#but I may come around to it eventually who knows

[scuderiahalf]

(almost) one year with you — c.sainz

pairing. carlos sainz x strategist!norris!fem!reader

summary. your boyfriend is usually so intelligent. when he makes one of the stupidest decisions of his life to break up with you, his best friend (and your idiot brother) decides to take matters into his own hands. 4.3k, 18+

warnings. breakups = makeup sex, oral (fem receiving), fingering, reader is kind of a bitch but carlos is into it

masterlist.

.

"I'm going to kick the door open."

"Please, do not do that," Carlos says from behind you.

"You think I can't?"

Smartly, Carlos chooses not to voice any further opinions.

You kick the door, more out of frustration than an actual attempt to break it open.

"I'm going to murder you when I get out of here, Lando!" you shout against the door, not really caring if your idiot brother has hung around to hear the very real threat.

You may not actually kill him (you're still debating it) but you will definitely hit him. At least five times. Maybe more. And he's not getting any of your late-night stress-baked cookies for several months. Asshole.

You kick the door again, harder. The wood bends near the bottom from the impact, rattling in the doorframe but otherwise unmoving. Your groan turns into a yell of frustration, punctuated by you hitting the still closed door with both hands. You seriously cannot believe Lando would do this.

"Are you finished?"

Carlos sounds almost amused.

If he hadn't been literally thrown into the room by not just Lando but Max and Alex as well, you might think he's in on this whole scheme. Instead, you just glare at him, irritated that he's so calm while you're both being held against your will.

"Is being made to be near me that horrible?" Carlos says.

"Oh, fuck off."

"You are acting as if they will not have to let us out eventually."

"How long is that going to take? Huh? I don't want to be locked in here for hours. It's actually FUCKING RIDICULOUS!"

You're shouting at the door again, hoping your dumbass brother and his stupid fucking friends can hear.

They all better be prepared for the consequences. There's no one better at holding a grudge than you.

You never should have trusted Lando when he had insisted you come to Charles Leclerc’s dumb yacht party. He never wants to be seen in public with you much less all but beg you to attend a party with all his friends who are so much cooler than you because he's an F1 driver and all his friends are, too, and you're just a strategist.

(You never thought that being a trackside strategist at Scuderia Ferrari would be preceded by "just" as though it isn't an impressive feat but with a brother like Lando Norris, nothing you do ever really seems to measure up. You're the reason Lando ever got into racing or F1 in the first place. So really, this is your own fault.)

You give up harassing the door (it locks from the inside so there must be something blocking it in the hallway) and start searching the room for another way out. It's a bedroom, and you're choosing to assume that it just happened to be the easiest place to trap you both and not a purposeful nudge to something untoward. Lando isn't that crude. You think.

After this little stunt, you don't think he deserves the benefit of the doubt.

You start checking all the drawers to see if there's anything useful. You don't actually know what you're looking for. Maybe like a fire axe or a hand saw so you can brute force your way out of here.

"We could talk," Carlos proposes.

"And give Lando what he wants? No, thank you."

"You are so proud. Can we not talk this out?"

"What's there to talk out, Carlos? You dumped me, remember?"

That shuts him up.

You refuse to look at him. Even with your back to him as you search through a completely empty dresser, you can feel the look on his face. Full lips pouting, big brown cow eyes all sad and pitiful. You'd fold like a cheap suit if you saw his pretty eyes right now and you're trying really hard to stay strong and hang onto your anger so you won't give in.

There's nothing in any of the dresser drawers. The nightstands are fruitless, too. The wardrobe houses only empty hangers, and not even the cheap wire ones that could be bent into something useful like a weapon to kill yourself with if things get any more tense in this tiny room.

"I regret it," he says.

You close the wardrobe with a heavy breath.

"I regretted it as soon as I said we should end it."

"Cry me a river, Sainz. Build a bridge. Get over it. You don't get to call me ‘nothing but a distraction’ then tell me you regret it and expect me to forgive you just like that—fuck this. I'm going to swim to shore."

You yank the balcony door open and climb up onto one of the chairs so you can get over the railing.

"Y/N!" Carlos curses in Spanish, scrambles after you and gets an arm around you before you can actually step up onto the railing. "What are you doing?!"

"I just said! I'm going to swim to shore. Let me go!"

Carlos picks you up like a purse dog and carries you back into the room. He stands in front of the balcony door after setting you down, blocking your only escape route.

"You cannot swim to shore. We are miles out of sea!"

"If it gets me out of this room, I'd do it!"

"Can you not just talk to me?"

"No!"

"Why?!"

"Because I don't want to!"

"What are you afraid is to happen?"

"I don't have to explain myself. Especially not to you."

So, you don't explain yourself. You walk over to the couch and take a seat, arms and legs crossed, looking anywhere but at Carlos.

You knew what you were getting into when you agreed to that first date with Carlos last year. You know what you were signing up for. You knew all the judgement would be on you if/when you decided to go public. You knew Ferrari would have many things to say about your relationship, and they did, when you told them earlier in the season before it could potentially get ugly with a reveal from unsasvory sources.

You knew all of that and you went for it, anyway, because could you even call yourself a Norris if you didn't go after what you wanted? You knew what being with Carlos would bring but apparently, you were the only one.

After eleven amazing months together, Carlos got cold feet. You don't know how else to describe it. You had told your family after three months; he'd told his after just one. Everyone was happy for you. Your family loves Carlos, and the Sainz clan accepted you with open arms. You were so happy.

But as your relationship pushed a year, Carlos said you needed to talk, called you a distraction, subsequently hazardous for his line of work, and ended things.

Did you call him an emotionally stunted manchild before storming out of the cafe he asked to meet at? If you did, he surely deserved it.

A few weeks after that, you're where you are now, locked in a bedroom on a yacht while a party rages on several floors above. Carlos says he regrets breaking up with you, that he wanted to take back everything he said, but he already said it and that's how things are now.

You'll not be the girl he comes crawling back to whenever it's convenient for him. If going steady is a hazard for work, then an off again-on again situationship is definitely not OSHA-compliant. You refuse to lower yourself to being a doormat that Carlos wipes his feet on whenever he feels he has the time.

After a while of standing guard at the balcony door, Carlos makes a move to sit on the couch with you.

"No," you say.

He halts midstep.

"You can sit on the bed."

Slowly, as though giving you a chance to change your mind, Carlos sulks over to the bed and sits.

He's moving to Williams next year. He has only a handful of races left in rosso corsa. He doesn't know you're sitting on a job offer that could have you following him, a promotion to head strategist at the Oxfordshire team that you can't believe you're actually debating because of your standing with a man.

You've told no one of Williams's proposition. So, you really don't know why you open your mouth to tell Carlos of all people.

"Williams wants me as their head strategist."

He looks up, eyes bright, surprised but excited for you. "What? That is amazing."

"Yeah, I know it is," you say, glaring at him again. "I haven't accepted yet, though."

Carlos is quiet, then carefully says, "Because of me?"

"No," you say because it's just ridiculous for that to be the reason you're holding up contract negotiations, "Yes, because of you. Obviously. I don't want you thinking I'm following you. I'm not. I'm pursuing my career. So, I know that changes you being all regretful. I just want to clarify things before you hear about it from someone else.”

“Why would it change how I feel?”

“Because we’ll still be coworkers next season.”

