#and uniforms … he’d probably have a uniform at that point

[thecrenellations]

Queens’ Play sketches! Robin and Thady Boy | Francis and Phelim’s nap outside the cottage, after it all (or most of it) ends

#roommates you’d bury a body with

[peachdues]

KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOR

WIND AND MOON • Sanemi x tsuguko!Reader

A/N: or, Sanemi nearly murders Maeda to protect Reader’s honor, featuring Reader getting to wear Sanemi’s haori.

A snippet from an upcoming chapter of Wind and Moon.

CW: MDNI • light strangulation (deserved) • implied past sexual assault against Reader (not described) • implied assault of Sanemi’s mother (not described) • protective Sanemi • soft Sanemi • ust kiss already jfc • violence

Sanemi Shinazugawa was never particularly keen on visiting the Corps’ tailor. His hatred for the bespeckled seamster was no secret among the slayers, nor was his reasoning. Most of the Corps disliked Maeda — particularly those female slayers forced to endure his unwanted attentions, who, when presented with too-small and too-short garments, saw his feigned incompetence for what it was: perversion.

Sanemi, however, was the one of the only few who’d ever called him out directly for being a lecherous asshole. And he certainly was one of the only ones who Maeda genuinely feared — enough so, that he became remarkably adept at his job whenever he heard so much as a whisper of the Wind Pillar’s presence.

And yet, Sanemi knew that their previous encounter — one that ended with Maeda pissing his pants while begging for forgiveness Sanemi had been in no position to give as the female slayer he’d groped stood nearby, red faced and humiliated — didn’t seem to have inspired the tailor to make any permanent changes to his deviant habits.

So no, Sanemi was already not in the best of moods as he stalked through the hallways of the Butterfly Mansion, in search of the fitting rooms where Kocho had informed him Maeda would be fitting his new tsuguko — you — for your final uniform.

He was wryly optimistic that the lecherous tailor wouldn’t try anything knowing who you were and of your proximity to him. But still, Sanemi didn’t like that he’d left you alone with Maeda for any period of time, and he was eager to get you suited up so the two of you could return to training.

Training. Sanemi had been warned that your breathing techniques, though powerful, were about as stable as a barrel of gun powder near a lit match. He would need to prioritize your precision, your control, before moving onto anything to do with your actual movements and fighting abilities.

He scowled. It would be a long day, he knew. You had an attitude and a smart mouth he was fairly sure couldn’t be beaten out of you, and grudgingly, he thought he might have to just endure it. You’d probably spend most of your time bitching; of that he was certain. But unluckily for you, you’d been assigned to the Hashira with the least amount of sympathy when it came to training; one whose disdain for complaining was rivaled only by Iguro’s.

At least he only worked his trainees to the point of vomiting or passing out; Iguro tortured the poor bastards, and he relished doing so.

And so, Sanemi began mentally tallying up the various exercises and tasks the two of you would undertake as he rounded the last corner leading to the fitting rooms. He would start with breathing techniques, he decided as he reached for the doorknob. Breathing techniques, and then physical exercises — pushups, planks, perhaps even over a bed of tacks for motivation, and then —

All of the Wind Pillar’s internal planning ground to a halt the moment he swung the door to the dressing room open. In an instant, all thoughts of endurance and strength-enhancing regiments dissolved as Sanemi’s vision turned crimson at what lay before him.

His tsuguko; and though you’d proven yourself more than capable of testing his patience, for once, it wasn’t your smart mouth that was making him see red.

It was the sight of you, standing up on a small pedestal before a great mirror, clothed in scraps of fabric that could hardly be called a uniform as the Corp’s perverted tailor circled you like a vulture does a piece of felled prey.

He didn’t need to look at you for long before his vision tunneled in on the seamster startling back from you as though burned, his eyes wide with fear as he stared at the reddening face of the Wind Hashira behind you.

Because Sanemi didn’t have to linger; he’d seen enough to know.

Your skirt hung a solid inch shorter than even the Love Hashira’s, its hem barely extending past the tops of your thighs. Your shirt was easily two or three sizes too small, preventing you from fastening anything but the bottom two buttons.

But it wasn’t the egregiously little coverage of your uniform that loosened the lid he tried to keep on his rage. It was your face. Though your back was facing him, he could see every inch of you — exposed as you were — reflected in that great mirror.

There was a rigidity in your limbs that Sanemi clocked instantly as paralysis; and the empty, haunted look in your eyes as they fixed wide and unseeing at some distant point on the floor coupled with the way you’d hadn’t so much as flinched when the door flung open signaled to him that you were not truly present in that room at all.

You were back at your family’s estate, blood-soaked and half-dead as you were forced to endure whatever it was those bandits had take upon themselves to do.

And Sanemi disappeared from the room right along with you. In that moment, he instead saw the countless other female slayers forced to endure Maeda’s greedy, wandering fingers over the years as they stood exposed under his beady little eyes.

He saw his mother turning rigid under his father’s too heavy, too rough hands as he dragged them down her body. Ma, who would force her mouth into that distant, practiced smile she always maintained in front of her children who were too young to understand why Kyogo dragged her by arm out the back of their home as he barked at them to stay inside until she returned.

He saw you; broken and bleeding in the snow, your clothes askew, unable to be left alone even in death; used.

Red. Red. Sanemi could only see red as his feet carried him across the floor.

“M-Master Shinazugawa!” Maeda squeaked as he began trembling; loud enoufh for his voice to carry down the hall, a futile effort to alert any nearby Corps members of the rage burning in Sanemi’s eyes as the latter advanced on him. “How w-wonderful it is to see you a-gain —!”

With nothing but a faint buzzing in his ears and an anger-numbed mind, Sanemi’s hand snatched the tailor around his throat before he could think the better of it.

“I thought I made myself pretty damn clear the last time I saw your ugly mug of the need for you to keep those filthy fuckin’ hands to yourself.”

Sanemi’s voice was a barely more than a growl, low and dangerous and vicious. “And I thought I told you what would happen if I caught you makin’ a mockery out of our uniform again.”

The seamster’s cheeks were rapidly turning purple as Maeda sputtered. But Sanemi only tightened his hold around the tailor’s throat, lifting him from the ground until his toes only scraped along the floorboards.

“Y’know, I’ve had to hold my tongue for far too fuckin’ long about you.” Sanemi cocked his head in consideration. A slow, wolfish smile stretched across his mouth, all sharp teeth and a vicious promise that he could and would rip out his throat. “But you’ve got some balls for someone who’s too much of a rutting coward to fight the demons we give our lives to exterminate.”

A crowd of curious and horrified junior slayers had gathered out in the hall, nervously watching as the Wind Pillar threatened to squeeze the life out of the Corp’s sole tailor.

Behind them, you remained frozen on the pedestal, though your eyes had shifted away from the floor, focusing instead on him.

Sanemi wrenched the tailor closer until they were nearly nose-to-nose, his fingers digging harshly into the soft, fleshy portion of the tailor’s neck. “And you dare make a mockery out of our uniform? You think I’m okay that you’re putting female slayers at risk by not giving them proper protection? What sort of person does that to their comrades?”

Sanemi’s pupils shrank to pinpricks. “You’re not even fuckin’ human. You’re no better than a god damn demon.”

The muscles in the Wind Pillar’s forearm rippled as his fingers crushed around Maeda’s throat. “And we’re required to put demons outta their fuckin’ misery. So, whaddya think that means for you, shitstain?”

There was a distinct wet dripping against the floorboards as Sanemi remained there, Maeda suspended before him.

Sanemi didn’t need to look down to know what it was; its scent alone was enough of a give away.

Urine.

That feral grin of his only widened. Good, Sanemi thought savagely. The bastard should fear for his life. And who gave a shit, really, if he took out the creep right then and there. It didn’t matter that he was the only tailor in their ranks capable of manufacturing their uniforms with speed and precision. Sanemi would trade his sword in for a needle, if it meant wiping away the stain that was Maeda.

But Sanemi’s wild, murderous rage was tempered by the sudden arrival of the Insect Pillar, who had appeared in the room in a blink of an eye, her small hand wrapped harshly around Sanemi’s wrist.

Her voice was hard and severe as she ordered, “Shinazugawa, stop!”

Sanemi only snarled in response, his hand squeezing tighter and tighter. Just a little more pressure and it would be over, Maeda would never harm another woman again —

Kocho wrenched on his arm once more. While her strength wasn’t enough to force his grip to relax, it did jostle Sanemi enough that he looked away, just long enough to catch the pair of eyes that watched him closely in the mirror.

Your eyes.

Sanemi found himself unable to look away as the two of you stared at one another in the mirror’s reflection. And though that haunted look remained, there was a newfound tightness in your gaze.

Pain, he recognized. There was pain in your eyes, too. And suddenly, Sanemi became all too aware of the fact you were still exposed, only now in front of a greater number of your comrades than before.

Sanemi held your eyes for one more moment before his hand opened around Maeda’s throat.

“Pissed himself like a little bitch.” He sneered, dropping the lecherous tailor to the ground where he crumbled like a napkin.

Maeda sputtered and heaved on the floor, color rapidly returning to his face as he gasped for breath.

Sanemi only looked after him with disgust.

The Butterfly Mansion’s mistress turned sharply toward the entryway. “Away.” She ordered before she turned back. But the instant the word left her lips, the gaggle of junior Corps members who had congregated in the hallway dispersed.

Sanemi cut his eyes to the Insect Hashira and saw a cold rage simmering in her eyes. Eyes that were not looking at him, but were instead glued to the sniveling mass on the floor, whimpering into a puddle of his own urine.

“P-please, forgive me, Master Shinazugawa! I must have packed the wrong uniform — I will sew a n-new one right away —“

“Save it,” Sanemi spat. “And get the fuck outta my sight.”

Though he wanted add in a kick for good measure, Sanemi held back. He was likely in deep enough shit as it was, once word reached the Master about what he’d done. He knew better than to continue testing the Corps’ limits.

Kocho inclined her head back toward the Wind Pillar. “I will see to it that a new uniform is prepared for her immediately.”

She made to step primly over Maeda’s shuddering form, but halted.

Kocho crouched down, low. “I think we both know that you’re better off keeping this to yourself and never mentioning it again, hm?”

Maeda turned his reddened face up toward the Insect Pillar and shrank under her withering glare.

Kocho’s answering smile was nothing but poisoned honey as she dropped her eyes to the wet stain that soaked the front of Maeda’s trousers. “If you wish to hold onto what’s precious to you, that is.”

She narrowed her eyes coldly, as though squinting for something, before she rose with a faint scoff, her threat hanging over Maeda like a cloud.

The Insect Hashira turned back to Sanemi. “I trust you will see yourselves out?”

Sanemi felt a rush of gratitude toward his comrade — likely only one of two among the Pillars who wouldn’t rat him out to the Master — and curtly nodded his head.

Kocho only gave him her usual, practiced smile. “Until next time, then.”

With that, the mistress of the Butterfly Estate departed. The moment the edge of her haori flapped around the corner of the doorway, Sanemi dropped his attention down to Maeda.

“Fuck off.”

The tailor made not a peep as he scrambled to his feet and he left the dressing room without a word.

——

Finally left alone, Sanemi turned to you.

“Y/N.”

You blinked, surprised. He’d addressed you by your first name — something that, until this moment, you’d been fairly sure he hadn’t known.

You made some noise in response, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, exposed as you are.

Shinazugawa didn’t seem to mind. “Let’s go.”

While you were just as eager to get the hell out of the dressing room and away from the Butterfly Mansion, you remained rooted in place upon that platform.

Not a moment had passed since Maeda had first unveiled your new attire that you hadn’t been acutely aware of your own exposure.

You gulped and cast your eyes around the room. You found the neat pile of the clothes you’d worn for the trip here folded in the corner of the dressing area. While Shinazugawa had made a point to keep his eyes on everything but you, you couldn’t fathom having to wear the scrap of a uniform you’d been given for the entire journey back to his estate.

But nor did you want to change again; you couldn’t, not when that would require you to be left alone, a possibility that seemed nearly as daunting as having to brave the trek home in little more than a loincloth.

You agonized over your options, especially as you felt Shinazugawa’s impatience mount. You shifted anxiously from foot to foot, arms wrapped tightly around your chest in a desperate attempt to keep your breasts concealed as you struggled to make the words — any words, really, dislodge from where they’d become stuck in your throat.

Annoyed by your lack of inaction, Shinazugawa looked back into the mirror. In its reflection, you saw him open his mouth, ready to snap at you, but the moment his eyes connected with yours, it closed.

An understanding passed between you right then, as heavy the silence that hung between you.

Shinazugawa considered you for a moment before his hands went to the front folds of his haori. A strange shyness fell over you while he shrugged out of it, causing you to drop your gaze as he rounded the pedestal, haori in hand.

He shoved the ball of white fabric at you, though he kept his gaze fixed pointedly at the ground. “Here. Use this to cover up.”

Timidly, you plucked the Wind Pillar’s haori from his outstretched hand and quickly turned away.

Though it sat cropped on him, the hem of Shinazugawa’s haori extended past the laughably short one of your skirt, providing your backside with a bearable degree of coverage.

It was warm; and to your surprise, it smelled nice, a familiar, grassy sweetness washing over you as you pushed your arm through one of the holes.

Shinazugawa had turned his back to you, his hands notched firmly on his hips as he waited. You tested the reach of his haori, relieved to find that you could wrap it around your front and hold it easily in place by folding your arms across your chest.

You glanced at your reflection in the mirror. The white fabric reached a good three inches down your thighs, all vulnerable areas sufficiently covered.

It would do, you decided. At least until you returned to the Wind Pillar’s estate.

“I’m ready.” You said softly after a moment. Shinazugawa only looked back at you and nodded, before the two of you quietly made your way through and out the Butterfly Estate, setting down the path that led home.

Neither of you spoke for the entire journey. Instead, you were left to stare at the broad expanse Shinazugawa’s back.

The Wind Pillar wore a slightly modified version of the Corps’ uniform, you realized. His top was sleeveless and without the presence of his haori, you saw that his biceps and shoulders were just as solid and well-defined as the rest of him.

No wonder he’d been able to lift Maeda so easily from the ground; Shinazugawa’s biceps were huge. Though, you noted with some mild interest, the skin of his arms was just as scar-specked as the rest of him.

Idly, you wondered whether the scars dotting his face and body were products of his years with the Corps — a tapestry of battles hard-won, or whether they, like yours, were part of a past he wished he could forget.

You arrived back at the Wind Pillar’s estate shortly before sunset. The moment he set foot inside the gate surrounding his manor, Shinazugawa turns to you and holds up a hand.

“Wait here.”

Without another word, he disappears inside of his manor, leaving you alone in the courtyard, slightly bemused.

The Wind Pillar returned a few moments later, a familiar, dark green fabric draped over his hand.

“Here,” he held out the material to you. “Still had one from when I was a Mizunoto. Might not fit you properly, but it’s better than nothin’.”

You accept his offering and then it over in your hands, eyes running over the crisp white destroy sewn into the back. Below the shirt is a pair of pants, in the same, dark-green tinted hue as the shirt.

“I know it doesn’t mean much,” Shinazugawa’s voice was gruff as he spoke. Curious, you lifted your eyes to find him rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “But if I’d’ve known what he was gonna pull —“

You shook your head. “Don’t. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Truthfully, you didn’t want his apologies. To apologize meant there’d been an expectation, and expectation meant there’d been some trust he’d broken. While he may have been your master — while he may have been the one whose face you could not forget from that day — nothing about either of those things meant he owed you anything.

Shinazugawa looked like he was going to argue, but he closed his mouth and turned away.

Good, you thought. At least he knew to pick his battles.

“We’ll start training once you get your uniform in.” He said after a moment, turning away to retreat into his estate. “Get settled here and once it arrives, we’ll start.”

You nod, your fingers clenching tightly around the front folds of his haori. Though you know you’re safe out here, that Shinazugawa has no interest in overstepping any of your boundaries, you still feel too exposed.

More than anything, you want to retreat to your small room at the back wing of his manor, and disappear under your covers.

The Wind Pillar seems to know, for he only gives you a curt nod, before he turns back to the great, sprawling Estate, and takes the entry stairs up two at a time.

You wait a moment before following. You’ll have to figure out how to return him his haori, you realize. Perhaps you’ll drop it off at his room later in the night, when he’s likely to be asleep, or maybe you’ll wait until breakfast —

“Y/N.”

Your foot halted mid-air as you lifted your head to him, waiting.

Shinazugawa lingered on his engawa, though he kept his back to you.

“I won’t leave you alone with another man again. That’s a promise.”

You wanted to snap at him that he shouldn’t do this — he shouldn’t create obligations that he couldn’t or wouldn’t keep. That was the only way this transaction between the two of you would work; Shinazugawa would train you and once you’d gathered enough of a grip over your own abilities, you’d fuck out of his life and pursue your own, greater ambitions.

That’s what you should say, and yet, his words strike at something soft in you. Reminds you, once again that for whatever reason, he is someone you can rely upon; someone you can trust.

The exception.

And it’s because of that, you only respond, “Thank you.”

[stsgluver]

𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐓.𝟐 — gojo satoru

synopsis. another installment of the first years going through old videos of their teacher and his friends

wc. 4.1k

tags. gojo x reader, reader in the same class as gojo, ft. nanami and haibara

an. do I have any idea where im taking this? no. still think its cute though (let’s hope the next part doesn’t take me another couple of months 🤭)

previous part / next part / series masterlist

“good evening boys,” nobara burst into megumi and yuuji’s room. the former who was shocked awake from his nap and the latter who had two big bags of popcorn in either arm. he’d been waiting for an hour for the orange-haired girl, a bright grin on his face.

“you can’t just come into our room,” megumi grumbled, pulling his pillow over his head and rolling over in his bed. nobara and yuuji ignored his complaint, dragging both chairs in their room in front of yuuji’s desk. nobara set up the laptop whilst yuuji ran to nobara’s room to grab a third chair. after five minutes of rustling, their movie night was read.

“come sit all, it’s movie time!” the orange-haired girl said excitedly, pulling megumi’s comforter off of him. he sported his usual frown but sleepily complied nonetheless, dragging the blanket around his body as he sat next to yuuji (who then forced the dark-haired teen to share some of the blanket with him). 

“we’re in detention.” the screen opened up with you – hair pulled back into a ponytail as you wore your usual uniform. the three students could recognise the wall behind you as one of their own classes. 

“not our fault,” shoko added, fixing gojo’s glasses on the top of her head. the two of you spoke in hushed whispers, glancing towards the door where, presumably, yaga was on the other side. you had shoved your desk closer to shoko’s so it was basically one big desk and the camera was balanced in the middle.

“never is,” you pinched the bridge of your nose, shooting the person next to you a glare. 

shoko lightly shifted the camera so that geto could come into frame. he raised his hands up in surrender, “it’s not mine either.”

“satoru is getting yelled at by sensei right now,” you whisper shouted, pointing towards the door. if yuuji turned the volume up any louder, they’d be able to hear yaga yet again scolding gojo for another mistake he’d made on a mission – an order he’d probably disobeyed the more confident he grew in his own ability.

shoko frowned, throwing her hands up in exasperation, “he literally knows it was that idiot. why are we being punished?”

