukuna’s socks lost their grip, and his face nearly planted harshly onto the floor, but he still refused to let go.

The other kids slowly sat up, eyes blinking drowsily as they witnessed the battle unfold before them. Whispers filled the air as they watched the two of you, moving closer all the while continuing to grapple about for the blanket with all of your might

“Why are they fighting?”

“They’re always fighting.”

“I thought they were friends?”

“I think they’re frenemies.”

It took the combined strength of the teacher and two other students to pry the blanket away from your death grips. And in the end, neither of you got to keep it.The teacher confiscated the blanket with a deep sigh, rubbing her temples as if she was already tired of your nonsense.

“It’s nap time, for the two of you.” she said, her voice firm. “Now go on, time to sleep. Without fighting this time.”

It was a tragic loss for you. You couldn’t help but feel like you were going to cry as you lowered your head. You continued to sit on your nap mat, arms crossed, grumbling under your breath. No blanket. No warmth. Betrayed by the cruel hands of fate.

Beside you, Sukuna flopped down on his mat, equally grumpy as you were. He was glaring on the floor, his arms crossed to his chest. For a few moments, there was only silence. And then something soft hit your arm. You turned, eyes widening. Sukuna had shoved half of his own blanket toward you. You blinked. Once. Twice.

“…What’s this?” you asked, unsure.

Sukuna, not looking at you, mumbled under his breath, “It’s a blanket. Obviously.”

“I know what it is!” you whispered back, scowling. “But why?”

He huffed, rolling onto his side so his back faced you. “You kept kicking me earlier because you were cold. I don’t wanna deal with that again.”

Your mouth fell open. “I do not kick in my sleep!”

“You do.”

“I don’t!”

“Whatever.” He grumbled into his pillow, pulling his half closer around himself. “Just take it before I change my mind.”

You hesitated. Then, slowly, you grabbed the edge of the blanket, pulling it over yourself. Warm.

Soft.…it was kind of nice. You peeked at him from the corner of your eye, still unsure. “You’re not gonna steal it back, right?”

Sukuna let out a tired sigh. “Just shut up and sleep, dummy.”

Your nose scrunched. “You’re the dummy.”

Sukuna didn’t reply. Within moments, his breathing evened out, and he was asleep. You stared at him for a moment. Then at the shared blanket. Then back at him. And somehow, despite all the bickering, the stolen cookies, and now the Great Blanket War.

You smiled. Just a little. Just a little smidge on your face.

Maybe, just maybe, being stuck with him wasn’t the worst thing after all.

It had its perks when it needed to.

Incident #3: The Accidental Teamwork

Playtime was supposed to be fun. It was supposed to be the best part of the day. This was the time when you could forget about learning numbers and letters and just play with toys, run around, or color in peace. But the moment the teacher started assigning partners for the building block activity, you knew something was wrong.

And when she said his name next to yours? You could feel your stomach dropping at the sound of her voice pronouncing his name. Ryomen Sukuna. Again. You barely stopped yourself from groaning out loud. It wasn’t that you hated him exactly.

But after a stolen cookie, a blanket war, and multiple near-disasters, you had long accepted that Sukuna was a walking, talking, chaos machine. So, while the other kids were cheerfully pairing up, you sat there staring at the ceiling for a while.

You were just mentally praying to every higher power that he would just behave for once. That he wouldn’t start trouble. That he wouldn’t turn something simple, like stacking blocks—into a full-scale catastrophe. But just a spoiler alert for you: He did not.

You sighed, picking up a block. “Let’s just make a normal tower.”

Sukuna smirked. “No. We’re making the biggest tower.”

“That sounds like a bad idea.”

“We’re making it.” He says to you, not even looking at you.

You stared at the wobbly, monstrous tower in front of you. “This is definitely going to fall.”

“No, it’s not.”

It fell immediately after he let go. You both just sat there, just continuing to stare at the destruction. You stare at him, seeing his reddening face and then back at the mess in front of you. You shook your head, almost as if you expected this.

You sighed. “I told you.”

Sukuna crossed his arms. “That was just a test run.”

Despite yourself, you giggled. “Well, that was a bad test run.”

His head snapped toward you, eyes narrowing. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Nooo, I’m not!” you said, still giggling.

His eyes narrowed more. Before you could react, he flicked a block at you. “Hmp!”

You gasped. “You did not just—”

Another block hit your arm. You froze. Slowly, very slowly, you turned to glare at the smirking menace sitting across from you. Ryomen Sukuna, the bringer of chaos, the destroyer of towers, was sitting there pretending to be innocent, even as his fingers hovered suspiciously close to another block. Your eyes narrowed.

“Did you just throw that at me?” you asked.

Sukuna tilted his head, feigning confusion. “What? No. The block just… fell.”

You squinted. Deep suspicion. A single moment passed. You were still hesitant to back away, to look away. This man is much too much a sly cat, and you didn’t know what else he was planning to do. You slightly lower your head and then suddenly, another block hits your forehead.

“Oh, that’s it!”

“Bring it on, shorty!”

The war began.You grabbed a block and hurled it back. Sukuna laughed, dodging as he grabbed another one. Block after block flew through the air. Some missed so miserably. Some bounced off your heads. At some point, other kids started watching, some even cheering you both on to continue the mess.

“Get him!”

“No, Sukuna’s winning!”

“Is this a game? Can I join?”

“No, don’t join! You’ll get hit!”

Sukuna grinned wildly, clutching a handful of blocks like they were his ultimate weapons. “Give up, weakling! You can’t win!”

You gasped dramatically, holding up your trusty block shield. “Never! I will fight to the end!”

“You’re out of ammo!”

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are!”

You glanced down. Oh no. He was right. You had thrown all your blocks. Sukuna’s grin widened. He slowly raised his hand, aiming carefully. You braced yourself. Suddenly, you hear that sound as a block bounced off your forehead.

BONK.

You gasped, clutching your head like you had suffered a great tragedy. “You—You MONSTER!”

Sukuna cackled. “That’s what you get for challenging me, peasant!”

“Oh, you still want more of this, huh!?”

“Bring it on!” He laughs, continuing to laugh.

In a desperate final move, you lunged forward, grabbing his arm, yanking him down into the pile of fallen blocks. “You’re going down with me!”

“AH—HEY!” Sukuna yelped as he tumbled into the mess with you.

Blocks scattered everywhere. You both collapsed in a fit of giggles. “Cheater.” Sukuna huffed, elbowing you. “I can’t believe you didn’t play fair and square.”

“You started it, didn’t you?” you elbowed him back.

“I should’ve won.”

“You still lost.”

Sukuna huffed dramatically. “Tch. Whatever.”

By the time the teacher finally came over, both of you were just:

Covered in blocks.

Breathless from laughing.

Not remotely sorry.

The teacher stared at the two of you. You and Sukuna froze mid-throw. A block dropped from Sukuna’s hand. The longest silence in history. The teacher pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling the headache coming to her.

“…I don’t even want to know. Clean. This. Up.”

You and Sukuna glanced at each other.

And burst into more the loudest giggles ever.

Somehow, this disaster was the most fun you’d had all day.

Sukuna leaned back, grinning at you. “You’re not bad, newbie.”

You grinned back. “You’re not either, cookie thief.”

YOUR CLOSENESS ONLY CONTINUED THROUGHOUT THE YEARS, AGAINST ALL ODDS. It has gotten to the point where it became impossible to imagine life without him. Everyone knows it as well as you do. You could not laugh if he’s not right beside you. That’s just how it was now.

What had started as childhood companionship evolved into something far deeper. It was an unbreakable connection that even your families recognized and embraced. It was no longer just the two of you;

Your lives had become so intertwined that your families treated each other like their own. Shared meals turned into traditions, holidays were celebrated together, and laughter echoed through both your homes as if you had always been one big family.

At eleven years old, Ryomen Sukuna was more than just a friend—he was your shadow, your constant, an extension of yourself. No matter where you went, he followed, never more than a few steps behind. If you were at home, he was there, sprawled out on your floor or raiding your kitchen as if it were his own.

If you went outside, he was right next to you, whether it was running through the streets, climbing trees, or sitting side by side in comfortable silence. Even at school, where he couldn't always be at your side, he found ways to make sure you never felt alone—waiting at the gates, sneaking into places he wasn’t supposed to be, always watching, always close.

At this point, it was impossible to go anywhere without him. If someone saw you alone, the first question was always — "Where's Sukuna?”

Because everyone knew, you were just meant to be together. Like one halves of a whole. Wherever you were, he was meant to be. The idea of separation was foreign, unnatural. It wasn't just that he followed you everywhere; it was that you needed him there, just as much as he needed to be with you.

The world felt right when he was near, and the rare moments apart only reinforced the truth neither of you spoke out loud. Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t just your best friend. He was a part of you. He was you. And just the same, you were him.

One afternoon, as you sat beneath the shade of a towering tree in your backyard, Sukuna flopped down beside you, arms crossed behind his head, eyes squinting up at the sky. The warm breeze ruffled his fuschia colored hair, but he barely paid it any mind, turning his head to glance at you instead.

“You’re quiet today, aren’t you?” he muttered, kicking at the grass lazily.

You shrugged, hugging your knees to your chest. “Just thinking.”

Sukuna snorted. “That’s dangerous.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. “Idiot.”

He smirked, turning back to the sky. “Seriously, what’s up?”

You hesitated. “Have you ever thought about the future?”

“The future?” He scoffed. “What about it?”

“I mean… what happens when we grow up?” Your voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. “Will things stay the same?”

Sukuna turned his head toward you again, brows furrowing. “Obviously.”

“But what if—”

He sat up suddenly, cutting you off with an annoyed scowl. “Why do you always ask dumb stuff like that? Where else am I gonna go?”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden frustration. “I just—”

“There’s no ‘what if’ with that, you know that right?” he said firmly. “I’ll be here. Like always.”

The conviction in his voice made your chest tighten, warmth spreading beneath your ribs. Since you had known Sukuna you were aware that he wasn’t the type to make promises, but you knew when he said something, he meant it.

“…Okay.” You whispered back at him.

He grinned then, nudging your shoulder playfully. “Good. ‘Cause you’d be lost without me.”

You scoffed, shoving him back. “More like you’d be lost without me.”

He laughed, and the sound was so familiar, so right, that you didn’t question it any further. Because, deep down, you already knew the answer. No matter what the future held, Sukuna would always be there. That was something you held on to.

“You gonna come over?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

“Tch. Dumb question.” he scoffed. “Your mom already made extra food for me, didn’t she?”

You grinned. “She did.”

“Then why even ask?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. It was true. Your mom always made enough for Sukuna, as if it were a given that he’d be there. Because, at this point, it was. That was just how it was when you were both the best of friends. He was now part of your family and he was part of his.

The two of you walked in step, the rhythm of your footsteps perfectly synced. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows on the pavement, and the air carried the familiar scent of home. The warm meals, freshly cut grass, and the lingering coolness of the passing breeze.

As you turned onto your street, Sukuna let out a dramatic sigh. “Man, I don’t know what you guys would do without me.”

You shot him a look. “What would we do without you? More like what you would do without us. You practically live at my place.”

Sukuna smirked. “And? That’s your fault for having better food than mine.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Excuses.”

By the time you reached your house, Sukuna was already kicking off his shoes at the door before you even stepped inside. Your mom barely batted an eye at the sight of him, as if it was just another day for her, that this is the norm to her.

“You’re staying for dinner, right?” she asked, peering out from the kitchen.

Sukuna flashed his usual confident grin. “Wouldn’t miss it, Moma.”

She hummed in amusement, then turned to you. “Set the table, will you? And tell your father to wash up.”

You groaned but went to do as you were told, while Sukuna, as always, made himself comfortable. He lounged on the couch like he owned the place, flipping through the TV channels with ease. By the time dinner was served, he was already seated at the table, casually stealing bites from your plate before you even sat down.

“Hey!” You swatted his hand away, scowling as Sukuna shamelessly plucked a piece of food off your plate.

He barely reacted, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin, chewing as if he hadn’t just committed a crime against your dinner. “What?” he said, completely unbothered. “You don’t need that much.”

Your scowl deepened as you hugged your plate protectively, angling it away from him like a dragon hoarding treasure. “Excuse me? I do need this much. It’s my plate.”

Sukuna snorted. “Yeah? And? You’re smaller than me. I’m the growing one here. I need it more.”

“Oh, so now we’re using size as an excuse? By that logic, Dad should get to steal food off your plate.”

Your father raised a brow from across the table but chose to stay out of the battle unfolding between the two of you. Meanwhile, your mom sighed, shaking her head in amusement as she reached over and placed another serving onto your plate. Before promptly doing the same for Sukuna, preemptively stopping him from stealing more.

“There. No need to fight like children.” she said, though her fond tone betrayed her words.

Sukuna only grinned wider, clearly pleased with the extra portion. “See? Problem solved.”

You huffed, stabbing at your food with unnecessary force. “You’re impossible.”

He simply smirked, elbowing you lightly. “And yet you’d be lost without me, y’know that, right?”

You shot him a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. “Ugh, you’re so annoying! Arrogant too!”

“Heh, it’s not arrogance if it’s true!”

“Just shut up!”

This was how it always was. It was an endless cycle of Ryomen Sukuna pushing your buttons just because he could, and you rising to the challenge every time. And as much as you complained, you wouldn’t have it any other way. You would rather have it than not at all.

After dinner, you and Sukuna sprawled out on the couch together, flipping through channels until you landed on something decent. He had one arm draped lazily over the back of the couch, while you sat cross-legged beside him, absently tossing popcorn into your mouth from the bowl balanced between you.

“You suck at sharing.” Sukuna muttered as you grabbed a handful. “It’s been years and you’re still so selfish.”

“You literally stole food off my plate earlier. Shut up.”

He snorted but didn’t argue, instead grabbing a handful for himself before stuffing it into his mouth. Sukuna chewed lazily, eyes glued to the screen, but you could feel him side-eyeing you as you grabbed another handful of popcorn.

“See? That’s what I’m talking about.” he said, gesturing at your hand. “You don’t even hesitate. Just take, take, take. Spoiled princess, aren’t you?”

You shot him an unimpressed look. “You have your own hand. Use it.”

“Tch.” He reached for the bowl at the same time as you, his fingers brushing against yours in the process.

You jerked your hand back. “Ew, don’t touch me with your greasy fingers.”

Sukuna smirked. “Greasy? Excuse you, my hands are clean.”

“Doubt it.”

“You wound me.” He dramatically placed a hand over his heart, but the act was short-lived because, in the next second, he sneakily grabbed another handful before you could react.

You gasped. “Thief!”

He popped a piece into his mouth, chewing with exaggerated slowness. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Narrowing your eyes, you snatched the bowl away, cradling it against your chest like it was a priceless treasure. “Mine now.”

Sukuna blinked at you before scoffing. “Wow. You’re the thief.”

“It’s called justice.”

“That’s not how justice works, dumbass.”

“It is if I say so.” You stuck your tongue out at him, smug.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

For a moment, you thought he was going to let it go. But then, with no warning, he lunged at you, hands grabbing for the bowl with that massive grin on his face. You gasped loudly in response.

“Oi! Stop—” You tried to twist away, but Sukuna was faster, wrestling it out of your grip with ease.

Triumphant, he held the bowl high above his head, well out of your reach. “Try and take it back, shorty!” he taunted, smirking.

You glared up at him, then narrowed your eyes, thinking fast. “I’m not short!”

“Then why are you on your tiptoes?”

Then, with an innocent smile, you leaned in and whispered. “Mom, Sukuna’s making a mess in the living room~.”

His smirk vanished. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

A voice called from the kitchen. “What’s that about a mess?”

Sukuna immediately shoved the bowl back into your hands. “Tch. Not worth it.”

You grinned in victory, popping a piece of popcorn into your mouth as he grumbled beside you. “Don’t test me, hmp!”

“You’re evil.” he muttered.

“And yet, you’re still here.”

Sukuna just rolled his eyes, reaching over and this time, without hesitation to steal from your bowl again. You pouted. “Hey!”

As the show played, you felt yourself sinking deeper into the cushions, the warmth of the house and the steady presence of Sukuna making you drowsy. You weren’t sure how much time had passed before your mom walked into the living room, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“Sukuna, your parents just called.” she said, standing near the doorway. “They’re working late tonight, so you’ll be staying over.”

Sukuna didn’t even blink. “Yeah, figured.”

You perked up. “So we’re having a sleepover?”

Your mom smiled. “Pretty much.”

You turned to Sukuna, grinning. “Bet you’re happy. Now you get more of our food.”

He smirked. “Obviously. But let’s be real, shorty. You’d be bored without me here.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it. “We should watch a scary movie.”

Sukuna raised a brow, intrigued. “You sure? You’re gonna end up clinging to me like last time.”

You gasped. “I did not cling to you!”

“Oh, really?” He leaned in closer, a teasing glint in his eyes. “So you didn’t grab my arm and refuse to let go when that ghost thing popped out?”

You turned red, grabbing a couch pillow and smacking him with it. “Shut up!”

He cackled, easily dodging your next attack before grabbing his own pillow. Within seconds, the popcorn bowl was abandoned, and the living room became a battleground of flying cushions and laughter.

Your mom just shook her head with a knowing smile before leaving you to your chaos. Eventually, exhausted from the battle, you both collapsed onto the couch again, breathing heavily, the room filled with lingering laughter.

“So…..” Sukuna said, smirking up at the ceiling. “Scary movie?”

You groaned but grabbed the remote anyway with one hand. “Fine. But if you scream, I will tell everyone at school.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, yeah. Just press play.”

As the movie started, the eerie background score sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. The dim lighting in the living room, mixed with the glow from the TV, made every shadow seem a little more menacing. You shifted slightly, tucking your legs beneath you, trying to look relaxed—even though you already regretted your choice.

Sukuna, of course, had noticed. He always did.

“You nervous?” he asked, voice laced with amusement as he stretched out on the couch, his arm draped over the backrest.

You scoffed. “No.”

The problem was, you weren’t exactly convincing. Your fingers were clutching the couch pillow a little too tightly.

Sukuna smirked but didn’t call you out on it—yet. Instead, he reached for the popcorn, eating with an air of complete nonchalance as if he hadn’t a single care in the world. The horror movie's slow buildup didn’t faze him.

Then, the first scare hit—a grotesque, shadowy figure appearing suddenly in a mirror with a bloodcurdling scream.

You yelped before you could stop yourself, hands shooting out to clutch Sukuna’s arm. Your heart pounded as your brain caught up to what had just happened. The moment stretched in silence……and then Ryomen Sukuna burst out laughing.

“Knew it, shorty!” he gloated, shaking his arm a little as if testing how tightly you were holding on. “I called it. You’re totally clinging to me.”

Realizing what you were doing, you immediately yanked your hands back, face burning. “That wasn’t clinging! That was—just an instinct!”

“Oh, right, right.” He smirked, wiping away a fake tear of laughter. “Your instinct is to latch onto me. Noted.”

You huffed, crossing your arms and sinking deeper into the couch, determined to ignore him. The problem? The movie was only getting scarier. And that’s where everything just went downhill from there.

The tension in the film grew, the eerie silence before each scare stretching longer, the music swelling at all the right moments to make you brace for impact. Sukuna, on the other hand, remained as relaxed as ever, though you noticed he wasn’t smirking as much anymore. He was watching intently, scarlet eyes focused, his usual cocky attitude dialed down.

Then in the skip of the beat—BAM!

That horrifying sudden jump scare.

You loudly shrieked before you could stop yourself, body reacting before your mind could, and this time, you fully dove into Sukuna’s side, gripping the fabric of his hoodie like a lifeline. His reaction was instant.

He sighed dramatically. “Told you this would happen.”

You buried your face into his shoulder for a second, trying to recover. “Shut up, just—just let me stay here for a second.”

His chest shook with vibrant laughter, but he didn’t push you away. Instead, he shifted slightly, making himself more comfortable, letting you rest against him. “Yeah, yeah. You’re such a scaredy-cat, aren’t you, shorty?”

You turned your head just enough to glare up at him. “Say that again and I’ll actually scream so loud, everyone in the neighborhood will wake up. Then my mom will come in here and ask what’s wrong. And then yell at both of us for still being this loud late at night.”

His eyes widened slightly, and for the first time, he hesitated. “…You wouldn’t.”

You narrowed your eyes, challenging him. “Try me.”

Then, there was that beat of silence.

He exhaled, clicking his tongue. “Tch. You fight dirty.”

Smirking at your small victory, you settled back against him once again, still gripping the front of his red hoodie, the warmth of his presence making the horror movie a little less terrifying.

Sukuna reached for the popcorn again, popping a piece into his mouth as he spoke casually, “Just don’t drool on me if you fall asleep.”

You huffed. “I’m not gonna fall asleep.”

“Sure, shorty, that’s what you say now but later you’ll be asleep when I look next.” he said, amused.

“You’re so annoying.”

“Just telling you the truth.”