“That changes it? What does it change?”

Carlos' accent (hot as fuck) and the way he doesn't always say things 100% correct (cute as fuck) are misleading for his actual understanding of the English language. So, you're really not sure what he's getting confused over.

He's leaving. You were supposed to be staying. No longer working together meant no distractions for him until you would meet up at a hotel after a shitty quali and he would fuck the shit out of you. Or something like that.

It'd feel good in the moment but you don't want him for just sex. You don't want casual. You don't want to be a convenient, low-maintenance, not-quite-official girlfriend. You won't do it. No matter how pretty he is.

And his plan to get you back was ruined now that you'd be moving to Williams for next season, anyway.

“I’d not be a distraction if I was staying at Ferrari. Now, we’ll both still be on the same team. Not convenient for you to still be in a toxic work environment, huh? So, you can cut the crap.”

“That has nothing to do with my regret."

"I won't be a casual fuck buddy who you can't stand to be around when it doesn't work for you."

"I never said that!"

He seems genuinely hurt by your implication but you won't fall for it, won't let it deter you.

"It's kind of implied. You know with the whole 'I have to focus on my driving' thing. Like, what the fuck were you doing for the rest of the time we were together? Nothing changed and you suddenly decided it was too much, then you want me back but I ruined that for you. You'll be seeing me next year, too, so don't even bother with the whole regret speech or whatever."

"I—," Carlos starts, then says nothing.

He can't seem to find the words.

"What? Nothing to say? You wanted to talk. Talk."

"If I am in a team with you or not," he says, slow, calculated, "It does not change that I regret what I said."

Carlos takes a second to think before continuing. That's where you two differ.

Carlos has always been incredibly intelligent. You knew he was gorgeous before you had ever met in person but his mind made him appeal even more to you when you first started working trackside last season. Long, intellectual conversations preceded him asking you out after his masterclass in Singapore.

You nearly started foaming at the mouth when he said "it's on purpose" to keeping your brother within DRS to hold off Mercedes. You were ready to jump his bones right then and there in the middle of the team celebration when he asked you to dinner before you flew back to England.

But he was a gentleman. (He didn't fuck you until after your second date, but it was a close thing that first night when you leaned over the center console to kiss him. You'd have ridden him right there in the front seat of that rental car if your idiot brother hadn't chosen then to walk by and make a scene. Kind of a mood killer.)

The two of you both found fascination in the other's way of thinking, Carlos' smooth logic and your chaotic brilliance. He is all thought and few words while you talk and talk until you find your solution.

You always found beauty in the contrast. You balance each other. Simultaneously alike and disimilar. He is someone you saw yourself building a life with. After nearly a year together, those are the kinds of thoughts you start to have about a partner.

"So, you regret it," you gather, "But do you still think I'm a distraction?"

"Of course, you are a distraction. I am in love with you. There is nothing more distracting than that."

You laugh, disbelieving. "You're in love with me but I'm distracting and you can't be with me? Why? Because you love racing more?"

"I was scared. I was stupid. I am stupid. I am."

"Self deprecation won't do you any favors. But, yeah, you are stupid. You're not making any sense."

"I was scared. You were everything I could think of. I thought I could not find a balance between you and racing. But without you, it is even worse. I want you as a distraction. I know that because I have lost you.”

“You haven’t,” you say before your brain even knows what you’re doing. “Not entirely, yet. Maybe… You’re not allowed to do this again. Ever.”

And you’re crying. Of course.

Carlos is at your side in record time, kneeling in front of you, taking immediate advantage of the crack in your defenses. “Never.”

“You can’t do shit like this. You can’t push me aside like I don’t matter. You can’t call me a distraction.”

“You are a distraction. In the best way.”

Unimpressed and wiping your tears, you say, “Wow. You’re such a poet.”

Carlos laughs thickly. “I love you.”

“Ugh, fuck off.”

You’re still wiping at your face. You didn’t cry when Carlos called it quits, refused to let him have any sort of hold over you when he pushed you aside but now, you’re crying. It’s in relief but you still feel your face getting hot from the embarrassment of it.

He knocks your hands aside to cup your cheeks. “You are the love of my life. I will do whatever it takes to fix what I broke.”

“S’not broken. Just bent. Or whatever the saying is. I don’t fucking care—just kiss me.”

Carlos’ “yes, ma’am” is muffled against your lips.

It’s only been three weeks (three and a half but who’s counting) since he last kissed you but it feels like an eternity.

It’s salty from your tears and wet, also from the tears but more from the way you let his tongue into your mouth after probably not enough time has passed. You don’t care. You just want him.

“I love you," you break the kiss to say. "Don't leave me."

"I won't."

"Say it back."

"I love you. I love you I love you I love you."

.

His words jumble between English and Spanish as he kisses down your body.

Your breath catches as he pulls your hips further down the cushion you're sat on. Stupid F1 driver muscles. You want to sink your teeth into his bicep, make him walk around with the bruise, a reminder of who he belongs to.

He slips his fingers into the waistband of your pants, looks up for permission. You lift your hips. You've missed what his big brown eyes look like when they're all dark with want.

He pulls your pants and underwear down and tosses them aside, tugging you even closer to the edge of the couch. Your legs part. He puts your knees on his shoulders then finally pushes his face between your thighs.

You let your head fall back as you sigh, probably sounding ridiculous but he's always been good at this.

He had you ride his face one time. He practically had to beg to get you to agree. There was a lot of him gripping onto you, arms wrapped around your thighs and hips to force you to stay in place. He'd kept you there until you couldn't stay upright or fight against his hold, coaxing multiple orgasms out of you with just his mouth.

Then, he'd fucked you until you came for a fifth time. (You tell a guy one time about how your last partner hadn't the patience to get more than one orgasm out of you, and he makes it his life's mission to get three or more every time you go at it. How terrible for you. Ha.)

He eats you out like a man starving, like he has something to prove. To be fair, he does but he's not going to be entirely back in your good graces just because he's helping you get off for the first time in three and a half weeks. This is just extra credit.

One of his hands finds yours. He tangles your fingers and holds your hand as he involves his free fingers in slipping past your entrance. You open up for him with obscene ease, legs falling apart even further.

He fucks you with a single finger slow, slow, slow while his tongue licks languidly at your clit.

"Carlos," you whine his name.

You don't need all the pleasure you already know he's more than capable of giving you. You just need to get off already.

"I will get you there, hermosa," he promises with a kiss to your inner thigh.

"Get there faster; I don't want my idiot brother thinking better of his insane plan and letting us out while you're nose-deep in my cunt."

Carlos huffs a laugh. You can feel the air against where you're wet. It makes you squirm.

Usually, Carlos would tell you to stay still and be patient but seems to think better of it this time. You would probably still do as he says, circumstance regardless, but he doesn't need to know that. He just presses his lips back to your pussy.

He sucks on the hardened little bundle of nerves at the joint of your labia just how he knows will make you go limp and needy. He pushes a second then a third finger into you, the stretch just that much more than you can manage with your own, smaller digits.

You could've gotten it with the neglected dildo that lives somewhere mostly forgotten in your closet. There was something that felt so final about bringing out the toy you haven't needed since that second date. Thankfully, you still don't need it. You should consider just pitching it, at this point.

You push your hand through Carlos' hair, brushing the ridiculously perfect locks off his forehead so you can watch his stupid, beautiful face as he goes down on you.