“maybe yaga thinks if we get annoyed at satoru he’ll stop,” geto reasoned with a sigh, as if though he wasn’t gojo’s partner in crime and equally as complicit when he entertained his antics. 

“no he won’t. he thinks by punishing us, satoru will have some epiphany about his actions impacting other people. like he thinks far enough ahead to come to that realisation,” you dropped your head down onto your desk. geto laughed quietly, giving you a ‘comforting’ pat on your shoulder.

shoko leant close to the camera, a sharp pencil in hand that she lightly jutted forward, “count your days, gojo satoru.”

the classroom door slid open and the camera was abruptly dropped as yaga walked in, a head of white hair only seconds behind. “is that a came–?” his voice was muffled and cut off quickly as the clip ended.

“bagsy my turn,” yuuji practically jumped from his seat, almost spilling the popcorn everywhere as his half off the blanket dropped from his lap. 

megumi grumbled at him as he grabbed the blanket and bag of popcorn from his excitable classmate. “oh no i was in such a rush,” he sarcastically quipped and nobara lightly nudged his shoulder.

gojo behaved as a god now, untouchable to all as he alone was the strongest. even though their teacher had never been anything but overtly childish, his cursed energy wasn’t something that could be ignored. seventeen year old gojo was as human as they come, lovesick and reckless and happy. the balance of the world was yet to be forced upon him. 

yuuji grinned as he sat back properly, having only taken a fraction of the time to find a video he wanted in comparison to their previous snooping session. taking back his bag of popcorn, he settled himself back under the blanket. “want some?” he offered megumi, who shook his head in response. “your loss.”

as per usual, it was shoko’s face up close and personal with the camera as she adjusted the lens and made sure that it was on and focused. once she was satisfied, she spun the camera so that it was facing nanami – yuuji could hardly contain himself at seeing his beloved teacher look so… not muscular and scary. small giggles filling the dorm room.

the two were in one of the tokyo classrooms, and sat on desks on opposing sides of the room. nanami had his head deep in a book that would probably kill any of his classmates from sheer boredom alone.

“who do you think the first of us to die will be?” shoko asked indifferently as nanami’s eyebrows furrowed and he slowly looked to his left with an unimpressed expression. even as a sixteen year old, he was set in his rigid mannerisms and beliefs and often saw his four seniors as pains in the ass. whilst you and shoko were definitely ranked higher in his list of people he could tolerate than gojo and geto, questions like this made him contemplate his future in jujutsu sorcery if this was who he was going to be working alongside.

“why are you asking me that?”

“answer,” shoko demanded, zooming in the camera on nanami’s face. his blonde hair was held neatly in his side parting and he looked like anyone but the nanami the students were familiar with. 

it looked like he was contemplating telling shoko she was odd, or completely blanking her and opting to finish his book, but the thoughtful silence was interrupted by a sudden thud outside of the classroom. their heads darted up to look at the door and peer through the open doorway into the hallway only to hear gojo’s faint ‘i’m okay!’. 

nanami let out a drawn out sigh, shaking his head. “him.”

“none of us!” haibara’s voice called out as he peered out of the classroom’s cupboard that he’d been reorganising (it had been gojo and geto’s job but they’d left it worse than when they’d arrived and he really didn’t want to get told off again by yaga). 

shoko eyed the camera in disbelief, not even trying to entertain the young teen’s impossible ideology. “you know the mortality rate of a sorcerer right?” she called back to haibara who didn’t falter in his cheeriness as he affirmed his point.

“and? geto and gojo are almost special grades already! you’ve got to have some faith in us,” he grinned, slipping his jacket back on as he finished up his tidying. his footsteps held a skip that the older students had lost – an innocence that was rarely allowed to exist in the jujutsu world. 

yuuji had stopped giggling at the younger appearances of the sorcerers he now knew because he didn’t know him. it was a reminder to the three that no matter how positive they remained against the hardships that would come, it wouldn’t matter. it was kill or be killed and one tiny little mistake, one movement a fraction of a second too late, was the difference between getting paid and coming home in a body bag. 

“lame,” shoko rolled her eyes. she tapped her twin twice as she pondered her own question before pointing at the blond opposite her, “my guess is nanami.” despite his disinterest in the question itself, he shot a look of offence to shoko who raised her free hand in surrender. “imagine this: you’re put on a mission with gojo. you’d ask the curse to kill you.”

“i’m getting killed by a curse?” the special grade in question peered into the classroom, glasses pushed up onto his head and revealing his renowned dazzling blue eyes. there was a small scratch on his cheek – presumably from whatever he’d hit into a few minutes prior.

“no, nanami is to avoid you.”

gojo gasped, one hand on the door frame and the other over his heart as he cried out that ‘that couldn’t be true’ and nanami was his ‘bestest bestie for life’. he only halted his dramatics when you and geto forced him out of the doorway so you could join the rest of your classmates.

you sat in your usual seat next to shoko and geto sat on top of your desk. gojo, on the other hand, remained at the door, jaw practically on the floor as he aggressively pointed at the annoyed blond. “guys, nanami is going to die so he doesn’t have to be friends with me, defend me!”

“at least one of us is brave enough to end our suffering,” geto teased, pinching the bridge of his nose with a grin as you lightly hit his arm, scolding him for entertaining gojo’s behaviour.

instead of giving the white haired sorcerer’s antics any more attention, shoko turned the camera so that it was only a couple of inches from your face. “who do you think will die first?”

“satoru,” you said in unison with geto, eliciting another gasp as gojo dropped onto the floor, faking death. 

when he didn’t get the sympathetic reaction he wanted, he abruptly sat up, pointing a finger directly at you and geto, “did we all just forget five minutes ago when i kicked your asses in training?”

“i’m literally a grade two sorcerer, what sort of flex is that mr i’m-practically-special-grade-please-worship-the-ground-i-walk-on?” you scoffed. the video ended a few moments later, cutting off laughter and satoru bickering with you. 

there was a brief moment of silence – mixed feelings towards what the three had just witnessed. of course it was fun to watch their teacher and his friends but death was a sobering event.

“megumi?” nobara gestured for him to take his turn on choosing their next video but he shook his head, cradling what remained of the bag of popcorn (he’d stolen it back after yuuji nearly spilled once he saw nanami).

“no thanks, you can take my go,” he offered and nobara grinned, worries set aside as she leant forward to find the next video. it was like watching a tv show but it was real life and she knew the characters.

yuuji tried to argue it should be his go – megumi did steal his popcorn after all – but megumi didn’t care enough to aid his argument and there was no way yuuji could overpower the orange-haired sorcerer without his support. nobara was a force to be reckoned with and yuuji was scared to make her mad. 

“is that the teacher from kyoto?” nobara asked after several moments of silently scrolling.

yuuji leaned forward to look at the thumbnail of the video she held the cursor over and in between two tall cherry blossom trees was utahime iori. “it is!” he said excitedly; he’d never seen her without the scar before.

the video opened with utahime running towards the camera from the pink trees. they were fully bloomed and in the background there were tourists taking photos.

“did you get a good picture? does my hair look okay?” utahime asked whoever was behind the camera. the questions were so mundane – the questions of teenage girls worried more about their social media than if they’d survive their next mission.

“yeah don’t worry it always does,” shoko’s voice was heard speaking. her hand appeared in the frame a moment later as she handed utahime back her phone. “here’s your phone.”

“you never say that to me,” you grumbled.

“take the hint,” shoko threw a handful of cherry blossom leaves at you and there was the sound of rustling as you tried to shake what you could out of your hair. 

“shoko ieiri!” you whined, followed by some incoherent threat and a complaint that you’d just had your hair done after some curse had ruined it the other week.

utahime picked up the camera, lifting it high up to show off the trees and bustling streets of tourists and commuters. “i thought we specifically didn’t bring gojo and geto to avoid childless arguments.”

“yn’s fault,” shoko countered, jumping away into the frame of the camera as you tried to hit her arm. she giggled, half behind utahime, “do you at least have gojo’s card?”

“you mean this gorgeous thing?” you appeared on the other side of utahime, sleek black card between your fingertips that you showed to the camera. “today is on him ladies.”

“you truly are taking one for the team being with him, i retract all earlier insults.” shoko held her hand out for a truce, bowing her head as you took her hand.

“i appreciate it, it’s not an easy task,” you dramatically wiped a fake tear away from the corner of your eyes. gojo had given you the card before you’d embarked on your monthly trip to the city, telling you that as long as you brought back a bag of sweets and kikufuku from that one cafe, he didn’t care what you spent.

you froze a moment later, a look of deep thought crossing your features, “can you guys hear that?”

“no,” utahime frowned, a look of concern as she glanced around at the crowd. if your day was about to be ruined by a curse, or worse yet, curse users–

“sounds like the card is saying we need to buy overpriced starbucks.” the three of you broke out into grins at the potential that the black card had given you.

“oh my god, you’re so right and wait,” shoko grabbed your wrist and brought the card close to her ear, “it needs cigarettes to be bought too.”

“shoko! you said you were quitting,” utahime nudged her and shoko blew her an apologetic kiss. the nicotine patches she’d bought to try and quit were still sealed and in a draw she hadn’t opened since she put them in there several weeks ago. quitting was nothing more than a fantasy considered once every blue moon.

“she’s a liar–”

“–and proud,” shoko finished your sentence with a nonchalant shrug.

“i wish sensei would give me his card for a day,” nobara said wistfully as the video ended, twisting a strand of her orange hair around her finger as she mentally plotted the order in which she’d go to all of the shops in tokyo. all she’d need was a full day – 9 to 5 – and she’d never have to shop another day in her life. 

“you’d max it out within an hour,” yuuji scoffed, scooping a handful of the popcorn into his mouth. nobara scrunched her nose up at him as he messily chewed down.

“actually it’s a lot harder than it would seem,” megumi noted.

nobara raised a brow at him – megumi and shopping? “you’ve tried?”

“we tried multiple times,” megumi spoke without much of a second thought. his jaw clenched slightly as he realised his mistake and the consequential curious eyes . pointing to the dark screen, he lightly elbowed the boy next to him’s side, “yuuji take your go quick before i kick kugisaki out so i can sleep.”

“welcome to yn’s kitchen- don’t touch that,” you whacked geto’s hand with a wooden spoon, stopping him from dipping his finger into the bowl of chocolate icing. the dark haired sorcerer cradled his ‘injured’ hand though it was comical to believe you’d actually done any damage – he was at least an entire six inches taller than you.

“today we made a cake,” you held your arms out in a jazz hands manner to show something that… resembled a cake? if the students squinted maybe they’d agree.

“for satoru’s birthday,” geto added, pulling out the big ‘18’ candles that would eventually be used. 

it was pretty obvious that neither of you had any real baking experience, but the thought was definitely there. the shape somewhat was cylindrical, only a small clump had chosen to stay in the pan and had to be ‘surgically’ glued back to the rest of the shape with a large scoop of nutella. you were hoping that the icing would disguise the bitterness of the burnt edges.

“taste it,” you smiled at the camera, shifting the plate towards geto like you were on some cooking show and that pile of sponge was something to be proud of.

geto pushed the plate back without any hesitation, “i don’t want to.”

“do it.”

“you do it.”

your smile dropped and you flashed geto a glare before composing yourself by clearing your throat. taking a deep breath, you broke off a tiny piece of the top layer of the cake, “so i’m now going to trial this small bit for research purposes.”

you barely had chewed twice before your mouth was scrunching up in disgust and you were disappearing off camera to find a bin to spit it out into.

geto, unfazed and unsurprised by your joint failure, picked up the spatula and began dolloping it onto the top of the cake.

“that’s horrendous-” you came back in view with a glass of water in hand. “what are you doing?”

“hiding that with icing,” he stated obviously.

“we’re still giving that to him?”

geto grinned, directly at the camera as he hoped gojo would find this video after he too ate this. “obviously we’re still giving it to him.”

“it’s weird,” yuuji hummed once the video ended, “those two were sensei’s closest friends and yet he doesn’t speak about either.”

“can you blame him? have you ever spoken to maki about the attack geto led against the school last year?” nobara pointed out and yuuji’s eyes widened as he’d nodded. maki was a woman of few words but when it came to yuta? she’d spend all day ranting about how much she disliked geto and that he’d gotten what was coming to him.

“my turn,” megumi placed the now empty bag of popcorn onto the floor as he scrolled and clicked on the first video that he could find. you weren’t a conversation he was ready to have yet – he could bearly speak to gojo about it, let alone the two loudest mouths in the school.

the video opened to the loud sound of the subway. shoko and geto were sat on one side whilst you and gojo on the other – with you holding up the camera as your beloved boyfriend stood up in the middle of the subway carriage.

“fit check!” gojo did a little spin, showing off his basic hoodie and baggy jeans that he wore almost every time the four snuck out of the high school – or in fact, did anything together for that matter. for someone so rich he really did not use his wealth to its full capacity.

after his little twirl and bow, he dropped back down next to you, looking over the camera into your eyes as he seeked your validation. “i look hot right?”

“you always look hot,” you flipped the camera to face yourself as you not-so-subtly-whispered, “his mum paid me to say that.” the students knew their teacher well enough to know that the dramatic gasp they heard was almost definitely followed by an overexaggerated display of anguish. your giggles and geto’s laughter only confirmed the conclusion.

“i think i need a kiss to recover. or i’ll spend the rest of my days as a ghost, heart broken and never able to leave this subway as i haunt it and all the other coup–” the lens view was obstructed by their teacher’s hoodie as you gave into his demands, cutting off his pathetic rant. 

a loud groan was heard from shoko as she snatched back the camera and held it up to her unimpressed face and geto gagging. “i prefer it when they’re broken up,” she grumbled. 

before megumi could interject and tell nobara to get out now (he didn’t care if yuuji teased him for his ‘need for beauty sleep’), the video ended and automatically opened onto the next one. his words were caught in his throat at the oh-so-familiar apartment.

“get that out of my face.” you were older now, only be a few years but there was a scar on your neck that hadn’t been there in any of the other videos. gojo’s laugh could be heard as he ignored your request and instead held it up high enough to capture you both in the frame.

“you don’t remember this old thing?” he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pressed a kiss to your forehead, securing you before you could duck away from him.

“we’re twenty one stop acting like we’re ancient,” you crossed your arms in front of yourself as you accepted that maybe just possibly you didn’t quite the match the strength of jujutsu’s strongest sorcerer.

“we may as well be. we’ve got two kids.”

your eyes widened and you shook your head, “we do not–”

“yn!” a small megumi appeared in the corner of the frame and you quickly shut up as gojo gave you an i-told-you-so look. “gojo said he’d help me with my maths homework. an hour ago.” 

the smugness almost instantly vanished from the sorcerers face as you glared at him for once again avoiding his responsibilities. because apparently there was more to looking after children than feeding them and taking them out for the day as a reward when they beat up bullies in school.

“i’m a busy man megumi, saving lives, helping–” gojo winced as you elbowed him in the side, allowing you to slip from his grasp.

“ignore him megs, let’s go into the living room,” you said, ushering the small boy out of the room. two years of this and you were surprised that megumi even still bothered to give gojo a chance to act his age.

“don’t take my sweets!” 

you halted megumi purposefully, “do you want gojo’s sweets?” the camera although kind of forgotten now, still had the young boy in view and picked up his smirk in full as he nodded.

“i’d love them.” gojo winced again, pretending like tears were about to start falling. as if though he couldn’t easily afford to replace anything they did eat by the thousands.

“perfect,” you exaggerated in a condescending tone. as the amazing parent that you were, you made sure not to forget about the other child that was staying with you. “tsu! do you want a treat?”

“yeah!”

“even better,” you clapped your hands together and gestured for megumi to continue on into the living room again. “have fun with your camera love. i’m very busy adulting here.”

“this isn’t over,” the white haired sorcerer shook his head, betrayal clear on his features.

you mouthed the words ‘i love you’, blowing him a little kiss as you disappeared around the corner. gojo gave you a fake grin, narrowing his eyes at the camera.

“jokes on them, i pay the bills. no more electricity for them.”

“you were so cute!” yuuji practically squealed as he and nobara jumped up 

“your hair was so spiky!” nobara reached out to poke at his less bold spikes that he sported nowadays. they had earnt him his nickname of ‘sea urchin’ but still couldn’t beat his younger hairdo.

“can we meet her?” yuuji asked, the poor boy having been oblivious to any of the social cues that nobara already had. nobara coughed at his request, eyes flicking between the two boys.

megumi shook his head. “i think that’s enough for tonight. please, kugisaki,” he nodded his head towards the door. the girl gave him a quick salute, completing her secret handshake with yuuji before she grabbed the laptop and disappeared from their dorm back to her own.

the dark haired student ignored yuuji’s complaints as he dropped himself back onto his bunk bed, reaching for his phone. upon opening his messages, he scrolled to a contact and pressed on the chat. 

all of the messages displayed on the screen were sent from him to the unknown contact. there was never a response, or even a read message. just ‘delivered’. he knew that if he scrolled up it would be much the same. the last message he’d ever received was one on his 14th birthday; a simple ‘happy birthday. i love you. i’m sorry’.

hi. we miss you. i hope you’re doing okay.

taglist. @thefictionalcharacterssimp @hana-patata @mor-pheus @leathairs @sh0ek0 @maliakealoha @levisteeacup @g-kleran @stevenknightmarc @n1kimura @darliingyu @saturn-alone @splxtscreen @leah-rose03 @rinshoe @laurenzitaa @patricia142lilian @sabo-has-my-heart @wooasecret @dahliawarner @kysrion @dreamerdeity @mwah-chia @geromiegerald @arminsarlerts

[augustinewrites]

tsumiki asks the question on a rare, relaxed saturday afternoon. with both the kid’s baseball games canceled due to some heavy morning rain, the four of you were taking the time to do some much needed relaxation. 

“how did you guys end up together?” 

satoru lifts his head from your lap, where you’d been plucking his brows. “isn’t it obvious? it was due to my roguishly handsome good looks and sharp comedic wit.” 

megumi scoffs from his spot on the armchair. “i doubt that.”

you press your cheek against your boyfriend’s shoulder, laughing. “that’s cute, babe, but do you want to tell them how it really happened? or should i?”

“i’ll tell them,” he volunteers. “because i have been in love with you a lot longer than you might think.”

_____

satoru meets you when he’s seventeen years old. (it’s a stupid age. ‘cause when you’re seventeen, you’re all hormones and ego and think the world revolves around you.) 

so he doesn’t pay you much mind when yaga first introduces you to his little class, because honestly? he’d taken one look at you, fresh out of the countryside with your perfectly pressed uniform, not a hair out of place or a battle scar on your body and was extremely underwhelmed. so he’d brushed you off like lint on his sleeve, because he doubted you’d even survive the year. no point in getting to try and know you. 

that same afternoon, you’d unleashed hell on him with your shikigami and almost broken his nose. 