Of course he knows you better than you sometimes do yourself. Slowly, you found yourself slowly relaxing against him, the warmth and steady rise and fall of his breathing oddly comforting. Maybe horror movies weren’t so bad. as long as you had a cocky but warm human pillow to cling to.

As the movie continued on before you both, you felt your body growing heavier, the tension from the scares slowly fading into exhaustion. Maybe it was the warmth of the couch, or maybe it was Sukuna’s steady presence beside you, but your eyelids grew heavier with each passing minute.

You fought it at first, determined not to give him the satisfaction of teasing you for dozing off. But between the dim lighting, the quiet crackle of the TV, and the way Ryomen Sukuna hadn’t moved from his spot. Almost as if he were making sure you stayed comfortable.

Your head dipped slightly, resting against his shoulder. Sukuna paused mid-bite of popcorn, glancing down at you. A slow smirk tugged at his lips, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he adjusted his arm, letting it rest more naturally behind you, making sure you wouldn’t wake up with a crick in your neck.

Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he reached up, his fingers brushing lightly against your hair. He ran them through a few strands, smoothing out the ones that had gotten messy from how you’d shifted in your sleep. His touch was surprisingly gentle, nothing like the usual smug and teasing Sukuna you were used to.

“…Idiot.” he murmured under his breath, barely audible. But there was no bite to it—just something softer, something unspoken.

He let his fingers linger for a second longer before pulling back, leaning into the couch again. The movie played on, the flickering screen casting shifting shadows over the room. But Sukuna wasn’t really watching anymore. Instead, he let out a small chuckle, shaking his head as he glanced down at you once more.

“Guess horror movies aren’t that scary after all, huh?” he muttered, even though he knew you couldn’t hear him.

Still, despite the teasing words, he didn’t move away. Didn’t shake you awake.

Instead, he just let you stay there—fast asleep, safe against him.

And sooner than later, he too also fell asleep.

It was Friday, the happiest day of the week. But not fully as you and Sukuna were stuck with cleaning duty in the classroom. Normally, this would mean the two of you messing around, arguing over who had to do what, and dragging out the task longer than necessary just to annoy each other. But today was different.

Ryomen Sukuna was quiet.

All too quiet for your liking.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. Maybe he was just tired, or maybe he got scolded for something before class. But as the hours passed, he barely spoke. No snarky remarks, no teasing, not even a single complaint when the teacher assigned you both to clean up. It was strang. It was unnerving, even.

Now, as you wiped down the desks and he absentmindedly swept the floor, the silence between you felt heavier than usual.

“You’re weird today, aren’t you, bighead?” you finally said, watching him out of the corner of your eye. “What’s up with you?”

He didn’t respond right away, just kept sweeping with that distracted, far-off look in his scarlet eyes. You frowned. “Oi, Sukuna.”

There was still nothing from him. Rolling your eyes, you grabbed the nearest cleaned eraser and tossed it at him, hitting him square on the back. That finally got a reaction out of him.

He blinked, turning his head slightly to glance at you. “Hah?”

“Don’t ‘hah’ me!” you huffed. “You’ve been out of it all day. What’s wrong with you?”

He hesitated, shifting his grip on the broom. For a moment, you thought he was going to brush you off. But then he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “…Sorry.”

Your frown deepened. Sukuna never apologized. Well, at least not for things like this. That only made you more concerned.“You okay?” you asked, softer this time.

He was quiet for a long moment. Then, without looking at you, he muttered, “My parents are getting transferred to Tokyo by their boss.”

Your stomach dropped. “…What?”

“I have to move.” He finally met your gaze, and for the first time, he looked… uncertain. “In a few weeks.”

The words hit you like a punch. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Sukuna? Moving away? That didn’t make sense. Sukuna had always been here. By your side, in your house, stealing your food, annoying you, laughing with you. The idea of him just not being there felt…..wrong.

“…You’re kidding.” you said, half-laughing, as if he was playing some kind of joke. “You’re playing a prank on me, right?”

But Sukuna didn’t smirk. Didn’t tease. He just stood there, silent.

And that’s when it hit you, harder than you could have ever imagined.

He wasn’t joking one bit when his eyes gazed against your own.

The weight of his words settled in your chest like a rock, heavy and immovable. You stared at him, waiting for the punchline, for him to roll his eyes and say, Relax, I’m messing with you. But he didn’t.

Sukuna just stood there, one hand gripping the broom tightly, the other stuffed into his pocket like he was trying to ground himself. His usual cocky smirk was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his face was unreadable. Like he wasn’t sure how to feel, either.

“…You’re serious.” you murmured.

He exhaled through his nose, glancing away. “Yeah.”

The word hung in the air between you, suffocating.

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. How were you supposed to respond to that? Sukuna had always been there. Since before you could remember, he had been a constant in your life—at school, at home, everywhere. The idea of him just… not being there anymore didn’t make sense.

“When?” you finally asked, your voice quieter than before.

“Few weeks.” he muttered, sweeping the same spot on the floor, even though there was nothing left to clean. “Dad got transferred. Mom, too. They said it’s a good opportunity. That’s why they took the chance.”

Good opportunity. The words sounded so distant, so impersonal, like something an adult would say to make everything seem fine. But it wasn’t fine. It wasn’t fine at all. Because you’re losing here. You and Sukuna are losing.

“…But Tokyo’s far.” you said, dumbly, as if that wasn’t already obvious.

Sukuna let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, no shit.”

You frowned. “So what, you’re just gonna leave?”

He stiffened slightly at that, his grip on the broom tightening. “Not like I have a choice.”

The silence stretched between you, thick with something unspoken. You swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump forming in your throat. You could feel every ounce of you losing the will you had just a little bit ago.

“You—” Your voice wavered, and you hated how weak you sounded. “You didn’t even tell me. You knew for a while and you didn’t tell me?”

Ryomen Sukuna finally looked at you then, and for the first time all day, there was something raw in his expression—something uncertain, something real. In this weird, calm way, that was so serious that it didn’t even feel like him.

“I didn’t know how, okay?” he admitted, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “Didn’t wanna……It’s not…It’s not something I can say just like that.” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I dunno. Didn’t wanna say it out loud, I guess.”

You stared at him, heart hammering. This wasn’t fair. It wasn't fair that he had to leave. It wasn’t fair that you had to lose him. It wasn’t fair that he had kept it to himself all day, suffering in silence while you had been completely oblivious.

“…You’re an idiot.” you muttered.

Sukuna blinked. “Hah?”

You scowled at him, crossing your arms. “You could’ve told me earlier! Being so silent about this is so mean!”

He stared at you for a second before huffing out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well. Didn’t wanna deal with you making a big deal out of it.”

“I’m not making a big deal about it.” you argued, even though you absolutely were.

Sukuna smirked, just a little. “Yeah? Then why do you look like you’re gonna cry?”

Your scowl deepened. “I’m not.”

He tilted his head, watching you carefully. Then, with a sigh, he leaned against the desk, rubbing the back of his neck. “…It sucks, shorty.” he muttered. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

You bit your lip. “Yeah.”

Neither of you spoke for a while after that. Just the soft sound of the broom brushing against the floor, the distant voices of students in the hallway, and the dull ache settling in your chest. Because for the first time in your life, you didn’t know what came next.

The silence stretched on, neither of you knowing what to say, neither of you wanting to say the obvious. The classroom felt too big, too empty despite just the two of you inside. Sukuna kept sweeping, even though the floor was already spotless. You watched him, arms crossed, fingers gripping at your sleeves.

“…So that’s it?” you finally asked, voice quieter than before.

He glanced at you. “What do you mean?”

“You’re just gonna leave?” The words tasted bitter, like saying them out loud made them more real.

Sukuna exhaled sharply, leaning the broom against a desk before shoving his hands into his pockets. “Not like I have a choice.”

You hated that answer. “You always have a choice.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “What, you think I wanna move?” His voice was sharper now, frustration laced between the syllables. “You think I wanna leave everything behind? Leave you behind?”

You flinched. “.....I’m sorry.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair before muttering. “Sorry too….”

You swallowed hard. “You could just—just stay.” you tried, even though you knew it was impossible. “Live with us. My mom wouldn’t mind.”

He let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, sure. And what, become your annoying adopted brother?”

You scowled. “You already are annoying.”

His smirk was faint, tired. “Can’t argue with that.”

The air between you felt thick, it was like there were too many words left unsaid, too many emotions neither of you knew how to deal with. It was hard to process something that you never expected to have happened.

“…When do you go?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“End of the month.”

Less than a month. That wasn’t enough time, it never will be. Your chest ached, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you scoffed, forcing a smirk. “That’s a lot of time left to annoy me.”

Sukuna rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t worry. I plan on making every second count.”

That should’ve made you laugh. It should’ve felt normal, like the same old back-and-forth you’d always had. But it didn’t. Because now there was a deadline. And for the first time in a very long time, you weren’t sure what life would look like without him.

The days that followed were filled with nothing but you and Sukuna making the most of every moment. You dragged him to all your favorite spots—the park, the arcade, even the tiny convenience store down the street where you always bought snacks after school.

He complained about it, of course, rolling his warm scarlet eyes and muttering things like, "We’ve been here a million times. What’s so special about this place?"

But he never actually said no to anything you asked to do with him. If anything, he would always make the effort to be there, right beside you, all the while smirking like he had the whole world figured out.

At the carnival, he made you know you had no skills for this at all. You’d gone there every year together, always making it a competition over who could win more prizes or who could eat the most cotton candy without feeling sick.

It was probably the last time in a long time where you both were going to come back to this place together. And the thought of it hurts, because both of you hate it. But neither of you said it out loud. Neither refused to let it control the narrative.

"You suck at this, shorty." Sukuna teased as you struggled with the ring toss game, missing every single shot.

"Shut up! It’s rigged. This is horribly rigged!" you huffed, determined.

"Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that."

You scowled at him before throwing the last ring and missing completely. "Ugh."

Sukuna snickered, stepping up beside you. "Move, loser. Watch a pro."

He flicked his wrist effortlessly, landing the ring perfectly around the bottle on his first try. “See, this is easy, shorty!”

You gawked. "What the hell—"

"Skills!" he said smugly, looking at you. “Alright, I think this means I won something.”

“This is just insane.”

When the game attendant asked what prize he wanted, Sukuna turned to you, smirked, and said, "Pick one."

You crossed your arms. "What, are you trying to make up for bullying me?"

"Tch. Just pick something before I change my mind."

Rolling your eyes, you pointed at a blue dolphin plushie hanging above the stall. "That one."

Sukuna raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"What? He’s cute."

He huffed but took it anyway, tossing it at you. "There. Don’t say I never gave you anything."

You caught it, squeezing the plushie before grinning at him. "Wow, Sukuna. Didn’t know you were such a softie."

"Shut up." He looks away, but you can tell his ears were red.

You laughed, swinging the plushie in your hands as you continued through the carnival, but deep down, you knew you’d treasure it forever. “Thank you for this, ‘kuna.”

He smiles softly back at you, warmer than ever before. “No problem, shorty.”

Around this time, you and Sukuna tried to squeeze in as many sleepovers as possible. Your parents didn’t mind at all. If anything, they even encouraged it, wanting the two of you to enjoy every last moment together before he had to leave. Everything about it was the same as always.

The two of you would set up a little tent in the living room, dragging out sleeping bags and piling them high with pillows. The lamp on the table cast a warm glow over the room, flickering slightly as the two of you moved around, exhausted after another long day of running around, bantering, and bickering over the dumbest things.

But the moment you both finally collapsed onto the sleeping bags, the real arguments started.

"Move over, you’re hogging the blanket, you meanie!" you complained, yanking at the shared cover.

Sukuna grunted, refusing to budge. "I’m not even using that much!"

"You’re literally wrapped in it like a burrito!"

"And? Get your own."

"It’s my blanket, dumbass!"

That led to more teasing from him. Ryomen Sukuna, ever the menace, tightened his grip on the blanket and curled up in it even more, pulling it around himself like some kind of smug cocoon.

"Too slow." he taunted, smirking. "Guess I’m just stronger."

"Give it back!" You yanked at the edge of the blanket, gritting your teeth as you pulled with all your might.

"Tch. Try harder, shorty." he scoffed, not budging an inch.

Determined, you scrambled forward, gripping the fabric with both hands. "Fine, you asked for it—!"

With a sudden burst of effort, you gave one big tug. The force sent both of you tumbling over, Sukuna losing his grip as the blanket was finally yanked away. You started cheering as you looked at him.

"HA!" You held it up victoriously. "Victory is mine!"

Sukuna groaned dramatically, sprawled out on the sleeping bag. "You fight dirtier than I thought."

"Yeah? Maybe next time, don’t be a selfish little gremlin." You stuck your tongue out before wrapping the blanket tightly around yourself.

He narrowed his eyes. "Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be?"

You barely had time to react before he lunged. "NO—!"

Laughter erupted between the two of you as Sukuna tackled you, both of you rolling across the sleeping bags in a full-on wrestling match for the blanket. Pillows went flying, your dolphin plushie got squashed somewhere in the chaos, and your giggles turned into full-blown wheezing as he tried to tickle your side.

"S–Sukuna, stop—!" you gasped between laughs, kicking at him.

"Say I’m the strongest!" he demanded, grinning.

"NEVER!"

"Fine, suffer then." He doubled down on his tickle attack.

"OKAY, OKAY—YOU’RE THE STRONGEST!" you shrieked, flailing. "Now get off me, you idiot!"

With a satisfied smirk, Sukuna finally backed off, letting you catch your breath as you curled up in the blanket, still giggling. “I win.”

"You’re so rude.” you muttered, nudging his arm. “A big o’l annoying person.”

"Takes one to know one, shorty." he shot back.

The laughter gradually died down, replaced by the comfortable quiet that always settled between the two of you after moments like this. Your heart was still racing from all the commotion, but there was a warmth to it. A feeling you weren’t ready to let go of just yet.

Because soon, all of this would just be a memory. Soon enough, he would have to move away. But for now, it was just the two of you, tangled in a mess of blankets and pillows, still catching your breath, and still refusing to sleep.

Soon your conversations seemed to stretch late into the night, long past your usual bedtime. Not that it mattered. It was the weekend tomorrow. But soon enough, you both suddenly just got tired and fell asleep right beside each other.

Yet now that’s not going to last.

Somehow, you were already awake.

You frowned, your eyes still closed.

The sky outside was still dark, the faintest hint of blue creeping in as dawn approached. You stirred in your sleeping bag, groaning as you tried to shift positions—only for your foot to collide with something solid.

"Ow, you little—"

Sukuna jolted awake at the same time, groaning as he sat up, rubbing his leg. "Did you just kick me?"

"You kicked me first!" you accused, hugging your dolphin plushie closer.

"Well, maybe don’t sleep like a starfish, shorty."

"I’m not short!"

"Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Oh, shut up."

A brief silence fell between you before Sukuna smirked in the dim light, rolling onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "You snore, by the way."

You shot him a glare. "No, I don’t."

"Yeah? Then what was that noise all through the night?"

"Your imagination, really." you grumbled, burying your face into your plushie. "Or maybe a ghost. Hope it drags you away tonight."

"Tch, please." Sukuna snorted, stretching his arms above his head. "Even ghosts are scared of me."

You rolled your eyes, but the familiar banter made you smile. “Whatever.”

“You wanna eat some bread?”

“It’s four A.M.”

“So?”

You sighed, starting to stand up. “Pour us some choco milk.”

“Yes, yes, captain!”

Even as the reality of his impending move loomed over you, even as each passing day felt heavier, there was still this. These moments. These conversations. And you held onto them as tightly as you held onto your dolphin plushie, as if keeping them close could somehow make them last forever.

But then, before either of you knew it, the day came. In the greyish echo of morning, you were now standing at the train station, clutching that same plushie tightly against your chest, looking ever so miserable as you stared at Sukuna, standing by his mom as he looked over his backpack.

You sniffled, trying—and failing—to keep your tears at bay as Ryomen Sukuna turned back as he stood in front of you, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. He had that same cocky smirk on his face, but for once, his eyes looked softer than it had ever been.

“You’re crying again, shorty? Really? You’re such a cry baby!” he pointed out.

“No, I’m not, you big meanie!” you lied, wiping your face aggressively with your sleeve. “Even at the end you’re lying about me!”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, sure.”

You tightened your grip on the plushie, not trusting yourself to speak. You sniffed, trying to gain your steady breathing once again. You looked too upset to even speak up again. Sukuna couldn’t help but sigh, rubbing the back of his neck before glancing away.

“Y’know, it’s not like I’m dying or something. We can still call, text, whatever.”

“That’s not the same, and y’know that.” you mumbled.

He exhaled sharply. “Yeah. I know.”

The announcement over the speakers rang out, signaling his train was arriving soon. You and him looked up, the bright neon sign pointing out that his train was moving forward of the station. He shakes his head, lowering his head.

You felt a lump rise in your throat, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted.“You better not forget me.”

His eyes snapped back to yours. “Huh?”

“I said, you better not forget me!” You sniffed, your brows furrowed determined. “Seriously! Make the effort for it, you big meanie!”

“…You’re an idiot, shorty.” he muttered, but his voice lacked its usual bite. “Like I could forget you.”

You bit your lip, another tear slipping down your cheek as you clenched the dolphin plushie against your chest. "J–just… just say it properly and not be annoying!" you blurted out, your voice trembling with frustration and sadness. "Like—like you’re my best friend! Hmph!"

Sukuna blinked at you, caught off guard. For a second, it looked like he wanted to say something more, something to make you feel better. His mouth opened slightly before closing again, his usual smugness gone. Even when he was about to leave, he was still debating, still hesitating. Like a part of him wasn’t entirely sure about stepping onto that train.

But then the station’s announcement echoed, the train doors slid open, and reality crashed down between you like a wall. Sukuna’s jaw tightened. He glanced at the train, then back at you.

And for just a moment, he didn’t look like the confident, cocky boy you had grown up with. He just looked like a kid who was about to leave behind everything he knew.

Then, with a deep sigh, he reached out and ruffled your hair—his touch both infuriating and familiar. You swatted at his hand, but there was no real heat behind it.

"Don’t cry too much, yeah?" he murmured, voice softer than you had ever heard it before.

Your throat tightened, your fingers curling around the fabric of your plushie. "I–I’m not crying that much." you mumbled stubbornly.

He let out a breathy chuckle, but there was no teasing in it. If anything, it sounded almost... sad. Almost like he was heartbroken about all of this as much as you were. Then, after a brief pause, he finally said it.

"I promise." he said, meeting your eyes. "I’ll never forget you. We’ll come together again. Because…" He swallowed thickly, his voice quieter now. "Because we’re best friends."

Your heart clenched at those words. “You promise? That we’ll see each other again?”

“I promise, shorty.”

“G–good.” You whispered back at him.

“I’ll see you around.”

The train’s departure signal blared through the station, a sound so sharp and final that it made your breath hitch. Sukuna clenched his fists at his sides, his knuckles turning white. His jaw tightened, like he wanted to say something else, like he wanted to stay. But then, with a sharp exhale, he stepped onto the train.

The doors slid shut between you. A wall of glass and steel separated you now, but you could still see him through the window. He hadn’t taken his eyes off you, still standing there with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his usual smirk nowhere to be seen.

The train gave a slight lurch forward. Your chest tightened. Then it started moving. Slowly at first. Then faster. Little by little, the boy who had been by your side for as long as you could remember was being carried further and further away.

And suddenly, something in you snapped.

Your feet moved before you could think.

"Ryomen Sukuna!"

The plushie was clutched tightly against your chest as you took off running, your sneakers pounding against the platform. You ran alongside the moving train, trying to keep up, trying to hold onto these last few seconds.

Through the window, Sukuna’s scarlet eyes widened slightly. His hands suddenly lifted, as if he had the urge to reach out, even though he couldn’t. He could feel his breath hitch at the sight of you, still running, running as fast as you can. Harder than you ever have before, all to chase after him.

"SUKUNA!" Your voice cracked, the tears you had tried so hard to hold back finally spilling over. "You better not forget me, you hear me?!"

Sukuna pressed his hand against the glass. His lips moved, but you couldn’t hear what he was saying. Then just before the train sped past the edge of the platform, you watched as his expression softened. And he smiled.

A real, genuine smile. Not his usual smug grin, not his teasing smirk. Just a quiet, knowing smile that sent a fresh wave of tears down your cheeks. Then all the sudden, all after that, he was gone.

The train disappeared into the distance, leaving only the hum of the tracks behind. You stumbled to a stop, panting, chest heaving as your shoulders shook with silent sobs. The dolphin plushie was slightly crushed in your arms from how hard you were holding it.

The station was empty now.

All too cold. All too quiet.

And for the first time in your life, Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t there beside you.

THINGS CHANGED AND THINGS MOVED ON. But one thing was truly certain, to you at least. Life without Ryomen Sukuna was something that could only be so strange, so foreign to you. And you lived and breathed the brunt of it all more than most.