"You're so pretty like this, baby," you praise.

His dark eyes flicker up to you, exhaling against your exposed cunt and shifting his knees on the floor.

You're sure if he had a hand free, he'd be palming himself over his pants. He gets off on you getting off and praise goes straight to his dick. You've got this fantasy of making him come completely untouched but you might need to do actual research on that before it becomes a reality.

He sticks his tongue down with his fingers, lapping at your hole and spitting your wetness onto your clit just because it's hot. Like the way he's slobbering over you isn't enough to make the glide of his tongue over your clit smooth and delectable.

"Come on, baby. Don't tease. Not now."

Carlos makes this little displeased noise in the back on his throat.

Quickies aren't really in Carlos' sexual vocabulary. He occasionally likes it as rough and fast as the next dick-haver but he's more of a spread you open and make love to you for hours at a time kind of guy.

He took you to a secluded little cabana in Mallorca for a week during summer break specifically so you two could spend days on end doing nothing but loving on each other. Then, he took you to meet his family and you had to pretend like you hadn't spent the majority of the week prior with their golden child's dick or fingers or tongue inside of you.

Currently, you're just wanting to find relief without Lando or some other F1 driver walking in on you first.

"Carlos, baby—please."

Carlos likes when you play nice. When you're so desperate for it that your bossy exterior goes away. You tell yourself that you exploit this because your unending pride doesn't like the alternative that you really just are that desperate for it.

He finally starts to finger bang you properly. Combine that with the obscene slurping sounds he's making against your clit and the lack of action for nearly a month and no one could really blame you for not taking long to hit your high.

Heat curls and explodes in your gut and up your spine, back arching, lungs gasping, Carlos' name falling from your mouth as your thighs try to close around his head. He gets his elbows up to hold your legs open. His fingers keep fucking you through your orgasm. He pulls his other hand free of your grip to massage your clit with his thumb, kissing your thighs, pubes, stomach.

He captures your lips in a kiss while you're still riding it out. It's intense and leg-shaking after so long without, emotion-driven, which is the best kind but not worth it after knowing what the fear of losing him is like. You can hardly kiss him back, face pulled in pleausre, moans spilling past your lips that Carlos swallows unburdened.

You tuck your face into his shoulder as he drags it out just to the precipice of overstimulation. You tug him into you, arms around his shoulders, fingers tugging the hair at the base of his skull. He lets his fingers rest inside of you, rests that thumb against your clit so he can hold you back with one arm, at least.

You just breathe for a moment, composing yourself where he can't see your face. The worst may be over but the level of trust you'd built over months together would not be so easily reinstated. He'd have to work hard for that, much harder than a sinlge mind-blowing orgasm.

"Don't leave me," you say in a whisper. "You can't, okay?"

"I won't."

"Promise."

"I promise I will not leave you again. I am the most dumb man if I lose you another time. I will deserve it, then."

"Be smart, then. Like I know you have the capacity to be."

Carlos pulls his fingers out. He catches your shiver, still wrapped up in his one arm. He kisses your cheek before finding something to clean his hands with. You've pulled your pants back on when he's finished.

"Likelihood someone heard us?" you prompt.

"Heard you, you mean?"

You kick at him as he comes back over to you. "Watch it."

He tucks you against his side once he's sat. "Scale?"

"One to a hundred."

"90, at least."

You smack his chest. "Dick."

"You are very loud, mi amor. You talk so much, and you make such pretty noises."

"Don't insult me immediately after I've forgiven you."

You've not drawn away from him at all. In fact, you've tucked your feet up on the couch to curl into him fully.

Carlos knows this. He presses a kiss to your temple.

"I love you. I am sorry I am so stupid."

"I guess I've just got to have enough brains and beauty for the both of us."

"You have always."

You hide your smile in his chest. He holds your thigh when you put your legs across his lap. Now you've got him back, you want to be as close as physically possible. Whoever first said they want to be inside their partner's skin really gets it.

.

George Russell ends up getting sent to let you two out. Evidently, your brother fled the scene of the crime once the yacht returned to port in the early hours of the morning. He dumped the chore of opening Pandora's box on an innocnet bystander.

"I am so sorry—"

"Oh, clever," you say when you spot the poor Brit, "He sends an uninvolved party to let me out like I couldn't track him anywhere in the world. I've his trainer's phone number and Jon likes me more than him. I am going to beat his skinny little muppet ass. When I find him—"

You trip over the tangle of chairs that had been used to barricade the bedroom door from the outside.

Carlos catches your elbow.

"Amor, it is late," he says. "Sleep, first, hm?"

You relax into his hold a bit, a silent concession. It'll be easier to murder your little brother after a good night's sleep, anyway.

"So, are you two...?" George trails off.

You cut him a glare.

"Nothing. Never mind. Apologies."

He speeds around the two of you and off the boat.

"The 2019 rookies are all terrified of you."

"Good."

Carlos laughs. "I am excited to see what Alex is like with you next year."

You smile.

Next year, you'll still be working with Carlos. It'll be at a different team, a midfielder at best but at least Carlos will still be on the grid. He'll still find increasingly laughable excuses to be in engineering just to see you. He'll still come home to you, the same that you'll come home to him.

A future with Carlos is still in the cards. He'll be damned if he messes it up again, you know that much.

[cottagecore-moss-king]

Well darn. This wasn’t how his day was supposed to go. Of course, when Sivana decided to try and make his way out of Fawcett to who knows were, Marvel had called in some of the League members. And of course Sivana screwed up the magic and technology mix he was operating. When doesn’t he?

So, here he was, fighting along side his crew as they try to take down the giant robot. 

“Hey Sivvy! You know, it’s a-bot time you try something other than giant robots!” He joked as he caught the fist soaring at him. 

A lucky shot from Batman hit part of the exposed wires on the arm he was holding, and Marvel dropped it down. Green and Gold electricity arced around the open wires, and began crawling around the machine.

“I’ll beat you, I’ll beat you all!” Sivana screeched. Honestly though, he does this every month, Marvel has got to find a better way at keeping his rouges from getting supplies. 

The robot lunged at Superman and charged up a green light from it’s blasters. 

“Superman look out!” 

Marvel lunged to push him out of the way of the magic blast. He had hoped that with the speed of Mercury he’d make it out unharmed too, but it seemed like luck was not on his side. 

The magic blast clipped his shoulder, and ripped through the demigod like his own lightning. 

It burned. It felt like his muscles were cramping and crushing under the weight of the sky. And then everything went loose, like he had been released from that extra small box. 

He groaned, but his voice came out much higher than it normally would. Marvel shot up. He hadn’t been de-transformed had he? No, he wasn’t in any pain from when he fell out of the sky.

Are we small again?

It would appear as though the machine that Sivana made has regressed your champion form to a younger age. Solomon was of course the first to speak up, at least speak up with something helpful, as Billy no, Marvel, stared back at their hands. 

I created this form to suit you Batson, this regressed form is still a prime condition of what you may be, despite it’s… eccentricities. 

Oh us! You have sandal wings! I never knew you thought those were cool! 

The gods in Marvels head were all delving into different appearances and whom he may have gotten them from. 

No, obviously he got the lighting from me Mercury, I don’t care if your flashes have lightning, it’s my whole deal.