“i’m sorry,” you’d muttered when you’d forcibly accompanied him to the infirmary. 

“you don’t sound sorry,” he’d huffed. his nose (and his ego) were definitely bruised. 

you rolled your eyes and muttered something that was probably really mean under your breath. he’s about to tell you off when he feels blood start to drip again, cursing and pinching the bridge of his nose as he tilts his head back.

“you’re supposed to tilt your head forward,” you sigh, handing him another folded up piece of paper towel. 

he doesn’t take it, glaring down at you. “why would i do that?”

shoko and geto walk behind you both, highly amused by your bickering. “they’d be good together, don’t you think?”

“if they don’t kill each other first.” the latter chuckles, shoving his hands in his pockets as he eyes you both. 

“if you tilt your head forward, then the blood drips out and not in–”

“why? that’s where the blood is supposed to be.”

“no, it’s not, and if you’d just let me finish what i was saying instead of interrupting me–”

it’s not the last time he interrupts you. it’s not the last time the two of you bicker or the last time he walks with you through the courtyard. days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months, and even though you’d almost broken his nose that first day, he quickly realizes that he couldn’t imagine you anywhere but with him. 

_____

it’s late when he sneaks out of your room, sunset streaming through the courtyard as he peeks around the corner, on the lookout for any faculty before he dashes back to the boy’s dorm…

…only to run into geto, who’s standing outside. he feels bad for a second, because they haven’t really talked since…well, everything.

but he just flicks his cigarette, grinning in that all too knowing way of his. “what were you doing in the girl’s wing, creeper?”

“nothing,” he lies, but his cheeks are warm, there are butterflies in his stomach, and he can’t seem to stop smiling.

his best friend looks at him. really looks at him. “oh, man. you’re so obvious.”

“i’m not obvious, you’re obvious,” he retorts.

geto takes another drag before holding it out to him. gojo shakes his head. “you’re one of the smartest, yet dumbest people i know. so i’m going to help you now, because i think without guidance, you are capable of making extremely rash romantic decisions.”

“that’s not true–”

“it’s very true. like that fact that you’re in love with…” geto nods his head towards the girl’s dorm, grinning. 

he tucks his chin under the collar of his jacket when he feels heat crawl up his neck, looking away. “that’s ridiculous. i’m not…it’s not like that. we’re just…hanging out.”

“really?” his friend checks. “because the way that you look at her, i mean…wow. we’ve all seen it. you look at her like you hear tiny forest animals singing whenever she walks into a room.” 

satoru bristles slightly, because he’s not entirely off the mark. 

(but seventeen is a stupid age, and at the time he knew he cared for you deeply, but he didn’t know he loved you yet.)

geto knows though, and just shrugs. “i know you’ll see it someday too.”

_____

“do these shoes go with my outfit?” you ask, looking over your shoulder.

gojo shrugs, hardly even glancing up from his phone. “sure.” 

“you didn’t even look!” 

he exhales a harsh breath, tossing his phone onto your bed as he looks up at you. “why are you trying so hard for some guy you don’t even like? i mean– have you even met him?”

“no,” you sigh, smoothing your hands over your dress. “but me meeting him is really important to my father.” 

he leans back against your headboard, folding his hands behind his head. “why?”

“because a proposal from the kamo clan is a really big deal.” you startle when he sits up so fast that his glasses fall from their perch atop his head. “oh my– what’s wrong?!”

“everything about that sentence. a proposal? as in to be wed?”

“yes, gojo,” you confirm, turning back to adjust your earrings in the mirror. “i was born outside of the zen’in clan, but i have their inherited technique. my dad…all these years he’s worked hard to keep me off their radar so i wouldn’t be stuck there. so i wouldn’t be unhappy like he was. if i accept this proposal and join the kamo clan…all his hard work wouldn’t be for nothing.” 

“the kamo clan,” he repeats, shaking his head. he’s not sure why he’s so annoyed. it’s hard to pinpoint the exact reason. “they’re based in kyoto. you’d– you’d have to leave.”

he doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but all the unsaid things that he’s been too scared to admit to himself (and especially to you) must be written all over his face, because you hesitate before you step out the door, looking back at him hopefully. 

“have fun,” is all he says instead, pretending not to notice when your expression falls. “i’ll probably be out when you get back, but just text so i know you’re alright and haven’t already been whisked off to kyoto.”

_____

“but you never joined the kamo clan,” tsumiki notes, sending you a questioning look. “why did your dad to change his mind?”

“i…actually still don’t know,” you admit, smiling softly. “he’s never told me.” 

“well, whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter now. ‘cause you’re right where you’re supposed to be,” satoru grins. he presses a soft kiss to your lips, but pulls back with a laugh when the kids groan loudly. “on that note, i’m going to start cleaning up.” 

megumi, who’d been silent the entire story, gets up to help, trailing after him into the kitchen.

“it was you,” he says once you and tsumiki are out of earshot.

satoru sets the stack of plates on the counter, glancing over his shoulder at him. “hm?”

“you made some kind of deal with her family, didn’t you? like you did for me.” 

he doesn’t answer right away, moving leftover vegetables into a container. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

besides, that was then and this was now. he’s older and wiser and he knows that he’s loved you since he was seventeen years old.

_____

your father seems taken aback, and not just because satoru gojo was standing in his study, but because of what he was proposing. “excuse me?”

blue eyes land on a photo of you on your father’s desk. you’re cherished here. loved. letting you go must be hard, even if it’s for your own good. “you want to keep her away from the zen’in’s right? if she joins the gojo clan, we’ll make the idea of even coming near her radioactive.” 

“but the only way to do that is–”

“marriage. to me, specifically,” he finishes with an easy shrug, as if he’s merely speaking about the weather. “quick, easy, simple. now you can reject the kamo clan’s proposal.”

your father is a smart man, that much is obvious. he’s kept you out of the zen’in’s grasp for years, even after news of your inherited technique had spread. there’s no way he’d turn down a deal as good as this.

“i have nothing to offer you,” he says now, expression pinched. “no dowry, or things of the like.”

“i don’t need your money,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand. “in fact, i only have three conditions.”

gojo’s three conditions

[machveil]

Can't believe you're gonna make me simp for this man while I'm at work-

LET ME KISS HIS SCARS BETTER REPEATEDLY DAILY ON THE BED ON THE DESK ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER WHERE NO GOD CAN SEE OR JUDGE I WILL WORSHIP THE MAN WITH WAR WOUNDS THE WAY HE OUGHT TO BE -🐸

Kiss it Better

sometimes a kiss makes things feel better— or a few dozen! headcanons for smoochin’ their scars: Simon “Ghost” Riley, John “Soap” MacTavish, König, Sebastian Krueger

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

Simon Riley has been on the receiving end of a lot, he’s used to it - mishaps during training, wounds during deployments, not to mention the occasional bumps and bruises from daily life. what he wasn’t used to receiving was the feeling of your lips on the rough, patchy parts of his skin

”What’chya doin’, love?”, voice warm as he watches you press kisses to his scarred chest. he’d told you about some of them, grazes and nicks, close calls with blades, “Nothing, Si.”. a content hum resonates in his chest, a hand resting on the back of your head as you continue - kissing from scar to scar

he was indifferent towards the scars - a part of his job, but when you littered kisses over them? the warmth that bloomed in his chest was welcomed. lounging in bed with you, the tv idly playing in the background as he combs his fingers through your hair, the domestic moment is pure bliss for Simon

pressing his own kiss to your hairline, he cracks a smile when you chuckle, nipping at his collarbone. “Careful, you’re supposed t’be kissin’ ‘em, lovie.”, he says, tugging your hair a little.

“Could leave a couple new marks for you.”, you mumble, smiling against his skin when he gently scratches your scalp

John “Soap” MacTavish:

for every kiss you place on his scars he’s doubling them and giving them back. Johnny is a sucker for when you kiss his scars - getting them can be horrifying depending on what happened, but when you’re pecking his arms? peppering kisses over his scarred muscles? he’s thinking about banging his knee into your coffee table ‘accidentally’ so you’ll kiss it better

“Wait, go back— missed a spot, mo ghaol.”, Johnny happily says, hand cupping your chin as he smiles at you, guiding you to press a kiss to his shoulder. the scar is barely visible - probably a nick from training or bumping into something, but he’s more than happy to feel your lips against the small mark, “Ya started this, gotta kiss ‘em all.”, he insists

he’s living for the attention, thumb pressed to your cheek as he gently guides you to each scar - some completely visible, others you have to squint at. and he’s gushing, cooing sweetly at you about how nice your lips feel against his skin, how you should do this more often

and he when you’re done? he’s pressing you down against the couch, a hand holding your wrists above your head as he kisses you silly - he’s laughing, dopey smile on his lips as he sloppily pecks you. “Hold still, mo chridhe! You’re squirmin’ too much—“, he chuckles, accent thick between quick kisses

“John! John— let go! It tickles!”, you complain, his stubble rubbing against your neck as he playfully bites at you

König:

it took a while for König to reveal his marred skin to you - scars, freckles, and moles all hidden beneath his uniform and civvies. despite his confidence and cocky nature as a Colonel, behind closed doors König worries. ever since his childhood people had pointed and mocked him, and back then he wasn’t charging into the field receiving wounds

but he trusts you, and when his sniper hood is awkwardly tugged off by large, calloused hands? his icy blue gaze meets yours, his face on display - a small scar over against his eyebrow, a cut across the corner of his lips, a scattering of roughed up skin against his cheek. he doesn’t explain what happened, how he got his scars and wounds, but you don’t pry. instead, when your first instinct is to press a kiss to his long since healed cheek?

he freezes, breath hitching - König was expecting you to be appalled, to leave his apartment with knit eyebrows and disappointment in your eyes. he wasn’t expecting such gentle, careful adoration. and when you move to kiss his crooked nose, the bridge slanted slightly, he feels his chest tighten with relief, heart hammering. “Oh, liebling—“, shaky hands moving to hover above your hips, he swallows, “You don’t have to.”, he murmurs

his stomach flips when you kiss the corner of his lips, right where the nick against them is. he lets his eyes flutter shut when you tell him you want to, the he’s handsome and ever so charming - words he never thought he’d hear

“So pretty—“, you mumble, moving to peck the small scar the splits his eyebrow, “You look perfect, König.”

Sebastian Krueger:

prideful bastard, he’s showing off each and every scar - telling you exactly what happened. it doesn’t matter that his body has a reminder that he was nicked by a blade, “Ja, the man that did this won’t lay a hand me again, meine Herz.”, it’s almost like he’s bragging about them

Krueger cracks jokes about some of his more serious wounds, waving off anything he considers boring. the small scrape on his hip? ignore that he accidentally hip checked the corner of a table, look at this one! it’s the size of your thumb, you want to know where he got it? no? oh, you don’t want to listen to his stories, kleiner Vogel? you’re hurting his feelings, you should kiss his scars to make it up to him

he just wanted to share some stories with you, isn’t it mean that you’re denying him? he’s holding your face, palm to your chin and his thumb slightly digging into your cheek, “Du willst mir nicht zuhören, kleiner Vogel? Fine, how about you give me some attention then, Klingt das gut?”. he grins when you press a kiss to the scar on his chest, humming at the feeling of your lips against his skin, “Schau dich an, isn’t this nice?”

in fact, Krueger likes it so much that he’ll seek you out just to feel you kiss his old wounds - settles you in his lap, crowds you against the kitchen counter. his eyes light up whenever you initiate, chest twisting with excitement as you peck his collarbone, where a nasty little wound had been years ago

softly smiling as you press kisses to the healed, rough bit of skin, you glance up at Krueger, “Tell me about this one?”

I love these silly little guys - I hope you enjoyed these fluffy, domestic interactions with these soldiers🎀✨

[obsessivelullabies]

tf141 fighting over you.

imagine you’re a combat medic, highly skilled and capable. you joined the army to help people. you wanted to make a difference, so you spent all your time trying to sharpen your skills.

after a few years of hard work, you were offered to join a new task force. task force 141, created by captain john price.

you knew this was the right career move for you. you knew you’d help people.

the first man you met was the captain himself, john price. he was gruff and serious, yet you could tell he was a good man. he wouldn’t say it, but john held you in high regards already. he admired your loyalty and dedication.

the second man you met was kyle ‘gaz’ garrick. your first mission was with him and price. gaz was immediately drawn to you and your nature, striking up conversation with you, asking about yourself and what you liked. you two became fast friends.

gaz was close to your age, so you felt comfortable around him. he was also very trustworthy, which made you relieved.

gaz fell for you first after a few weeks, he adored your personality and how gorgeous he found you, even if you were wearing your dirtied uniform. he wrote it off as a dumb little crush.

not long after, you met two men. first, johnny ‘soap’ mactavish. he was funny, flashy and confident. he’d immediately come off as flirtatious towards you, probably using some stupid pickup line.

second was simon ‘ghost’ riley. he had little to no interest in you at first. he knew you were a good worker, which he appreciated, but nothing more.

over the span of months, you and the men in your task force grew closer. you accomplished quite a lot. they’d all saved your ass multiple times.

price would start to fall for you seeing you take care of injured soldiers so kindly, even if you didn’t know them at all. he also loved your loyalty. you always tried to save someone, even if it was a dumb decision.

for soap, the flirty jokes were a joke until they weren’t. he thought you were so gorgeous and funny. you never got annoyed with him or wanted him to leave. you enjoyed his presence. the flirtation becomes more personal, more serious.

ghost definitely fell for you last. after a particularly rough mission, as you stitched up his arm and tried to comfort him, ghost felt something he hadn’t felt in years. being around you made him feel alive again.

at some point, the men all picked up on each other’s adoration for you. price would always try to help you and guide you, his way of showing his affection.

gaz would always be so thoughtful of your needs, like buying you a drink if you said you were thirsty. small gestures.

soap would openly flirt with you and touch you innocently, vying for any affection or flirting back.

ghost didn’t have a lot of experience with romancing someone. he honestly just stayed close to you and watched your back.

all the men became more and more forward. they needed you to choose someone, they couldn’t let this issue divide them.

if only you got the hint.

does anyone want like a part two.. with like graves.. or laswell.. or alejandro.. ik they’re not tf141 but they do work with them.

masterlist! | unedited. | comments and reblogs appreciated! | make a request.

[kennahjune]

Steddie

I’m joining the s3 steddie train :D

…

Steve was late. He was so late and so dead. Robin was going to kill him— he’d never make it out of Scoops Ahoy alive.

This was his thought process after dropping Will Lucas and Max off at Mikes. This was also his thought process the entirety of the way to Scoops while he shoved his way through the mall.

The moment he entered the small shop Robins eyes locked on him in a glare. Steve barely gave her a second before he was going to the back room to get ready for his shift.

He heard the back room door open behind him.

“You’re—“

“24 minutes late I know,” he said as calmly as he could while trying to relax his breathing.

“Yeah and—“

“And you get an extra 25 minutes for your break, yes Robin I know!”

Steve finally closed his employee cubby and turned to look at Robin. “Look. Im sorry I was so late today but Will, Lucas and Max are assholes when they’re being petty and they needed a ride to Mikes cause all the others were busy! I’ll take closing shift today to if you’re really that mad.”

Robin stared at him angrily from the doorway. “Fine.” She uncrossed her arms. “And yes, you will be taking the closing shift tonight. I have a study date with a friend that I can’t miss.”

“It’s summer vacation?”

“Shut up!”

Steve shrugged when the door closed.

He closed the door to his employee locker with a little more force than necessary. He had a migraine building and the bright, florescent lights of the mall weren’t helping in the slightest.

He walked out and began his shift.

…

Eddie wanted to enjoy his day off. Preferably by himself. But Gareth and Jeff decided that his personal life was their personal life. So here they were.

He had wanted to spend the day away from the mall, considering that that was where everyone seemed to be nowadays. But the guys were insistent.

So they were walking around. It wasn’t too bad, considering Eddie had gotten himself a new record and tape with his newest paycheck. They were sitting at the fountain when Gareth shouted right in Eddie’s ear:

“HOLY SHIT!”

Eddie just about punched him with how hard he jumped. Jeff spit out his Pepsi all over Eddie.

While Eddie was worrying about getting the sticky drink off of his skin, Gareth continued with; “is that HARRINGTON in Scoops?”

Well. Now he has Eddie’s attention.

Sure enough, just in Eddie’s line of sight, was Steve Harrington in a sailors uniform and a dorky hat.

A dorky hat that was soon snatched up by his current customer, Billy Hargrove.

Jeff clapped him on the shoulder and leaned over him to get a better view. “Is that Hargrove?”

“Yep.” Eddie popped the P.

“It looks like he’s messing with Harrington.”

“Yep.” Another pop on the P.

“And Harrington looks like he’s gonna fucking explode.”

Eddie agreed. Harrington was red in the face and not in the cute blushy-way he usually gets (don’t ask why Eddie knows that). He was talking back to Hargrove, probably something bitchy and sarcastic in typical Harrington-fashion based on the way Hargrove seemed to recoil for a moment before jumping back.

“Should we do something?” Gareth asked skeptically. Jeff shrugged where he was pressed against Eddie’s back.

“I’m going in.” Eddie stood and nearly knocked Jeff down in the process.

“Hang on—“

“Nope! Wish me luck, boys!” Eddie yelled over his shoulder while he dashed over. He heard them both get up and follow him.

…

Steve wanted to cry.

His head hurt so fucking bad and his back was killing him and he had ran into a shelf earlier and had a killer bruise on his arm and leg from it and everything was too fucking much.

Then, in all his asshole and dick glory, in came Billy Hargrove.

At this point, Steve would rather take another plate to the head then have to deal with his annoyingly aggravating voice. Hargrove came in, probably expecting Robin to be there, but got Steve instead. And honestly Steve would rather deal with him then leave Robin with him.

So he’s been enduring it, giving his own comments and comebacks but overall hating his life and just wanting to curl up and die.

Then his savior showed up. In all his black leather and chains, Eddie fucking Munson.

Hallelujah.

Hargrove seemed to back down the moment Munson showed up. Which wasn’t too strange considering that Munson supplied over half of Hawkins’ weed supply. Including Steve’s own for a while. He hasn’t bought in a while cause of the brat brigade.

But not the point.

Hargrove nodded to Munson. “Munson.”

Wow. Real cool, Billy. Steve held back a snicker.

“Heeyyy, Hargrove!” Munson cheerily greeted. But there was something about his smile that was off, to Steve. It seemed tighter than usual, his eyes not crinkling with the motion like normal. Don’t ask why Steve knows this.

Munson’s eyes seemed darker, too. Like he was angry. Maybe Hargrove didn’t pay him? Steve couldn’t bother to care with how bad his head started to pound.

He shouldn’t be at work with this migraine. He knows that. His doctor’s told him this multiple times. But he owes it to Robin for being late so much and he needs to prove to his dad that he can take care of himself.

“So what brings you here, Billy?” Munson asks casually, stepping farther into the shop. Steve seems to finally be forgotten about, and he places his head down on the counter. The cooled surface definitely helps with the spinning room.