At first, it felt like something was constantly missing. Like a phantom limb you kept reaching for, only to remember it was no longer there. Walking home from school felt quieter without his voice bickering beside you.

Video games weren’t as fun without someone to shove you when you won. Even the little things, buying snacks at the convenience store, watching TV at night, lying awake in your sleeping bag arguing over nonsense, all of that had felt hollow without him.

The first few months were the hardest. Your chest aches whenever you glance at the empty seat next to you in class. Sometimes, you caught yourself turning your head, half-expecting to see him standing there with that smug grin.

Though, you were going to only to be met with disappointment. You kept the dolphin plushie on your bed, clutching it at night like it could somehow bring him back.

But time, as it always does, moved forward. And so did you. You made new friends, found new things to keep yourself busy. You tried to get used to this version of your life without Sukuna in it. It was hard, so much harder than you ever thought it would be but you had no choice.

The two of you still kept in touch at first. Late-night phone calls, text messages filled with the same teasing banter. Sometimes, he sent you dumb pictures just to annoy you, and you sent back even dumber ones in revenge.

You told him about school, your new classmates, the things that annoyed you. He told you about Tokyo, how big it was, how different everything felt.

But as the years passed, those conversations grew fewer and farther between. The texts became less frequent. Calls went from once a week to once a month, then to almost never.

And then—you moved too. A new city. A new school. A whole new life. And just like that, Sukuna became someone from your past. Almost like a stranger, which made you frightful and grievous.

You told yourself you’d reach out again. That someday, you’d send him a message, asking how he was doing. But you never did. And neither did he. That’s just how humans can be.

All of a sudden, time had slipped through your fingers, and you were finally about to start high school soon too. It felt surreal—one moment, you were just a kid running through the streets with Sukuna, and the next, you were packing your bags for Tokyo.

You had been accepted into a good high school, and you would be living with your grandmother while studying there. Your parents were proud, your friends were excited for you, and yet… all you could think about was Ryomen Sukuna.

Tokyo. That was where he had moved years ago. Would he still be there? Would you run into him by some miracle? Would he even remember you the same way you remembered him?

The thought had been eating away at you ever since you got your acceptance letter. At first, you tried to push it aside—what were the chances, really? You had lost touch three years ago. Sukuna could be anywhere by now. He could have changed, just like you had.

But still… That little voice in the back of your head wouldn’t let it go.

As you stared at the packed suitcases in your room, your fingers brushed over the dolphin plushie sitting on your bed. The one he had won for you at the carnival. It was a little worn out now, but you had kept it all these years, unable to bring yourself to get rid of it.

You wondered if Sukuna had kept anything from back then too.

You sighed, hugging the plushie to your chest.

"Tokyo, huh?" you muttered to yourself.

For the first time in years, you allowed yourself to hope.

Maybe, just maybe, you’d see him again.

YOU WERE DONE WITH THIS ENTIRE THING. You could only sigh as you silently regret your decision of taking this role for the nth time. You were beyond exhausted at this point. All you wanted to do was go and enjoy the warmth of your bed and lay down there until you fell asleep.

You can’t help feeling this way sometimes, even if you know you shouldn’t. You were the one who decided to do this anyway. But it had already been a long day, like it always was. And you were getting hungry and cranky all at once. You were just losing it all.

And the piles of paper of the suggested budget for the upcoming school year needing your attention was not helping. It needs to be finished by the end of the day so it can get to Satoru’s desk before it gets sent to the school admin. So, you can’t stop. Not when the success of this student council was on your shoulders right now.

As the student council secretary, your workload was never light, not even from the beginning. Your work revolved around organizing meeting minutes, approving club budgets, handling endless paperwork, and, of course, making sure the ever-chaotic student council president, Gojo Satoru, actually did his job for once.

You were knee-deep in reports when the door to the student council office slammed open. And all the sudden, you were sure you felt your blood pressure go as high as the moon rising high in the sky. Your eye twitches.

“Secretary-chan! I need you!”

You didn’t even flinch anymore, instead your lips tightened into a deep line. You had long since grown immune to Gojo Satoru’s dramatic entrances. Without looking up from your papers, you leaned back and closed your eyes. Soon after, you let out a tired sigh.

“What did you do now?”

Gojo gasped, pressing a hand to his chest like you had wounded him. “Why do you always assume I’m the problem, sec? This is just so unkind of you!”

“Experience.”

“Rude.” He pouted, but instead of his usual playful attitude, he threw himself into the chair across from you with an uncharacteristically heavy sigh. “I’m suffering too you know?”

That made you pause. Gojo Satoru wasn’t usually one to look defeated. He can be a lot and by a lot, you mean that he overwhelms everyone around him. But he’s not the type to look like this even when people tell him off, or even when he is tired of letting that energy loose.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair. “Okay, seriously. What’s up?”

He groaned, rubbing his temples like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. “It’s this new student.”

You tilted your head. “New student?”

Gojo nodded, looking more exhausted than you’d ever seen him. “He’s a total menace. I swear, he wakes up every morning and chooses violence. More than I do, apparently!”

“Wow, I never thought I’d hear such an admission from you, pres.”

“Oh shut that down.” He snickers at you, loosening his tie a bit. “I talked with the discipline committee head, Nanami–chan. The new kid keeps getting into fights, skips class like it’s his full-time job, and doesn't even get me started on his grades. They’re so bad that even the math teachers are running out of red ink.”

You blinked. “That bad?”

Gojo leaned forward, lowering his voice as if sharing some deep, dark secret. “The teachers have pretty much given up on him. Principal Yaga’s at his wit’s end. And guess who got put in charge of handling him?”

You stared at him, your lips curling slightly into a snicker. “Let me guess—you?”

“Bingo.” Gojo sighed dramatically, flopping back in his chair. “They expect me to fix it, to fix him! Just because I’m the student council president doesn’t mean I’m a miracle worker! I’m not a god or something!”

You crossed your arms. “Well, maybe if you actually did your work instead of napping in the office after a big sugar rush, people wouldn’t assume you had unlimited free time.”

Gojo Satoru refused to acknowledge your words and merely ignored that. Instead, he straightened up, pointing at you with a hopeful gleam in his bright eyes. “That’s where you come in.”

You frowned. “Oh no, don’t you dare—”

“Oh yes, I do dare, sec.” He clasped his hands together like he was about to start praying. “You’re smart, responsible, actually organized, and way scarier than me when you’re mad. You’re perfect for this.”

“I am not handling this delinquent for you.”

“Please, I’m really begging you. I can’t handle being around this punk anymore!” His voice dipped into a whine as he reached across the desk dramatically. “If I get one more call from Principal Yaga about how this kid nearly suplexed someone in the cafeteria, I might actually die.”

You deadpanned. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I am not being dramatic!” He threw his arms up. “Okay, maybe a little. But seriously, I’m desperate. Really, I am at the end of my wits here. He’s not listening to me and I can’t do much about that.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. Dealing with Gojo Satoru was exhausting enough. Yet now he wanted to throw an out-of-control new student into the mix? How could you actually survive and live a good life if this is the situation you keep getting into?

You leveled a sharp glare at the white-haired menace in front of you. “Gojo Satoru.”

He ignored the warning in your voice, instead clasping his hands together like he was about to start praying to you. “You’re the only one who can save me, Sec! I’ll even go down on my knees if you want me to!”

You scowled. “Try it, and I’ll kick you while you’re down.”

Gojo gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his heart like you’d just betrayed him. “So violent! And here I thought we had a bond!”

You exhaled sharply. “Gojo, I am not going to be some delinquent’s babysitter.”

“But you have to be this kid’s babysitter, sec.” he whined, practically draping himself over your desk now. “Think about it! You whip people into shape all the time. You’re a natural-born leader! You practically run the student council anyway.”

“Because you forced it on me! Gojo, stop with your eyes–”

He leaned closer, eyes shining big like he was going to cry behind his dark glasses. “What’s one more problem child?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, exhaling slowly. If you had a dollar for every time Gojo Satoru came and dumped his problems onto you, you’d have enough to retire early with so much of his trust fund in your pockets.

“Fine, fine!” you muttered, knowing you’d regret this. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Gojo lit up like a kid on Christmas. “I knew I could count on you, Sec!”

Before you could even process what was happening, he lunged forward and practically tackled you in a hug, squeezing the life out of you. “Gojo— Get off!” you wheezed, struggling against his ridiculous strength.

“I love you so much right now, sec! You have no idea!” he declared, completely ignoring your suffering. “I swear I’ll make it up to you!”

“You can start by letting me breathe, you idiot!”

He finally released you, grinning as you fixed your disheveled uniform, glaring at him. You continued to glare at him as you straightened up your posture in front of him. A sigh leaves your lips. “You’re always too much, aren’t you?”

“Don’t worry.” he said, clapping a hand on your shoulder like you had just agreed to take on an amazing opportunity instead of a massive headache. “This is going to be great.”

You stared at him. “Uh, uh.”

“Hey, put some trust here!” He says to you. “It’ll work out!”

Somehow, you doubted that very much.

Before you could regret your decision, he jumped up, already halfway to the door. “I’ll introduce you to him later.” he called over his shoulder. “On the rooftop! He hangs out there like no tomorrow.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Be specific, Gojo Satoru. Who is he?”

Gojo’s grin widened. “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll recognize him right away. He’s the one causing a scene everywhere he goes.”

You groaned, dropping your head onto your desk.

You already hated this assignment.

And most of all, you hated Gojo Satoru.

YOU SLUGGISHLY MADE YOUR WAY TO THROUGH THE STAIRWAYS. You did so ever disgruntled, almost like a child that is being forced to do things that they don’t want to. Still, you did promise to do this and you can’t back out now. Not when the reputation of the student council is on the line.

The sound of the rooftop door creaking open was followed by the rush of wind as you stepped outside, Gojo leading the way. The rooftop was mostly empty, save for one lone figure stretched out lazily against the concrete railing, arms crossed behind his head, looking completely at peace. The delinquent.

His fuchsia-pink hair was unmistakable, tousled by the breeze, and his uniform was a mess—tie undone, shirt unbuttoned at the top, sleeves lazily rolled up, revealing the endless black tattoos running down his arms. His breathing was slow and even, eyes closed. Completely unbothered.

Gojo Satoru, being Gojo Satoru, decided this would not happen.

“Oi, you punk!” he called, marching over and nudging the guy’s foot with his own. “You seriously sleeping up here instead of going to class? No wonder the teachers are about to throw you out!”

The guy didn’t stir. Not one bit.

You lowered your head, sighing.

This is becoming a horrible day.

Gojo crouched down next to him, squinting before dramatically gasping. “Wait, is he dead?!”

You groaned. “Gojo—”

Without hesitation, Gojo Satoru without any warning reached over and flicked the sleeping student on the forehead with his fingers. Hard. The reaction was almost too instantaneous.

The guy’s eyes snapped open, dark red and burning with irritation. He scowled, immediately sitting up. “The hell was that for, you fuck?”

Gojo grinned. “Oh, good! You’re alive! I was worried for you, newbie.”

The guy rubbed his forehead, his scowl deepening. “Get lost.”

“Aw, don’t be like that! I came all the way up here just for you!” Gojo turned dramatically, gesturing toward you like he was presenting the grand prize of a game show. “And I even brought a special guest!”

You gave a tired wave. “Hey.”

The delinquent’s gaze flickered to you, expression unreadable, before he sighed, leaning back on his hands. “Great. Another pain in my ass.”

Gojo clutched his chest like he was deeply offended. “Wow! So rude! And here I was, trying to introduce you to your new best friend.”

The guy’s brow twitched. “Not interested.”

“Me neither.” You snickered back at him, almost out of exhaustion. “But here we are, aren’t we?”

“I’m still not interested.”

“Oh, you will be.” Gojo teased, plopping down next to him and slinging an arm around his shoulders. “This here is our lovely student council secretary, [nickname] – chan. She’s smart, responsible, scary when she’s mad—basically everything you aren’t.”

The delinquent shot him a glare. “Get off me.”

Gojo ignored him. “She’s also been put in charge of you!”

You cleared your throat, stepping forward. “More like dumped in charge of you.”

That got his attention, more than the first time you spoke. He stared at you for a beat, eyes scrutinizing. “The hell does that mean?”

“It means that thanks to this guy—” you sighed, folding your arms looking at Satoru. “This idiot, thanks to him, I’m now responsible for making sure you don’t get expelled.”

Gojo beamed, unaffected by your words. “She’s like your own personal handler!”

The guy blinked. Then he let out a sharp, irritated scoff. “Yeah, no thanks.”

“Oh, come on, Ryo–kun!” Gojo continued, ignoring the growing irritation in his voice. “You two are gonna get along great!”

“Gojo, don’t—” you warned, already seeing the way the delinquent’s fingers twitched like he was this close to throwing a punch.

Gojo waved off your concern. “And listen, Sec is great at straightening people out. You’re lucky, honestly. Not everyone gets one-on-one treatment—”

“Gojo Satoru, please. Enough with your nonsense—” you said again, sharper this time.

The pink-haired delinquent finally snapped. “Would you shut the hell up already?!”

Gojo paused. Then, much to your absolute lack of surprise, he just laughed. “Woah! There it is! I was waiting for you to lose your temper.”

The fuschia haired guy ran a hand down his face, visibly restraining himself from doing something drastic. You exhaled, rubbing your weary eyes. You already knew where this was going.

“Never mind introductions, and whatever this is.” you muttered, shaking your head. “I’ll never get your name at this rate.”

The delinquent snorted, looking just as exasperated. “Yeah? Well, I ain’t giving it, anyway.”

You didn’t even blink. “Fine. I don’t need your name to do my job.”

He raised a brow. “And what exactly is your job?”

You met his gaze head-on. “I’m your new handler.”

Silence. Then, after a long pause, he scoffed, shaking his head with a smirk. “Babysitter, you mean.”

You crossed your arms. “Call it whatever you want.”

He stretched, cracking his neck, before sending you a lazy, almost amused look. “Tch. You’re not gonna last.”

You tilted your head. “Wanna bet?”

His grin widened slightly, like he was finally interested. “Hah. This might actually be fun.”

Gojo clapped his hands together, grinning. “See? I told you two would hit it off!”

You shot him a glare. “Gojo Satoru, leave.”

He gasped. “After everything I’ve done for you?”

“Go. Now.” You say with more bite. “Suguru’s going to kill me if you miss the budgetary defense meeting. Get a move on!”

Gojo sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Alright, alright! I’ll leave you lovebirds alone.”

You threw your notebook at him. “Eat shit!”

He dodged, cackling as he ran back toward the rooftop door. “Have fuuuunnnnn babysitting, [nickname] — chan~”

The door slammed shut loudly behind him, leaving you (unfortunately) all alone with the pink-haired delinquent, who was now watching you with something akin to amusement.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “This is going to be a nightmare.”

Sukuna just smirked. “Yeah. For you.”

“Uh, uh. Sure.”

“You seem confident.”

You snicker. “Of course, I am. I have a 100% success rate.”

“Oh?” He raises a brow at you. “And what do you want me to do about it?”

“Keep it 100%.” You smiled at him, almost too sharply. “Don’t let me down, fushia–kun.”

“I hate that name already.”

“Good.” You say to him, picking up your notebook. “I’ll keep saying it until you pass.”

Sukuna clicked his tongue, arms crossed as he eyed you with mild irritation. “You’re annoying.”

You grinned. “And you’re a pain in my ass, so I guess we’re even.”

He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You really think you can make me ‘pass’ or whatever?”

“I don’t think,” you corrected, tucking your notebook under your arm. “I know.”

His red eyes glinted with something unreadable before he scoffed. “Tch. You’re not gonna last.”

“You already said that,” you reminded him, tilting your head. “You might wanna come up with new material, Fuschia—kun.”

His eyes twitched. “Say that again, and I’m throwing you off the roof.”

You smirked, completely unfazed. “I’d like to see you try.”

For a split second, you thought he might actually consider it.

But then he just rolled his shoulders, standing up and stretching with a lazy smirk. “Fine. I’ll play along, babysitter.”

You narrowed your eyes. “For real?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, cracking his neck. “One week, right?”

You crossed your arms. “A few days….. Nay, a few weeks. No fights, no skipping class, and actually putting in some effort.”

He made a face. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

“Good.” You turned toward the rooftop door, holding it open for him. “Then let’s get started.”

He didn’t move right away, watching you carefully.

Then, with an exasperated sigh, he shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled past you. “Try not to regret this, babysitter.”

You smiled. “Not a chance.”

Week One

The morning started with exactly what you expected and that was frustration. The fuschia haired delinquent barely showed up on time, looking as disheveled as ever. His uniform was untucked, his tie was nonexistent, and the only book he had on him was one you were certain he had stolen from another student.

“Wow, wow.” you said, unimpressed. “Really dressing for success.”

“This is me trying, sec.” he replied, smirking as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Step inside. Sit down. Behave.”

“No promises.”

You sighed, pushing him toward his seat. “Just don’t get expelled on the first day of our little bet, okay?”

By some miracle, he lasted through the morning classes without throwing a punch or causing an outright scene. It was a small victory, you weren’t entirely sure if it was because of your nagging, his own boredom, or just sheer luck, but you weren’t about to question it.

That was until math class.

You had been taking notes diligently when you felt a shift in the air—an almost tangible shift in energy that only spelled trouble. You glanced over at Sukuna, who was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, watching the math teacher with a look of pure boredom.

Then, it happened.

“Alright, class,” the teacher sighed, clearly already exhausted. “Let’s go over this problem. Solve for X.”

The pink haired kid, without hesitation, leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “How about you solve for your lack of charisma instead?”

The entire class went silent.

You inhaled sharply. Oh, for the love of—

The teacher’s expression twitched. Her grip on the marker tightened, and you swore you heard it creak under the pressure. “What did you just say?” she asked, her voice dangerously calm.

He smirked, completely unfazed. “I mean, you’re trying to make math interesting, but you’re kinda failing. Like, epically.”

Someone in the back choked on their water. A few students snickered.

You, on the other hand, slammed your forehead against the desk.

You bastard, why are you like this?

The teacher exhaled through her nose. “Out. Now.”

He stood up lazily, stretching as if he was the one doing her a favor. “Gladly.” He shot you a glance as he strolled toward the door. “Hey, babysitter, you coming?”

You gave him the deadliest glare you could muster. “No.” you gritted out.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets before disappearing into the hallway.

And just like that, your peaceful morning was over. After class ended, you found yourself standing in front of the teacher’s desk, offering the most apologetic smile you could manage.

“I’m really, really sorry about that, sensei.” you said for what felt like the hundredth time.

The teacher sighed, rubbing her temples. “I don’t know how you’re putting up with him, but good luck. You’ll need it.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of her words settle in your bones.

Yeah.

You really would.

Week Two

Since the pink haired guy had the attention span of a squirrel, you dragged him to the library after classes. This was your place, your sacred space. This was the only properly quiet space in the school. That’s why you enjoyed reading your books here, but most of the time studying. And maybe getting away from the student council.

The point about this is you thought this would be a good place for you both to continue your study sessions, without being interrupted and without this punk falling asleep on the concrete flooring.

“Why am I here?” he complained, slumping into a chair.

“Because your grades are a crime scene, and I refuse to let them die.”

He rolled his scarlet eyes but didn't fight you on it. Instead, he tapped his pen against the desk while staring at an open textbook like it personally offended him. “Why do I even need to study? School’s a joke.”

You leveled him with a look. “You can either pass your tests or let Gojo Satoru babysit you instead.”

His scarlet eyes twitched. “I hate you.”

“Good.” you said, sliding a worksheet toward him. “Now do number one.”

Fifteen minutes in, you realized he was smart. But he just didn’t care enough to try. He’d scribble down the answers in record time, but when you asked him to explain them, he shrugged like it wasn’t worth the effort.

You slammed your palm on the table. “Fuschia–kun, for the love of….at least make an effort! Just try.”

“Ugh, fine.” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “If it’ll get you to shut up and leave me alone!”

“Do it and I’ll actually leave you alone!”

He didn't look up and continued to write. “Good!”

“Good!” You hissed back at him.

“Can both of you shut up?” the librarian snapped, glaring over her glasses.

You immediately clamped your mouth shut, forcing a tight-lipped smile. Your little fiend, on the other hand, just grinned, looking completely unbothered as he leaned back in his chair.

“Oops.” he said, voice anything but apologetic.

You shot him a glare before turning back to your notebook. “Just focus, will you?” you whispered harshly. “I’m not losing my favor with the librarian just cause you suck.”

Sukuna let out a long, exaggerated sigh before reluctantly looking back at his textbook. His pen scratched against the paper as he lazily scribbled down notes, occasionally tapping it against the table like he was counting down the seconds until he could leave. Minutes passed in relative silence, until you glanced over and realized he had stopped writing.

Your eye twitched. “Hey, you punk.”

“Hm?” He didn’t even look up.

You peeked at his paper. “You’re just doodling skulls in the margins.”

“They’re cool, aren’t they?” he said with a shrug.