Looking back at the fight, which had yet to sway either way, it had only been a minute or two since he dropped from the sky. 

Pft, guys how funny would it be if Billy pretended not to know Sivana AND, kicked his ass as a child?

Marvel knew it wasn’t the best, but, all the gods started trying to egg him on.

Come on, I’ll give you 15 minutes of speed in your Batson form~.

I will grant you super strength to fight back the bullies who harass you!

Billy was sold on the idea of just causing chaos, he adored seeing the mayhem he could cause. But the gods offers were also too tempting to resist, and he was down for gaining powers in his Batson form if it means sowing a bit of chaos around.

Granted, Batman or Superman might not appreciate it, but it’ll all be good in the end, he’s sure. Like, 80% sure.

Getting up and dusting himself off, Marvel looked up at Sivana. 

“Πήγαινε από δω τρελό μανιακό!” (Get out of here you crazy maniac!)

He saw the glances that were sent his way by his team mates. Er. Ahem, the ‘strangely dressed people’. He was a little sad that Diana or the Green Lanterns weren’t here to translate, but they would get there eventually.

He was so giddy to realize that when he flew, his little wings on the side of his ankles flapped like they were keeping him in the air. But he didn’t have time to get distracted, he had a maniac to deal with. 

One sonic boom later and Marvels foot was connecting with one of the joints of the large robot. He was going to have fun fighting.

A little snicker came out at Sivana’s face looking out at him through the glass of the head. He could always go straight for the headshot, but where would the fun be in that?

However, the fun was made to come to an end. Before he could even get to Sivana no less! Superman had stepped in and gotten a little to close for comfort for Billy. 

Billy hissed. Honest to the Gods hissed! He was secretly delighted. He always adored animal behaviors, and to be able to communicate without words was awesome. 

“Κάντε πίσω!” (Back off!)

“Hey kiddo, why don’t we head out someplace safer?” He said, kneeling down to be at eye level with Marvel’s new form. 

“ποιος είσαι εσύ? ξένος κίνδυνος!” (Who are you? Stranger Danger!) He drew himself up and puffed himself as big as he could, like a big cat almost. Superman didn’t get the warning, and still reached out and grabbed Marvel’s arm. 

Billy didn’t even get to think before he bit Superman in his arm. His Marvel form was mostly comprised of magic, so he made a pretty good mark on Supes arm. 

“Hey! Not cool kiddo, we gotta get you out of here.”

Billy huffed. He was not amused, and there was no fun in listening to Superman. He could still take on Sivana!

Or he would, if Sivana was still fighting. Someone had pulled him out of his robot and whisked him away. 

While Billy was distracted Superman gathered him up and pulled him into the air. 

“We’re heading back to the watchtower now. Cyborg, can you go get Zatanna or Wonder Woman?”

He can’t leave! He’d have to get back to the Rock in order to find out how to fix this. If he vanishes from the watchtower Batman will be livid!

Thrashing about and wiggling, Billy struggled in Supermans hold. 

“Woah, kid you gotta hold still!”

“Άσε με να φύγω!” (Let me go!)

Superman was determined not to let go of Marvel, but being a street kid had its perks. You knew how to wiggle your way out of adults grasp.

A bit of superspeed and dirty fighting and Billy was back on the ground.

“Hey! Kiddo you gotta get back here! It’s not safe!”

Billy jumped over a fallen tree in his path and continued running. He’d make it to Fawcett eventually, and there he’d be in his home element.

When he finally started to see Fawcett, it was by one of the poorer crime ridden streets. As he ducked and wove through the old and creaking buildings, he came across a warehouse.

Dammit! That’s where that trafficking ring is coming later tonight! I can’t bust it like this!

And a stroke of genius hit him. Solomon would say it’s a stupid idea, but Billy thinks it’ll go just fine. 

Chapter 2:

Billy ignored the Gods protests as he sped into the building. He’d hide out here and wait until the league came and left before leaving and coming back as an adult to bust it. It was perfect!

“Hey buddy, are ya lost?”

Billy whipped around and puffed up at the two sitting in the warehouse. They had cards in front of them and one of them was smoking a cig. 

‘Well shit.’ 

“Don’t cha worry buddy, we won’t hurt ya.”

Billy just sneered at them. ‘Batson luck strikes again.’

“Μιλάτε Ελληνικά?” (Do you speak Greek?)

“Uhhh, Penny, ya got yer phone on ya?” 

“Yeah give me a sec.” the second guy, Penny, pulled his phone out from his pocket and crouched down across from him.

“Could ya say that again buddy?” he asked tapping his lips and making a talking motion then pointing to his phone. 

“Μιλάτε Ελληνικά?” (Do you speak Greek?)

Glancing down at the screen as cigarette guy leaned over. A quick glance and Penny was typing something out and Cig guy went back to the table. 

“Όχι, αλλά έχουμε μεταφραστή. Θέλεις να μείνεις εδώ μέχρι να έρθει η αστυνομία?” (No, do you want to stay here until the police come?)

“Όχι, όχι αστυνομία.” (No, no police.)

Penny and the cigarette guy looked at each other and smiled, turning back to Billy.

“Σίγουρα, γιατί δεν μένεις μαζί μας; Δεν είναι ασφαλές να κυκλοφορείς μόνος.” (Of course. Why don’t you stay with us? It’s not safe to walk around alone.)

Wandering over to the crate they had left their cards and were sitting around, Billy noticed an open pack of cookies next to the game. Penny notices hims staring and grabs a cookie and takes a large bite of it. After a little while he motions to the package and nods his head. 

Billy didn’t really want to find out if they drugged the cookies, but he also had to play up the innocent little kid until his friends saved him. 

He reached out and nibbled on a cookie, it tasted kinda weird, but not stale.

‘Billy you idiot that’s drugged!’

‘I figured that Solomon, thank you for the generous assistance. Now everyone be quite I need to focus.’

Billy slowly finished the cookie, ignoring the gods yelling and arguing, and sat down next to Penny on the floor. 

Penny handed him another cookie, and Billy grabbed and ate it quickly. His Marvel form was pure magic, and invulnerable to most drugs, even ones for metas. But he still needs to pretend it’s doing something to him. Billy put on his acting face and screwed it up like he was in pain. It might have looked more like he was disgusted, but rubbing his stomach helped to seal the deal.

“Awe, little buddy isn’t feeling good. Why don’t cha pick ‘im up and comfort the lil guy.” While Cig guy certainly didn’t sound mocking, Billy still felt offended at being treated like a baby. He couldn’t show it though without breaking his cover, and so he let himself be lifted by Penny and dropped in his lap. What would be a soothing hand in a different situation ran up and down his back, occasionally combing through his hair.

“I think Donny’ll like him. Get ‘im nice and wrapped up pretty fer her and we’ll make an even prettier penny.”

Billy racked his brain trying to remember who Donny was. He didn’t have all of the code names memorized, but had them on a list back at the rock. 

“Yeah, she likes when they’re too small to fight back. And this one looks skinny enough to-”

BANG!

“Unhand my brother you bastards!”

Part 3

Billy shot up at the warehouse door slamming violently open. In the middle of the doorway stalking forward viciously was Wonder Woman. She sprinted towards the two when they made a run for it and launched herself at Penny. 