He hears Hargrove say something back, but he isn’t paying attention anymore. His eyes are stating to go blurry and he really needs to sit down. But then Munson says something that catches his attention:

“Just leave Harrington alone, man. Last I checked he did nothing to you.”

What the hell? Steve wished he could lift his head and see what Munson was doing. What he looked like when he said that. If he looked as mean as he sounded.

Steve only lifts his head a few moments later when he feels a hand on his back. He shoots up quicker than he intends, and nearly falls back down if not for the hands still holding him up.

“Shit,” he grumbles quietly to himself, whining even quieter at the sudden rush of pain and the black dots in his vision.

“Easy there, your highness.” Munson.

Steve blinks slowly, letting Munson set him down in a booth. He doesn’t remember walking over but he’ll take it. He puts his head back down and intertwines his fingers behind his head. He groans quietly again, the pounding slowly receding.

“Hey man, is there something we could do? Do you need anything?” He heard Munson ask.

We? Steve wants to ask, but finds himself not caring. “Water, and my bag from the back please,” he rasps out. Talking makes the pounding worse.

He hears someone rush off to the back and a moment later a hands on his back again and is helping him sit up.

“Here ya go sweetheart.” Munson slides the glass of water and bag over to him.

Steve silently reaches into his bag and pulls out his small “to-go” med-kit. He carries it around mainly for the kids. Mike tends to be clumsier than he comes off as and Max is always trying out some new skateboarding tricks. From inside the kit he pulls out a pill bottle and swallows 2 with the water and goes for another 2 before a hand stops him.

“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to take more than 2.” This voice is new but familiar. Steve squints past the blurriness and makes out someone he recognizes from school; Gareth Emerson.

“4,” Steve manages past the lump in his throat. Munson, Emerson, and someone else Steve doesn’t quite know look at him. Munson continues to hold Steve’s hand on the table, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. It weirdly intimate but the comfort is very welcome.

“4 what?” The other guy asks.

“4 pills. I usually take 4.”

Munson and Emerson both wince. The third guy looks at him like he’s insane. Steve finally recognizes him as Jeff,… something. He actually never got his last name.

“Dude— are you trying to overdose!?”

Steve winced at the sudden loudness, whining quietly. Munson shushed Jeff and Steve heard him rush out an apology.

The bell over the door dinged at that moment, and Steve found himself face to face with Max, Mike, Will, Lucas, and— for some reason— Jonathan.

“Uh— hi?” Steve attempted for a greeting.

“‘Hi!?’” Mike yelled. “Hi yourself man! We called your walkie at least 4 times!! What the hell?”

“Are you ok? Why didn’t you answer?” Will asked in a much quieter tone.

Lucas and Max wasted no time before slotting themselves in the booth with Steve. Munson remained across from Steve, and Emerson and Jeff now hovered farther away, but Lucas slid right in next to Munson and Max next to Steve.

“What the fuck, Harrington?” Max demanded. But she clung to his shirt tightly.

“Language, Mayfield,” he reprimanded quietly.

Mike paused where he stood. “Why are you talking so quietly? Shit— do you have a migraine?”

Suddenly 4 pairs of little eyes were gazing at him with unmasked concern. Holy shit was this overwhelming.

“Guys—“

“Why didn’t you say that, Steve?” Lucas asked.

“Are you ok? How long has it been going on for? Asked Will.

“Why are even here if you’re not able to function properly?” Mike reprimanded in his own caring-ness.

Max clutched to him tighter. “Why aren’t you at home? You could’ve called in sick or something!”

“Shhh!” Mike shushed her.

“Don’t shush me—“

“Shut up!” He whisper shouted. “You have to be quiet and try to control your temperature while resting in a dark, quiet room to try and help with migraines. Pain killers help to but no more than 3.”

Everyone stared at him. He went a little pink under the sudden attention.

“Nancy gets migraines a lot from reading in the dark.”

Jonathan came over right then. Steve was suddenly overwhelmed by all the people surrounding him.

“Uhm—“

“Hey,” Munson called. Steve forgot about him for a good moment. “This is cute and all, but maybe we should not surround him? Poor boy looks like he’s gonna cry.”

Everyone turned to look at him. Tears had— in fact— sprung to his eyes.

“Sorry!” All the kids rushed out quietly at the same time. Max climbed out of the booth and Munson and Jonathan both assisted with helping Steve to the break room. Jeff and Emerson stayed with the kids, but Mike came with them since he seemed to know what he was doing better than the 3 of them.

On their way back to the room though, Steve’s legs nearly gave out from under him. Shit. It’s one of those days. Munson just barely managed to catch him under the armpits while Jonathan got him by the waist.

“Woah there, sweetheart.” Munson grunted.

“Careful, Steve,” Jonathan said quietly.

“Sorry. Spinning.” Steve exhaled shakily.

Mike came rushing back after realized they weren’t with him. “Damn. Spinning? Are you able to walk? Or are they gonna have to carry you?”

Jonathan looked up at the mention of having to carry Steve. “Yeah— I’m not able to carry him. I am so not strong enough for that.” He had the decency to look apologetic.

Munson chuckled quietly and the sound reverberated through his chest where Steve’s head was. It was soothing.

“Don’t worry Big Byers. I’ve got him no problem.”

Steve was given no warning before he was being picked up in a bridal carry. He winced sharply and laid his head on Munson’s shoulder. Jonathan whistled lowly from somewhere beside them and Steve blindly kicked his leg in his direction, scoring in kicking him in the arm. Jonathan snickered.

…

When Munson chased off Hargrove he didn’t expect for Harrington to all but collapse in on himself and try to fucking overdose on like 5 pain killers. He also hadn’t expected to be bombarded by 4 kids and 1 Jonathan Byers. Least of all did he expect to be carrying Harrington bridal style to the break room of Scoops Ahoy.

Somewhere behind him, Gareth turned the sign on the door to closed. Eddie silently thanked him.

The kid— who he vaguely remembers as Nancy Wheeler’s younger brother— opens the door and startles a half asleep Robin Buckley.

“Hello,” Jonathan throws her way before pulling a chair out for Eddie to sit on.

“Uh— hi? What the hell—“

Eddie takes the seat with Harrington in his lap. Robin looks dumbfounded.

“Migraine,” Jonathan helpfully supplies.

“Really, really bad migraine. Vertigo included. Full package tonight, folks.” Mike adds.

“Ok— um, is he ok? He doesn’t look ok. If it was so bad why didn’t he just call in sick?”

“That’s a good question,” Mike retorts quietly while rooting around in a freezer.

“What are you looking for”, Robin asks.

“Ice pack. The dumbass has everything in that first aid kit of his except a damn ice pack.”

“Language,” Harrington reprimanded quietly from where his cheek was against Eddie’s chest. Eddie chuckled quietly when Mike retorted with a half-assed “sorry”.

Eddie couldn’t help but admire the now sleeping Harrington in his lap. He bent in half like a shrimp, his knees just about to his chest, and his hands gripping tightly onto Eddie’s still-Pepsi-soaked t-shirt. But he looked so at peace while asleep. Like he hadn’t just had the worst migraine Eddie’s ever seen and wasn’t just about to pass out on his feet. Eddie smiled.

Mike comes over silently, managing to sneak up on Eddie and make him jump slightly and causing Harrington to whine. He’d been whining a lot today. And under “different circumstances” Eddie would’ve found it hot as fuck.

“Sorry,” Mike whispered. He seemed to be able mellow out a lot when he actually tried. He seemed like such an asshole out at the booth but now he seems quieter. These kids really cared about Harrington, huh?

“Here.” Jonathan helped him out and gently picked up Harrington’s head. Eddie caught Harrington actually kind of leaning into his touch. A strange but endearing friendship. Mike placed the ice pack— now wrapped in a cloth— on Eddie’s chest where Harrington’s head lays.

Harrington lays back down and is out like a light soon enough.

Eddie zoned out until there’s a very, very soft knock on the door. When he looks up, Jonathan is letting the other 3 kids in while Jeff and Gareth stand in the doorway.

“Is he ok?” Asks Jonathan’s little brother.

Jonathan nods and pats his head. “He’s ok, Will.”

The redhead walks over and takes a silent seat next to Eddie so she’s next to Harrington. She takes Harrington’s hand in hers and proceeds to just sit there and hold it.

“He’s ok, Max. Just a migraine,” the third kid, Lucas he thinks, reassures with a hand on Max’s shoulder.

“That’s what he said before. And then he was in the hospital.”

Woah, what?

“Hm?” Lucas looks at him.

Oh. He said that aloud.

“Wait what?” Robin asked quietly.

Jonathan’s whistled lowly. It seems to be a bit of a tic for him. “Yeah uh— funny story. Hargrove broke a plate over Steve’s head last year and nobody realized how bad it actually was until he passed out after claiming it was only a migraine.”

“He ended up in the hospital for like 2 weeks,” added Lucas.

“He needed several stitches on the side of his head.” Max unhappily supplied. Lucas squeezed her shoulder.

“It was a stage 4 concussion,” muttered Will and Mike put his head on his shoulder.

Eddie caught Gareth and Jeff’s eyes across the break room. Huh.

The Will kid came up to Eddie suddenly. “Thank you. For uh— helping with Steve. It means a lot to us. He means a lot to us.”

Mike, Max, and Lucas all nodded.

“Hang on,” Lucas piped up. “Who are you?”

…

So uh— set myself up for a part 2 there :’D

Part 2

[moongreenlight]

I love your work about the 141 gossiping about Ghost, love the concept of him having a “secret wife”.

Please please please write more with “secret wife y/n”, I beg of you. 🙏🏻

ANYTHING FOR YOU, ANON. <3 Ghost and secretwife!reader are my sweet babies I love them so much.

Tw: blond Simon & smiling Simon. Read at your own risk.

If there’s one thing Gaz knows how to do, it’s shut the fuck up. And if there was ever a time to employ that skill, it was now. Now after he’d been frozen watching the two of you reunite after a close call. After he’d discovered your dirty little secret. Suddenly feeling like Icarus after flying too close to the sun. Hurtling back down to earth. He was certain that when he moved there would be a crater under his feet where his stomach dropped.

He’d gone so green that another nurse came up and gently tugged on his arm to see if he was alright. He snapped his jaw shut, nodding and mumbling something that didn’t sound anywhere near reassuring. But he forced himself to leave the medbay. Left the two of you behind the curtain, where in his final glance back he saw that your feet were still neatly on top of Ghost’s big boots. Pushed up on your toes to be able to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

He made some excuse not to meet with you that evening. Could barely look you in the eye when you caught him in the hall, looking significantly more cheery than you had been that morning. You pried, asking if he was alright, feeling his forehead with the back of your hand, but he claimed the stress of their mission had just hit him and he really needed to sleep.

It took him weeks to get over the initial shock. Couldn’t stand next to Ghost during conditioning. Made a point of sitting catty-corner to him during meetings and in transit so he had the least chances of accidentally catching his eye. Feeling like he’d deeply bastardized the idea of ‘Ghost.’ Blurred the lines between the man Gaz knew and the man he was in private.

He tried to reason with himself. Keep it fresh in his mind that he’d seen the signs, just hadn’t been able to fully connect the dots by himself. And it was an accident. He’d never intentionally pry into either of your personal lives like that. It wasn’t in his character. There was nothing innately wrong with the two of you hiding a marriage. Probably would have been an HR nightmare. Gotten both of you re-stationed. He was certain you both had a good reason to hide it. And there was no better person to find out than him. He’d actually be able to keep it a secret. Soap would immediately run his mouth. Get on the intercoms and scream the news as loud as he could. Price would pull the both of you aside and try to have some heart-to-heart. Not that it wouldn’t have been nice, it just would have felt too forced. Wouldn’t have served any real purpose.

So eventually he gets over it. Never pressed you about your marriage again, and you never seemed too keen on following up his request from months ago. The dust settles in his mind. He shelves the information like an old book. Life goes on.

And then the weather turns. Starts getting colder. The first few weeks of cold after summer where the wind stings a little more. Finds it’s way through jackets and uniforms a little more artfully. Soldiers are catching ill and passing it around like it’s a competition of who can infect the entire base. The medbay is busy, but a different kind of busy than summer when it’s an optimal time to see missions through.

The medics are tasked with rounding up all the soldiers on base and issuing flu vaccines to hopefully prevent further spread. You trudge to Price’s office in the early morning. He notices you look a little pale. The rims of your eyes and tip of your nose are blotchy. A gentle shade of pink that he assumes is from the weather or the cold you were bound to catch. You chat for a bit, catch up because you haven’t had the opportunity for a few weeks. Let him know that he and the boys need to make their way to the bay for their shots at some point.

You feel a little woozy. Pressing into his doorframe for support, white-knuckling it to keep yourself from swaying in your spot. He looks a little concerned. Asks if you need to take a few days away to recoup. You wave him off, tell him it’s nothing you can’t handle, but he insists on walking you back to medbay. And he’s glad he did because on the short walk back you find yourself having to duck into a dark meeting room so you can vomit into a trash can.

He keeps a steadying arm wrapped around your waist when you stumble back out into the hall. Shaking his head when you profusely apologize. Slowing his normally long strides so you were comfortable. Gently lets you down on your own cot and instructs you to stay where you are while he goes to find a few other doctors that can delegate your work for the day between them so you can have the day off.

He sends you home despite your protest. You’d already gotten your color back. Claimed you must’ve had something off to eat. He wasn’t having it. Said he wouldn’t have his best doctor spreading sick because she’s too stubborn to get off her feet for a few hours. He’s a bit more stern than usual because he knows you won’t listen otherwise, but he brings you a ginger ale and sits next to your bed until you’ve finished it.

Later that day, when he and the boys finally get around to the bay for vaccines, he notices the way Ghost’s eyes dart around like he was looking for something. His shoulders tensing when he sees your station empty, and moments after he’s taken his shot, Price sees that he’s slunk off to a corner to make a phone call.

He doesn’t think much of it. He’s been trying to give Ghost some space. So he just shrugs it off. Let’s him finish up whatever he’s doing before they get back to work.

The boys have gotten in the habit of taking a week off as the snow melts. Just before Spring brings rain and the soft buds of new leaves on the trees. Unofficial tradition proposed early on to have a few more days rest before things inevitably picked up again. Usually gave the boys time to kick off to visit family or get some well needed time away from base. Get in a well needed break because God knew they wouldn’t be able to for the foreseeable future.

Soap finds himself a little North of Manchester in his time off. Went out to see his godparents in Bolton for a couple days before getting back up to Iverness to see his parents. Meandering through a supermarket to pick up a bottle of wine for his godmother and a bottle of bourbon for himself. Could have sworn he saw Simon turning a corner at the end of the aisle. Chalked it up to a trick of the light. Seeing things after months of close quarters with his L.T.

But then he saw the man again. Stood in line at the butcher’s counter. No mask, but the same crooked nose and cropped blond hair. Same scar hooking his jaw. Swapped out his uniform and gear for a thick leather jacket, white shirt, and a pair of jeans. Would have been unrecognizable if Johnny didn’t know him so well.

He was about to head over to say hello. Make some wise crack about Ghost missing him too much, but he was stilled for a moment when a woman approached Simon. Pushed her cart up next to him and nudged his side with her hip. Prompted him to give her a small smile- the only smile Soap had ever seen Simon grace anyone with. No teeth, just a curve of his lips, but it changed his face completely.

Ghost said something to the woman. She reached up to fuss with the collar of his jacket. Johnny saw her shoulders shake slightly and heard the quiet tinkling sound of her laughter. Completely shell shocked. So imagine his surprise when the woman turned away from Ghost and it was you. Only you looked wildly different. He knew your face well enough, but after almost six months not going to the medbay on a weekly basis, something had changed.

Even wearing an oversized sweatshirt he could see the way it pulled taught against your swollen belly. Saw the way your arm was cradling it like second nature. He didn’t even realize that the bottle of wine had slipped from his fingers until he watched Simon’s head snap toward the sound. Ears perked. Tense like he’d suddenly flashed onto the battlefield. His eyes went wild for a moment as he scanned the busy aisle, calmed only a degree when he found you.

It’s like that Spider-Man meme where the three of them meet and point at each other. Johnny’s smiling sheepishly (for once), your jaw is dropped in surprise, and Simon is glaring daggers at Johnny like somehow it was his fault that you were all in the same place at once. You’re the first one to move. Rushing up to him as quickly as you could- now moving a bit awkwardly with the disproportionate weight of your pregnancy on your front. Asking if he was alright. Grabbing his hands to make sure the glass hadn’t cut him.

Simon tailed you like a hulking shadow. Glowering down at Soap something fucking ferocious. Didn’t even give him time to tell you he was fine. Pulling you back behind his arm by the wrists with a kind of gentleness Johnny had never known the L.T. to possess. You twisted your face in displeasure, batting his hands away and stepping back out from behind the wall that was your husband. Ignoring the wine and the soft crunch of glass under your shoes.

And to Soap’s absolute bafflement, Simon stood down. Didn’t try to yank you back, didn’t voice his protest, just drew his mouth into a hard line and let you push past him. He was speechless. For what well may have been the first time in his life, John MacTavish had no words. Couldn’t apologize for the mess. Couldn’t crack a joke. Couldn’t even say hello. He was pure dead at a loss.

Somehow, he allowed you to guide him away from the mess he’d made- staining the waxed tile a muted crimson even after the disgruntled looking employee came over to mop it up. Found his voice in your tugging him along after you and Simon to the checkout where you insisted you’d pay for the bottle of bourbon he’d managed not to send careening to the ground. Tried to tell you no, but you’d already sent it down the belt. And by the time you’d rooted through your purse in search of your card, Simon had already finished paying and was tucking his wallet into his back pocket.

Shuffled out with the two of you into the car park. Making a point of putting distance between himself and Simon who was pushing the cart with one hand and had the other planted firmly on the small of your back. Always walking on the side of oncoming traffic.

Johnny tried to keep up with your conversation. Asking him about his break. Where he was staying and for how long. How had he been. But it was tense. He could feel Ghost’s eyes on the back of his head. Burning through him. Making him feel like he had a target tacked to his skull.

He said a quick goodbye when Ghost helped you into the passenger seat of your car. You said you’d see him soon enough, said if he had any extra time before they went back he’d have to come by for dinner. Simon closed the door before you could say anything else. Looking monumentally irked.

The two men stood in suffocating silence while Simon unloaded the groceries into the trunk. Johnny tried to ignore the glinting of the silver band on the L.T’s finger. Caught the light every time he set a new bag in the back. A little unsure if he was being dismissed or if Ghost was just waiting until he was certain you wouldn’t hear the lashing he was bound to receive.

But it all stayed relatively calm. Maybe the eye of the hurricane. Simon pushed the bottle of bourbon into his chest before swinging the trunk shut.

“Appreciate if you’d keep this between us.”

Ghost spoke first, the words sounding a bit sticky in his throat- like they didn’t want to come out.

“‘Course.”

Johnny’s voice wasn’t much better. Both of them shifted on their feet. Not use to this kind of conversation. Uncomfortable being pushed from their usual dynamic.

Simon just nodded, moving to push the cart back to the corral. Johnny followed.