“They’re not answers!” you whisper–yelled.

The pink haired kid smirked, twirling his pen between his fingers. “You never said what I had to write. Just that I had to put effort into it.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “I swear to god, you are impossible.”

You swore you’d get him to take this seriously by the end of the week.

Week Three

You should’ve known he wouldn’t last. The day had started fine. The delinquent even made it through the first two periods without incident. But by lunchtime, you got word that he had bodyslammed someone in the hallway.

You exhaled sharply, barely restraining the urge to throttle him. Two weeks. That was all he lasted before getting into a fight. You had expected more from him. Well actually, no. You hadn't. If anything, you were impressed he lasted two weeks.

He, of course, looked completely unbothered, lounging in his chair like detention was just another break in his day. “What?”

“I don’t know how you function.” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “Seriously. Do you just wake up every morning and choose violence?”

He grinned. “Not every morning. Some days, it just happens naturally.”

You groaned, slumping forward onto the desk between you. “I swear to god, you’re going to be the death of me.”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll outlive me.”

You shot him a glare before straightening up. “What even happened?”

The scarlet eyed boy shrugged. “Some guy was mouthing off. He didn’t shut up, so I shut him up.”

“By punching him?”

He smirked. “It worked, didn’t it?”

You wanted to slam your head against the desk. “You punk, that’s not how things work. You can’t just go around beating people up when they annoy you.”

He tilted his head, his smirk widening. “Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

He barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, that’s cute. You think you make the rules.”

You leaned forward, leveling him with your best, I am done with your nonsense look. “You don’t have to make everything a damn challenge.”

His expression flickered, just for a second. It was brief, barely noticeable, but you caught it. The sharp edge of his smirk dulled slightly, his gaze shifting, as if something had almost gotten through to him.

Then, just as quickly, the cocky grin returned. “Life’s already hard, you know?” he muttered. “Might as well make it fun.”

Your frustration softened for just a moment. There was something in his voice. It was something tired, something almost bitter. But before you could think too much about it, he stretched his arms over his head, shaking off whatever mood had tried to creep in.

“Anyway, secretary–chan.” he said, rolling his neck. “I’m guessing you’re here to lecture me?”

You exhaled slowly. “No, I’m here to make sure you don’t make detention a daily thing.”

“Eh.” He shrugged. “No promises.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Then I will make your life hell.”

He grinned. “Looking forward to it, babysitter.”

You swore this boy was going to drive you insane.

You swore you’d make him suffer for this.

Week Seven

After the detention a couple weeks ago, you fully expected the pink haired kid to return to his usual brand of chaos and stirring up trouble, testing your patience, and generally making your life more difficult. But to your surprise, the rest of the day was…..not a complete disaster.

He didn’t sleep through class entirely. Though you did catch him dozing off at one point, only for him to jolt awake when the teacher called his name. And rather interestingly, he didn’t throw any punches or get in arguments or make any of the other teachers cry. Actually, he also didn’t go and glare at anyone for way too long. Which was already a significant improvement.

And the biggest shock of all? During your study session, he actually answered a math problem correctly. Correctly. For the first time in the past few days, he was making efforts with this. And you were overwhelmed.

You stared at him, barely masking your surprise. “Huh.”

The pink haired boy frowned. “What?”

“You actually got it right.”

He scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “Of course I did. I’m not an idiot.”

You smirked. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He shot you a glare. “Shut up.”

Still, you noticed the way he shifted slightly in his seat, looking anywhere but at you. That cocky smirk of his wasn’t quite as sharp as usual. It was more subdued—almost sheepish.

“You are actually putting in effort, aren’t you?” you mused, watching him closely.

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late, fuschia–kun.” you teased, flipping through your notes. “I’m expecting this level of dedication every day now.”

“Yeah, that’s not happening.”

You laughed, shaking your head. But as you glanced at him again, you caught something interesting. The tips of his ears were slightly red. Huh. You pretended not to notice, but you filed that information away for later.

The study session continued without any more surprises, or at least, none that this pink haired boy allowed you to see. He grumbled his way through the rest of the work, but you noticed something interesting.

He wasn’t just guessing. He wasn’t slacking. And he wasn’t making smart-ass comments every five seconds. He was actually trying to do his best with every other question, without any more complaints.

You didn’t say anything at first. If you pointed it out too soon, he’d probably get defensive and shut down completely. So instead, you let the silence linger as he scribbled on his worksheet, only offering occasional corrections or explanations when he hesitated.

Then, as he worked through another problem, which was correctly answered once again, you couldn’t help but smirk. “You know, if you actually applied yourself like this all the time, people might mistake you for a model student.”

He rolled his eyes, flipping his pencil between his fingers. “Great. Just what I want to be ……a boring ass nerd.”

You chuckled. “I mean, it beats detention, doesn’t it?”

He snorted. “Jury’s still out on that one.”

Despite his usual bravado, you caught the way his scarlet gaze flickered, even just for a second. It wasn’t much, but something in his expression softened, like he was considering your words more than he let on. Interesting.

“Alright.” you said, closing your notebook. “I think that’s enough studying for today. You didn’t even threaten to flip the desk, so I’d say this was a successful session.”

He smirked. “Yet.”

You rolled your eyes but started packing up your things. As you reached for your bag, you glanced at him. “Hey. Want to grab dinner?”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What?”

You shrugged. “You didn’t completely piss me off today. I feel like I deserve a reward.”

He snorted. “So your reward is spending more time with me?”

“Unfortunately.”

The pink haired boy chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “Fine. But if this is some sneaky attempt to make me study more, I’m walking out.”

“No study talk.” you promised, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

Just as you both stepped outside, a sudden downpour hit, soaking the pavement in seconds. You groaned, yanking your jacket over your head. “Great, just great.” you muttered. “Because this is exactly what I needed.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking completely unbothered. “Sucks to be you.”

You shot him a glare before an idea struck. “My place is nearby.”

He raised a brow. “What?”

“My house, well my grandma’s house.” you repeated. “It’s close. We can wait out the rain there.”

He hesitated. You could see it. It was just a flicker of doubt in his expression before he quickly covered it with an eye roll. “Whatever.” he said. “Lead the way, babysitter.”

You didn’t push him about it, and most certainly, you didn’t call him out on it. Instead, you just started walking in front of him and leading the way, hearing his footsteps follow closely behind.

Soon enough, you stepped into your house, shaking off the rain from your jacket before motioning for him to follow. He hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside, his usual lazy smirk in place.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” you said dryly, slipping off your shoes. “Grandma won’t be home for a while—she went to play bingo with her friends.”

The boy snorted, toeing off his own shoes. “Bingo, huh? Hardcore.”

“Oh, you have no idea. She and her friends take it very seriously,” you said, heading toward the kitchen. “Anyway, make yourself comfortable. You can rest while I cook.”

He leaned against the doorway, watching as you pulled ingredients from the fridge. “Are you sure you can cook? Or am I about to suffer? Need I prepare before I doom myself—”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m feeding you, and you’re already complaining?”

He chuckled but didn’t argue. Instead, he wandered toward the living room, hands shoved into his pockets. His scarlet eyes scanned the room lazily until they landed on something sitting on the couch.

A blue dolphin plushie.

His body went rigid.

His smirk faltered as his gaze locked onto the stuffed animal, and for the first time since you’d met him, Sukuna looked… startled.

You, oblivious to his reaction, called over your shoulder. “You can turn on the TV or something. It’s probably boring just standing there.”

But he could barely hear you. His mind was suddenly somewhere else, memories hitting him in flashes. That plushie. He knew it. It looked exactly like the one from back then. From when he was a kid.

He clenched his jaw, forcing his expression back into something neutral before you could notice. He strode over, picking up the dolphin and holding it in his hands, his thumb brushing over the soft fabric.

It was the same shade of blue.

The same stupid little stitched smile.

He swallowed hard.

“Where’d you get this?” His voice was casual, but there was an edge to it. It was like he was trying too hard to sound normal.

You glanced over from the kitchen, stirring something in a pan. “Oh, that? Had it since I was a kid.”

His grip on the plushie tightened slightly. “…Huh.”

You didn’t notice the way his eyes darkened, the way his fingers lingered on the plushie as if grounding himself in something from the past. You just kept cooking, unaware that you had just cracked open a door he had long since slammed shut.

He turned the plush over in his hands, running his fingers over the seams. The fabric was slightly worn, a sign it had been well-loved for years. His mind raced, trying to piece together the vague, hazy memories that stirred in his chest like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

It was just a stuffed animal.

And yet, he couldn’t look away.

He forced himself to speak, keeping his tone light. “Had it since you were a kid, huh?”

You nodded, focused on the stove. “Yeah. My friend got it for me. Was it a carnival or was it an arcade? I don’t remember. But my friend won it for me.”

He exhaled through his nose. His grip on the plush loosened as he slumped onto the couch, still staring at it. His memories were a mess right now. He could see fragments of a childhood he had long since shoved aside. He purses his lips in a tight line.

He tried to laugh it off, tossing the plushie onto the couch beside him. “Kinda ugly.”

You turned around, wooden spoon in hand, looking offended. “Excuse you, that dolphin is a national treasure.”

He smirked, crossing his arms. “Yeah? And what’s its name, then?”

You blinked. “Uh… Dolphin.”

He snorted. “Creative.”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes before turning back to the stove. “I was, like, eleven when I named it. And my friend said it's going to be easier to remember. That’s why we named it together!”

He leaned back, letting his head rest against the couch. His eyes flickered back to the plush, a small crease forming between his brows. He was thinking about how well loved the dolphin plush was, how much you had loved it all these years.

The thought made his stomach twist, but he pushed it aside. Instead, he spoke again, voice more casual than he felt. “You always keep stuff from when you were a kid?”

“Not everything. I can’t always keep up with it.” you replied, plating the food. “But some things, I keep. I guess I just hold onto stuff that makes me happy.”

He sat there, gripping the plushie like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. The air felt heavier now, the sound of sizzling food in the background the only thing filling the space between you.

You glanced over your shoulder. “You okay over there?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around the stuffed dolphin before he finally muttered, almost too softly to hear. “…You wanna know my name?”

You blinked, caught off guard. After all the times you’d asked, after all the times Gojo Satoru had interrupted, after all the times he had avoided answering, he was finally offering it up?

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

He turned toward you then, still clutching the plushie. His red eyes met yours, something unreadable swirling in them. His usual smirk was nowhere to be found. Instead, his expression was tense, uncertain, like he was waiting for something to click in your mind. He swallowed.

“It’s…” He hesitated. Then, almost like he was testing the words on his tongue, he whispered, “It’s me.”

Your brow furrowed. “Huh?”

His grip on the plush tightened as he exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw clenching. And then, louder this time. “Shorty, it’s me.”

The nickname sent a jolt through you, like an old key turning in a rusted lock. Shorty. Not a typical Ryomen Sukuna insult. Not something random. A name you hadn’t heard in years. A name that you never thought you’d hear again.

You turned to fully face him now, eyes wide. And in that moment, with him standing there in your living room, holding your childhood plushie, something inside your mind finally snapped into place. A sudden memory. That boy with wild pink hair. That boy who had given you that dolphin. That boy you had known to be your best friend.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Ryomen Sukuna’s lips curled into something almost nervous. It was a look that didn’t belong to him. A look that belonged to that kid, that eleven year old who was lost long ago.

“…….You finally remember me now, don’t you?”

Your breath caught in your throat. The room suddenly felt smaller, like the walls were closing in, like the weight of something long buried was pressing down on you. Your eyes flickered from the dolphin plushie to Ryomen Sukuna’s face. His red eyes watching you, waiting.

Shorty, it’s me.

The nickname rang in your ears, dragging you back to a time you hadn’t thought about in years. A flash of memory came to mind. A kid with messy pink hair and a grin too big for his face. Dirt on his knees, a scrape on his elbow, but laughing anyway. You swallowed hard.

“You…” Your voice felt weak, unsteady. “You’re that Sukuna? You’re….”

“Your Sukuna, yeah.” His smirk twitched, something like relief flashing in his eyes. “Took you long enough.”

Your fingers curled into your palms. It was overwhelming, like you had just been handed a missing piece of a puzzle you didn’t even know you were trying to solve. You stepped closer.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

He scoffed. “Oh yeah, because that would’ve been so easy. ‘Hey, remember that punk-ass kid from forever ago? Surprise, it’s me.’”

“You could have tried!”

He rolled his scarlet eyes. “You wouldn’t have believed me.”

You opened your mouth to argue—but… would you have? You studied him now, really looked at him. The wild hair, the tattoos, the sharp smirk that never seemed to fade. He had changed so much.

But now that you knew, you could see it. There was that same spark in his scarlet eyes, the same way his nose crinkled when he was annoyed, the same way he leaned back like he owned the world. Memories crashed into you like waves.

“You disappeared.” The words slipped out before you could stop them.

His smirk faded. “Shorty—”

“You were just gone one day, and you stopped contacting me.” you went on, your voice shaking slightly. “No one knew where you went after that, no one told me anything….I thought—”

You stopped yourself, inhaling sharply.

You thought you’d lost him forever.

And for so long, you were devastated.

Sukuna’s fingers curled around the plushie again, his gaze flickering to the floor for half a second before he covered it up with a snort. “Yeah, well… Life’s a bitch.”

“......It has been.”

“But I’m here now, okay?” His voice was casual, but you weren’t stupid. There was weight behind those words, something unspoken, something heavy.

You took a step closer, your eyes not leaving his. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

His jaw tensed. “Because I wasn’t planning on sticking around.”

That stung more than it should have. “Sukuna, what—”

Sukuna sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Didn’t think it mattered.”

“You didn’t think it mattered?” You stared at him in disbelief. “Sukuna, don’t think that!”

He winced at hearing his name from you like that. It was soft, familiar, like it belonged to someone else. You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “You idiot.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

You stepped forward and before he could react, you flicked his forehead. Hard. “You deserve that!”

“Ow—what the hell, Shorty?!” He rubbed the spot, glaring at you.

The moment he said it—I’m sorry—something inside you cracked. Your vision blurred, your chest tightening as a lump formed in your throat. You hadn’t even realized you were shaking until you felt the first tear slip down your cheek.

Sukuna noticed immediately. His eyes widened slightly, caught off guard. “Wait—are you crying?”

That was all it took. The floodgates burst open. You sobbed. Like an absolute baby. All the emotions you had bottled up after all that time, your anger, your confusion, your relief. It all came crashing down at once, and suddenly, you were wiping furiously at your face, but it didn’t help at all.

“I hate you!” you wailed, voice muffled by your hands. “You’re such a dumbass!”

Sukuna stared at you, completely speechless. “Shorty—”

“I waited for you! I thought you were gone forever! I—” Your breath hitched, and you sniffled, trying and then failing to pull yourself together.

Sukuna shifted uncomfortably. “…You, uh, need a tissue or something?”

You glared at him through your tears. “Shut up!”

He raised his hands in defense but didn’t move away from you an inch. He just watched, frowning slightly, letting you get it out. You sniffled again, rubbing your sleeve against your face.

“I liked you, you know?” Your voice was hoarse now, but the words tumbled out anyway, too raw to stop. “Back then. When we were kids. I liked you, a lot.”

Silence. Ryomen Sukuna stiffened, his scarlet eyes widening slightly. His usual cocky expression flickered. It was that he had not expected what he heard to be real. Like he had not been expecting to hear those words ever, in his life.

You let out a wet, miserable laugh. “You were always such an asshole to everyone but still made sure I never cried. You always got into fights but always let me win when we argued. You gave me Dolphin, Sukuna. And then you left!”

Sukuna’s grip tightened around the plushie. He opened his mouth, then hesitated. “…I didn’t want to leave, you know that. And….I was planning to come back but I—”

You blinked up at him, eyes red and puffy. “Then why didn’t you?”

He exhaled rather slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked…uncomfortable at this very moment. Vulnerable, even. His usual bravado had melted away, leaving something raw in its place.

“…Shit happened, Shorty.” he finally said. “Family stuff. I didn’t have a choice. And….I promise I’ll explain but I just….stuff got rough.”

Your brows furrowed. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, his gaze locked onto the floor. You swallowed thickly. “Why didn’t you come back?”

He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Because I figured you moved on. That it would be too late. I mean, look at you.” He gestured vaguely at the house. “Student council. Smart. Got your whole life together. Meanwhile, I’m just some asshole with a bad attitude and failing grades.”

You wiped at your face again, scowling. “So what?”

Sukuna finally met your gaze. “What?”

You sniffled. “So what if you’re a mess? You’re here. You’re back. And you’re still you. And you’re still my Sukuna!”

His fingers curled slightly. “Shorty….”

“I thought I lost you forever.” you whispered. “And now you’re right in front of me, acting like it doesn’t matter.”

“…It does matter.” His voice was quieter this time.

You stared at him. “Are you sure about that?”

He sighed, shifting awkwardly. “Look, I—I dunno what I’m doing, okay?” He frowned, rubbing his temple. “This whole ‘feelings’ thing? Not my strong suit.”

“No shit, you dumbass.” you mumbled.

That got a small, tired chuckle out of him. He hesitated for a long moment, then finally, he let himself reach out. His calloused hand was rough, brutish all at once, yet just as innocent and kind, just as warm as before as it settled on top of yours.

“…I missed you too, you know.” he murmured.

You let out a shaky breath, squeezing his fingers. This time, when more tears welled in your eyes, they weren’t from anger. You squeezed his hand tighter, your fingers trembling slightly. The emotions swirling in your chest were too much. All too raw, all too painful, all too real.

“You have to promise me.” Your voice was small but firm, cutting through the silence.

Sukuna tilted his head, watching you carefully. “Promise you what?”

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as fresh tears welled up. “That you won’t leave me again.”

His breath hitched harshly as he looked at you. For the first time since you reunited, you saw something shift in his expression. That hesitation, that uncertainty, that fear. Things that you don’t think you’ve ever seen in his eyes before.

“Sukuna.” You gripped his hand tighter, like you were afraid he’d slip away if you let go. “Promise me.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he would brush it off, make a joke. You know, be Sukuna. But he didn’t. Instead, he exhaled sharply, looking down at where your hands were entwined. His thumb brushed over your knuckles absentmindedly, as if grounding himself.

“…I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” His voice was low, almost cautious.

Your chest tightened. “Then keep this one.”

His fingers twitched against yours. Slowly, finally, he lifted his gaze to meet yours again. “…Alright, Shorty.” he murmured. “I promise.”

The words settled in the air between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. You searched his face, looking for any sign that he was lying. That he would disappear again, that he would leave you with nothing but a worn-out dolphin plush and an aching heart.

But all you saw was sincerity. Raw. Unfiltered. Real.

A slow, shaky breath escaped your lips. The tension in your body eased just a little, though your grip on his hand didn’t loosen. Sukuna let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

“Didn’t think you’d still be such a crybaby, Shorty.”

You sniffled, glaring at him. “Shut up.”

He smirked. “Make me.”

“.....Does this means we’re dating?”

“Do you want to?”

You pouted against him. “.....Yeah.”

“Okay then.” He says, patting your hair. “We can.”

“This means you’re never leaving me again.”

“I know.”

“If you do, I’ll really—”

“You know you look cute when you’re about to threaten me.”

“Sukuna, you’re so—”

“Hah, I like you too.”

You scowled, wanting to pull away but didn’t pull away, blushing against him. Ryomen Sukuna—for once—didn’t let go either. He was feeling your warmth instead, taking it in for the first time in a long time.

You sighed, leaning even more to him.

You were finally home, you think to yourself.

And you knew that he was thinking the same too.

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ficsilike-reblogged · 2 months ago

Text

Shelter - 3

Summary: You saved Soap's life. Your life continues to go off the rails.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley/F!Reader (No Y/N)

Warnings For This Chapter: Continued military inaccuracies, my attempt at writing accents, slow burn romance, canon typical violence and death, ...soft!Simon

A/N: Thank you to everyone who commented or liked the last chapter! Your continued support means the world to me.

Previous Chapter

“Quiet, Johnny.”

The Scot muffled his chuckle into his palm as he walked beside Simon, leading the charge up to the house. Gaz and Price were hauling the bags up from the car behind him. And Simon…Simon was carrying her.

The safehouse was up near the Scottish borders, quiet and secluded. And old. Well stocked, if Laswell’s promises meant anything (they almost always did) and Price said he’d used it before, calling it “basically a B&B.” The last stretch of the trek had been on a dirt road that hadn’t shown up on any sort of navigation system and they had to refer to a poorly drawn map. They’d hit more than a few rocks.

She was a heavy sleeper. Hadn’t moved when the entire SUV jostled over the uneven terrain or when it came to an abrupt stop outside. Simon had tried to poke her. Nudged her. Called her name. And nothing. Well, that didn’t leave him much choice. He wasn’t going to have her wake up alone in the car in an unfamiliar place. So, after removing the bag from over her face, he just scooped her up and tried not to jostle her too much.