Grabbing his collar she jerked him back connecting his skull with her fist in a sickening crack. Penny went boneless in her grasp and she let him drop to the floor. 

A couple of other league members had filled in after her, and were now approaching them. Batman and Superman were on the other side of the warehouse, preventing Cig guy from escaping out the back. 

“Γεια σας εκεί μικρούλα.” ( Hello there little one.)

“Γεια σας, ποιος είστε;” (Hello, who are you?)

“Είμαι η Νταϊάνα, Είμαι ήρωας με τους φίλους μου.” (I am Diana, I’m a hero with my friends.)

Diana was acting much nicer than Superman did. She had even crouched down so that she was closer to Billy’s level on the floor. 

“Κατευθύνομαι σε ένα ασφαλές σπίτι. Θα θέλατε να γίνετε μέλος μας;” (I’m heading to a safe house. Would you like to join us?)

Diana waited patently for Marvel to respond, as he looked around at the heroes. Superman was very specifically not looking at him, either that or the wall was the most interesting thing in the world to him. Batman was engaged in a conversation with the Flash and Nightwing, and Red Hood and Robin were sulking in the shadows.

“Είναι σύμμαχοί μου, δεν θα σας κάνουμε κακό. Έχεις το λόγο μου ως Πριγκίπισσα.” (They are my allies, we will do you no harm. You have my word as a Princess.)

Billy turned to look Diana dead in the eye while pointing to Superman and saying “Έχει άβολη γεύση” (It has an unpleasant taste).

Diana followed his direction and looked over at Superman, who was doing anything to avoid looking at Baby Marvel, and struggled to keep from laughing. 

“Λοιπόν, δεν πρέπει να τον φας αγαπητέ. Δεν είναι βρώσιμος.” (Well you mustn’t eat him dear. He isn’t edible.)

Billy looked over at him, still desperately ignoring the two of them looking at him. 

“γιατί δεν πάμε να ζητήσουμε συγγνώμη.” (Why don’t we go and apologize.) She stood up and held out her hand for Marvel to grab. Billy reached out and did what he thought a scared kid would do. He wanted to bite, but he didn’t want to be mean to Diana, she was like his sister! So, he grabbed her hand with both of his and clung tightly to her. 

When they approached Superman he knelt down before finally looking at Billy and offering a small smile. 

“Λυπάμ��ι που δαγκώνω.” (I’m sorry for biting.) Superman just blinked for a few minutes, before Diana was able to translate. 

“He says that he is sorry for biting you Kal.”

“Ah, it’s no problem kiddo, we were both just worried.” When Diana went and translated Superman’s forgiveness, and knelt down besides him.

Billy plopped down on the floor and curled up next to Diana. He loved cuddling with his family, and Diana was always so comforting. 

Diana and Kal engaged him in conversation, with Diana allowing for translation between the two when Flash sped over. 

“Hey y’all how’s it, Woah!”

For the crime of sneaking up on Billy and startling him, his punishment was to be kicked. Unfortunately with the man moving at superspeed, Billy missed, but the effort and message was there. 

“Sorry there kiddo, didn’t mean to scare you!”

Billy just stared up at him with big eyes as he apologized and crouched down. 

“The names Flash, can I chat with Diana real quick?”

Billy could hear Mercury gushing over how lovely flash was, and how proud he is to have helped create the speedsters, and saying many other not very PG 13 things about him.

Billy just ignored him as Diana translated, and was ready to just chill with Diana while they talked, until she got up and walked away with Flash. Superman must have seen the anxiety in his eyes, as he talked calmy to him. He talked on about the weather and the fact that his dog was playing catch and maybe they could meet one day. It was all boring stuff, but Billy didn’t mind, he wasn’t supposed to be able to understand it any ways. 

“All righty, where’s the little bugger?” Billy perked up at the familiar British accent. Constantine was here! He’d fix this right up and then he wouldn’t have to make Batman angry about magic in the watchtower!

He almost ran over to Constintine, but decided not to. It’s not like he doesn’t like his kid form, it’s just… he gets treated like a kid already, and Marvel is the only one that gets treated like an adult. He kinda misses it. 

“He’s over here Constantine, don’t startle him, he’s got good reflexes,” snickers Superman waving over the magician. Diana came back to crouch beside Billy and began speaking to him. 

“Ο σύντροφός μου ο Κωνσταντίνος θα κάνει κάποια μαγικά για να αντιστρέψει αυτό που είναι πάνω σου. Θα καθίσετε ακίνητος για αυτό;” (My partner Constantine is going to do some magic to reverse what is on you. Will you sit still for this?)

Billy nodded his head, the gods groaned, they weren’t done causing chaos, but they never were, so he just ignored it. 

Constantine didn’t bother introducing himself, just getting the materials out and setting it up around Billy. Superman and Diana backed up out of his way, but stayed near by for support. Wither the support was for Constantine or him Billy didn’t know.

Standing up tall and holding his hands out in front of him, Constantine began to speak,

“ .mrof tluda sih ot kcab noipmahC eht nruT” (Turn the Champion back to his adult form.)

Tingling and a prickling sensation shot through him, and a small sphere of golden light appeared around him. 

The floor swayed under him, wait no- that’s just Billy swaying. But, he was much higher visually than before. And a lot larger. Billy would be relived, if he could quell the nausea in his stomach. 

“Marvel, how are you feeling?”

He brought a hand up to motion for them to pause, but had to put it back down to keep from falling over. 

“Mmhm, gim’e sec.” he muttered. Taking slow and deep breathes, Marvel waited patiently for the world to stop acting like a boat on the sea. He could feel a hand on his shoulder as someone knelt besides him. 

“Are you feeling ill brother?”

It was Diana, thank the Gods for her. Marvel nodded, and then looked up. 

“Just give me a minute Di, I’ll be good.” His smile was a little shaky, but he felt it could be excused. 

“Marvel, why don’t you take the rest of the day off? You can come write your report tomorrow.”

He got up and stretched, being small really felt weird when you went back to being big suddenly. 

“Thanks Supes, I think I’l take you up on that, see you tomorrow.”

“Will you be alright heading back? Perhaps an escort would do you well.” Marvel shook off Diana’s worry with a wave.

“No, I’m feeling a bit better already, it won’t be an issue. I’ll just skip patrolling today.” Marvel headed for the doors and slipped out, waving goodbye to everyone as they went back to talking and moving around with the two guys.

‘I wonder why there were so many people there. They can’t have al come to pick me up. I can ask about it tomorrow.’

The next day Marvel strolled into the Watchtower feeling much better. 

“Hey guys! How’s it going!”

“Ah Marvel! I’m glad to see you’re doing all right, Flash was telling us what happened earlier.” Hal was talking to Flash, who was clearly telling an animated story, apparently about the day before. 

“Ah yeah, thanks for the assist guys. Why were there so many of you though? I couldn’t have been that difficult to catch.” Marvel knew he was definitely that difficult to catch, but how could they have figured it out.

“Oh, Batsy hacked into the cams and saw what was going on, and ran a background check on the guys when we got ready to pick you up. Turns out they were Meta traffickers who had a few points in child sex trafficking as well. We got real worried about ya and ran on over to help. Diana wasn’t very happy so they’re all pretty much in the hospital, and those who aren’t are firmly in jail.”