“How long you been keepin’ this in?”

“Which bit.”

His response was flat.

“Dinnae, L.T. Seems yer a man o’ mystery these days.”

Soap prodded, unable to help himself. A smile crept into his voice.

“Don’t push it.”

Simon bit back.

“Bonnie thing for a brute like you.”

“Johnny.”

“Looks ready’ta pop.”

A harsh sigh from Ghost. He reached into his jacket pocket like he was going for a cigarette. Tightening his jaw when his hand showed back up empty. He hummed his agreement.

“Few months.”

They’d reached Johnny’s car by this point. Just a few rows over in the car park. Stood by his driver’s side door shuffling their feet once more.

“Ken it’ll turn out like you?”

He couldn’t help but ask. Never pictured Ghost the fatherly type, but the idea was growing on him now that it’d been planted in his mind.

“Hope not.”

Simon gruffed back. Johnny snorted.

“Boy o’ girl?”

This earned him a nasty look, but he figured he was in deep enough as it was. No harm in asking.

“Girls.”

[ellecdc]

A Man With a Plan.2

prologue // p1 // p2 // p3 // p4 // p5 // p6 // p7 // p8

Remus Lupin x whimsical!reader - Hogwarts Era (no Voldemort) - Soulmate AU

CW: angst, smoking, mention of vomiting, Remus spiralling, Peter being v worried, James being a doting mother hen, Sirius being a cheeky bastard.

Remus didn’t stay in potions that day.

He gave Professor Slughorn a hasty excuse and beelined it from the room, earning him bemused stares from Peter, James, and Sirius. He couldn’t stay there – he couldn’t breathe the air you’d been breathing – it hurt, it burned, it was too much. 

“What the hell is wrong with me?” He huffed to himself as he shakily made his way to Gryffindor tower. He held his hand to his chest the whole way, heaving as if he was close to throwing up – he wasn’t fully convinced he that wouldn’t. 

As soon as he walked into (stumbled into) his dorm he flung the window open and shoved his head (most of his torso) out of the window – hungry for fresh air. The change in temperature and slight breeze did calm him slightly, but now he could hear Moony with renewed fervor. 

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. He seemed to be whimpering morosely. 

“She’s not yours.” Remus grumbled. That seemed to aggravate Moony somewhat, as well as piss himself off for talking aloud to...well...himself, sort of? 

He hated this. 

Remus sat half out the window drinking water and chain-smoking until his roommates returned from their final class. 

“What the fuck happened to you, Moons?” Sirius asked as he threw his book bag onto his bed before beginning to strip out of his uniform.

“Fucked if I know.” He grumbled, throwing the butt of his cigarette out the window. 

“You feelin’ alright?” James asked, brows furrowed as if Remus was a particularly difficult arithmancy problem.

“I think it’s quite clear that I’m not.” He spat as he pulled out another cigarette and lit it with the snap of his fingers.

“Blimey, Moony. Wasn’t the full moon last week?” Sirius asked incredulously.

It was too much, all of it: the nickname, the moon talk, their voices. The hearth in the room surged and then extinguished again; Remus was officially diminished to accidental magic like he was some kind of unruly toddler. 

“Shit, Remus. Relax, okay? We’re sorry.” James placated, watching his mate cautiously as Remus took some steadying breaths.

“What’s gotten into you mate?” Sirius asked quietly after Remus appeared to calm himself.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. I don’t feel like...myself.” He settled for, trying to drown out Moony’s pathetically forlorn howling in the back of his mind. 

“Alright.” James said. “That’s alright.” 

Remus wanted to vomit. Is that not what you had just said to him a few hours ago?

 “Do you need to go to see Pomfrey?” Peter asked.

“No.” Maybe.

“Alright, well we’ll bring you something up for dinner.” He offered with a smile. Remus felt like he should return the smile, but he couldn’t bring himself to try. 

Remus did eventually go to see Madame Pomfrey, though he kept the full extent of his current predicament to himself. He trudged through the halls, hating the fact that Moony seemed to pick up on your scent, signifying you had been down this hall yourself at some point during the day. 

Must go. Must go. Must go. Moony begged.

Go to Madame Pomfrey and then to bed. Remus mentally berated the wolf - the wolf growled in discontent. Remus was becoming increasingly worried about what he’d be like near the full when Moony was closer to the forefront of Remus’ control. 

Remus claimed nerves and a migraine as the cause of his request for sleeping draught for the night. The matron narrowed her eyes at Remus, clearly aware the boy wasn’t being entirely honest, but acquiesced to his request nonetheless. 

Remus supposed he probably should have requested a dreamless sleep��potion instead.

His dreams were littered with images of you. Some were lovely – you and him walking hand-in-hand through bookstores and flower shops, sharing milkshakes and ice cream, snuggling up near the fire, as well as some...steamier dreams. But they were always chased away by horrible ones – you being chased by The Wolf, you finding out about him and running away terrified, you being bitten, you being killed. And those were always followed by his friends becoming disgusted with him, abandoning him, him ending up in Azkaban.

They made him sick.

Literally made him sick; he woke up with a start and bodied James on his way to the bathroom to eject last night’s supper out of his system. 

“Moons, what’s going on mate?” James asked quietly, clearly having been getting ready for a run before he was bulldozed by his mate, as Remus moved to the sink and readied his toothbrush.

“Please don’t call me that.” Remus moaned.

James seemed to consider him for a few moments before he spoke again.

“Is Moo- is the wolf giving you problems?” He corrected at the glare he was shot by Remus.

Remus sighed and nodded his head.

“Can’t be moon sickness? You’ve got three weeks.”

Remus finished brushing his teeth and rinsed his mouth out before turning to look at James.

“I don’t know. I think...” but he didn’t know how to finish his sentence. How did he explain that Moony has apparently become obsessed with and hyper-fixated on one of James’ best friends and was actively campaigning to have Remus thrown into the psych ward at St. Mungo’s? “When you guys were researching on how to become animagi, you were first doing research on werewolves, right?” 

James responded by nodding his head in the positive.

“What’d you find? On werewolves, I mean.” Remus asked.

James grimaced. “Next to nothing, really; we found books and books full of anti-werewolf propaganda before we found anything even remotely helpful.”

“What book was it? The helpful one.”

“There was one line in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them that said werewolves solely target human prey and are less interested in other animals as opposed to ‘true’ wolves.” James said.

Remus sighed and nodded. “Okay, thank you.”

“What’s going on?” James tried again. 

Remus just shook his head at this friend. “I don’t know yet, I’ll see what I find.”

“You don’t have to do this alone; you know? You’ve got us here.” James said as he followed Remus out of the bathroom.

“I know Prongs. I’ll let you know if I need anything.” Remus said with a tired smile. He was lucky, really, he knew that. He had wonderful friends – he’d do anything to keep them.

Which just meant keeping Moony away from you. 

Unfortunately for Remus, James had been right; the only useful information he could find in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them that a) he didn’t already know or b) wasn't prejudiced or incorrect was the line James had referenced. 

“The main difference is in the way they behave; a werewolf is very aggressive in comparison to a true-wolf; they prefer and target human prey, seemingly uninterested in other animals. Though some rumours claim that werewolves will create bonds with animals and other wolves: ‘were’ or ‘true’.”

Remus was ready to give up when he noticed a footnote at the bottom of the page: 

(22) From an unknown author’s first-hand account of lycanthropy in Hairy Snout, Human Heart: 1737. 

He looked through the works cited section of the text and found the book, which appeared to be an autobiography of an unnamed wizard afflicted with lycanthropy from the 18th century. Remus knew the chances of him finding that book in the Hogwarts library were slim to none. Now I’ll have to wait until the next Hogsmeade weekend to try Tomes & Scrolls. 

Remus (unwillingly) learned a lot about you as he (impatiently) awaited for the next Hogsmeade weekend. 

You had a single dimple on your left cheek that only ever appeared when you smiled brightly. Granted, since you were generally soft around all of your edges, it didn’t appear too often. But it was almost guaranteed to make at least one appearance during every one of your interactions with James.

He hated the both of you. 

You hummed. A lot. Sometimes to the tunes of songs Remus could recognize, sometimes to tunes he was sure you’ve made up. It was always quiet humming, and only ever when you were focused intently on a task. It sounded lovely and was almost always accompanied by your tongue poking out slightly between your lips. 

He hated it. 

You always had some piece of nature on your person. Either grass from having been sat on the grounds, dirt on your hands from your time in the greenhouses, a flower tucked into a pocket or – God forbid – your hair. It was sort of adorable.

He hated that even more.

You made a soft tingling or jingling sound as you walked and moved on account of the many beaded bracelets decorating your wrists. It wasn’t just the sound of the jewelry – because Sirius was similar with his many pieces of silver jewelry decorating his person – but the sound was distinctly yours. And Remus Moony seemed to be able to pick it up from yards away. 

It was awful.

You also smelled heavenly. You were lavender blowing in the sea breeze, eucalyptus in a steamy shower, and the fresh grass you seemed to drag in every time you stepped outside. There was also something about you that smelled so distinctly you that drove him mad. He could pick up your scent anywhere.

And that was the worst part.

You were everywhere.

He’d been actively avoiding you since that fateful day in potions, and he still couldn’t escape you. Even if he couldn’t see you, he could hear you and your damned jingles or gentle giggles at something James said to you. And even if you weren’t there, he could still smell that you had been, and then he’d be stuck with Moony’s incessant whining for the rest of the day that they’d ‘just missed you’.

Remus hated it. He hated you for existing. He hated James for befriending you. But he mostly hated himself.

He hated that he got so angry about this; he hated that part of him blamed you for the horrible crime of having been born and that another part of him blamed James for the equally horrible crime of being kind.

He was the problem - Remus and his damned affliction. He just didn’t understand what Moony’s issue was; Remus (and Moony) had met many people throughout his life – Moony even had his own pack, for god’s sake! – what was so special about you to bring about this nonsense?

You seemed either completely unaware or completely unafflicted by Remus’ sudden coldness to you. There were times he’d stopped speaking midsentence when you’d show up or he would out-and-out walk away. James had clearly been annoyed with him about it, but you were still never anything but kind towards him. He was simultaneously grateful to you for it and peeved you were giving him more reasons to like you. 

James - still being slightly miffed with his mate for his abruptness towards you – was more than happy to leave him to search Tomes & Scrolls whilst he and Sirius and Peter went to The Three Broomsticks without him. Sirius shot him a confused look while Peter smiled at him sympathetically as they hobbled off after James.

They didn’t have the book he was looking for, but they were able to order it via owl and advised him they’d have it delivered straight to Hogwarts for him. 

Reluctantly resigning to his fate that he’d have to wait even longer to find answers, he exited the shop when he slammed into something with a solid oof.

He, being the lanky, larger-than-he-looks werewolf that he was, was able to shake off the collision with little-to-no effort.

You, on the other hand.

You.

Moony started howling in horror when Remus saw you leaning up onto your elbows from the cold cobblestoned road that Remus himself just knocked you into. 

“Oh, shit Y/N, are you alright?” He breathed as he hastily reached out his hand to help you up.

Big mistake.

Moony stopped howling and started nearly singing with joy when your skin met his. Prepared for the burning/cold/pain/joy/fear he experienced last time you made contact with him; he was surprised when he only felt peace wash through his person.

Time seemed to slow as you used his support to stand back up again and offer him a breezy smile. 

“I’m terribly sorry about that, Remus. Are you alright?” You asked as if you had just bodied him into the ground.

“I – uh, yes. Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” He asked as he shook his head in confusion.

“Oh, I’m alright. I’m no stranger to spending time on the ground – I’m really quite clumsy you know.” You explained solemnly. He breathed a small laugh at your self-degradation. 

“Well, it likely doesn’t help to have a big oaf act as a brick wall when you’re only trying to shop.”

You smiled so sweetly that Remus, the damn sod, couldn’t help but return it. Lo-and-behold, your dimple made an appearance. Moony (and Remus, reluctantly) relished in the fact that he was the one to elicit that wide a smile from you. 

“That’s alright Remus. If you hadn’t, I might not have had a chance to apologize to you.”

Remus’ heart went to exit through his feet.

“Apologize? To me?” he asked. 

You nodded. “I never meant to make you uncomfortable.”

It was weird that Remus could feel his heart crack painfully since it had already exited his body – but it stung anyway.

“You – you’re not... you haven’t done anything, Dove.” He said as he wiped a hand down his face, the pet-name slipping from his lips without his consent. “It’s me. I promise. I’m a freak.”

You offered him a simple smile, though your eyes seemed to ooze sympathy. “I’ve been told I’m quite odd myself.”

Remus chuckled. “Who told you that? Tell them I want to talk.”

You seemed slightly confused but laughed at his response nonetheless. 

He cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to figure out how to end this interaction while also mourning the coming loss of it. “Sorry for knocking you over, Y/N.” He offered quietly as he moved to walk away.

“Thank you for helping me up, Remus.” You responded with a smile as you entered Tomes & Scrolls. 

Moony whined at his loss of your company.

Remus whined at Moony’s input.  

True to the clerk’s word, a package arrived for Remus that week over breakfast in the Great Hall.

“What? Don’t you have enough books already, Moons?” Sirius asked with a smirk as he shovelled another spoon of cereal into his mouth. Remus responded with a (loving) two-fingered salute.

Remus had somewhat relaxed since your last encounter – there was no sense in punishing himself or you for Moony’s erratic behaviour, and he was sure he’d been driving his friends barmy with his mood swings. There was nothing for him to do except wait for more answers. And said answers were just delivered to him via owl.

“What are you reading now?” Peter asked as he tried to peer at Remus’ new book.

“It’s not a novel, Wormy. This is research.” He corrected.

“Gonna find out why you’re such a wanker?” Sirius snarked as he dodged a piece of bacon Remus threw at him.

“Okay, well, don’t waste food.” Peter chided quietly, looking disturbingly close to picking up said bacon from the ground. 

“Hanging out with the lot of you seems to have finally done me in, Pads.” Remus snarked back as he vanished the piece of bacon vexing Peter. 

James nodded solemnly. “Fair enough, honestly.” 

Remus quickly tucked his new book into his bag before moving to stand.

“Where are you going?” Peter asked as he looked at Remus with ill-hidden concern.

“To the library. Gonna do some research.” He answered plainly as he patted his book bag.

“Rem,” James called out to him, causing him to pause his retreat and turn to him. “you don’t have to do this alone, right?” he continued more quietly. 

Remus offered him a grateful smile. “I know Prongs, I’ll get back to you with my findings.”

Remus did noy know how he was going to report his findings back to his friends. This can’t have been it, can it? This isn’t what’s plaguing Remus? This can’t be real... There must be more...missing pages...

“...another version of lunar magic I’ve discovered in my travels - though extremely uncommon - is what some have called a ‘mating spark’. Along with the powerful lunar magic that drives the full-moon transformations and the surge of power it provides magical beings (wizards, witches, wix), there appears to be ‘soulmate’ magic involved with lycanthropy. Long been reduced to myth and lore within wizarding society, it appears the magic of soulmates may in fact be leftover knowledge from werewolf folktales.  “The initial ‘spark’ is reported to be painful and distressing. After the initial connection is made, the wolf will become fixated on their mate. The lycanthrope may experience longing, feelings of discomfort when apart and heightened senses surrounding their mate. It has been told to me that feelings of devotion towards the wolf’s mate does not go away, regardless of whether the lycanthrope accepts the bond or not.”

“Fuck.” Remus breathed as he dropped the book onto the table with a thud.

Mine. Moony huffed in response, as if wagging his tail singing ‘I told you so’.

This just won’t do. 

Continue to chapter three here.

Taglist: @hanniejji @y0urm0m12 @c0nsc10usworld @aphrcdites @starsval @thepunisherfrankcastle @anuncalledbridge @the-maniac-fly @unstablereader @rai-strangebr @sherry-needs-therapy, @klazina-couch-potato @cancelledkaley @fandom-crashlanding @ttulipwritezz @boo8008 

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Easy Like Sunday Morning - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Lazy Sunday mornings are few and far between for you and Bradley. When they do happen, you make the best of them.

pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x reader

warnings/content: smut, unprotected p in v (or at least, no protection mentioned), dirty talk, praise kink, Bradley worshipping you. Sort of CNC (both parties are awake though when the actual act occurs?)

word count: 1.5k

The morning sun peeked through the curtains over the large window in your bedroom. You yawned and stretched, a much needed gesture after a solid eight hours of fighting Bradley for the covers throughout the night. Beside you, he lay in bed, still snoring peacefully - you were convinced at this point an atom bomb could probably detonate beside his eardrum and he still wouldn’t stir.  His tanned arm rested just over the covers, his hand loosely gripping the fabric as he slept. He turned onto his side, causing the blanket to drop slightly, exposing a landscape of golden sunkissed skin dotted with freckles across his shoulders and upper back. Bradley would never admit to it, but he’d been hitting the gym harder lately, and it was starting to show more so as the muscles in his back tensed and flexed as he got comfortable. 

Bradley had always been a good looking man. You swore that from the moment you first saw him - dressed in his khaki uniform walking down the streets in Coronado as he and a couple of friends decided to grab lunch off base that day after a briefing. You’d been out for lunch with one of your friends, and Bradley caught your eye from a mile away. Tall, dark, broad-shouldered and handsome - he was perfectly your type. As luck would have it, it turned out that he’d had his eye on you at the same time. Before leaving that afternoon, he’d stopped by the table where you were dining and flashed this beautifully crooked smile at you, the kind that made you just absolutely melt on the spot.

“Sorry for interrupting your lunch, but I couldn’t walk away without telling you how beautiful you are.”

His deep voice sent a shiver down your spine when he spoke, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as your brain processed what he’d said. He laughed when you told him he was sweet, his cheeks becoming rosy as you teased him, and that was that - within a couple of days, he was calling you for a date, and now, two years later, he was sound asleep in bed beside you, in the house you two had purchased together a few short months ago. 

You gently placed a kiss to his shoulder blade as you reminisced to yourself about meeting Bradley for the first time, causing him to murmur something softly, eyelids fluttering for a moment before remaining shut. After a few minutes, Bradley flipped back to lay on his back, grumbling quietly as he settled himself back into his rest. His curls were tousled messily from his tossing and turning, something that Bradley would quickly tame the moment he woke up with some hair styling products he had stashed away, specifically for making sure his hair remained in Navy regulation at every moment. 

You began to kiss his shoulder again, gently peppering his soft skin with tender kisses as he slept, showering him with affection. Bradley’s eyes fluttered again, a soft smirk forming on his lips as he glanced down at you, your trail of kisses now heading further towards his chest. He hummed softly and shut his eyes again, enjoying your display of tenderness towards him on this lazy morning. 

As you trailed your mouth down his body, you peeled back the blankets gently - trying your best not to wake him abruptly. You danced your fingers down his chest to his abdomen, your lips following suit. Once you reached the waistband of his boxer briefs, you delicately placed another kiss to the light trail of hair that extended from his naval to his waistline before sitting yourself upright. Carefully, you straddled his waist, taking care to seat yourself gently on his abdomen. You ducked your head down to begin kissing at his ear, which prompted a soft groan from Bradley.