But it was the way that she nuzzled her cheek into his chest, uncaring of the rough fabric of his tac vest catching her skin, that had his grip tightening a fraction. She wasn’t built like a model but she was weightless in his arms. Just because she…

Simon wasn’t sure what to do with that thought as he trudged up the house’s stairs and toward the small bedroom at the back of the hallway. The bed was small, made smaller still when he set her down. He expected her to roll away immediately, curl into the blankets, something. Instead, she let out what Simon could only describe as an angry meow and her arm flopped back toward him as he stepped back.

Again, something twisted in the dark confines of Simon’s chest. He couldn’t, wouldn’t name it.

He turned on his heel and left the room.

“Steamin’ Jesus, LT!” Johnny groused as Simon rounded the stairs. Her small bag was in his hand. “When did ye even get up here?”

“Been ‘ere the entire time, Johnny. Keep up.” He took the bag from the sergeant’s hands without asking and pivoted back to her room. He set the bag—that he definitely didn’t have to rifle through when they first retrieved it from the hotel—down in front of the small dresser near the door. She was curled around the pillow now, hugging it basically into her face as continued to sleep. And if Simon watched her chest rise and fall with the next few breaths, well, that could be his little secret.

The safehouse wasn’t awful. You’d actually describe it as charming if you weren’t abundantly aware that you were basically a government informant against your will. It was two levels with three bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs, the eat-in kitchen, living room, office, washroom, and primary suite below. The appliances and decor were dated but again…charming. You weren’t dumb enough to walk into the office that Price had claimed. They had started setting up a hub of sorts with a satellite laptop, an assortment of phones, and a large array of weapons stored along the back wall. Not that you were cataloging everything in the house that you could use to make an escape. You weren’t that stupid.

God. You really needed to work on being more positive.

The sun was still rising by the time you’d found your bearings in the house and you took a chance to slip out the back door, hinges groaning in protest, and found a small stone patio leading out to a long stretch of tall, wild grass abutting a thick forest. A pair of rusty lawn chairs were positioned around a cold fire pit and you settled into one, content, for now, to not be in the way of everything going on inside. This was better.

Positive. Think positive. You wouldn’t have shitty paychecks anymore or have to deal with Doctor Brookes breathing down your neck and making you uncomfortable whenever he ‘surprised’ you down in the archives. You could finally pick up pilates. Maybe.

The wind whistled through the trees and rustled the grass. It was quiet here. You often fell asleep to the quiet scream of the city back in Chicago and London had been little different for the few days you’d managed to have before shit hit the fan. You’d always gone from one city to the next. You were sure you would miss the buzz of it soon, but for now? For now, this was nice.

You shut your eyes as another gust of wind brushed your face and you pulled in a reedy breath, trying to remember the techniques your therapist had taught you. Years ago. You probably should call her again after all this. Maybe. (You probably wouldn’t but it was a nice thought.)

There was a noise on the other side of the door, it could have been an argument, but you didn’t open your eyes or turn back toward the house. Wasn’t your problem. The less you heard, the better. Hearing things you weren’t supposed to was how you got into this mess in the first place.

Your head fell back against the chair as the sun finally started to peek out from behind the ever present clouds and you tried to angle your face to let the warmth wash over you. The crick in your neck from the flat hospital pillow was gone. The pillow on the little bed upstairs was comfortable. And no, you were not thinking about how someone must’ve carried you up to that tiny bedroom. And no, you weren’t hoping it was Ghost. He had been quiet and warm beside you during the drive to wherever-the-fuck-you-are and he’d been…nice. Sort of. They all had been. A little cold. A little guarded. Not that you could blame them. You were probably the same or worse in their eyes. And that was another reason you were out here, out of their way.

“-she?”

Your face scrunched as you caught the last bit of a question asked on the other side of the door. Were they talking about you? There was an answering rumble and then a, “fan out! Couldn’t’ve gone far.”

What on earth…? Whatever. Not your problem. You kept your face angled toward the sun and-

The door behind opened with a screech, banging against the stone wall and you hurried to your feet, turning with your heart in your throat to see Soap standing on the patio, chest heaving. His bright blue eyes trained on you. “What were ye doin’ out here, lass?”

“Sitting.” Out of habit, you pointed unhelpfully at the chair.

He glanced down at the chair, too, frowning, before turning and hollering into the house. “Found ‘er!” Soap waved you back inside and herded you into one of the chairs around the small dining room table and stood at your back as the others filtered in. Ghost was the last to come in, dark eyes unmoving from your face as he moved to lean against the far wall, a mass of black fabric against the cream colored plaster. Soap explained that you had gone outside. “Didnae look like she was running.” He even patted your uninjured shoulder like you were a kid. Wonderful.

“I told you I was sitting. I thought it would be better for everyone if I wasn’t, you know, bothering anyone.”

“How did you get outside?” Price asked.

“Door was open.”

Stupid.

The noise came from Ghost again and you still weren’t entirely sure if he was laughing. And perhaps the ridiculousness of the situation was making you bold, but you opened your mouth again. “Am I not supposed to go outside?”

“We just weren’t sure if you were pulling a runner,” Gaz supplied, helpfully.

They didn’t trust you. Still didn’t trust you. Great. And you really should’ve known that. You didn’t even know their names. Or what Ghost looked like under his masks. “I just…” The words were stiff on the back of your tongue. “I didn’t want to be in the way.” You’d also been kept in a tiny room for the last handful of days and the sun let you feel like a human again. But that felt like oversharing.

Price looked at you, his blue eyes a different shade than Soap’s but no less alarming. “You’re not in the way. You’re a target.” He paused and you tried to brace to be told to stay in your room or- “We’re here to help you. You help us, we help you, yeah? You kept my men alive and we’d like to return the favor.”

And to your abject horror, the simple statement had tears stinging your eyes. He sounded sincere and you were always so used to people saying stuff like that only to get what they wanted out of you. But this… “Right.” The single syllable warbled. God, this was embarrassing.

Ghost knew her routine.

It had been two weeks since they’d arrived at the safe house and she’d been a shadow for most of it. He wasn’t entirely sure why but she’d taken it upon herself to have coffee made first thing in the morning, waiting for them in the kitchen alongside a kettle ready to be warmed for tea. It was usually sitting beside a mountain of pancakes or waffles or some other sweet pastry. Today, she’d made fresh bread and set it beside the carafe with butter and jam.

She was never around to have breakfast with them. Or lunch. Or supper. She was a shadow when she was inside. She also seemed to be a reader, if the stack of books that had disappeared from the living room and reappeared on her bedside table was any indication (the phone and tablet they’d nicked from her bags back in London were also stuffed full of books). And he’d watched her take a book outside to read in the back garden whenever Price said it was allowed. She was also attempting a new workout regimen that Kyle said was supposed to be pilates but “it doesn’t look like she has the patience for it.” But Simon didn’t mind watching her stretch.

“Lass makes good breakfast,” Johnny said around a mouthful of buttery toast.

Simon grunted his agreement and grabbed another slice, smearing the raspberry jam across the top. On instinct, his eyes tracked to the stairwell, willing her to arrive. She never did. The only time she appeared was when Price called for her, wanting her to review what she’d overheard in the tunnels before one of Laswell’s other contacts went out to investigate and destroy anything they could. It chafed at all of their nerves, knowing they needed to stay put for now, laying low to throw Makarov off their own scent.

Simon hated that phrase, too. For now.

But Johnny was alive. Their team was safe. His teammates’ families were being looked after, just as a precaution. And they had at least some sort of intel on Makarov. He tried to focus on that.

And not on the curve of her lip or how he could smell her perfume on his clothes long after he had left her in that small bedroom upstairs. And not how he could hear her sigh through the night, thinking everyone else had gone to sleep.

Simon kept eating, devouring half the loaf she’d left before he noticed. Kyle gave him a tired glare over his own plate and took two more slices before Simon could stop him. And then Johnny did, too. And Price watched it all from over the edge of his tea before sighing and getting up. He disappeared into the kitchen for a moment before returning with another loaf of bread. “I guess she knew you lot would be hungry.”

Simon ignored how something twisted in his chest. Again.

It was better to just take another bite and think of what Farah and Alex should be reporting to Laswell soon, if all went to plan.

Price had said they wanted to keep you alive, a thank you for saving Soap. And they were kind to you, now that the initial rigidity had somewhat subsided. Gaz always checked on you throughout the day, made sure you took your medications with his megawatt smile and a joke or two. Soap could talk your ear off about anything and everything and you could almost understand his accent all the time now as you slowly made your way through your physical therapy requirements alongside him. And Price was usually all business with you when you needed to verify this or that, but he always thanked you and never minded when you asked for more books to read or food to be delivered so you could make more breakfast (which was all you could do, really. They were keeping you safe and you didn’t really have any skills to reciprocate except your weird ability to make a good breakfast so you offered it to them every morning before they woke up and skittered out of the way like a feral cat). And then there was Ghost. Who watched. He just watched and seemed to disappear whenever you had to blink. But he was just there. With his mask, cloth that reached just beneath his dark eyes and painted with a skull’s jaw (at least it wasn’t the one that looked like he’d sewn a piece of an actual skull onto some fabric), and that noise he made that you still couldn’t figure out if it was a laugh or not. He had helped you with your stitches, which was a kindness he didn’t need to extend to you but he did anyway.

And you hated that you sometimes thought about the weight of his hand on your back whenever you couldn’t sleep at night. The closest thing to an actual conversation you’d had with Ghost was when he’d snuck up on you (intentionally or not) when you were reading out in the infrequent sunshine and your embarrassment about being caught off guard manifested, as it often did, with you sticking your foot straight into your mouth. “So, do you have to special order all your skeleton stuff or do you hit up a hobby shop whenever you need it?” Ghost didn’t dignify that with a response other than that damn sound again.

And it didn’t really matter because you still needed to get back to Kirby. Her due date was barreling toward you and you were slowly trying to work up the courage to just ask if you could go see her. You had a speech planned out and you hoped that the breakfasts had at least softened them to you. The four men seemed to be at ease in the house, like things had been going their way in regards to the Makarov situation.

And Soap had said that he would talk to someone about you wanting to leave. You had to trust him in that regard. He didn’t seem the type to lie about that.

As you gnawed on the side of your thumb, making your way through another book, you heard the heavy steps of one of the men downstairs. They weren’t usually loud but men of that size didn’t move without a sound…most of the time.

Except for Ghost.

He was unnervingly quiet. Or would be, if it were anyone else. You found yourself wondering why you didn’t seem to mind when he appeared out of seemingly nowhere, like a wraith or…well, a ghost. Stupid. But the name did seem to fit.

You turned another page just as something thumped downstairs. And you knew you shouldn’t pry. It wasn’t your place and overhearing things was the reason you didn’t have a job, weren’t back in the States with your sister, and currently holed up in a safe house with men whose names you didn’t know. But when a second thump came and it was quickly followed by a grunt, you set your book aside and walked to your door, chanting that you knew this was stupid under your breath.

“Are they safe?” came Soap’s voice. Biting. Barely restrained. You’d never heard him like that before.

“They’re safe.” Laswell’s voice crackled over a speaker—probably the laptop Price was always glued to.

Peeking around the corner when you reached the ground floor, you saw Soap nod before turning quickly, dragging stiff fingers through his mohawk. It looked like someone had swiped one of the shelves clear of its contents, spilling books and baubles across the floor. That was probably what you had heard.

“They’re all safe, boys. I made sure of it myself.” She was using that same tone she used with you when you woke up on base. Placating. Cool confidence. It scratched at something in the recesses of your brain, pinging warning bells that something was very, very wrong. More than a mission. More than a brother-in-arms out in the field.

“What about-”

“All of them. I personally saw to it.”

There was another stretched silence and you took the chance to inch closer to the office. Well. You tried to inch closer before a hand clamped over your arm and you were tugged back into the stairwell. Ghost stared down at you, unblinking.

“I heard something,” you whispered, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you could think of a better—less suspicious—explanation as to why you’d been creeping in the shadows.

Ghost didn’t say anything.

“Is…” You licked your lips as your heart gave an uncomfortable lurch behind your ribs. “Is everything okay?”

“Listenin’ like that ain’t a good look.”

Something hot and angry slithered down your spine. Did he really expect you to just stay upstairs and only come down when called like a dog? You’d had enough of that. “I’m not doing anything wrong. I heard a noise.”

“And ‘id in the shadows.”

You could feel the sneer starting to curl your mouth. “I’m sorry, did I take your hiding spot?”

And then he made that fucking noise again. That sharp breath. “Heh.”

“Are you laughing at me?”

And then he did it again. “‘course I am.”

Really, you should have been absolutely pissed. And you were. But that snarl started to twist and push and you found yourself fighting a smile because his laugh was ridiculous. A man that large should not be allowed to laugh like that. “Whatever.”

His grip on your arm tightened a fraction, thumb pressing into the delicate crease of your elbow, before he tugged you back toward the office. You halfheartedly tried to ignore how his fingers trailed against your arm when he dropped his hold. And it didn’t seem like he did it on purpose because he was busy talking to Soap about something—you heard the word sitrep and you weren’t about to ask what that meant.

Not when you realized you were staring at the remnants of a destroyed home. Pictures upon pictures filled the small screen of the laptop and your stomach sank the more you looked. That was someone’s home. A couch was gutted and overturned. A stereo was broken into pieces. And frames were smashed. It was one of the last pictures that had your veins turning to ice. It was a picture of Soap, surrounded by women who could only be his family, bright, shining smiles behind shattered glass.

That was Soap’s family home.

And you were sure Gaz, Price and Ghost all had families, too. There were pieces of their lives scattered on that small screen. They had been targeted. Or at least their houses had been.

Gaz was the first one to catch your eye and he gave you a tight smile. “Didn’t think you would want to see this, love.”

“I…” The words you could have said dried on your tongue. What could you say to someone who just learned that their family was in danger? “Is there anything I can do?”

Simon watched her retreat back up the stairs. It had been kind, he supposed, for her to offer her help. She couldn’t do anything. Nothing that she hadn’t already done. But he saw the flash of concern in her eyes before it disappeared again as she nodded, quietly leaving the office when told to do so.

“Has there been any movement against her sister?” Kyle asked but Simon saw his eyes dart to the picture of his dad’s overturned office.

“We have her monitored, but I don’t think Makarov knows of her either. She isn’t on any sort of official documentation we can find.”

“Shouldn’t there be birth certificates? Where’s their mum?” Price asked.

Things weren’t adding up. There were holes in all of this. Simon crossed his arms as he let the others talk.

“Her mother’s dead. Dead for decades. And before you ask, Kirby has a different mother. Only Kirby has a father listed.”

“Same father, then?”

“A possibility. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s dead, too.” Laswell sighed, crackling the line.

Simon’s eyes dragged across the destruction Makarov had brought across his teammates’ families’ homes. His stomach churned, just for a moment, remembering a different home, a different family, with no one there to shuttle them off to a safer haven.

Just as quickly as the thought came, it left. Just as it always did. And the scent of her perfume lingered and how she looked more sad than scared when she saw the pictures.

You hadn’t really known what you could do when you asked if there was anything you could do so it only stung a little when you were dismissed. After sneaking a bit of dinner from the kitchen, trying to not listen to anything still coming from the office, you readied for bed and managed to fall into a dreamless sleep after finishing your book.

Brief, bright light had your eyes snapping open. You waited for a moment, your frown growing deeper, wanting to know if it would happen again. And it did, bursting through the small window for a split second.

Someone was outside.

Scraaaaape.

You frowned at the ceiling and tried to filter through the possibilities. Animals. Wind. But the scraping sound came again and it twisted at something in your gut. You were supposed to be alone out here. Isolated.

Safe.

But something was screaming at the back of your mind that this wasn’t right.

The noise came again and you slid off the bed as your heart inched its way up your throat. Something was wrong. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. On quiet feet, you moved toward the window, trying to keep your back pressed to the wall, hidden in shadows. And then you heard the scrape again. And then a rhythmic thudding across the dead grass.

Something glinted, catching the moonlight. And your heart nearly stopped before beating a painful staccato against your ribs. Guns. Men with guns. Men with guns were surrounding the house, sliding out of the trees behind the house and slinking closer. One of them held a flashlight—that had been the light.

“Fuck.” You turned and tried to find something, anything that could be used as a weapon. The only thing that you thought could work was the lamp, heavy enough to cause some damage but only once. It was better than nothing. You slid back toward it and-

The room tilted as a tight grip dug into the back of your neck and hauled you backward. Before you could scream, another hand clamped over your throat. Your next breath wheezed out from between your teeth and you blindly tried to pry the thick fingers from around your windpipe but only served to have the grip on your neck tighten. “There you are, little brat.”

The accent was harsh and flashes of your time in the tunnels sped through your mind. They were back. Makarov’s men.

“Now, tell us what-”

“I know nothing,” was your wheezed reply. It was a knee jerk reaction and not a complete lie but that hardly mattered with your heart beating wildly behind your ribs.

But the grip on your throat tightened a fraction more. “You’ve been living with them for weeks. You know nothing? Useless American,” the man sneered, spittle splashing against your cheek.

Your therapist had once said you were impulsive. And she might have mentioned trauma and the need for continued meetings but that didn’t stop your tongue from lashing. “You call me useless?” Black dots were lining the edges of your vision. “I wouldn’t tell you a-anything even if I did know. Go fuck yourself!” The last word was garbled on your leaden tongue as the grip on your throat tightened and completely cut off your airway.

“What did you tell them, then, hm?” More spit landed your face. He grumbled something in Russian your addled brain couldn’t comprehend and the black edging in on your vision grew darker, lungs burning with each empty pull you tried to take. Your nails dug into the man’s hands around your throat but his grip didn’t falter. Even as your vision tunneled, you knew you had to do something.

Anything.

Kirby was waiting for you. Blindly, you thrust a hand out and the tips of your fingers slipped across the lamp’s shade. You thrashed against the man’s grip and you might have heard him laugh but you still tried again until your hand closed around the flimsy shade and you yanked it up and backward with a croaked shout. It cracked in your grasp but it made contact, raining shards of porcelain against the side of your face.

Your next breath burned as the vice of his hands opened. You didn’t waste a moment and yanked yourself away from him, only managing to collapse onto the bed on your belly as your knees knocked together. A slew of curses punched out of his mouth and you turned to see blood pouring from a large cut above his eye.

Good.

He wiped at his face, smearing blood across his cheeks, before lunging for you.

You threw yourself off the other side of the bed, legs slamming against the floor but he did not follow. You stood and turned, ready to-

-a hand pressed over your mouth and stifled the scream you felt blooming behind your teeth. “Quiet,” Ghost whispered.

It was then you noticed the man, unmoving on the floor. A knife embedded in his left eye.

You nodded, the fabric of Ghost’s gloves scratching your lips. He was here. He was with you. It snapped and fizzled at something in your belly but was quickly snuffed out by the quick pop-pop-pop of gunfire downstairs. Ghost didn’t flinch at all—not that you expected him to. Instead, he dropped his hold on you and grabbed one of your hands, moving to thread your fingers through the belt loop on his side, a silent command you followed readily. He pulled a gun from its holster and turned, quietly tugging you along as he moved out into the hallway.

The sound of more gunfire battered your ears as Ghost led you down the short hallway and down the stairs. You didn’t say anything as you stepped over one, two, three bodies on your way down. Ghost was a solid mass in front of you, unwavering and his gun ready. Before you could blink, he moved, shoving you to the side and you tightened your grip on his belt loop as he fired off two rounds right where you were about to step.

The next body hit the floor without any fanfare and he continued to tug you along. The house wasn’t big—you knew this—but it felt massive as he continued to lead you toward the front door. As you stepped out into the living room, both Gaz and Soap emerged from the shadows, guns drawn and tac vests thrown over their shirts. They flanked you as Ghost continued to lead you out onto the front yard where the SUV rumbled, Price behind the wheel.

A quick flash of light caught your eye and you saw the left side of the house catch fire–quickly. And then the world tilted on its axis, sliding beneath your feet—oh wait, no. Ghost had just grabbed your shirt and wrapped an arm around your waist and threw you into the car. No one screamed at Price to “move move move” like they did in the movies but Ghost hauled himself in behind you and immediately grabbed the back of your neck and shoved you down toward the floorboards. “Keep down,” he said, voice just a touch above his usual drawl. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to, the grip on your neck smarting. You’d probably be bruised before the sun came up. You did chance a look up as the car rocked side to side, racing through the field and over the hidden bumps and rocks. Gaz and Soap had guns trained on the back window as Ghost kept his hand anchored on the back of your neck. But you shivered when his thumb brushed against your hammering pulse.

He must have felt it because he did it again.

What a way to end the night.

Next Chapter

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think! I'm not going to lie, getting less than 1/3 of part one's notes on part two bummed me out. I'm considering only posting this on ao3 as I seem to get at least a little more engagement there. Let me know what you think! Because, yes, while I write for me, it is shared with you guys and I'd like to know if you're enjoying it.