Marvel’s eyebrows shot up at that information. He’d known they were meta traffickers, but not child sex traffickers! He’s kinda glad that Diana had busted in when she did, otherwise who knows what would’ve happened. And he’s glad he still was able to get them caught, even if it wasn’t his intention. 

“Well, I guess I owe Diana and Bats a thank you present huh,” he joked weakly, and Flash just patted his arm. 

“It’s alright Marvel, I’m sure they’re just glad you didn’t get ah… sold to someone with bad intentions.” Flash was quick to exit the awkward conversation, and so was Hal. 

Marvel just sighed, he’s still getting those thank you presents, and maybe he’s add a small something for Flash for trying to help at least. But right now he needs to write his report. 

So, Plot Idea.

For one reason or another. Captain Marvel (Aka; non-feral Billy Batson) has to with the JL fight against someone or whatnot. Yet, somehow, he accidentally gets de-aged.

But the twist.

He does not just go back to little sweet mortal Billy Batson; no Captain Marvel form becomes younger. And he not the same age as Billy, it more between the ages of 6-8, instead of Billys actual 10-12 year of age. For the cherry on top is that he is dressed in traditional clothing, as it makes him seem older than he actually is. But since Soloman was like let’s give you something as cool as Eldrich Memory, he remembers everything.

But because he knows what happened doesn’t mean he would not stir shit up.

He looks around confused (playing his role), then the villain starts their monolog. And Billy is like ok, time for some fun, and curb stomps the villain all why laughing. The rest of the JL are just watching in horror as a 6-8 year old is beating the life out of the emery with such ease. When they try to calm the child, only to have a hiss and Billy acting like the true feral cat he is, because he has ‘no idea who they are’.  He even goes as far as speaking a very old and dead language that they don’t understand.

All why this is happening his gods are laughing and egging him on.

[merbear25]

Saw requests were open so I gotta ask: How do you think Doffy, Crocodile, and Ace would react to reader teasing them all day long by lounging around in a scandalous bikini. But when they finally go to grab her she laughs and jumps into the water saying "Oh too bad you can't join me!" before pulling off her suit and throwing it at them, knowing full well they can't go into the water without it effecting their devil fruit :) So they're stuck watching only lol (girlie pop is in trouble once she eventually has to get out PFT)

Hey! Thank you for sending this in. It was fun thinking about these men getting super flustered 🤭 I hope you like it 💜💜

You were such a tease. Flaunting your body in a skimpy bikini was like dangling meat in front of a starving lion. Oh how they couldn’t wait till you got out of that water.

CW: very suggestive, fem!reader, no explicit language but heavily implied, established relationship, teasing, heavy pining

Teasing them just to get a rise (Doffy, Crocodile, Ace)

Doffy: The warmth of the summer day kissed your body, which was scarcely covered by a bikini that complimented your curves and skin tone perfectly. You were sitting in the shade by the pool, sipping on the drink that’d been prepared for you. Trailing one of your legs against the other, you could feel his gaze intensifying. Your foot teased your skin, leaving a few goosebumps in its wake. That slight chill when contrasting with the heat made effects on your chest appear even more seductive.

Leaned back on the sofa, legs spread and arms slumped over the back rest was a man whose presence could be sensed wherever he was. Without even looking at him, you knew exactly how he was feeling—hungry. Those sunglasses may hide his eyes but left nothing to the imagination when the emotion began dancing on his complexion. A smirk that was turning into a wide grin, he could see your little scheme to rile him up coming from a mile away. However, he enjoyed the game and entertained it willingly. He would let you have your fun because you both knew who called the shots.

Never taking his eyes off of you, he smirked at how quickly you’d grown accustomed to this lifestyle: watching you call over the servant to adjust the umbrella, then basking under the sun. You were always glowing, beaming with beauty, but seeing the rays of the sun highlighting your body was the cherry on top.

You were testing him and he could feel his self-control slipping. The way you positioned yourself gave him a full view of your most mouth-watering features. Such a tease, little vixen, he’d bring an entire nation to its knees without hesitation if you so desired. Soft rises and falls of your chest was making him more and more restless. His hand moved to his inner thigh as he tilted his head to get a better look at you. Imagination running wild and free, his hand caressed that stirring feeling.

Getting up suddenly, he made his way over to you quickly. Throwing himself back on the pool chair next to you, he kept his legs spread on either side of it. The view was just as alluring from there: the slight view down that bikini, the thin material not leaving any curve in your most private areas gone unnoticed.

“Is there something you’d like to say?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

He chuckled at your confidence and leaned forward. Positioning himself on the side of the pool chair, he reached out, ghosting your body. “Not so much say as much as I want to take.”

You pulled your legs up and over the opposite side of him, letting your teasing smile settle on him. “You’re always so quick to snatch what you want. So impatient.” You wagged your finger teasingly before getting up to go to the water. “Patience is a virtue as they say,” you added before easing yourself down the stairs.

The light danced on the water and illuminated on you, adding to each feature he adored. Your eyes were locked on his. The gentle bounce of your chest from the rippling water coaxed a groan from him. Undoing the back of your top, you tossed it at him and leaned back in the pool. Your chest was caressed by the slightly chilly water. You hummed in the satisfaction of knowing how much of a hold you had on him. He could think that he was the one calling the shots, but he was the one bending over backwards to please you.

“Such a nice day. We should make the most of it, don’t you think?” You lifted your leg, practically pulling him into a strangle hold.

You could practically hear him licking his lips. “Oh, I sure do.” 

Crocodile: Lounging in the sun room, you enjoyed the warmth of the summer day on your skin. He’d passed by the room a few times in between meetings and couldn’t hold back his lingering gaze. Each dip of your curves was a wonderland for him to explore. While you laid on your stomach and read your book, you kicked your feet up and gently rubbed them together. Deep within your own world, yet aware of the contemplating man standing in the doorway.

Another meeting nipping at his heels was what pulled him away from reaching out to touch you. The long, tiring remarks of those incapable of following through with his orders kept him from pulling at the bikini strings that barely covered your most intimate parts. With a huff of irritation, he hurried off to the meeting room in hopes of getting it over with as quickly as possible.

A coy smile teased your lips at the sound of his heavy footsteps echoing down through the halls. You couldn’t help dangling yourself in front of him, stringing him along until he was ultimately a drooling mess. That was how you wanted it and you knew he craved it too—to be so consumed by his own lust. You could hear the meeting coming to a close, so you moved out by the pool, fully expecting him to come looking for you.

The sound of the glass door sliding open behind you made you smirk but wasn’t enough to call your full attention. Flipping the page, you sighed in contentment. “How were your meetings?”

“I’m sure you can guess,” he humphed.

Subtly, you arched your back, purposefully drawing more attention to your bikini bottoms. “At least now you can unwind.”

He chuckled while moving towards you. His advancements made you sit up. You looked over your shoulder, letting your eyes bat at him. Your smirk was all too telling. When you noticed him itching to reach out to touch you, you giggled playfully and went over to the water. You dipped your foot in, swirling it with the tips of your toes as you kept your eyes on him. That look of dark desire building within him only made you want to push further, fully aware that the pay-off would make it worth the risk.

“It’s too bad you’ll have to wait.” When he cocked an eyebrow at you, that lit the playful spark in you. Diving into the pool, you came up with drenched hair that accentuated your feminine features. The glistening water in the sun reflected upon you, making you appear as a goddess, forbidden fruit.