“Mornin’, honey,” he said sleepily as he blinked his bleary brown eyes a few times in an effort to focus them on you. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” you hummed, your lips leaving a trail of warm, open-mouthed kisses along his neck, something Bradley could never resist. 

“Mhmm,” Bradley shook his head, a strained chuckle falling from his lips as he shifted underneath you in the bed. “Honey, you’re making it really, really hard for me to not just flip you over and-” 

You raised a challenging eyebrow as you hovered yourself over top of his lap, settling down on the tenting fabric of his boxers. Grinding yourself against him, Bradley let out a deep grunt, shaking his head as he reached out and grabbed at your hips. He held you firmly in place, guiding your as you moved back and forth, rubbing yourself over top of his boxers. 

Bradley gazed up at you with lust-filled eyes as he pushed you back onto his thighs for a moment, reaching a hand down to shove the restricting fabric back off his waist. Your fingers teased and taunted him as you slowly pulled back his boxers, his hardening cock springing forwards as you freed it. Taking his length in your hand, you stroked it gently, your thumb tracing soft, delicate circles around the tip. 

“Honey, you’re killing me here,” Bradley rasped, watching you carefully as you continued to toy with him, pumping your hand along his shaft with just enough pressure to drive him crazy.

“Tell me what you want me to do, Roo,” you purred, using his callsign as a means to tease him.

“Fuck,” he panted, shaking his head for a minute to try and compose himself, “I need you to ride me, pretty girl. Think you’re up for it?”

“I think I can handle it.” 

You lifted the hem of Bradley’s t-shirt that you’d slept in up, just enough to keep it out of the way as you positioned yourself over top of him. You slid down on to him with a soft whine, tilting your head to the side as you looked down at him, pressing your palms flat against his chest to steady yourself. 

“Fuck, that’s it, honey. Lookin’ so pretty bouncing up and down on my cock,” Bradley grunted, his large hands reaching for any part of you he could get a grip on, settling for your thighs.

You bobbed yourself up and down on him with ease, working yourself into a rhythm as you rode Bradley. His fingertips dug into the flesh of your thigh, causing you to whine as you sped up your movements. Bradley’s hands snuck their way up the bottom of your shirt, gliding their way against your sensitive skin before cupping your breasts. He gave them a playful squeeze before sliding them back down to your waist, guiding you up and down on him as he felt your walls beginning to clench around his cock. 

“S-so close, Bradley,” you whined, throwing your head back before darting your eyes down to meet his steely gaze. 

“That’s it, pretty girl. Let it go for me, honey, I’ve got ya.” he coached, his hands tightening their grip on your hips.

You gasped as you felt Bradley switch his hand placement, one of his hands drifting to your abdomen. He reached down and pressed his fingertip into your clit, massaging it in circles as you rode him. Your orgasm hit you almost immediately after he made contact with your sensitive nub, a wicked grin formed on Bradley’s lips as he watched your thighs shake and the movement of your hips become less precise as you fell apart on him.

Bradley snapped his hips forwards into you, thrusting hard and deep into your throbbing cunt. He desperately pounded into you, his breath hitching in his throat as he brought himself close to the edge. Your name fell from his lips like a sacred prayer, repeating it over and over as his voice rasped - as if there was nothing else on his mind than you.

“Fuck, so good, honey, you feel so fucking good. You’re so good to me, baby girl.” he praised, worshipping you as he came down from his climax.

Breathlessly, you leaned down, pressing your lips to his in a feverish, passionate kiss. Your teeth grazed at his plump bottom lip gently as you pulled your head back, a grin forming on your features as you looked down at him.

“That’s one way to wake me up,” he laughed, shaking his head before gazing up at you with pure adoration in his eyes. 

“Come on,” you grinned, tapping his thigh as you dismounted from his waist, “I’m gonna go take a shower, you coming with me, Roo?”

Bradley grinned, raising his dark eyebrow at you as he watched you walk towards the bedroom door. 

“I wouldn’t miss it.” 

[nebuliias]

— hope is a thing with feathers!

ft. sunday and robin as your older siblings (headcannons)

cw: youngest sibling in the fam, gn! reader, family fluff, reader is between ages 12-14, PLATONIC, i went silly on some of them, reader is a halovian but no specified appearance other than halo and wings

a/n’s note: sunday and robin’s relationship mean sm to me its not even funny like HOYO PLZ MAKE THEM REUNITE I WILL SCREAM IF THEY DONT :((( honestly wish i had them as family yk

SUNDAY:

— even though he’s the leader of penacony and doesn’t have time to always spend time with you, sunday always makes up for it when he can.

— if you ever need help with an essay or math homework, he’ll assist you with it. even if it’s fucking 2+2, bro would still help you. heck at this point, he’ll do the whole worksheet for you. sunday loves you that much dawg.

— sunday would be rlly supportive for you, no matter what!! he’d encourage you to pursue your dreams, whether that’s becoming a nameless, a performer for the iris family, or something else entirely, he’ll be there alongside you every step of the way :3

— he’d be a bit strict with you, since you’re still young. would probably give you a curfew for when its night, like making you go to bed at 9pm at least. maybe a little later on the weekends. (does time even exist in the dreamscape i dont remember.)

— if you ask sunday VERY politely, (he’ll still oblige), he’ll sing you a lullaby for when you have trouble sleeping. tuck your blanket under your chin too while he’s at it, hehehe.

— LMAO IDK WHY THIS IS SO FUNNY TO ME but imagine you’re dating someone and introduce sunday to your significant other, I FEEL LIKE HE’D BE POLITE AND ALL THAT BUT AS SOON AS YALL DILLY DALLY OR WTV HE’D BE GIVING THEM SIDE GLANCES EVERY ONCE IN AWHILE.

— like i said, he IS protective of you and will go on a rampage if they’re toxic or hurtful to you. :)

— btw, if you watched robin’s trailer, you can catch a glimpse of sunday polishing her halo. and yes, he would polish your halo too, since you’re also halovian, sometimes even preen your wings too if he’s not too busy.

— if you take band or theatre arts in school or figure skating, acrobatics or just SOMETHING that includes performances, sunday doesn’t give a shit if he has something to do, he will find a way to go to every single one bc he doesn’t wanna disappoint you as an older brother :(

— pats your head. a lot. literally a mom-sibling, you can’t tell me otherwise. will occasionally pick your outfits and asks for your opinion before you go out or make sure your school uniform is crisp and unwrinkled. (if your school has uniforms.)

— overall, sunday is a doting and compassionate older brother. he loves you with his whole being. <3

ROBIN:

— the best, nicest, loving, caring older sister you will ever have in your entire lifespan.

— like sunday, she would help you in any way possible. but she’s not the best when it comes to math homework :(( if you want, she’ll give you a pep talk though!! and trust me, robin gives out the best ad most encouraging pep talks ever like..

— if you do something hella devious, even if its 101% your fault, she’d side with you no matter what. this girl hardly gets to be silly due to her superstar reputation but when she has the chance, plz just let her be. (yall can be devious together.)

— would brush your hair for you!! it doesn’t matter whether you have short or long ass rapunzel-looking hair, she will somehow find a way to style it.

— definitely sang you songs during your childhood, and she still does! robin would hum a tune when you can’t sleep, or you simply just wanna destress and don’t feel like doing anything else. <3

— also like sunday, since she travels a lot, she’ll always make up for the lost time by brinking trinkets and gifts, maybe even bring you along with her during her one of her tours!

— also incredibly supportive in your passions! want to become a performer like her? she’ll be there rooting for you on the sidelines! wanna learn to sing and follow in her footsteps? sure, she’ll gladly teach you for free! (not like you had to pay anyway teehee.)

— robin would be somewhat protective of you as well, just not too strictly. after all, you should experience as much of the outside world as you can. 🎀

— i feel like she’s a horrible money spender.. (same..) if robin sees you glance at a piece of jewelry or smth hella expensive for 0.00001 nanoseconds, suddenly it’s in a gift bag at your desk when you get home from school with a little note from her along with some pastries she thought you’d like.

— if you gift her something, whether its handmade or you bought it with your own money, chances are she’ll keep it for the rest of eternity and repay you with a gift of her choice as well!!

— overall, robin is a sweet and soft older sister and is always there for you, no matter the distance that separates you!

all rights reserved © nebuliias. do not copy, re-upload, or plagiarize my fics. if you see anyone doing this to my work, LET ME KNOW.

[chirpy-poppy]

How would the ghouls react to PC wearing their dorm uniform ? I've thought about this too much for my own good. No pressure

Thanks for the prompt! I'm guessing you mean the uniforms they get at the opening ceremony and not just the colored pin/tie (although that gave me an idea, stay tuned). Hope you like this!

Jin - How to make this man’s heart swell. Jin has a territorial personality. Seeing you in the blue that makes you look like one of his (subjects) people makes him feel secure in his relationship with you. He’d stand a little taller than usual and suddenly gets the need to take a walk with you for “exercise” and totally not to parade you around, flaunting that you’re his.

Tohma - “You look very nice.” He’d make it sound like a platitude, but he truly means it. He already considers you as one of the people in his circle, especially since the two of you spend hours in the vault taking care of Frostheim’s internal affairs together, but seeing you dress the part would truly seal the deal. He’s not one to help others if there’s nothing in it for him, but he’d feel inclined to take care of you when you’re dressed like that. 

Kaito - “Are you finally joining Frostheim? With me?” Tears stream and snot drips down his face. Even after you tell him it is just for a mission, he’d relish in the fact that you are matching. He’d try to sneak away with you during the mission to go on a “date” in your “couple’s outfit.” 

Lucas - “What is the occasion?” … “It suits you very well, PC. You should wear this more often.” Your fancy Frostheim skirt is more cumbersome than your uniform one, so he watches out for you even more. Think opening doors, getting utensils for you at the cafeteria, and carrying your bags. 

Alan - Would feel uncomfortable. “You don’t belong here. It’s dangerous.” He’d send you home to get changed. As he’s fixing up a car later that day though, he’d let his mind imagine how it’ll be like if he were a normal guy and you can sit together in class, side by side, and walk back to the dorms together. 

Leo - Starts streaming as soon as he catches sight of you. He’d come up to you talking like you did all this just for him. Showers you with sweet compliments for his viewers. When he’s done though, he’d mock you. “Why are you dressed like me? Are you in love with me or something? Ew, please don’t. I don’t want to be involved with an NPC.” As if he didn’t just force you to be involved with him for a 20 minute stream.

Sho - “Senpai? Is there a mission?”He wouldn’t compliment you outright, but he might compliment the clothes. Might hyper-fixate on one article so he’d have an excuse to keep looking at you. “That jacket looks really aerodynamic.” “It’d probably let Bonnie go even faster. Want to test it out?” If it is for a mission, he’d actually stand up to Leo if the vice-captain opposes him being partnered with you.

Haru - Might actually cry. He’s probably the one who got you the uniform, and he takes it as a green light to get you to help with some of the tasks around Jabberwock. Of course, he’d customize the uniform so it’ll accentuate your… features. Haru keeps his eyes narrow so you can’t tell which way his pupils are pointing.

Towa - Very pleased that you match. During the day, he’d drag you everywhere with him because you are twinning, and twins do everything together. He’d even drag you across the mud because Haru cannot complain about him getting your actual uniform dirty now. At night, he tells you how adorable you are. He’d note how the clothes don’t make the person since he’s very strong but you still look so weak in the jumpsuit.

Ren - Confusion. Why would you voluntarily wear something like that? He makes a disgusted face at you and yeets away as quickly as he can because this probably means you’re meeting up with Haru, and Ren is not about to entertain “that clown.” However, the next time he has to put on his own jumpsuit, he’d feel less bad about it and his own situation. But then he’d stand in front of the mirror in his green get-up and wonder why he doesn’t look nearly as cute as you in it.

Taiga - Might mistake you for a Sinostra student. He’d have an even harder time trying to remember who you are since he’s not used to you wearing those clothes. When he finally comes around his memories, he’d pull you into his lap to play poker as usual. He doesn’t have much of an eye for fashion anyway, so he wouldn’t act much differently than usual.

Romeo - “Huh. You finally don’t look like you walked out of the dumpster.” Takes you to his office to take a good look at your outfit. Will give a few critiques (obviously), but also will help you fix up your fit. By the end of the day, you are ready for the Met Gala. He might even pamper you a little bit, doing a face mask with you and dabbing some serum onto your face. You’d feel like a million dollar purse poodle, but you’re his million dollar purse poodle, and he’d personally make sure you look the part.

Ritsu - Boy’s elated. Takes it as a sign you are committing to Sinostra and bringing them the Laurel Crown as his business partner. The fact that you look stunning in it is but the fine print of this whole thing. However, if you’ve ever met Ritsu, you’d know he pays close attention to fine print.

Subaru - Tea party! He’d quickly put on his own robes if he isn’t in them already and bring you to Hotarubi’s terrace with some fancy daifuku and tea. “You look very nice, PC.” He finds eye contact a little easier that day. In fact, he keeps his eyes on you the whole time. Despite his social awkwardness, the beauty and grace you extruded while in those robes spoke to his kabuki culture and had him enraptured.

Haku - He was probably the one who tricked you into putting on the garment with the Fox Robe. “Now we look like a couple,” he’d say with a wink. He’d do this around the time of the spring festival so now you ‘have’ to go visit it together otherwise it’ll be such a waste of a good opportunity. Walks under cherry blossom trees so he can pick petals out of your hair for you. Oh no! There’s too many people here. Better hold hands so you don’t get lost!

Zenji - “You look like an absolute doll, my dear!” Walks/floats in circles around you like a satellite, taking in your new look from all angles. “You look like the first flower that blooms after a harsh winter! You breathe life and hope into the hopeless!” Non-stop poetic(?) compliments accompanied by a biwa. Expect to have your ears burning by the end of the day.

Ed - “This reminds me of the gothic era. I must say though, you manage to pull it off better than most of the children I saw back in the days.” There’s a video playing on his tablet, but he’s watching you instead as you go about cleaning his room. Might actually remember to warn you about mysterious liquids in his room so you don’t soil your clothes. 

Rui - You were supposed to look ghoulish and scary in your Obscuary get up, but Rui still finds you super cute. Then again, he finds you cute even when you’re just breathing. Takes a million pictures together. “PC, this just calls for a romantic walk through a graveyard. They say fear makes the heart grow closer!” He’d insist you stay over for the full Obscuary experience. You’d wake up to a full spread of breakfast and another Obscuary outfit hand tailored by yours truly.

Lyca - “You’re wearing more fur than usual. And more purple. Hey! Are you joining our house?” Lil pup would be so excited but try to hide it beneath his scowl. Since he didn’t get placed into the same house as Subaru, he really wants a friend as a dorm mate. Since you are human, he’d also be happy that Obscuary seems less like a place for creatures.

Yuri - “Don’t think you can become the assistant of the great Yuri Isami just because you are dressed like that.” Despite what he says, Yuri would take you around Mortkranken, showing you all the specimens and teaching you how to use the machines. “You better come back here tomorrow immediately after class so you can put some of what you learned to good use. You’d better not waste my efforts!” Oh, and you better wear that outfit again too. You’re supposed to wear lab attire in the lab, after all.

Jiro - “Take it off.” What he meant is for you to put on the patient gown so he can conduct his examination. The patient gown is basically your Mortkranken uniform any other day since that’s all you’re in whenever you go there.

[girltalkcollectives]

The Dark Side of ‘Boys Will Be Boys’

I still remember sitting in the principal’s office, knees scraped and uniform dirty, trying not to cry while explaining why I pushed Tommy back on the playground. For weeks, he’d been pulling my hair, chasing me during recess, and ruining my art projects. That day, he’d grabbed my favorite hair ribbon and thrown it in a puddle.

The principal’s response? A warm smile and those words I’ll never forget: “Oh sweetie, he’s only mean because he likes you! Boys don’t know how to show their feelings at this age.”

I was six. That was my first lesson that my discomfort was less important than a boy’s feelings.

And before anyone jumps in with “boys will be boys” or “it’s not that serious” — let me tell you how that lesson played out over the years.

By fourth grade, I stopped telling teachers when boys would snap my bra strap because I was tired of hearing “that means they think you’re pretty!” I learned to be flattered by harassment before I even knew what harassment was.

In middle school, when Jake wouldn’t stop following me between classes and grabbing my backpack, my own mom said, “He probably just doesn’t know how to tell you he has a crush!” So I stopped mentioning it, even when it escalated to him “accidentally” running into me at my locker every day.

“But they’re just boys!” people say. “Stop making everything so serious!”

Okay, let’s talk about how “just boys” grow up.

That same Jake who learned his harassment was “just showing affection”? By high school, he was the guy who wouldn’t take no for an answer at parties. But hey, he “just liked me,” right?

Tommy from first grade? Last I heard, he had multiple harassment complaints at his college. But I bet someone’s still saying “boys will be boys!”

And me? I spent years unlearning the idea that love is supposed to hurt. Years figuring out that someone making me uncomfortable isn’t a compliment. Years understanding that my instincts were right all along — I wasn’t being “too sensitive,” he wasn’t being “sweet,” it wasn’t “just a crush.”

To everyone saying “it’s not that deep” or “stop overthinking” — you’re part of the problem. Because while you’re dismissing these “little” incidents, girls are learning lessons that follow them into adulthood:

When my first boyfriend threw my phone because he was “passionate?” I heard: “He’s only mean because he likes you!”

When my college classmate wouldn’t stop asking me out after ten nos? I remembered: “He just doesn’t know how to show his feelings!”

These aren’t separate issues. They’re the same lesson playing out over years.

We’re teaching girls that love looks like discomfort.

That harassment means attraction.

That their boundaries matter less than boys’ feelings.

That being hurt means being loved.

And to those saying “not all boys are like that” — you’re missing the point. It’s not about all boys. It’s about what we teach ALL girls about what they should accept.

Because that six-year-old girl with scraped knees grew up to be a woman who had to relearn what love actually looks like. Who had to realize that real love doesn’t pull your hair, push you down, or make you cry.

So no, it’s not “just boys being boys.”

It’s not “making a big deal out of nothing.”

It’s not “too serious.”

It’s the first chapter in a book too many girls have to unwrite later.

And maybe if we stopped telling little girls that harassment means love, we’d have fewer women trying to convince themselves that abuse means passion.

[itneverendshere]

someone who lets you break them twice - hockey!ex!rafe - part two

warnings: angst 🥰

You shouldn’t be here.

It’s stupid. Dangerous, even.

That’s all you can think as you stand at the bar, fingers tapping nervously against your glass. It’s packed, the typical crowd buzzing after another one of the games. It’s the usual fans, players, and people who’ve never touched a hockey stick in their life but still come to bask in the afterglow of a win. 

You’d sworn after the last time — after that night — you wouldn’t let yourself get sucked back into this. But here you are. It’s only been three weeks since you accidentally ended up fucking him.