#simon riley x reader #Simon Ghost Riley x reader #Simon Riley x you #Ghost x reader #cod x reader #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #female reader

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shizuturnspages · 1 month ago

Note

Please Consider: Yan! Diluc with a darling he met in Snezhnaya, she helped and comforted him, sharing food, letting him stay with her etc. The two end up parting ways.... only for her to move to Mondstadt 2 years later!

A Tale of Reunion and Obsession

Pairing: Yandere Diluc x Snezhnayan Reader

The cold winds of Snezhnaya had never been kind to outsiders. Diluc knew this better than anyone.

He had left Mondstadt with nothing but grief and anger, his father’s death still a fresh wound, the warmth of home replaced with the bitter bite of vengeance. It was in this unforgiving land that he found himself wandering, his body exhausted, his resolve pushing him forward through the relentless snowstorms.

And then, he met you.

You had found him, a lone figure struggling against the snow, a man who refused to ask for help.

But you had offered it anyway.

"Come inside before you freeze to death."

You had said it so simply, as if it was the easiest thing in the world to extend kindness to a stranger. To him.

For the first time in what felt like years, Diluc hesitated. He did not trust easily. He could not afford to. But you had smiled—warm despite the cold world around you—and he had felt something in his chest tighten.

And so, he followed you.

Into your small home, into the warmth of a fire that wasn’t his own, into a world where, for a brief moment, he was not alone.

You shared your food with him, placing a steaming bowl in front of him without hesitation.

"Eat. You look like you need it."

He had not spoken much at first, his words frozen on his tongue. But you had spoken enough for both of you, talking about small things, about life in Snezhnaya, about the people who came and went, about the things that made you laugh.

And somehow, he listened.

He let your voice fill the silence that had become his constant companion.

He let your presence seep into his thoughts, into the cracks of his weary heart.

And when he finally spoke, you listened. You listened to his grief, to the pain he carried, to the anger that burned beneath his skin.

You did not flinch when he admitted what he had lost.

You did not turn away when he confessed his hatred for the Fatui, for the very nation he had found himself in.

"Not all of us follow them, you know."

He had looked at you then, truly looked at you, as if searching for a lie.

But you had only smiled.

And for the first time in a long time, his anger did not consume him.

He stayed with you for a few nights, resting, recovering.

Every morning, you would wake before him, already preparing food, already making sure the fire was still burning.

And every night, you would talk to him, coaxing words from him, softening the edges of his rage.

He had not known what to make of you.

You were not a warrior. You were not someone who fought battles in the dead of night.

You were simply kind.

And that terrified him more than any enemy he had faced.

Because kindness was dangerous.

You were dangerous.

And so, when it was time for him to leave, he did not allow himself to look back.

He did not allow himself to thank you properly, to tell you that you had given him something he thought he had lost forever.

Warmth.

Home.

And then he was gone.

Two years passed.

Two long years where he convinced himself it was just a memory. A passing kindness from a stranger he would never meet again.

And then, one evening, he walked into Mondstadt’s tavern—and there you were.

Sitting at the bar, your back to him, laughing softly as you spoke with the bartender.

His heart stopped.

It was impossible. It couldn’t be you.

But it was.

His hands clenched, his breath caught in his throat, his entire body stiff with an emotion so foreign to him that it terrified him.

Why were you here?

Why Mondstadt?

Why now?

He watched as you thanked the bartender, standing from your seat, preparing to leave—

And something inside him snapped.

"Wait."

The word was out before he could stop it.

You turned, confused at first, but then—

Recognition.

Your eyes widened.

"Diluc?"

His name on your lips was like flames licking at his skin.

You smiled, eyes filled with something soft, something gentle.

"It’s been so long… I never thought I’d see you again."

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

And then you stepped closer, and it was over.

He had lost himself again.

Your return to his life was nothing short of fate.

At least, that was what he told himself.

You belonged here. You belonged with him.

He wasted no time inserting himself into your days—finding reasons to see you, to speak with you, to keep you close.

And at first, it was innocent.

You were happy to see him again, eager to catch up, unaware of the way his eyes never left you, of the way his hands twitched to hold you still.

He would listen, quietly, as you spoke of your decision to move, of how you wanted to experience a life beyond the cold of Snezhnaya.

"Mondstadt is so warm compared to what I'm used to," you had laughed, stretching your arms toward the sky.

Warm.

Yes, it was warm.

But no warmth compared to you.

He could still feel the ghost of that night—the scent of burning wood, the softness of your touch as you had adjusted his coat, the quiet hum of your voice.

And he needed it again.

No—he needed more.

Because now that you were here, in his city, in his reach—

He would never let you go.

The idea of you leaving again was unthinkable.

"I’m glad you’re here," he told you one evening, his voice quiet, his gloved fingers barely brushing against yours.

You smiled. Oblivious.

"I’m glad too."

His heart ached.

No, you didn’t understand.

You didn’t realize that he had already decided.

You were his.

You had always been his.

And if you ever tried to leave him again—

He would not be so kind.

#shizuwrites #writers on tumblr #fyppage #fypシ #fyp #yandere #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin yandere #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact diluc #diluc #genshin diluc #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr #yandere diluc #snezhnaya #monstadt

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swift-works · 17 days ago

Text

Enchanted

masterlist | part two

pairing: portgas d. ace x isekai!reader

word count: 1.7k

summary: After inheriting your grandmother's house, you find a seemingly normal mirror in the attic. When night falls however, the mirror becomes a portal into your favorite fictional world and who better to greet you than your favorite character. Can you change his fate or see him to his doom?

tags: isekai!reader, SFW, trying to keep this as gender neutral as possible, mentions of grief and minor character death?

a/n: this is very loosely based on the movie "love across time" i had the idea through a scene on TikTok and watched the movie for a better idea of what i was going to do and this was the result! I wrote over 1k words and them completely rewrote this 🫠

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It all started when your grandmother died. Bless her soul, she was one of the few people you had left in this world. Your parents were out of the picture and you had no siblings. Granny was the one who raised you and you were there to keep her company during her last years. You had known it was only a matter of time when she took a turn for the worse a few months ago. In a blink of an eye, your little family of two turned into just you.

The funeral had already been planned. That woman had to have things go exactly as she wanted even from beyond the grave. All of the funeral proceedings had passed in a blur. One moment you were saying your final goodbyes and the next her casket was being lowered into the ground. You felt numb, even if you knew this had to happen eventually. Even though you had other friends, your grandma was your best friend. You didn’t have a clue what you were going to do without her.

You were the sole inheritor of her will. All of her assets, including the house, were now in your name. You didn’t really care for anything except the house. It was home. It still carried her scent and everything reminded you of her. You spent the next few days going through boxes of memories that she had under her bed. A teary smile painting your face the entire time. The pictures proved how much she loved you. You’d miss her for the rest of your life.

There must have been more boxes somewhere. Memory lane had you in its nostalgia inducing grip. The only other place you could think of was the attic. It wasn’t your favorite place. Dust, cobwebs and an interesting smell awaited you. As soon as you made your way into the attic, you let out a sneeze. You don’t think anyones cleaned up here in years. There were many boxes, mostly filled with old toys, baby blankets and holiday decorations. Old sheet covered furniture was tucked in the corner.

A glint of light caught your eye. Your eyes followed the path to find a half covered mirror. It was practically calling your attention. You pulled the rest of the sheet off, coughing when a wave of dust flew off. The mirror frame was beautiful. Covered in elegant golden carvings, it was full length and in perfect condition. Why was this collecting dust up here? You wondered if you could bring it downstairs by yourself. Luckily, when you tried moving it, it wasn’t difficult to move. You were able to wrangle it down the attic stairs with ease. The question now was where to place it.

It was too big for the hallway and you didn’t want to move anything from the living room. No other room was a good fit so it looked like you’d be rearranging your room. Weeks of clothes build up had been cleared away and you made space next to your window. The mirror fit snugly against the wall and brought a certain pop to your room. You adjusted the mirror so that the lighting would complement your figure. Once you were satisfied, you decided you needed a quick snack break.

It's safe to say you got side tracked and completely forgot what you originally went to the attic for. You guess that’d have to wait another day because you did not feel like doing anything else for the day. Maybe it was time to pick up where you left off on One Piece. You had left off right before the time skip, having needed a nice break after Marineford. Then your grandma's health had worsened and you just hadn’t gotten around to continuing. A couple of episodes went by before you grew drowsy and started to nod off.

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You woke up a few hours later to a dark room. The tv had turned off sometime when you fell asleep. You got up and stretched. It probably wasn’t a good idea to take a nap so late. Might as well go to your room and hopefully get a few more hours of sleep. As you made your way into your room to get ready for bed, you didn’t notice a golden shimmer materialize across the mirror. So it came as a shock when you passed in front of the mirror and your reflection was not looking back at you. In fact, it wasn't even your room that appeared. There wasn’t anything appearing. It looked like a giant white canvas, as if a sheet was covering it but there was no sheet.

Odd. You chalked it up to being groggy from your nap. It was better than thinking that you were starting to hallucinate. The mirror was tomorrow's problem. Right now, you just wanted to go back to sleep. You only had a few more days before you were supposed to go back to work so you needed to get a bunch of stuff done this weekend. As you were drifting back to sleep, you swore you could hear faint chatter and the sound of the ocean. ‘I thought the tv was off?’ was your last thought before you fell back to sleep.

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The Moby Dick was a large ship. Too big to be sent on a scavenger hunt. Having to search all of the storage rooms to find a few measly things was like some sort of punishment. Oh wait, it was.

Ace had ‘forgotten’ to do a report on one of the 2nd divisions' latest missions. So here he was after a stern lecture from Marco, given a list of things to check off for inventory. He was told that he had to complete the list before dinner or Thatch wouldn’t save him any. That jerk. Ace thought it was a waste of time for him but had quickly silenced himself with a look from Marco. ‘Well you should have used your time to write up a mission report but here we are.’ he had remarked while handing Ace the list and walking off.

Well, hours had passed and so had dinner. Ace could hear his stomach growling. There was only one thing left on the list. All he had to do was find some bed sheets for the infirmary. The light in the room was dim so Ace used his devil fruit to navigate the darker spots. Aha! There were some sheets draped over some old boxes. He had taken the sheet from the largest box only to find it wasn’t a box, it was a mirror. How odd for such an elegant looking thing to be stuffed in the back of a storage room. Must have been Izo’s. He shrugged and checked another box that was full of sheets. Nodding to himself, Ace checked off the final box on the list. Hopefully Thatch wouldn’t mind him getting a midnight meal.

Before he left though, the mirror caught his eye again. There was a faint golden shimmer before his reflection shifted. Instead of his surroundings, a bedroom appeared on the other side. Ace tilted his head. “Huh, who knew we had a magic mirror.” He lifted his hand to the mirror but it was stopped by the glass. He was so absorbed in the idea of a mysterious mirror that he didn’t notice the figure on the other side. A shriek rang out and he snapped back to attention and held out his hands.

“Woah woah woah! No need for screaming. I can’t hurt you or anything. Not that I would want to hurt you.” Ace rambled on. He took in the figure who had appeared and his cheeks flushed. You were cute. The last thing he wanted to do was scare someone who was cute. It was totally not cool of him. He noticed that you made no movements and your face was frozen in shock.

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Oh god, there was someone in your mirror. It had been days since you saw something odd in the mirror but when you woke up the next morning, it was totally normal. This was not a totally normal mirror. You had come into your room after a long day from work and suddenly a man was in your mirror. The room behind him was dim so you could barely make out his figure even as he tried to calm you down.

You could barely focus on what he was saying but, you could've sworn you've heard that voice before. That voice. It was on the tip of your tongue. You realized he wasn’t speaking anymore and snapped back to attention. “Okay, I’m gonna hope that you’re not real and I’m actually talking to myself or this is a weird dream. Who are you and why are you in my mirror?”

“Your mirror? I’m pretty sure that you’re in my mirror, not that I mind.” He shrugged and sent you a wink. Unfortunately for him, you didn’t catch it.

“I’m gonna ignore that last part, mirror man. And you didn’t answer my question.” You crossed your arms.

“Mirror man? That's the best you could come up with? You’re telling me that you don’t recognize me? I’m a very wanted man. I’ll tell you who I am when you tell me who you are, shrieker.”

Oh so you had a wanted criminal in your mirror. This was just what you needed. Well, it appeared that he wasn’t hostile. So you told him your name. “Okay you have my name, can I finally know yours and also maybe see who I’m talking to. You have really bad lighting.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.” He lit his hand on fire. You gasped in shock. He continued on as if it was perfectly normal for him. As the flaming hand drew near to his face, you could begin to make out his features. He was tall, lean and shirtless. It also looked like he had a tattoo. Wait. Wait. Suddenly it clicked why that voice was so familiar. You knew who it was before you could see his face. This was impossible. The figure was-

“Since you wanna know my name so badly, it’s Ace. Portgas D Ace.”

You could barely make out warm brown eyes and a sea of freckles before everything went black. The last thing you heard was a panicked voice calling out.

end of part one | next part

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a/n: i have not liked anything i've written this week but that's life as a writer. this is probably going to be like 3 or 4 parts? maybe more who knows. not me. i hope everyone enjoyed :) i'm gonna try and finish up my other two fics i'm working on. i've been trying to keep these gender neutral so let me know if i slip up please! or if y'all want fem!reader ~ anna

#one piece #one piece x reader #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace #x reader #portgas d ace x you #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace #reader insert #portgas d ace x y/n #op #one piece ace #one piece portgas d ace #ace #ace x reader #swift-works

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babyscottoncandy · 17 days ago

Text

Scott Street

Steve Harrington,, Stranger Things

Summary: Steve Harrington x Thought-Daughter¡Fem Reader,, childhood bestfriends turned distant when highschool hit. Steve Harrington become "King Steve," popular - a jock - and an asshole. (Y/n) was Hawkins Highschool's odd one out, a girl so sensitive the sight of a bug dying would be bound to make her cry.

TW: Angst,, Mentions o/DV,, Bullying

Based off of the song "Scott Street" by Phoebe Bridgers

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The world didn’t change overnight, but to her, it felt like it did. One day, Steve Harrington was the boy who shared his pudding cup with her at lunch, who knocked on her window when it rained so they could count thunder together. The next, he was gone—still there, in the halls of Hawkins High, but in a way that made her feel lonelier than if he’d moved away entirely.

They used to sit in the grass after school, making stories out of clouds. He’d make her laugh so hard her stomach hurt, and she’d braid wildflowers into his hair. But high school swallowed him whole.

“King Steve,” they called him. She heard it whispered down the corridors, loud and smug. He grew into broad shoulders and better hair and laughter that wasn’t hers anymore. His eyes didn’t meet hers in the hallways, even when they passed close enough for their arms to brush. Sometimes she thought they did—flickers of recognition, of old softness—but they always left too quickly.

She stayed the same. Sensitive, quiet, strange. The girl who cried when she found a crushed ladybug in her locker. The one who still hummed to herself when she was nervous and counted ceiling tiles when the class got too loud. She wasn’t cool, not in the way Steve was. Not in the way Hawkins expected her to be.

She watched him laugh with people who’d never known how he once cried when her cat died. She saw him push someone into a locker once—Steve, her Steve. Her chest tightened, and she swallowed down the ache because she didn’t know him anymore. Maybe he never really knew her either.

He still wore that stupid jean jacket she patched up when they were thirteen.

He still walked like he owned the world, but sometimes his shoulders drooped when he thought no one was looking.

And when she saw him hugging a girl by the bleachers, their bodies pressed close in a way that felt nothing like how they used to hug—fast and warm and so full of trust—it hit her.

They hug now. Not her and Steve. Just Steve and other people. And all she could think about was how loud the thunder was without him.

It was after gym class, the air still thick with sweat and tired laughter, when it happened.

(Y/n) had taken the long way to the cafeteria, hands gripping her worn notebook like it was a shield. Her cardigan sleeves swallowed her fingers. Her hair was wind-tossed, lips chapped from biting them all morning. She had that faraway look again—the one that made people whisper.

Tommy H. was the first to say something. Of course he was.

“Hey, Harrington,” he snorted, elbowing Steve in the ribs. “There’s your girlfriend. Still writing love poems to dead birds or whatever?” Laughter, sharp and mean, echoed through the hall.

Carol chimed in, voice syrupy and cruel. “Remember when she cried during that biology video last year? Literal fetal pigs and she started sobbing like it was Bambi’s mom. Freak.”

Steve chuckled under his breath. Just a little. The kind of laugh that wasn’t real but felt like betrayal anyway.

He didn’t say anything. Not please don’t, not she’s harmless, not hey, shut up. Nothing.

He stood there with his stupid good hair and his silence, not looking at her, not really.

She heard it all. Every word. She always did. Her footsteps slowed, then kept going, stiff and measured like she could out-walk the burn in her chest. Her notebook trembled in her grip, knuckles white. She didn’t cry—not this time. Not in front of them.

But Steve saw her shoulders tense. Saw the way she pulled into herself like a house during a storm.

He looked down at his shoes, then up at his friends, all still laughing like it was nothing.

And he said nothing. Again. Because silence was easier than remembering how she once sewed his Halloween costume when his mom forgot.

Because silence didn’t make him weak, didn’t make him weird, didn’t make him hers.

He told himself it didn’t matter.

But when he went to sleep that night, all he could see was the back of her cardigan vanishing down the hallway—and he hated himself for not running after her.

The sky was dipped in amber, the kind of golden-hour haze that made even Hawkins look soft. (Y/n) walked home in silence, the air cool against her cheeks, her fingers curled into the sleeves of her sweater. Her headphones dangled uselessly around her neck—no music today. Just the sound of her boots on the pavement and the echo of laughter that still rang in her ears.

Their table. Their jokes. Him.

She rounded the corner to her street, the familiar ache settling in her chest like clockwork. Home wasn’t far—just a few more steps past the crooked mailbox and the rusted bike chained to the stop sign.

Then she saw him.

Steve.

He was sitting on the edge of his driveway, back hunched, elbows on his knees, fingers running through his hair like he didn’t know what to do with them. His car sat beside him, gleaming even in the fading light, but he wasn’t looking at it. He was looking at nothing.

Or maybe everything.

She froze for a second, heart thudding louder than the traffic in the distance. He hadn’t seen her yet. His face was different now—unmasked, tired in a way she never saw at school. The fake confidence he wore like armor had slipped. He looked… like the boy who used to knock on her window with a flashlight and a smile.

She kept walking. Didn’t stop. Didn’t wave.

Her house was directly across from his, the porch light flickering as she stepped up onto it. She felt his eyes on her before she closed the door behind her.

But still—nothing. No words. No apology. No hey, remember me?

Just silence between two houses.

Just memories in the cracks of the pavement.

Just her, alone again, with the ghost of who he used to be sitting across the street.

She found him behind the school, leaning against the wall, cigarette in hand like he was in a movie. Golden light cut across his face, casting shadows under his eyes. He looked older. Tired. But not sorry.

“Can I help you?” he asked when he noticed her. His voice was flat, guarded.

(Y/n) didn’t answer right away. She just stared at him, arms crossed tight over her chest like she was holding herself together.

“I heard you laughing,” she finally said. Her voice was quiet, but it trembled with something sharp. “When they made fun of me today.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. He looked away, exhaled smoke, said nothing.

“I wasn’t even doing anything. Just… existing. And you laughed.”

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” he muttered.

“But you didn’t stop them either,” she snapped, louder now. “You just stood there. Like you always do.”

Steve’s gaze flicked back to her, annoyance flashing in his eyes. “What do you want from me, (Y/n)?”

“I want you to care.” Her voice cracked on the word. “Like you used to.”

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “That was a long time ago.” She blinked, like that somehow hurt more than anything else.

“So that’s it?” she asked. “You just… changed? He looked at her for a long moment, eyes unreadable. “Yeah. I did.”

She stepped forward, her voice shaking but fierce. “No. You didn’t change. You just learned how to pretend better. You turned into someone they would like. Someone who thinks silence is better than kindness.”

He flinched.

“You used to be the one who stood up for people like me,” she said, softer now, more broken. “You used to be my person.” Steve’s mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

“You didn’t change,” she whispered. “You just stopped being you.”

And with that, she turned and walked away. He didn’t follow. He never did.

The hall was alive with chatter, lockers slamming shut, papers rustling, the occasional shriek of laughter echoing off the walls. Just another day in Hawkins High.

Steve was rummaging through his locker, distracted, hands moving fast as he looked for something—probably a textbook he hadn’t touched all year. And then it happened.

The photo slipped out. It had been tucked inside a forgotten notebook, yellowing at the corners, bent from too many years of being crammed into small spaces.

It fluttered to the floor like a memory falling too fast to catch.

Tommy H. got to it first. He bent down, picked it up, and let out a laugh—loud and obnoxious.

“Yo, Harrington,” he called, holding it up. “What is this?” Carol leaned over his shoulder, snorting. “No way. Is that you with Bug Girl?”