He sat down on the pool chair and rolled his tongue against his cigar absentmindedly. “Is this your way of telling me how you want the evening to play out?”

“The day’s still early, so why wait until the evening?” You allowed each word to hang off your lips as you pulled off your top and tossed it to the side.

A puff of smoke dispersed around him. “That can be arranged.”

Ace: A day by the waterfall after having spent what seemed like ages on the ship was long overdue. Your brand new bikini was something you’d been dying to wear. Coming out from behind the rocks, you caught Ace’s eye immediately. The shock of seeing you in scandalous clothing left him in a state of awe.

You giggled at him, feeling your cheeks being bitten by the heat rising within you. “You act like you’ve never seen me before.”

“Well, I haven’t seen you like this.” He smiled as you came over to lay next to him. The jungle canopy overhead still granted the sun’s rays to come through. They shined on you more than any other spot in the area, presenting you as a beauty beyond mortal comprehension. “This is nice, isn’t it?” You sighed peacefully.

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” he murmured, not able to keep his thoughts straight. Each attempt to keep his eyes off of you was in vain. You looked so relaxed lying there with the sounds of water pouring from up top the mountain.

“It’s okay to look at me,” you laughed. You caught him in a furious blush when taking a peak at him. “We’re dating. It’s fine.”

“I know but it’s not like we can actually do anything about it out here in the open.” He looked around at hearing the voices of the others nearby.

You hummed in understanding, “Perhaps.” You leaned up and placed your chin on his shoulder, “Or maybe you’re just chicken?” The teasing name calling made the tips of his ears burn red. He turned to protest, but his words failed him when your flirtatious smile beamed back at him. 

You got up to go over to the edge of the water. Your fingers ran under the lining of your bottoms, smoothing out the wrinkles on your suit, so that the fabric hugged you the way it was meant to. “A little risk makes everything more fun.” A dreamy voice wrapped around each word. 

The untying of your top got the exact reaction you wanted out of him. A soft gasp escaped him when you let it drop to the jungle floor. Keeping your back to him, you carefully walked along the flat rocks towards the waterfall. He couldn’t help himself; he came after you, having already taken off his shoes and shorts. In nothing but his boxers, he was coming up to your side.

Turning towards him, you welcomed that eager look upon his face. He stepped forward and was met with your fiery passion. A deep kiss paired with wandering hands set the both of you ablaze with fervor. You ran your hands down his chest and then swiftly untied your bottoms. Just before giving the chance to grab a handful of you, you stepped away from him. You smirked at him as his eyes roamed over exposed form. Then, you fell back into the crystal blue water.

The pure color didn’t hide any inch of you to him, only making him more pained at the sight of you—-not being able to dive in after you to fully embrace you. “You know how crazy you make me…”

“I do but I also know how much you love it,” you giggled before drifting over to the shallow end.

[yooniivrse]

bouquet | myg

summary. every day with you serves as a reminder that you are, in fact, the best thing that has happened to him

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: established relationsip au, fluff

word count: 1.3k

content: oc buys yoongi flowers / my man is whipped

warnings: none <333

notes: u can find the post explaining how i imagine yoongi and oc’s apartment here (in case u wanna visualise it better) likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are so appreciated!! i hope you guys enjoy <333

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main masterlist

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The fresh scent of flowers tickles your nose as you hold the bouquet close to your chest. You can't help but pride yourself in your selection as you admire the pale colours that caress each petal; an arrangement of pinks the same shade as the blush you often find creeping across your cheeks, oranges that mimic the morning sky on a winter day, yellows that remind you of the sunshine that warms your eyelids as you lie in bed during summer, and whites that reflect the hue of the moon.

It may not be perfect, but it's just right for your boyfriend — this you're sure of. Because it's Yoongi who causes your blushes and watches the sunrise with you in his arms despite the chilly weather; it's Yoongi who convinces you to stay in bed for "just a bit longer", until the day is almost gone but it doesn't feel wasted because it was spent with him.

Yoongi illuminates the dark skies that often haunt you, lighting up even your dullest days in his own way. And he whispers sweet nothings in your ear at night as if they're words from the moon itself.

Getting Yoongi flowers wasn't something you set out in the morning intending to do. You had come across the bouquets on your way back home from work, catching sight of them in the window of a quaint flower shop tucked in the corner of a street. It still baffles you how you had managed to not see the building for so long despite knowing the street like the back of your hand.

It was hard to miss too, given the amount of intricately put together bouquets wrapped in parchment paper and potted plants that were displayed on wooden stands just outside. They spilt out across the sidewalk, painting the grey town with the pop of colour it desperately needed.

You don't know what it was, but nothing had felt more right for you to do at that moment. So you marched in and paid an outrageous amount of money without a second thought.

And now, here you were — unable to hide the smile on your face despite the burn on your cheeks — watching the elevator ascend to the floor of your apartment. The pixelated numbers seemed to be moving slower than usual today, but you didn't linger on it for too long.

Eventually, the steel doors part to let you out, and you walk down the empty hallway to your apartment. It's a struggle to unlock the door with the flowers in one hand and your tote bag flimsily slung around your other shoulder, but you manage.

The door opens with a familiar creak and you step inside.

The immediate aroma of food that hits you is sudden, but also mouth-watering. You make your way down to the source of the smell — the kitchen — to find Yoongi working away at the stove.

A short towel hands around his neck, catching the droplets of water that fall from the ends of his hair. A loose, black t-shirt hangs on his figure, along with a pair of grey sweatpants. He hums an oddly staccato tune to himself, completely immersed in whatever he's cooking.

"Hi."

Yoongi's gaze immediately moves from the dish in front of him to you, a smile spreading across his face.

"Hello." He meets your eyes for a brief second before moving down to the flowers. He quirks an eyebrow, lifting his gaze again. "Special occasion?"

"No. I got them for you...just because," you reply with a shrug, walking over to him with the bouquet outstretched in your hands.

"Oh. I- Thank you." You don't fail to catch the tint of pink that creeps across his skin, slowly becoming prominent around the tips of his ears as he takes the flowers from your hand.

He stares at the arrangement for a few seconds, and you feel a flutter of nervousness in your stomach. He would like them, right?

"So, whatcha cooking?" you ask, eyeing the pot of noodles. A small pile of thinly cut cucumber rests on a cutting board just beside the stove, but before you can take in everything else displayed across the marble, Yoongi's lips are on yours.

You melt into the kiss almost instantly. Your heart soars in your chest and the nerves in your stomach wash away, only to be replaced by the erratic flutter of butterflies.

Yoongi tastes faintly of mint and love, and the pressure of his kiss is slightly stronger than usual — as if he's reminding you of who his heart belongs to, even though you're already well aware.

The feeling of knowing that you're loved is almost overwhelming, but you bask in it, unable to stop your lips from spreading into a smile against his mouth.

"God, I love you so much," Yoongi mumbles as he pulls back, tenderly moving a few strands of your hair behind your ear, and you giggle at his words.

"I love you too, baby," you reply. His eyes crinkle into soft crescent moons, and he places another peck against your lips.

"Where do you think we should put it?" He does a quick scan of the room and you follow his movements. The coffee table would've been your first option, but it's occupied by the flowers he got you on your most recent date.

"Hmm." Your eyes move down the room. "I think it should look fine in the bedroom."'