That night after his game, with your date somewhere outside, waiting for you, oblivious. You didn’t mean for it to happen. It was supposed to be closure, a final goodbye, whatever excuse you’d fed yourself when you let Rafe pull you into that dark hallway at the stadium. Maybe it was seeing him on the ice again, that high, that intensity, had done something to you. The way he’d stared at you in the stands, like he was winning just to prove something. Like he still had something to prove to you.

Now, you’re actively avoiding him again — which is hard, considering he’s everywhere. On the screens, in the tabloids, in your goddamn head.

“You okay?” your friend asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, just... crowded,” you lie, forcing a smile. But she knows better, giving you that knowing look that says, Yeah, sure, totally not about your hockey player ex who's right over there.

“Uh-huh. He’s here, isn’t he?” She doesn’t even have to ask. The answer’s written all over your face.

“I don’t care,” you lie. “I just—”

But you don’t finish because that’s when you see him. You take a sip of your drink, scanning the room out of habit. And there he is.

Rafe Cameron, in all his post-game glory, laughing with his teammates like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s still wearing part of his team gear like it’s his uniform for life, that stupidly tight team jacket stretched across those broad shoulders you used to run your hands down. His hair is still damp from the shower. He hasn’t seen you yet — thank God — but you know it’s only a matter of time.

He always finds you.

You suck in a sharp breath and look away fast, pretending to be deeply invested in whatever drink the bartender is making.

Why did you come here again? To prove a point to yourself? To what, show him you’re unaffected? Stupid. So, so stupid. He’s a mistake. A mistake wrapped up in six feet of cocky charm.

Your friend’s watching you, probably already figuring out what’s going through your head, but you’re too focused on him. On the way he throws his head back laughing at something his buddy says. You can’t hear it over the music, but you know that laugh too well, you can imagine the sound like clockwork. You should be past this. You’ve had closure. The kind of closure that leaves bruises and bite marks, the kind that shouldn’t have happened.

“Girl, you need to—”

“Shut up,” you mutter, but there’s no heat behind it. You know what she’s going to say. You know exactly what she’s thinking because it’s the same thing running through your head: Why the fuck can’t you stay away from him?

“Nope,” she says firmly, like she’s reading your mind. “Not tonight, okay? You said you were done.”

“I am done,” you murmur. Liar, liar, liar.

It’s downright infuriating how your body reacts to him, even now.

You can feel it in your chest,  something that always pulls you toward him and hasn’t let up since the day you first met him. It’s maddening. You’ll ignore him, just like last time — except, okay, last time didn’t exactly work out. But this time will be different. You’ll stay cool, stay calm, stay—

“Leaving already?”

You freeze, your heart skipping for all the wrong reasons. You could walk away, pretend you didn’t hear him. But you don’t.

You slowly turn around, and there he is, standing right behind you, eyes on you with that same intensity that always makes it impossible to breathe.

He looks good. Too good. And he knows it.

“What do you want?”

He smirks, leaning against the bar like this is just another normal conversation. Like you didn’t fuck him three weeks ago after months of silence. Like that didn’t mean something.

“Can’t say hi to my ex?” He cocks his head, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Or are we pretending that didn’t happen now?”

You roll your eyes, taking another sip of your drink, trying to appear unbothered. But your body hates you. He steps closer, just enough that you catch the scent of his cologne — that stupid scent that still haunts your bed.

“I’m not pretending anything,” you snap, meeting his gaze. “I have nothing to say to you.”

 “You were gonna pretend you didn’t see me?”

“I’m not doing this with you,” you mutter, turning to leave. But before you can, he grabs your wrist — not hard, but enough to make you pause. 

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he says, his voice lower now, more serious. His eyes bore into yours, searching for something. “Tell me you didn’t come here hoping to see me.”

He knows. He fucking knows. He’s still got you wrapped around his finger, and he’s not even hiding it.

You jerk your hand out of his grip, your jaw clenched tight. “You think I came here for you?” You can feel your pulse racing, the anger inside, because, fuck, maybe there’s a part of you that did. “You think I came here to throw it all away for you?”

He doesn’t even flinch. In fact, he steps closer, he’s huge and takes up too much space. “Maybe you just wanted to see me.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “I have seen you, Rafe. You look like shit.” You take a step back, needing space, needing air. “Not everything’s about you.”

He chooses to ignore your little comment.

“Could’ve fooled me. You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?”

You know exactly what he’s talking about, and your body betrays you with a flush that spreads up your neck. That night. The way his hands had felt on your skin, the way you hadn’t been able to get enough of him.

“It was the adrenaline,” you snap, refusing to let him get the upper hand. “That’s all it was.”

“That’s bullshit,” he fires back immediately, stepping closer again, eyes locked on yours. “You weren’t thinking about the game when you kissed me. Or when you begged me to—”

“Shut up,” you hiss, cutting him off, your cheeks burning with rage. “We both know what happened was a mistake.”

Even as the words leave your mouth, you know how fake they sound. The memory of that night — his body over yours, his hands on you, the heat between you—

“Mistake, huh?” Rafe tilts his head, eyes narrowing as if he’s daring you to say it again. “That why you couldn’t keep your hands off me?”

You want to kill him.

“We were both high off the win. I wasn’t thinking. It didn’t mean anything.”

His jaw tightens, and you can see you’re hurting him. He leans down, close enough that his lips almost brush against your ear, and you shiver despite yourself.

“You weren’t thinking when you came apart in my arms, huh? You weren’t thinking when you told me you needed me,” he says, his voice a low rasp that makes you clench your thighs. 

“Stop.” Your voice cracks, and you hate yourself for it. You feel like you’re losing control, like you’re getting sucked back into him, the one you swore you’d broken free of.

“You’re still thinking about it. I know you are,” Rafe murmurs, and his hand slides up your arm, fingers grazing your bare skin.

You swallow hard, pulling back slightly, needing space to think, to breathe. “You’re not as important as you think.”

He chuckles softly, but there’s no humor in it. “Maybe not. But I’m still in your head. You still want me.”

You want to scream, want to shove him, want to do something to make him shut the fuck up because the worst part is, he’s not wrong. You’re still here, you’re still drawn to him like a magnet, no matter how many times you’ve told yourself you’re done.

And you hate him for it. Hate him.

“I don’t want you,” you say, but the words come out too weak, like you don’t believe them yourself, and Rafe’s eyes glimmer with amusement like he knows you don’t.

“That so?” he murmurs, stepping even closer, crowding you, his presence taking over your personal space in the best and worst way. His hand trails down your arm again, “Then why are you shaking?”

“I’m not—” you start, but before you can finish, his mouth is down on yours.

You don’t even think. You don’t have time to. One second, you’re angry, and the next, you’re kissing him back like you need him to breathe. Your hands fly to his chest, gripping the fabric of his jacket as you pull him closer. So fucking stupid.

You hate him, but you need him.

His tongue brushes against yours, and you moan into his mouth, hating yourself for how good it feels. Before you know it, he’s already pulling back, tugging you toward the back of the bar, weaving through his teammates with no hesitation, dragging you like you weight nothing.

“Rafe,” you hiss, trying to pull back, but he’s not listening. He doesn’t have to, he knows you’ll follow.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you snap, but your voice cracks. Because you know exactly what he’s doing. You’ve been here before. And despite every warning bell going off in your head, your body’s already reacting, already wanting this.

He doesn’t say a word at first, just spins you around and pins you against the door, his body pressing against yours, so close you can feel the hard lines of his muscles, the heat radiating off him. You open your mouth to argue, to push him away, to remind yourself why this is a bad idea — but then his lips are on yours again, and everything falls apart.

Rafe’s breath is hot against your neck, hands gripping your waist like every inch of space between you is unbearable. You’ve barely had time to catch your breath from him pinning you against the wall, his lips crashing into yours like he’s drowning in the kiss, like you’re still his to touch, to hold, to ruin.

And God, it feels like you are. 

Even though every part of you knows this is a bad idea, knows you should have walked away the second you saw him, your body doesn’t give a damn. It wants him. It’s always wanted him. You’re making out like you’re about to fuck right here in this tiny, dingy hallway, and there’s no stopping it now.

He yanks your shirt higher, his fingers trailing over your skin in a way that makes you want to forget all the bullshit that came before this. His mouth is on your collarbone now, kissing down, down, like he’s memorizing the way your body reacts to him. 

“I miss you,” he murmurs.

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of your lungs.

You swallow hard, shaking your head, refusing to let yourself believe it. “Don’t— Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth,” he says, his gaze locked on yours. “I miss you, okay? I—fuck, I hate this. Hate that you’re not there anymore, that you’re—” He breaks off, sucking in a sharp breath, like he’s struggling to find the words. “That you’re gone. Like I’m nothing to you.”

Just as he’s about to move lower, the door flies open. The sound scares you both, and Rafe steps back, his hands falling away from you instantly, leaving you cold, exposed, and pissed.

“Shit—” Rafe mutters, straightening up, turning around to face the door. And there she is.

Her.

Sofia, the team’s physical therapist — and the woman who’s been at the center of all your doubts, all your insecurities, since she was hired a year ago. The reason you and Rafe broke up in the first place. She’s standing in the doorway, eyes flicking between the two of you. But it doesn’t matter. The sight of her makes your blood boil.

You freeze, your body going rigid with the shock of it. You can’t believe this. 

Now? Of all times?

Sofia’s eyes move to Rafe, and it’s like you’re not even there. Like this isn’t the most awkward, tension-filled moment of your fucking life.

“Rafe,” she says calmly, too casually, like she hasn’t just interrupted whatever this is. “Coach needs you. It’s important.”

Rafe tenses, and for a second, he looks torn. But only for a second.

You can feel your chest tightening, your hands curling into fists at your sides. It’s always been like this. The way he looks at her, the way he drops everything for her, how they have this whole connection you were never part of. And it hits you again — she knew things about him you didn’t. Important things. Things that should’ve been yours to know first.

You remember the night you found out about the other team’s offer — how blindsided you’d felt when you saw it on the news. It wasn’t even that he rejected the offer. It was the fact that he didn’t tell you. Didn’t think it was a big deal. But he told her. You feel like throwing up by just thinking about it. The humiliation, the way Sofia had acted like it was normal, like she was so fucking in the loop. 

And now she’s here, again, like she always is.

You push past Rafe, your voice cutting through the tension. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Rafe turns to you, “It’s not what you think.”

You scoff, eyes burning into his. “Not what I think?” You can feel the fury bubbling up, your chest tightening with every breath. “Do you think I’m fucking stupid, Rafe?” You look between him and Sofia, your stomach churning at how casual she looks. Like she’s used to this. Used to being there—in the middle of things she has no business being in.

She’s standing there all cool and collected, glances between the two of you like this is just another day at work, another harmless interruption. She even has the nerve to offer you a tight, professional smile. Like she’s the fucking victim. Like she hasn’t been the fucking problem all along.

“Should I go?” she asks, voice sweet and calm, like she’s offering to leave a fucking brunch.

That does it. You snap. The adrenaline from the fight, from being caught, from everything just crashes through you like a wave. You glare at her, feeling your pulse race with rage.

"Are you fucking serious?" you spit, stepping forward, your voice shaking with barely contained rage. “Should you go? You shouldn’t be here. Ever. You’re not wanted.” Every word drips with venom, and the look on Sofia’s face changes slightly. She knows she’s hit a nerve.

She always does.

Rafe reaches out like he’s going to grab your arm, to stop you from escalating, but you pull back hard. You can’t even look at him right now.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

You can’t believe this is happening. Again.

Rafe’s face falls, like he didn’t expect you to react this way, like he hasn’t been a complete idiot for months. You step back, creating as much space as you can between you, him, and her.

“Wow,” You laugh bitterly, the sound hollow even to your own ears. “This is why we’re here. This right here. You, her—” You wave your hand dismissively at Sofia, who still stands there, too composed for what this moment is. “You’re so fucking blind.”

He looks like he wants to say something, to defend himself, but no words come out. Good.

You’re tired of hearing his excuses anyway.

“I don’t get why you couldn’t just talk to me,” you continue, feeling the familiar burn of tears threatening to sting your eyes. But you won’t give either of them the satisfaction of seeing you cry. Not now. “But no, you had to go to her. She’s your go-to, right? You tell her everything. She makes you feel better, right?”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen like that,” he finally mutters, his voice low, strained. “I rejected the offer. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “Of course, it was a big deal, Rafe. I was supposed to be the last to know? You think just because you rejected it, it didn’t fucking matter?”

Sofia clears her throat, shifting her weight uncomfortably, but you ignore her, your eyes still locked on Rafe. You can’t believe how casual he’s being about all of this, like your feelings were an afterthought. Like you were an afterthought.

“And you—” You turn to Sofia now, your voice laced with venom. “You knew the entire time. You both did.”

Sofia opens her mouth, but Rafe cuts her off. “Stop,” he says, his voice sharp. “Just... stop.”

“No, you don’t get to do that,” you snap, stepping back, keeping the distance between you. “You don’t get to look at me like that. Like I’m the one being unreasonable. I loved you, Rafe. I trusted you. And you broke that. You broke me.”

This is between you and Rafe, and she’s just a reminder of everything that went wrong, of all the things he kept from you.

With a bitter laugh, you grab your jacket from the floot and push past them both, your heart pounding in your chest. “I hope you’re happy together,” you mutter, not looking back as you storm out of the bathroom, out of the bar, out of his life.

You storm out of the bar, your pulse ripping in your ears, heart slamming against your chest like it’s trying to break free from whatever this is. The cool night air hits your skin, but it does nothing to calm the heat in your body. You can still feel his hands on you, his mouth, the way he pulled you in like nothing had changed, like it was still him and you against the world. But nothing is the same anymore. He isn’t yours to touch, and you’re not his to ruin. You can’t keep doing this to yourself, letting him in just to tear you apart all over again.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out, staring at the screen. It’s a text from your friend, asking if you’re okay. You blink, forcing yourself to take a breath. Right. Yeah. I’m fine. Just needed some air. I’ll be back in a sec. Lie after lie after lie.

You’re done. For real this time. You’ve said it before, told yourself that you were finished with Rafe, but it never stuck. This time though? You don’t think you could go back even if you wanted to.

You’re tired. Tired of fighting, tired of waiting for him to figure his shit out, tired of being second to someone else. Sofia’s just a reminder of all the ways he’s failed you, of the times he left you hanging in the worst way. But it’s not just her — it’s him. It’s always been him and the way he never truly opened up to you. Not the way you needed him to.

Your chest hurts so fucking bad as the tears finally start to blur your vision, but you don’t stop walking. You don’t look back. Not this time. You don’t make it more than a few steps before you hear it — his voice, calling your name. Loud, desperate.

You curse under your breath, not daring to turn around, but he’s quick. His footsteps are fast, catching up to you before you can get too far.

“Wait!” Rafe’s hand grabs your arm, pulling you to a stop.

You spin around, ripping your arm from his grip, “Don’t you fucking dare. Let me go, Rafe.”

He doesn’t. His eyes are frantic, like he knows he already lost but isn’t willing to admit it. “No, we’re not doing this again. You don’t just get to walk away like that.”

“Like what?” You scoff, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “Like I’m tired of the same bullshit with you? Like I’m finally done playing this game?”

“You don’t mean that.” There’s something rin the way he’s looking at you, something that makes you almost hate him more. Because he’s right — you don’t mean it. Not fully. And that’s the worst part.

“Don’t tell me what I mean, Rafe,” you spit, shoving his chest. He barely moves. “Stop,” you snap, pushing him again. “Just stop. You can’t keep doing this, showing up, pulling me back in, pretending like you care when it’s convenient for you.”

“I do care.” He runs his hands through his hair, exasperated, “Why do you think I’m here right now?”

“Because you hate not being in control,” you spit back, chest heaving. “Because you hate it when things aren’t on your terms.”

“That’s not it,” he growls, stepping closer again. He’s towering over you now, but you don’t back down. “You think I don’t fucking hate this too? You think this is easy for me? I’m trying, alright. I fucked up, but I’m trying.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Trying? Trying is telling me the truth. Trying is not keeping me in the dark while you run off to her—”

He cuts you off, stepping even closer, until you can smell the familiar scent of his cologne again, “You brought a fucking date to my game!”

“After we broke up,” You hiss, shoving a hand against his shoulder, “God fucking knows what you did with her while we were together.”

Rafe  grabs your wrist, pulling you back toward him. "Nothing happened with her," he snaps, his grip tightening for a second before he lets go, as if realizing he’s too close. "I never touched her."

You pull away, anger boiling over. "Does it even matter? You kept her close, closer than you kept me. You told her things! About us, like she’s some fucking therapist.” 

He reaches for you again, his hand hovering near your arm before he drops it. "I never meant for you to find out like that. I swear, I was trying to figure it all out—"

"Figure it out?!" You laugh, but it’s broken. "Rafe, you made me feel like I didn’t matter. Like I was some... some extra piece in your life. But with her? You told her everything. What was I to you?"

He shakes his head, frustration evident. "You were everything! You are everything. But I didn’t want to put you through it. All the shit with the team, with the offer—"

"That’s not your decision to make!" you shout, the words tearing through you. "You don’t get to choose what’s hard for me, what I can handle. I could’ve been there for you. We could’ve done it together, but you shut me out. And now you expect me to just—what? Let it go because you say you didn’t mean it?"

He stares at you, his chest heaving, his jaw clenched. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the same old battle he’s always fought—wanting you but not knowing how to let you in. His hands curl into fists at his sides, and for a moment, it looks like he might say something—something real. 

"Why didn’t you tell me how you felt?" he asks quietly, his voice almost pleading. "If you were hurting this much, why didn’t you—"

"Why didn’t I?!" You cut him off, tears brimming in your eyes now. "Because you didn’t give me a chance, Rafe! You made it clear you didn’t need me like that. I thought maybe if I just held on a little longer, you'd let me in. You chose her, Rafe. You always choose her.”

“I didn’t choose her,” he says through gritted teeth, and there’s something desperate in his tone. “I’m standing right here. You think I like seeing you like this?”

“Then why do you keep doing it? Why can’t you just let me go?”

“I can’t,” he says, his voice strained, like the words are being ripped out of him. He grabs your hand, softer this time, “Because I’m still in love with you. I’ve never stopped.”

You remember all the half-truths, all the nights you waited for him to choose you.

You shake your head, “You only love me when it’s convenient. When you need me.”

“I told her things because I didn’t want to hurt you,” Rafe snaps, “I thought I was protecting you, keeping shit from getting messy.”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head in disbelief. “Protecting me? You let her in, told her things you should’ve told me. You think that’s protecting me?”

His face contorts with something like regret, but you’re not sure if it’s enough to change anything. His chest is heaving, eyes wide and wild.

But then he just blurts out, “You kissed Elijah.”

You freeze.

Of all the things he could’ve said.

“You think that’s why we’re here right now?”

He doesn’t answer, just stares at you like you’ve ripped something out of him. Like you kissing someone else, even for a second kills him.

“You were already gone. We weren’t together.”

He flinches, “So, what? You kissed him to get back at me?”

“What the hell does Elijah have to do with any of this. You know what? Yes, I did. Because you didn’t even fight for us.”