The photo was small, faded—taken sometime in middle school. Steve and (Y/n), maybe twelve years old, sitting cross-legged in a yard that used to feel like the whole world. Her face was lit up with a smile, eyes crinkled with laughter. Steve had his arm around her, his head tilted toward hers like gravity pulled them together.

There was a ladybug crawling on her hand.

“I didn’t know you were such a freak back then, Harrington,” Tommy said, waving the photo around like a trophy. “What, was this your girlfriend or your pet project?”

Someone else laughed. “She looks like she named that bug Steve Jr.” Steve snatched the photo back.

“Shut up,” he said, but it was too soft. Not angry enough. Not anything enough.

The thing about healing is that it doesn’t happen all at once.

(Y/n) didn’t wake up one day and stop flinching when people laughed too loud near her. She didn’t suddenly feel brave walking through the halls of Hawkins High. But eventually—slowly, quietly—she stopped looking for Steve in every corner.

She started smiling again. Just little ones. At first it was at books. Then the sun. Then at him.

His name was Jamie Rivers. He was a senior like her—quiet, a little awkward, the kind of guy who said “excuse me” even when someone else bumped into him. He sat behind her in English and once lent her his pen when hers ran out during a quiz. It wasn’t much. But it felt different.

He didn’t tease her. Didn’t ask why she talked to trees sometimes during lunch, or why she got misty-eyed reading poetry. He just liked her. Genuinely. For who she was, not who she was trying to be.

And she liked him back.

Their first date was to a little diner just outside of town. He picked her up in a beat-up car that smelled like pine and nervous energy. She wore her favorite sweater. He complimented it without laughing. She let him hold her hand halfway through their milkshakes.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t like Steve.

But that was the point.

They started dating. Holding hands in the hallway. Sharing books. Laughing—real, bright, unguarded laughter.

And Steve noticed.

It started with the smallest things.

Steve didn’t even realize how much he noticed her until she wasn’t looking at him anymore.

At first, it was a glance in the hallway—her laugh echoing off the lockers, soft and unrecognizable because it wasn’t being filtered through sadness. He turned his head on instinct, expecting to find her walking alone like always, arms wrapped around herself like a shield.

But she wasn’t alone.

Jamie was there. Walking next to her, leaning just a little too close, his hands stuffed in his pockets like he was trying not to reach for her—but failing. Steve watched her bump his shoulder playfully, watched Jamie grin like he’d just won something.

And maybe he had.

That was the first time Steve felt it—the tightness in his throat. The weird mix of jealousy and guilt that tasted like copper.

Then there was the library. She used to sit alone, her hair a curtain around her notebook, scribbling stories no one else ever saw. But now she sat with Jamie, their heads close together, smiling over a shared paperback. Steve stood at the end of the aisle for too long, pretending to look for something, pretending his stomach didn’t drop when Jamie touched her hand and she didn’t pull away.

And then there was the cafeteria.

It was loud, like always. Everyone was talking over each other, jokes flying, food being swapped and stolen. But Steve wasn’t listening.

He was watching her.

She sat two tables over, knees tucked up under her on the bench, her tray barely touched. Jamie said something, and she laughed, head thrown back, eyes bright.

Not the cautious kind of laugh she used to give him—the quiet kind, like she was always waiting for it to be taken away.

This one was full. Free.

He hated how beautiful it looked on her.

He hated how he didn’t know the joke.

And he hated—really hated—how Jamie leaned in, pressed a kiss to her temple, and she just smiled, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Steve looked away, jaw tight, fingers clenched around his soda can until it crumpled.

“Dude,” Tommy said next to him, oblivious. “What’s your deal?” Steve didn’t answer.

Because how do you explain that you let someone slip away so slowly, you didn’t even notice until she was already someone else’s reason to smile?

He used to be the sun she revolved around. Now she didn’t even glance at his orbit.

Months had passed since Steve first saw her with Jamie, but it still felt fresh. Like every time he saw them together, it was the first time, and it punched him in the gut all over again.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

No, the worst part was how he kept seeing them. Over and over, their hands intertwined, their heads close together, sharing whispers and laughs that he used to be the one to hear. Every time he thought he might be getting used to it, they appeared in the hallway, laughing over something he wasn’t a part of.

She was still the girl he remembered—the girl who loved the quiet hum of rain against windows, who would talk for hours about the stars and the way they were just like people, always disappearing only to return again. But now, she spoke about those things with Jamie. Not him.

And God, how it hurt.

Steve had changed. He had become the guy who ignored his friends’ snickers when they noticed him staring at her. He was “King Steve,” the jock with all the answers—but he wasn’t fooling anyone. He wasn’t fooling himself. He missed her more than he could admit.

The phone rang, its sharp sound cutting through the late-night quiet of Steve’s room. His heart stuttered as he glanced at the clock—past midnight. He wasn’t expecting anyone to be calling at this hour.

When he saw the name flash on the screen, he felt a sudden tightening in his chest. It was (Y/n).

He picked up the receiver quickly, his voice hoarse. “Hello?”

There was a long pause on the other end, just enough to make his nerves spike. Then, he heard her voice—familiar, but something was different. It was faint and off, like she was holding her breath.

“Steve…?” (Y/n)’s voice trembled, and he could feel the unease in every word.

“(Y/n), hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?” he asked, sitting up straighter, his heart racing. Something was wrong. He could tell from the tone.

“I… I need you to pick me up,” she said quickly, her words stumbling over each other. “I’m at a party… down by Oak Street. I… I just—I need to leave. It’s bad here, Steve.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll come get you. Where exactly are you?” His voice was urgent, the concern now clear in every syllable.

But then, she hesitated again. A long, shaky breath followed. “It’s nothing, Steve. I… I just fell. I tripped, I guess. It’s really nothing. I’m fine. I… I just want to go home. Please.”

The words hit Steve like a cold punch to the stomach. He could hear the unsteady breath in her voice, the way she was trying to cover it up. Nothing?

It didn’t sound like nothing.

“(Y/n), are you sure?” Steve pressed, his voice soft but firm. “You’re not fine. You don’t sound fine. What happened?”

There was another pause on the line. And in that silence, Steve could practically hear the panic in her trying to cover it up, to hide something she was too scared to say out loud.

“Steve, please…” She sounded almost pleading now, voice cracking at the edges. “I just want to go home. It’s not a big deal. I just… tripped. Please. Just come pick me up. I’ll be fine.”

But Steve wasn’t buying it. Not for a second. There was something wrong—something more than just a “trip.”

He ran his hand through his hair, heart hammering. “(Y/n), I’m on my way. Stay on the phone with me, okay? Don’t hang up.”

“Okay, yeah. I will. I’ll wait.” Her voice was small, far too small. The desperation beneath it was hard to ignore.

“I’m coming. Don’t hang up. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Steve said, his voice sharp now, even as his thoughts swirled in confusion and worry. He wasn’t sure what exactly had happened, but he knew one thing: something wasn’t right.

Before she could say anything else, he hung up. His hands were already shaking as he grabbed his jacket and rushed for the door. Every instinct he had was screaming at him that there was more to the story. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Jamie—her boyfriend, the guy who always seemed to act like he owned her—had something to do with this.

He threw himself into the car, foot heavy on the gas as he sped down the dark streets. The thought of her alone, hiding something, left him cold.

The night air was cool, the faint sound of distant music still lingering as Steve pulled up to the dimly lit house by Oak Street. The party was in full swing, people spilling out onto the lawn, laughing, shouting. He felt his hands tighten around the steering wheel, anxiety twisting in his gut as he cut the engine. He knew something wasn’t right. His mind raced, replaying the conversation over and over. I just tripped.

He didn’t believe it. He couldn’t.

As he stepped out of the car, his eyes scanned the crowd, heart thudding painfully in his chest. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but the moment he saw her, he knew.

She was rushing toward him, practically stumbling across the gravel driveway, her breath shallow. She looked disoriented, like she had just sprinted from something. Her hair was messy, and there were visible signs of tears on her cheeks. But it was the blood that caught his attention first.

Her nose was bleeding, a dark stain dripping down her chin. Her hands were shaking as she wiped at her face, smearing the blood along her sleeve.

“(Y/n),” Steve said softly, his voice breaking through the shock in his chest as he reached out to steady her. She was too pale, her skin too flushed, and the blood on her face made his stomach turn. “What the hell happened?”

Her eyes darted away from his, unable to meet his gaze. She hesitated for a moment, like she was trying to figure out what to say, what excuse to give.

“I… I tripped,” she said, her voice small, too small. Her hand went up to her nose, trying to stop the flow of blood, but it was clear she was trembling, struggling to hold herself together. “It’s nothing, really. I just… I wasn’t paying attention.”

Steve said nothing. His gaze stayed on her, a quiet pain creeping through his chest as he silently took in her disheveled appearance. The way she couldn’t look him in the eye. The way she was covering up what was clearly more than just a simple fall.

“Let me get you in the car,” he finally said, his voice soft but firm, and he gently took her arm, guiding her toward the passenger seat. She didn’t argue.

The drive back was filled with the hum of the engine and the sound of her unsteady breathing. Neither of them said a word. The silence between them wasn’t awkward, but it was heavy—like an invisible weight pressing down on them. Steve could feel her eyes on him, but he didn’t look over, couldn’t look over. He didn’t want to see the lie in her eyes, not when he already knew the truth.

The truth was all around them.

She wasn’t telling him everything, and maybe, in some way, she never would. But Steve didn’t need her to say it. He could see it. The way her shoulders were slumped, the way she was holding herself together with a fragile, shaky resolve.

When they pulled up to her house, Steve didn’t move immediately. He just kept staring at the road, the sound of the engine slowly dying down.

“I’ll… I’ll walk you inside,” he said quietly, though his voice wavered, barely audible.

She didn’t respond at first, just sat there, staring ahead at the front door. After a long moment, she nodded, her movements stiff as she slowly unbuckled her seatbelt. Steve got out of the car and walked around to her side, but she was already halfway up the driveway, not looking back.

He watched her for a second, unsure of what to say, unsure of what he could possibly do. The tension between them hung thick in the air. She was trying so hard to pretend it was just a stupid accident.

And he was trying not to say the words that had already settled in his chest. Instead, he just followed her, walking silently behind her as she opened the door and disappeared inside.

When the door clicked shut behind her, Steve finally stood there alone in the dark, feeling the weight of everything that had gone unsaid. The truth was clear now, but some things, some feelings, couldn’t be fixed with words.

And he couldn’t fix her. Not now. So he turned and walked back to his car, the cold night air biting at his skin, but it did nothing to numb the ache inside him.

He didn’t look back.

The next day was a blur of half-hearted smiles and forced conversations. (Y/n) didn’t show up to school until just before lunch, and when she did, she was walking as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders. Her steps were slow, careful, like she was avoiding drawing attention to herself. She looked pale—too pale. Her eyes were red, like she hadn’t slept at all, and when she passed the group of students standing by the lockers, she didn’t even try to pretend she was okay. She didn’t even look at anyone.

Steve watched her from the other side of the hallway, leaning against the lockers, pretending to talk to a few of his friends, but his focus was entirely on her. She was barely interacting with anyone. She walked through the crowded halls, her gaze lowered, her face closed off.

Every so often, someone would call out to her—somebody from class, a random acquaintance—but she just kept walking. No response. Not even a glance in their direction.

Steve noticed the small things. Like the way she never once looked at him when she passed, even though she was so close. The way she kept her distance, her shoulders hunched in on themselves, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her jacket. She was a ghost of the girl he once knew—quiet, withdrawn, isolated. It was like she was trying to disappear.

It hurt to see her like this. It hurt more than he expected.

He had told himself he’d keep his distance, that he wasn’t going to force his way into her life after everything that happened. But watching her this way, Steve couldn’t help but feel the pull to reach out, to do something. Anything.

But he stayed silent. He had to. She hadn’t said anything. She hadn’t even asked for help.

It had been a long day—one where Steve had spent more time than he liked staring across the school hallways, watching (Y/n) pull further and further into herself. He couldn’t get the image of her blood-streaked face out of his mind, nor the way she tried to hide the truth, how she downplayed it like it was no big deal.

But Steve knew better. He knew exactly what happened. And he wasn’t going to sit back anymore.

The rage that had been bubbling beneath the surface all day finally boiled over as he stepped out of the school building after the final bell rang. His heart was pounding, his hands clenched into fists. He didn’t care what anyone thought or said anymore. He was done standing by.

He knew where Jamie hung out after school.

Steve made his way to the local parking lot, where the older teens often met, some with their cars, others with their friends. His eyes scanned the area, and then he spotted him—Jamie, leaning against his car, laughing with a group of guys. He hadn’t seen Steve yet, and Steve took a deep breath as he crossed the parking lot.

His footsteps were heavy, deliberate.

“Jamie,” Steve’s voice rang out, cutting through the conversation like a knife.

The sound of his name caught Jamie’s attention. He turned, a smirk already forming on his lips, expecting the usual teasing or some snide comment, but he didn’t expect the look on Steve’s face.

Steve’s face was hard, his jaw clenched tight, eyes burning with fury. He was livid, but it was a quiet kind of anger—one that felt darker than anything Jamie had seen before.

“What the hell do you want, Harrington?” Jamie sneered, but his voice wavered just slightly.

Steve didn’t say a word. Instead, he closed the distance between them in two long strides, his fist connecting with Jamie’s jaw with a sickening crack.

The force of it knocked Jamie back against his car, and he stumbled, holding his face in shock. His friends stood still, unsure of what to do, eyes wide with surprise. Steve didn’t wait for Jamie to regain his footing. He lunged again, another punch landing right to Jamie’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

“Don’t you ever touch her again,” Steve growled, his voice barely controlled. “You think you can hurt her, treat her like that, and get away with it? You’re wrong.”

Jamie was gasping for air now, his hands scrambling to push Steve off him, but Steve was relentless. He grabbed him by the collar, pulling him up to his level.

“You hit her. You made her feel like this. And you don’t get to act like you’re the victim,” Steve hissed, his chest heaving with each breath.

Jamie’s eyes were wide now, fear creeping into his expression. He’d never seen Steve like this—not the “King Steve” everyone feared, but the version of him who was genuinely enraged, the version who cared about someone more than his reputation.

“You don’t get to make her cry,” Steve said, his voice lower now, full of quiet fury. “You don’t get to make her feel worthless, to make her feel like she’s alone. You’re nothing but a coward, Jamie.”

Jamie opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, Steve shoved him hard, sending him sprawling to the ground. He landed with a heavy thud, gasping and clutching at his stomach.

Steve stood over him for a moment, breathing heavily, eyes locked on Jamie’s, waiting for any sign of remorse. But Jamie’s face remained bruised and angry, his pride damaged more than anything.

“Stay away from her, or next time, I won’t stop,” Steve warned, his voice cold as ice. “You’re lucky I’m not doing more damage right now. But I swear to God, if you ever hurt her again, you won’t have a second chance.”

He turned on his heel, walking away from the scene without another word. The group of guys who had been watching stepped back, not daring to say a thing.

As Steve walked to his car, his hands still shaking with adrenaline, the anger slowly began to fade, replaced with the bitter ache of knowing he couldn’t fix everything.

The sun had barely set when Steve pulled into his driveway, the events of the afternoon still lingering in his mind. His knuckles were sore from the confrontation with Jamie, but the adrenaline had worn off, leaving him with a quiet kind of emptiness. He hadn’t expected to feel better after hitting Jamie. He hadn’t even really thought it through. It was just the anger—just the need to protect her.

He parked his car and got out, making his way toward his front door, when something caught his eye. There, on the porch, was a folded piece of paper.

It was small, the handwriting unmistakably familiar. His heart gave a painful little lurch in his chest.

It’s from her.

Without thinking, Steve walked up to the porch, kneeling down to pick up the note. He unfolded it carefully, as if handling something fragile. The words were simple, barely more than a few letters.

“Thank you.”

He stood there for a long moment, holding the note in his hands, feeling the weight of the words sink into his chest.

Thank you.

It was all she could say. It was everything she needed to say, but it didn’t fill the space he felt between them. There was still so much left unsaid, so much that he didn’t know.

But it was enough.

His fingers brushed over the paper, as if trying to absorb the depth of her gratitude, even when she didn’t say it out loud. Even though she hadn’t directly come to him, this—this small, simple note—felt like more than words. It was her way of saying that she saw him, that she understood.

It was a quiet evening when (Y/n) arrived home, her mind still buzzing from the chaos of the day. She had been trying to push away the memory of the party, the bruises she’d hidden beneath layers of makeup, the quiet conversations with friends that no longer seemed to hold the same meaning. She could feel the weight of everything pressing down on her, but she tried not to dwell on it.

As she walked up the path to her porch, something caught her eye. It was a small piece of paper, slightly crumpled, tucked under the edge of the doormat. It was out of place—she hadn’t dropped anything, and no one else ever came by this late. Curiosity piqued, she bent down to pick it up, feeling a flutter in her chest when she saw the familiar handwriting.

Steve.

Her pulse quickened, and she unfolded the note, careful not to tear it. The words were simple, short, but they carried more weight than she expected:

“If you ever need anything, I’m here. Anytime. – Steve”

Her heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, she just stood there, staring at the note in her hands. It wasn’t much, just a few words scribbled on paper, but it felt like a quiet admission of everything they never said. He hadn’t come to her with grand gestures or promises, just a reminder that, no matter what, he was there. No conditions. No expectations. Just… anytime.

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she blinked them away quickly. She was fine, or at least, she’d been telling herself that for weeks. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone. But the note… it made something shift inside of her. Something she didn’t even know was still there.

She stood on her porch for a long moment, clutching the note to her chest, unsure of what to do with it. A part of her wanted to call him, to thank him for even thinking of her. But another part of her—one that had been hurt by the past, by everything left unsaid between them—wondered if it was better to leave things in the past.

In the end, she tucked the note into her pocket and stepped inside, her heart a little heavier, a little more open. She wasn’t ready to face Steve, not yet. But maybe, just maybe, the note was a sign. A sign that, even after all this time, there was still something left worth holding on to.

For now, she’d hold on to the words he’d given her, quiet and simple as they were. And maybe, when the time came, she’d take him up on it. Anytime.

The days after the note passed like molasses—slow, heavy, and strangely silent. (Y/n) didn’t respond, didn’t call, didn’t mention it. But she kept it. Folded carefully in the back of her notebook, slipped between pages of notes and half-sketched doodles, like a secret she wasn’t ready to give up.

At school, things continued on like normal—or at least, they tried to. The crowded hallways were filled with slamming lockers, shrieking laughter, the sharp perfume of hairspray and cologne lingering in the air. People still whispered, still looked at her too long when they thought she wasn’t paying attention. Jamie was nowhere to be seen. His absence made everything feel both better and worse.

And Steve…

He didn’t say anything, didn’t approach her, didn’t push. But sometimes—just sometimes—he looked.

She caught him once between classes, leaning against his locker in that effortlessly careless way he always had. His eyes met hers across the sea of students, and it was like time slowed just enough for her to see it—that flicker of something in his expression. Guilt, maybe. Worry. Or just the memory of something they both tried not to think about.

She looked away first.

But the next day, she was the one who looked.

And it kept happening. In the cafeteria, during passing periods, when he thought she wouldn’t notice—Steve would glance up, and there she’d be. Eyes soft but guarded, like she wanted to say something and couldn’t find the words. Like maybe she was remembering the kids they used to be—their laughter in the summer heat, muddy shoes on front porches, bug jars and whispered secrets after dark.

There was nothing romantic about it. Not yet. Just something old and half-forgotten blooming quietly beneath all the noise of teenage cruelty and regret.

They didn’t smile. They didn’t nod. They just looked. And somehow, that was enough.

The bell had rung hours ago. The halls of Hawkins High were long emptied, lockers echoing in the silence like distant ghosts. (Y/n) had stayed behind to finish an overdue project—something about the way her house felt too loud when she was alone lately. She packed her things slowly, the sky already beginning to dip into dusk outside the classroom window, tinged pink and a little lonely.

She didn’t expect to see Steve when she pushed open the side door near the gym.

But there he was—shoulder pressed against the brick wall, hair a little messier than usual, one strap of his backpack slipping down. He looked up at the sound of the door and blinked, clearly just as surprised to see her.

Neither of them said anything. Not at first.

She adjusted her bag on her shoulder, gave him a slight nod, and began the walk home. She didn’t expect him to follow. But after a few seconds, she heard the crunch of gravel behind her.

He caught up without a word.

The streets were quiet, scattered leaves brushing across the sidewalk in the cool wind. They walked side by side, not close enough to brush arms, but not as far as they might’ve months ago. The silence wasn’t tense, but it wasn’t entirely comfortable either—it held weight. Like something long unsaid was walking with them.

(Y/n) glanced at him once. He was staring ahead, jaw tight, like he was thinking too hard. She looked away before he noticed.

Halfway down Maple Street, she broke it. “I used to know every thought in your head,” she said softly.

Steve’s step faltered, just for a second. He didn’t look at her, but his voice came low and hoarse. “Yeah. I know.”