“I didn’t fight for us?” he growls. “You broke up with me without even giving me a chance to explain. You didn’t even let me try to fix it. You just walked away.”

You ended things so quickly, so coldly, because you couldn’t handle the idea of fighting for someone who wasn’t fighting back. You didn’t even give him the chance to explain. 

“You think I didn’t want to fight for you?” His voice cracks, and for the first time, you see real pain behind his eyes. “I was trying to keep my shit together, trying to balance everything, and I fucked up, okay? But I never wanted to lose you.”

“Don’t fucking— “

“I watched you kiss him. I couldn’t fucking look away.” He interrupts it physically hurts him to admit it. “I was right there, front and center, like an idiot. And I still needed you after that. Do you know what that felt like? Watching you with him, like I didn’t even exist anymore?” He swallows, his jaw working overtime as he tries to hold it together, but you can see the cracks forming. “It was like everything that I didn’t say, everything I was too fucking scared to admit... it didn’t even matter. You just moved on.”

“Elijah doesn’t matter, okay? He never mattered. But you—” You pause, the words dying in your throat, because you don’t want to say it, don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deep he’s cut you. But you say it anyway. “You’re the one who made me feel like I didn’t matter. You don’t get it, do you?” Your voice is hoarse, worn from fighting, from trying to make him understand something he’s never been willing to face. “This isn’t about Elijah or Sofia or any of that. It’s about you. It’s about how you make me feel like I’m always one step behind, always waiting for you to choose me when I shouldn’t have to beg for it.”

His eyes well up, and for the first time, you see it — those emotions he’s kept locked away for so long. His lips tremble as he tries to say something, but the words get stuck, like he’s choking on everything he’s never been able to say before.

“I know,” he finally whispers, voice breaking. “I know it’s my fault.” His hands fall to his sides, defeated, and the tears spill over. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want you to see me like this… weak.”

Your chest tightens as you watch him, his face crumpling in a way you’ve never seen. This man who was always so put together, so guarded, unraveling right in front of you. You never thought you'd see him cry — not like this. Not in front of you. 

He takes a shaky breath, his voice barely a whisper now. “You were always so strong. So… so good. And I was terrified, okay? Terrified that if I let you see the real me, the part of me that’s so fucked up, you’d leave. That you’d realize I’m not enough. Not for you.”

His words hit you like a punch in the gut, and suddenly you’re not as angry as you thought you’d be. You’re just... tired.

“Rafe…” you whisper, but the words stick in your throat, caught between wanting to comfort him and wanting to protect yourself.

“I know I fucked up,” he continues, his voice breaking with every word. “I pushed you away because I didn’t know how to be what you needed. I didn’t know how to let you in. And now you’re gone, and it’s my fault.” He wipes at his face, but the tears keep coming, his chest heaving with the weight of it all. “But I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and I’m begging you for one more chance. Please.”

You don’t know what to say. You’ve dreamed about this moment — him finally opening up, letting you see him. But now that it’s happening, it doesn’t feel the way you thought it would. You don’t feel victorious or relieved. You just feel... sad.

You want to believe that he’s changed, that this time will be different. But then you remember all the nights you spent alone, waiting for him to come home.

“I don’t know if I can do this again,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I don’t know if I can go through this with you, only to end up back here. Hurt. Broken.”

“I’ll change,” he says desperately, stepping closer to you, his hands reaching out but stopping just short of touching you. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I can’t lose you, not like this. Please.” His voice cracks again, and for the first time, you see it — the fear in his eyes. He’s terrified. Terrified of losing you for good. 

But you’re terrified too. You’re scared of giving him your heart again, only for him to break it.

“You don’t get it. I can’t keep waiting for you to figure your shit out while I’m left in pieces. I deserve more than that. I deserve someone who isn’t afraid to love me the way I deserve.”

His face crumples again, and he swallows hard, trying to hold back the sobs threatening to break free. “You do,” he whispers. “You do deserve that. And I swear, I’ll be that for you. I’ll be better. Let me fix it,” he pleads, “Please.”

“Fix what?” you shake your head, “This isn’t something you can patch up with pretty words or promises. I don’t trust you. Do you get that? I don’t trust us. You say you love me, but love isn’t supposed to feel like this. It’s not supposed to make me feel like I’m breaking every time I look at you.”

His shoulders slump, and for a second, he looks almost boyish, like a child who’s just realized he’s ruined his favorite toy. “You’re everything to me. I thought I was protecting you, but I see now that I was just... I was just pushing you away. Let me try.”

You close your eyes, the tears finally slipping down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I don’t know if you can.”

“Please,” he whispers again, “Don’t leave me. I-I can’t do this without you.”

You don’t know who you are without him either. He’s been such a part of you, woven into your heart in ways that can’t just be undone. Your heart breaks all over again, because you’ve wanted to hear those words for so long — needed him to need you the way you needed him. But now? You already left.

You wipe at your face with the back of your hand, trying to calm yourself. You can’t fall apart now, not when you’re finally seeing things clearly.

“I’m not leaving because I don’t love you,” you say softly, each word feeling like a knife to your chest. “I’m leaving because I do. But I can’t keep waiting for you to be the person I need. I can’t keep putting myself through this. You had so many chances to let me in, and every time, you chose to shut me out.”

Rafe looks like he’s about to argue, but then his face crumples, his shoulders slumping forward as he covers his face with his hands. He’s breaking, right in front of you, and it takes every ounce of strength you have not to fall apart with him. He looks at you like you’ve just ripped his heart out of his chest. 

“God, I’m sorry,” he sobs, his voice muffled behind his hands. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You swallow hard, your throat tightening as the tears keep coming. You’ve heard his apologies before — after every argument, every time he made you feel small and insignificant, he’d say he was sorry. But those words have lost their meaning.

“I know,” you whisper. “I know you’re sorry. But we’re not good for each other right now.”

“I love you,” he whispers, “I love you so fucking much.”

You bite your lip, tasting the salt of your own tears as you choke back a sob. “I know. And I love you too. 

[suhkusa]

EGOIST 14.

PAIRING. Atsumu Miya x f!Reader

CW. plot, angst, sleeping around, atsumu's shenanigans

A/N. beep

-> MASTERLIST.

Atsumu might like you. 

He probably does, but it feels weird and foreign coming out of his mouth, let alone being a thought in his mind.

Never would he have thought he’d have feelings for the likes of you. Romantic, at that.

You were annoying and pesky and there was a point in time  where he’d hate being in a room with you. But somehow you made all of those nasty wants fade away. 

He thought that it’d be easy being so fucked up towards you and steering away from your presence. But then you did avoid him. So he thought finally apologizing to you and not being a dick to you would finally free him. But again, it didn’t.

All of these weak attempts of getting away from you and these thoughts of you were pointless if at the end of the day, you’d still live in his head.

And you don’t even know what you do to him. You make him want to be a good person, to not sleep around with all these women. To tip his drivers. It’s gross and not like him at all. Every word he says to you doesn’t feel like him because every word is full of genuinity and kindness. And it’s scary.

Maybe that’s why he finds himself here. With Angie. 

To try and get rid of the thoughts of you.

He’s naked beside her own naked body, as she rests her head on his biceps. 

“I don’t know why you’re so caught up on her? Didn’t you bully the poor girl?”

“Mm, yeah, like in high school,”

She rolls her eyes before moving a delicate hand onto his chest. 

“C’mon, why don’t we just make it official? I’m tired of hearing about her. That’s all you text me about nowadays,” she looks up at him as she pouts. 

Hell no. 

“Maybe in another life, sweetheart,” he smiles weakly, beginning to slip out of the bed, “Anyways, I have to go to practice, got the playoffs tomorrow.” 

“Aw no, stay a bit,” Angie gives him her weak attempt at puppy eyes. 

“You know I can’t,” he tugs on his last article of clothing before continuing, “And Angie?”

“Hm?” 

“Lose my number,”

———

It’s a shame he had to break it off with her, she was one of his favorites. Not only that, he’s known her the longest. But sometimes things like that are for the better. 

“Hey Atsumu,” your voice calls as he walks in. 

It catches him off guard, but he returns the greeting, “Oh hey,”

He continues to the court, throwing his back down before beginning to hit his stretches. Atsumu watches as you speak to the coach, rambling about something oh so important on your clipboard.

His eyes wander up and down your figure. Part of him wonders what would’ve happened if you two didn’t stop the other night. Would you have given all of you to him?

Atsumu’s gaze follows you as you make your way to Hinata. Laughing and smiling, nodding your head before moving to the next player. Then the next, then to him. He doesn’t realize you’re in front of him until you actually say something.

“I just wanted to check in to make sure you had everything ready for the playoffs, clean uniform, any kneepads?” you asked, clicking your pen.

“Ah, yeah,” he replies, “if anything I just need a new towel I think,”

He watches as you write something down, “Alright, let me know if you need anything else,” you give him a brief smile before moving onto Sakusa.

The way the smile on your face instantly brightens at the sight of Sakusa ticks him off. But there’s not much he could do, not right now at least. 

With a clap of Foster’s hands, all the men get up from their spots and make their way towards him, commencing the final practice before playoffs.

———

Even though you weren’t doing anything physically, you felt nearly as exhausted as the boys were and you instantly fell asleep when you got home. 

And thank god that you did, if you were to sleep any later you might’ve just missed your last alarm. You’re nervous while you get ready. So nervous you can’t even eat breakfast, going for a yogurt drink in its place. You can feel your leg shake with anxiety as it holds on the brake at a stoplight.

After parking your car, you meet up with the guys as you all wait to board the bus. You can tell they’re just as anxious, if not more. Even if this is not their first playoff game, it still means so much and more to their career and for them.

You board the bus, setting your stuff down in the empty seat next to you. Taking your place at the window seat, you immediately open your phone and scroll through your socials. You post an Instagram story to the Jackal’s account as they all board. 

After clicking send, you put your phone down. Time to finally catch up on sleep.

“Y/N,” or not.

“Can I sit here?” 

When you look up you’re met with a man with a messy blonde mop of hair, smiling down at you.

“There’s like, 15 other seats you can choose from and not have a seating partner,” you reply.

“Yeah, I know. Just want to sit here, though,” he fake pouts.

You groan, “Fine,” you begrudgingly grab your bag and tuck it underneath your chair. 

You squish your jacket between your head and window to create a makeshift pillow. You can feel his eyes on you, but ignore and let slumber take you under.

———

You don’t know that you have arrived until you are awoken by a rough hand patting your shoulder.

“C’mon,” Atsumu pushes, “we’re here,”

Holding yourself back from snapping at him, you grouchily gather your things and follow him out the bus. 

You catch up to Foster and give him the itinerary for the day. The two of you discuss the day’s events as the rest of the guys follow behind you. The lot of you locate your spot in the practice gym before settling down. 

You find a little corner to sit in and open your laptop up to review some of the latest matches of today’s opponents, EJP Raijins.

As you scratch notes onto your paper, you listen to the ambience of the guys practicing. The calling for the ball, the sound of skin hitting the ball back onto the ground. 

When you’re in your zone, time flies insanely quickly. It’s scary, because you’re scared for the match. Plus it’s broadcasted on national television, and while you’re not the center of the attention, it’s still nerve wracking to think about.

After finishing what you’re able to, you hand the paper over to the coach, which he then quickly turns to the guys and informs them on the rival team’s techniques. You watch them and help guide them through new techniques and tactics they can use to counterattack. 

They go back onto the practice court and try to practice said attacks. It’s talent, how easily these men can adapt to a situation.

You gnaw on the inside of your mouth as you watch the ball go from one side of the court to the other in a matter of seconds. 

Before you know it, it’s time to go. The guys are changing into their clean uniform, fixing their appearances as camera guys begin to trickle in for any post-game interviews. 

And then it’s go time, and you follow the rest of the guys as they find their way to the main stadium.

All the guys look confident, especially so with all the cameras on them. You put on your best “confident” face as well as you walk beside them.

As you find your spot at the Jackal’s side of the court, you join the team as they huddle up one last time. Coach Foster’s voice is loud and proud as he reminds the guys of what they have been practicing. You smile before giving them a sappy, “you got this!”

The men are excused, and you’re about to head for your seat when you hear his voice.

“Y/N,” he starts, causing you to look up at him, “if we win, you have to go on a date with me,”

© all writings belongs to suhkusa 2024. do not repost or change.

[koishiro]

# - “𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐈 𝐃𝐎? 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐎𝐊𝐀𝐘?”

☆彡 1 : 29pm

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : In which Megumi has a hidden crush on you and plans to keep it that way until a certain pink haired boy and 6’3 man-child take it upon themselves to help.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : megumi fushiguro x gn!reader

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 : The fluffiest of fluff

masterlist | jjk masterlist | anon masterlist

megumi fushiguro is not new to the feeling of embarrassment.

In fact, he’s quite used to it considering he’s best friends with Itadori Yuji and Nobara Kugisaki, who apparently can’t go a single day without causing some sort of a scene. As well as being raised by a certain white haired, 6’3 man adorned with a black blindfold.

“Stop it! Why didn’t you order your own if you’re just gonna eat off my plate?!” A certain pink haired boy screamed, slapping away the greedy hands of the ginger.

Nobara quickly whips back her hands to her chest, cradling them with a look of offence for one, being slapped and two, being denied food, replied; “maybe because I wasn’t hungry then?!”

Yuji stared at Nobara with a blank face, “go order now then!”

Now it was Nobara’s turn to stare at Yuji, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “No! cause it’ll take too long and I won’t be hungry by then!”

“Yeah cause you’ll have eaten all of mine!” At this point, Megumi wanted to slam his head onto the table as if to wake him up from this embarrassment. But he couldn’t, because if that were to happen then he’d gain the attention of a certain y/c/h sat just three tables away.

All Megumi had done since they arrived 30 minutes ago was sit in a corner booth, with his head turned towards you and stare at your angelic form while sat opposite the two loudest idiots he calls his best friends with half his face buried in his high collar.

That was until you turned your pretty head towards them. Their table. Him.

At this realisation, Megumi’s eyes widened and a blush crept up his neck and stained his cheeks as he quickly whipped his head in the opposite direction, conveniently towards the wall next to him.

Or maybe not so convenient considering he probably looked like an idiot staring at a plain wall. But what else was he supposed to do when the one person he actually liked was staring straight at him?

Well, maybe not at him exactly but he was grouped with these idiots considering he was sat at the same table so that counted for something.

This was certainly not the way he wanted you to notice him.

And this did not go unnoticed by a particular boy sat opposite him, suddenly forgetting the petty argument moments before as he he took notice of his friends red face hidden in the collar of his uniform. Also, why was he staring at a wall? He’d barely even touched his food?

Observing the repetitive way Megumi’s eyes would go back and forth from darting around the cafe to quickly look at something or someone across the room.

Confused, Yuji’s eyes slowly followed where Megumi’s went.

Oh.

Oh.

The next day, Yuji took it upon himself to help his best friend out. And who better to recruit than the one and (thankfully) only Satoru Gojo, who was very keen on taking part in this plan.

What kind of adoptive father would he be if he didn’t help his growing son find love. Just the thought brought a tear to his eye.

Sat behind the dark haired boy in question, Yuji, as inconspicuous as he could possibly be (considering he was sat next to Nobara), raised his hand in a thumbs up motion. A signal that the plan was ready.

Satoru took notice of this as well as the longing gaze Megumi held as he tried to discreetly take a glance at you every few seconds. How had he not noticed before?

With a very loud and very obvious fake cough, Satoru gained the attention of his students. Satoru went to stand from his chair when he accidentally knocked some books over which were conveniently (or not so conveniently) placed on the corner of his desk where the said books landed on his feet, perfect.

“Ak! I’m injured!! Man down!” Their teacher yelled as he dramatically fell to the floor with the back of his hand placed on his forehead as if he was in one of Nobara’s dramas. He probably took inspiration from them actually.

The students, clearly not fazed in the slightest, turned back to their previous conversations ignoring the cries for help coming from the floor. Except for you of course.

Standing up and making your way towards your “injured” teacher, you crouched down to eye level as he lay motionless on the floor as if already succumbed to his fatal injuries if not for him peeking from under the arm that lay across his face.

“OH! Y/n-chan! My saviour! I feel as though I may not make it…” the said teacher explained in an overly dramatic sigh. “I’m sure you will Gojo” you replied with a slight pat on his stomach. “But if I don’t… I want you to do something for me-”

Before Gojo could ramble on any further he was cut short, “I’m not buying you mochi” you stated with a blank face.

“I understand why you would think that but no” he started before quickly switching back into his role, “these books that just so happened to fall in unison onto my now clearly fractured foot, needed to be delivered to principal Yaga! Oh what am I to do now!” Your teacher explained in an almost pained voice while flailing around on the floor.

“Why doesn’t Y/n do it!” The pink haired boy popped up from behind Megumi, who had been watching the ridiculous scene play out. “What a wonderful idea Yuji! Oh could you Y/n-chan? Would you help an injured man like me deliver these urgently needed books for me?” Gojo’s voice now laced with faux desperation while you were left confused, did he owe principal Yaga something again? Is that what this was about?

“Uhm, I suppose so, sure.” You could barely get the words out before Gojo jumped up onto his feet, realising his mistake and quickly leaning against his desk, the “fractured” foot elevated in the air. “Megumi! Why don’t you help Y/n-chan out huh? Be a gentleman will you?”

Megumi, already figuring out what he was up to planned on declining before he set his eyes on you. He didn’t care if he came off as rude, but to you? Megumi didn’t want you to think he was some sort of high and mighty jerk. That was the last thing he wanted.

So with a huff, Megumi stood, stuffing both hands into his pockets as he made his way towards you.

“You didn’t need to help me. They aren’t that heavy anyway” you tried explaining as you both walked towards Yaga’s office, trying to fill the silence with something, anything.

“It’s fine, really.” Did you not like his presence? Why were you acting so awkward? “So… your friends are pretty loud huh” you chuckled out.

Megumi grimaced at the recent memory, “You remember that?” He prayed that you wouldn’t remember that time, or at least not remember him.

“How could I not, it was pretty entertaining. Especially the way you stared at a wall” so you did notice him. “It was better than listening to them squabble.” He grumbled out with a sour look plastered on his face until he heard the prettiest sound leave your mouth, reminding him of a soft melody.

You laughed. Sure it was at him but you laughed at him. He made you laugh!

“Squabble? What are you? An old man?” You managed to wheeze out, the previous awkwardness quickly forgotten about.

“Y’know, with the way you’re teasing me and if I didn’t know any better, I might think you like me” what was meant to come out as a joke only started a chain of teasing on both parts. “I could say the same to you mr. Fushiguro” you retorted, a sly smile sneaking it’s way onto your face.

“And if I do? Would that be okay?” The sudden seriousness his voice held startled you. Slowing to a stop, you looked up at his tall frame and saw how genuine and truthful his eyes were causing a blush to quickly rise to your cheeks.

Averting your gaze towards the floor, you answered with a small smile,

“I suppose it would”

—

— 𝘒𝘰𝘪 𝘹𝘰