She didn’t know what made her say it. Maybe it was the weight of everything unsaid. Maybe it was the quiet hum of twilight that always made things feel more honest. Either way, once it left her mouth, it hung between them like a thread.

They didn’t say anything else for a while. Just the sound of their shoes on pavement, the wind tugging at her sleeves, the smell of cold earth and faraway woodsmoke.

When they reached their street—his house on one side, hers on the other—they both paused at the fork in the sidewalk.

Steve finally looked at her. “I—” he started, then stopped. Shoved his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t think you’d still… y’know. Talk to me.”

She shrugged, but there was something fragile in her smile. “You didn’t.”

And then she crossed the street, her porch light flickering on as she stepped up the stairs. She didn’t look back. But he stood there a while longer, watching the spot where she disappeared behind the front door.

And it wasn’t quite forgiveness. But it wasn’t nothing.

The classroom buzzed with the low drone of tired teenagers and a teacher who clearly wanted to be anywhere else. (Y/n) sat near the back, pen tapping quietly against her notebook, her thoughts miles away. Steve was two rows over—diagonally across—slouched in his seat like his spine had given up entirely.

It wasn’t supposed to be a memorable day. Just another long afternoon.

But then, some kid in the front—loud, attention-seeking—joked about a science experiment from last year. Something dumb involving baking soda and vinegar, and the poor janitor who slipped in the aftermath.

“Explosion of the century,” he said dramatically, “RIP to Mr. Jenkins’ shoes.”

Steve snorted before he could stop himself.

At the same time, (Y/n) groaned and muttered, “We told them not to put the cap back on the bottle.” Their voices overlapped. The words came out too quickly, too easily.

Silence fell.

A few students turned to look. The teacher paused. But Steve’s eyes had already flicked across the room to meet hers.

(Y/n)’s hand froze mid-tap. Her gaze locked with his. His lips were curled in the ghost of a smirk, like he couldn’t believe it either. The same joke. The same memory.

A shared disaster from a lifetime ago—seventh grade science club. The two of them had laughed so hard they nearly got detention. She remembered Steve doubling over, tears in his eyes, saying “Jenkins is gonna sue us.”

She remembered everything. Now it was just quiet again. A little awkward. A little warm. Steve blinked like he was about to say something, but then looked away, hiding behind his hand, suddenly very focused on the peeling edge of his desk.

(Y/n) turned back to her notebook. Her pen didn’t tap anymore. She didn’t smile. But she didn’t stop thinking about it, either.

Sixth period ended in the same slow drag it always did, chairs scraping against the floor, the clatter of notebooks and tired footsteps. Steve was one of the last to leave—he’d zoned out again halfway through, staring out the window like something out there might matter more than whatever the hell they were learning.

When he finally stood and grabbed his bag, he noticed something folded and wedged between the pages of his open notebook.

Small. Torn paper. No name.

He glanced around. Empty classroom. Just the hum of the overhead lights and the faint scent of old pencils. He unfolded it slowly, calloused fingers handling it more gently than he meant to.

There were only three words. “Still funny, Harrington.”

And next to them, a quick little doodle—a bottle mid-explosion, with a stick figure diving out of the way dramatically. A joke. A memory.

His mouth twitched.

He didn’t need a signature. He knew. The handwriting was too familiar. The humor too pointed. It was her.

Steve stood there for a second longer, staring at the paper like it had caught him off guard. Because it had.

Then, without thinking, he folded it back up and slipped it into the back pocket of his notebook. No hesitation. No smirk. Just… quiet.

He didn’t tell anyone about it. Didn’t throw it out. Didn’t forget.

It became a quiet thing. Subtle. Almost shy.

After her first note—“Still funny, Harrington”—Steve didn’t respond with words. But a few days later, she opened her locker and found a torn scrap of notebook paper taped to the inside.

A doodle. Stick figures. One labeled “YOU” running from a bottle with fizz drawn dramatically in shaky lines. She smiled all the way to English class. That’s how it started.

They didn’t talk about it. Never looked at each other when it happened. But the notes kept coming, passed in silence—hidden under desks, slipped into books, dropped into lockers like little ghosts of who they used to be.

Nothing deep. Nothing too brave.

Just; “Cafeteria pizza still a crime.” “Saw a squirrel today. It reminded me of the one that attacked us in 5th grade. You still owe me a band-aid.” “Science lab smelled like trauma today.”

Sometimes a scribble. Sometimes a single word. Once, a napkin with “emergency use only” written on it, wrapped around a grape Jolly Rancher. She didn’t eat it. She kept it in her bag like it meant something. It wasn’t like they were friends again. Not exactly.

But the notes? They felt like a secret handshake no one else remembered.

It was easier this way. Safer than eye contact. Safer than talking. Safer than the truth. Because it wasn’t about confessions. It was about remembering what it felt like when the world hadn’t gotten in the way.

Steve was driving home from work, the sun beginning to set as he cruised through the familiar streets of Hawkins. The car radio was on low, the hum of static occasionally cutting through the air. He didn’t mind the silence, especially after a long day of dealing with kids at Scoops Ahoy. It was almost peaceful.

Then, a song came on.

The familiar opening chords immediately caught his attention. He almost didn’t recognize it at first, but when the lyrics started, his chest tightened. It was their song. The one they’d blast on the way to school, windows down, singing loudly and terribly. It was one of those tracks that felt like it belonged to a different time, a different version of them. The carefree, innocent version that felt like it would never end.

He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, his breath catching in his throat as the song played out. The memory of her laugh, of the way she used to joke around with him about the lyrics, flooded back all at once. The way they’d get caught in the song, laughing even when they didn’t know all the words. It was simple. It was easy. It was before everything changed.

The song carried on, and Steve’s heart squeezed painfully. He tried to keep his focus on the road, but the weight of it all—the distance, the time that had passed, the things that had gone unsaid—was too much to ignore. He wanted to roll the windows down, turn the volume up, and pretend like they were back there again, just the two of them, driving down this same road, carefree and without a care in the world.

But he couldn’t. He was alone now. She was gone, and all that was left were the memories. He could almost hear her voice in his head, teasing him, singing off-key, and making everything feel lighter, like it was all okay.

As the song reached its end, Steve found himself pulling over to the side of the road, his eyes suddenly wet. He didn’t even notice when the tears started to fall. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, not even sure why it was hitting him this hard. But it was.

He sat there in the stillness of the car, the sound of the song still echoing in his mind long after it had ended on the radio.

He couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing now. Was she listening to it too? Did it remind her of him the same way it reminded him of her? Or was she, like him, just trying to move on?

He didn’t know. And that uncertainty was almost harder than the sadness.

The gym was packed, the air thick with excitement, and the scent of cheap cologne and hairspray hung heavily in the atmosphere. The annual Hawkins High School dance was in full swing, the DJ’s blaring music mixing with the chaotic chatter of students, all pressing against each other on the dance floor. Lights flashed, casting streaks of color across the room, as people danced, laughed, and tried to ignore the awkwardness of high school socializing.

Steve had arrived with a group of his friends, and (Y/n) had come with a few of hers. It wasn’t a big deal—just another school event they’d both end up attending. But the noise, the flashing lights, and the way the crowd seemed to pulse with youthful energy made Steve feel distant. He was stuck between the person he used to be and the one he was trying to be now. And (Y/n)? Well, she had always been a reminder of who he used to be, too.

As the night went on, they found themselves drifting closer to each other. Neither of them had planned it. It wasn’t as if they’d meant to meet up, but somehow, in the middle of the chaos, they ended up standing side by side, just a few feet apart. The music blared louder, people crowded past them, but in that moment, the world felt quieter.

For a few seconds, it was like they were the only two people in the room.

Neither of them said anything.

The laughter, the chatter, the pounding bass of the music—they were all far away now. In the space between them, there was a stillness. Neither of them looked directly at the other, but they both knew the other was there. The distance felt like something older than time itself, something deeper than the walls they’d built between them.

The air felt heavy, thick with years of history—shared memories, unspoken words, and too many small things left unsaid. Neither of them moved, both of them unsure of what came next. They didn’t need words. The quiet exchange of notes had been enough for a while. It was their secret, their little world hidden in scribbled messages and silent understanding.

But now, in the middle of the dance, it felt like everything had shifted again.

It had been months—no, years—since they’d shared a space like this. No shouting. No awkward small talk. Just… silence. And in the silence, there was a pull. Something both familiar and foreign.

From the corner of his eye, Steve caught the glimpse of something in (Y/n)’s hand—just the slightest flicker of paper between her fingers, something she was about to tuck away.

Steve found himself walking toward her, almost on instinct, his hand already reaching into his pocket. It was just a small thing—an impulsive gesture—but something about tonight made him feel like he had to do it. He pulled out a sticky note, simple and plain, but enough to say what needed to be said.

When he reached her, he didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. He just handed it to her, his fingers brushing lightly against hers as he did. She looked down at the note, her eyes scanning it quickly.

“You still have the best smile in Hawkins.”

It was a silly thing to say, but it was their thing. Steve had always teased her about it when they were younger, and somehow, it still felt like a part of them. Her lips curved into a small, genuine smile as she read it, and for a second, the whole world seemed to quiet down.

Without a word, (Y/n) reached into her own pocket and pulled out a sticky note of her own. She handed it to him, and Steve took it with the same quiet ease. He unfolded it, reading the words written in her familiar handwriting.

“And you still think you’re funny.”

A laugh escaped him before he could stop it, a soft, genuine chuckle that felt like a weight lifting off his chest. She was right, of course. He wasn’t exactly known for his impeccable humor. But it had always been their thing—her teasing him for his attempts at jokes, him pretending to be offended.

He glanced back at her, his smile soft and real, the same as the one from years ago. No words needed to follow. Their exchange, brief as it was, felt like everything they had lost—and everything they had regained—without either of them needing to say a single thing.

For a moment, the chaos of the dance faded into the background. The notes had always been their language, the quiet bridge between them. It didn’t matter that everything around them had changed; this felt familiar, like coming home to something simple, something that hadn’t gone anywhere at all.

Steve slipped the note into his pocket, the weight of it comforting, almost grounding him in the moment. He didn’t say anything. Neither did she. And for once, neither of them felt the need to.

It was the first time in years that Steve had forgotten her birthday. He hated himself for it, but somewhere between the chaos of work, school, and everything else, the date slipped past him unnoticed. When he realized, it was too late to make it right—not that he thought he could, anyway.

But (Y/n) never said a word.

No mention of it. No subtle reminder. Nothing. She simply carried on as she always did—laughing with friends, studying quietly in the library, staying mostly to herself. The way she always did when things hurt but she didn’t want anyone to know.

He saw her, of course. It was impossible not to. But when she passed him in the hallways, there was something colder about her smile. Something… distant. She didn’t seem angry, not at him at least, but the silence between them grew heavier. Steve didn’t ask, didn’t try to explain. He just let the days go by.

Then, a week later, as the last bits of dusk fell over Hawkins, Steve found himself standing on (Y/n)’s front porch. He didn’t really know what had compelled him to do it, but he stood there, feeling the cool air nipping at his skin as he stared at the wrapped cassette in his hands.

It was an old one. He’d dug through the shelves of Melvald’s and found an old cassette tape, a relic from their childhood. He’d spent hours making a playlist. Songs they used to dance to, songs they used to sing in the car, songs that held memories of simpler times when nothing felt as complicated as it did now.

And then, he added one more. A new song. One he couldn’t explain to her in person, one that said everything he couldn’t find the words for.

With one final glance at the door, Steve left the cassette on the porch, tapping it softly against the wooden surface, just where she would find it when she came outside. He didn’t ring the doorbell or knock. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

Then, he turned and walked away, his heart heavy, unsure of what to expect.

The next morning, (Y/n) stepped out onto the porch, the early sunlight casting long shadows on the ground. She had been up early, as usual. But today, there was something different. Something that had caught her attention—something small, tucked against the door.

She crouched down, her fingers brushing the edges of the wrapped cassette, a small note attached to the front.

She knew what it was before she even opened it. A gift from Steve. She hadn’t expected anything from him, but somehow, in a way, she had.

Unwrapping the cassette, she saw the familiar handwriting on the front of the tape:

“For the good old days. And the ones that might come.”

Her fingers traced over the note, and for a moment, she was back there, back to when everything felt easier. The days before the silence, before the walls between them grew so high.

She popped the cassette into her player, and as the first song began to play—one of their old favorites—a flood of memories came rushing back. Laughter. Songs they used to sing together. Quiet walks in the park.

And then the next song came on.

It was new. A song she didn’t recognize, but the lyrics hit her all the same. Every word felt like it was written just for them. The melody was soft, almost haunting, but the words were simple. And raw. Her breath caught in her throat.

She leaned back against the porch, the weight of the words settling into her chest. It was like Steve had finally found the words that had been missing all this time—the words he couldn’t say out loud. He couldn’t explain why he’d forgotten her birthday, or why things had become so complicated. But with the tape, with this song, he had somehow said it all.

She closed her eyes, letting the music fill the quiet morning.

For a moment, everything felt like it was right where it needed to be.

The night of graduation arrived, and the gymnasium was filled with the hum of laughter, music, and chatter. Balloons floated above, banners swayed from the ceiling, and everyone was celebrating the end of high school. But amidst all the noise and excitement, Steve and (Y/n) found themselves on opposite sides of the room, as if the weight of the past few years had made an invisible distance between them.

They didn’t speak much during the ceremony. There were glances exchanged, a fleeting smile here and there, but nothing that felt like it used to. It wasn’t that things were bad between them; it was just that things had changed. They had changed.

The night stretched on, the music pulsing around them as students danced, laughed, and posed for pictures. Steve leaned against the gymnasium wall, nursing a cup of punch, and watched the crowd. He wasn’t really participating, but then again, neither was (Y/n). She was standing near the edge of the dance floor, tucked away with her friends, but not quite a part of the festivities.

He caught her gaze across the room, her eyes meeting his, and for a brief second, everything else faded away. It was just the two of them again.

Without thinking, Steve pushed off the wall and started walking toward her. She didn’t move, but the corners of her mouth curled slightly when she saw him approaching.

The music blared, but in that moment, the world felt quieter, as if they were in their own little bubble. As he reached her, she raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing at her lips.

“Hey,” she said softly, but it wasn’t the usual greeting. There was something more to it, something heavier beneath the surface.

“Hey,” Steve responded, his voice a little quieter than usual. They stood there for a beat, just taking in the moment. It was strange. He wanted to say so much, but the words didn’t come.

And then, just as the silence was beginning to stretch awkwardly, (Y/n)’s eyes flicked toward the table across the room, where the photo booth was set up.

“You know,” she started, her voice carrying the slightest hint of nostalgia, “I can’t believe we’re really done with this place.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, his hands in his pockets. “Feels like we were just freshmen.”

They both shared a small, knowing look. It wasn’t just the years that had passed—they both knew how much had changed between them over that time.

There was a slight pause before (Y/n) added, her tone soft but unmistakable, “You remember that day we skipped class to go to Melvald’s? You were convinced you could beat me at that weird game with the spinning discs.”

Steve’s lips curled into a smile, the memory hitting him like a wave. “I almost beat you,” he said with a mock defensiveness. “You just got lucky with that last turn.”

Her laugh was quiet but genuine, the sound so familiar it almost felt like a balm to the tension that had built up between them over the years. For a second, they were twelve again, sitting at Melvald’s after skipping school, arguing over a stupid arcade game. There had been no walls between them back then, no unspoken feelings, no time lost.

And then, almost like it always did, the silence crept in again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable, soft. As if the shared moment was enough.

Finally, after a few seconds, (Y/n) reached into her pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper—something she’d clearly scribbled on quickly earlier in the night. Without saying anything, she passed it to him.

Steve unfolded the paper and found a tiny doodle of two stick figures. One had a ridiculous amount of hair, clearly representing him, and the other had glasses and a goofy smile. Beneath it, in her messy handwriting, it simply said:

“Still better at the game than you.”

It was an inside joke. One that only the two of them could get. The same thing they used to laugh about years ago, when they were kids.

He chuckled softly, his heart a little lighter than it had been all night. Without thinking, he took out a pen from his pocket and scribbled a reply on the back of the paper.

“You wish. Still can’t beat me.”

When he handed the paper back to her, their fingers brushed, and for the briefest moment, everything felt right again.

She looked down at it, a smile tugging at her lips “I’ll take that as a challenge,” she said quietly, her voice warm.

Steve’s smile lingered, and for the first time that night, he felt like everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.

As they stood there, side by side, the noise of the party fading around them, neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. The exchange, the small shared secret between them, said it all.

For a moment, it was just like it used to be. And maybe that was enough.

It had been a week since the last time

It had been a week since the last time Steve had seen her. The small, fleeting conversation they’d shared outside her house had left him with a strange, gnawing feeling, but he told himself it was nothing. He told himself that things would get easier, that everything was just a phase. After all, they had been friends forever, right?

But today, everything felt different. The air in Hawkins was thick with the hum of summer heat, but Steve couldn’t shake the weight that was hanging in his chest. He hadn’t seen her around. Not since the conversation outside her house. He knew she was still in town—she had to be, right? Her car was still parked in the driveway. So why hadn’t she been at school? Why hadn’t she been out for her usual walks, or in the small café down the street where they used to run into each other every other afternoon?

As he made his way down the street toward his own house, he noticed something strange. The windows to her house were dark—dark in a way they shouldn’t have been. He couldn’t see any movement inside. He glanced at the mailbox and saw it was overflowing, something that had never happened before. She was always so organized. Always so… there.

Confused, Steve made his way up the driveway, not even thinking twice as he stepped onto her porch. He knocked, but the sound felt hollow, empty.

No answer.

He hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob, before slowly letting it fall back to his side. A sense of dread washed over him, something he couldn’t explain. There was a faint rustling noise coming from around the side of the house, and he walked toward it, heart thudding louder with every step.

As he turned the corner, his eyes landed on a scene that made his stomach drop.

There she was—(Y/n)—moving boxes from her house into a car, her back to him. She looked smaller than usual, her movements slow, almost deliberate. She was trying to lift a heavy box and, with a frustrated sigh, she set it down again on the ground. It looked like she was trying to do everything herself.

Steve stood there for a moment, paralyzed by the sight. He should’ve called out to her, should’ve offered to help, but the words wouldn’t come. His feet were rooted to the ground as he watched her carry another box into the car.

And then it hit him.

Her car was packed—completely packed.

No. No, this couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t be leaving. Not like this. Not without a word. Not without—

His thoughts were interrupted as (Y/n) straightened up and looked over her shoulder. Their eyes met, and the realization hit both of them at once. She froze, just for a moment, as if she wasn’t sure what to do or what to say. Then, without a word, she quickly turned her attention back to the box in front of her, hiding her face.

Steve’s heart twisted in his chest.

“(Y/n)?” he asked, his voice coming out more quietly than he meant. “What’s going on?”

She didn’t look at him. She didn’t even acknowledge him at first. She just continued moving boxes, her movements quick, her hands shaking ever so slightly.

“I’m leaving, Steve,” she said finally, her voice tight, her tone flat. “I’m going to college. Out of state. You know… like we talked about.”

It felt like the world around him stopped.

He blinked, trying to understand, trying to piece it all together. But his mind wasn’t processing the words. She was leaving. She was really leaving.

“You… you didn’t say anything,” Steve said, his throat tight. It came out harsher than he intended, and he immediately regretted it. But he couldn’t help it. It felt like everything was unraveling around him.

“I didn’t think I had to,” she replied quietly, her voice barely a whisper. She didn’t even look up as she continued working, shifting things from her porch into the car. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

A wave of frustration washed over him. “Well, you could have told me. You could’ve said something.”

She paused for a brief moment, her shoulders tensing. Then, she exhaled deeply. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear it. I didn’t think you’d care.”

The words stung. But Steve knew she was right. Somewhere along the way, they’d grown distant, and now here they were—on opposite sides of a divide he couldn’t cross.

“I always care,” he said, though the words felt like they barely scraped the surface.

She didn’t respond to that. She just moved to grab another box.

“Is it really that easy?” he asked, his voice suddenly small. “Just leaving? Just… gone?”

She didn’t look at him, but Steve saw her shoulders stiffen again. “It’s not easy, Steve. But it’s something I have to do.”

His gaze softened. The sight of her trying so hard to hide it, trying to pretend everything was okay, it broke him. He wanted to reach out, to stop her from leaving. To tell her that things didn’t have to be like this, that they could go back to how they used to be. But the words were trapped inside, tangled in the space between them.

Instead, he stood there, helpless.

“I’ll miss you,” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

For the first time, she stopped moving, and for a brief second, she just stood there, her head down. He could see her lips trembling as she fought back the tears she wouldn’t let fall. “I’ll miss you too,” she said softly.

As she drove away, the silence between them stretched further than the miles that now separated them, and Steve realized that some goodbyes never get the chance to be said.

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#fanfiction #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #joe keery #angst

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