Yoongi hums in agreement. "You're right. I'll put them here for now, 'cause I'm fucking starving right now."

"Oh my God, same," you reply as he places the bouquet on the marble island behind him. "What are you making anyway?"

"Just jajangmyeon. You mentioned wanting it last night, so I thought I'd make it for you. Didn't want you to get food poisoning like last time when we went to that sketchy restaurant."

"You're amazing," you say, loudly kissing him on the cheek. "I was literally craving it all day today."

Yoongi lets out a soft chuckle. "I knew you would be. Don't worry, it'll be ready pretty soon."

"I'll go get changed then. Don't burn down the house!"

"That's rich coming from you," he says with a snort.

You feign innocence with a shrug. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Mhm, sure you don't."

As you leave the kitchen, your laughter still echoing in the room, Yoongi lingers by the bouquet. A feeling of warmth blooms across his skin, and he's sure that it has nothing to do with the stove.

Even as he continues to stir the noodles, the only thing he is focused on is the single thought in his head.

You really are the best thing that has happened to him.

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permanent taglist: @petals4bangtan @futuristicenemychaos

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

What happens when Ford eventually returns? I mean, Dipper and Mabel will have to get used to a whole ‘new’ Ford, and Bill is a chaos-god again, so meeting him in his real form will be interesting, will Bill just hang around?

To summarise: It isn’t great, for anybody.

In the case of Ford, it’s like he’s just woken up from sleep. In his mind, it’s like no time has passed at all, but instead 30 years has, and he has to come to terms with that. His paranoia is intense, and to make matters worse, he doesn’t just feel like a stranger in his own home, but a stranger in his own body. He honestly spends a lot of time around Stan, despite his lingering anger, as Stan is the only person who doesn’t look at him strangely, or make him feel like he’s the one who stole this body, that he’s the one who doesn’t belong. Stan’s familiar. He’s safe. Everything else is just… wrong.

He’s generally quite unsure around the twins, which is a mutual feeling.

Mabel wants him to feel welcome, she really does, but she’s struggling to cope with the feelings of confusion and betrayal, and though she does her best to put on a smile and get to know him, he always seems very far away. Meanwhile, Dipper thought he knew the Author for the longest time, but apparently, it was all a lie, and he’s hurt, they both are, but Dipper honestly handles it worse. He’s fixated enough on Bill’s pages in the journal to know he’s dangerous, that he did something bad to their real Grunkle Ford, and he’s relentless in finding out what.

It feels like walking on eggshells at all times. Their new Great Uncle Ford is jumpy, and he’s always looking at them like they’re going to attack him. He’s only ever really at ease when Stan is around. Speaking of Stan, he doesn’t blame his brother for being so on edge, nor is annoyed at Ford constantly trying to argue with Stan and prove Bill has manipulated him too, because to Ford, it’s the only possible explanation as to why Stan would protect him. And Stan gets that. Even now, he will never forget the anger he felt at seeing Ford’s body, how damaged it was, and how Bill laughed about it. But, unfortunately, he’s spent 30 years with Bill, 30 years Ford had taken from him, and that leaves everything painfully complicated.

Speaking of Bill, I haven’t decided exactly how he’s going to be present, either he’s completely back to hanging around the mindscape, or he’s latched onto Ford still somehow, either way, he hangs around.

I have a particular vision in mind of him entering the twins dreams sometimes, especially if they’re having a nightmare, and he and Mabel end up having a conversation one night.

I may make a full, coloured comic for it honestly, because it’s very clear in my mind, and Mabel asking Bill to lie to her for her own comfort… yeah.

(If anyone’s seen Buffy, it’s kind of based off the ‘Lie to me’ scene)

(One final note: I think DD&MD will still be the key to getting Ford to open up, but it’s something the whole family gets involved with, even Stan and Mabel, though they admit the game isn’t really for them, just to make him feel more comfortable around them, and break the tension a bit more. Dipper kind of figures out he likes it in the similar fashion of Ford seeing his die!)

[chelledoggo]

given the state of... things... i wanna really dissect the ending of episode 2 of TADC.

old news, yeah. but... i think the message of this scene hits harder in this time.

obvious spoiler warning below the cut!!! (also religion CW since i share a Bible verse at the end.)

so by now you probably know the ending all too well.

Pomni made a new friend in Gummigoo, hoping to help him find a better life in the circus... only to watch him be unceremoniously blasted into confetti by the well-meaning but completely tactless Caine.

and of course Pomni is understandably traumatized, going into absolute hysterics.

Caine, the oblivious godlike AI in charge of the show, believes he was just keeping things safe and in order, and shows no real empathy as he teleports himself out of the situation.

Pomni just stands there. dissociating. confused. God only knows what thoughts are going through her mind right now.

the ever-nurturing Ragatha, who's made it her mission to make sure everyone else is as happy as possible, tries to step in and raise Pomni's spirits.

of course, none of this is of any consolation to Pomni. like... how could it be? she watched her friend (presumably) die.

it's like those who believe in an afterlife watching someone die in front of them. even with that little bit of hope and comfort that you may one day see them again, that can't erase the horror you bore witness to.

Pomni stands there unresponsive. Ragatha feels helpless to comfort her.

Zooble approaches, letting Ragatha know that they've finished preparations for Kaufmo's funeral...

Ragatha turns to Pomni and extends an invitation.

this is enough to bring Pomni out of her traumatized stupor.

Ragatha explains the custom that the circus crew developed themselves. whenever a friend abstracts, they hold a "funeral" service to honor them.

now Pomni never knew Kaufmo. he abstracted just before Pomni entered the circus. they never had a chance to meet.

and yet Ragatha still invites Pomni to mourn him along with the rest of the humans.

Ragatha realizes that hopeful platitudes won't really do anything at this time. so instead she opens to her new friend a safe space to grieve.

Pomni accepts the invitation. she stands before the "casket" of a perfect stranger, unsure of what to think.

Ragatha takes her place next to the casket, allowing herself the rare opportunity to express vulnerability around the people she usually puts on a brave face for.

Pomni watches and listens as each of these people she'd only met yesterday share their eulogies for Kaufmo.

they share their experiences. their happy moments with their abstracted friend. and, most importantly, they share their grief and anguish.

Pomni obviously can't relate to any of these stories of Kaufmo. she never knew him.

but that's not the point.

the point is that she's witnessing the camaraderie of the humans in a way she never could before.

she's witnessing them in a vulnerable moment where they can break their goofy facades. and, more importantly, she's witnessing just how deeply these people love and care for each other.

brotherhood doesn't always take the form of trying to fix everyone's pain and cheer each other up. sometimes brotherhood is simply allowing those you care for to feel their feelings without judgement, and to hurt along with them.

and that's when it hits Pomni for the first time.

she's Not Alone

i think this scene hits harder after... recent events.

it's okay to feel the way you feel right now. it's okay to be anxious, scared, angry. it's okay, for right now, to feel... hopeless.

hope will come eventually. but oftentimes grief has to come first.

and that's okay. it's in the moments of communal despair that the seeds of hope are planted.

times of fear and suffering are inevitable. a perfectly happy outcome can't always be guaranteed. but comfort exists even in grief.

so take your time.

hope has no deadline. rest assured that it WILL come eventually, but don't rush or force it.

rest.

feel your feelings.

find those who can lament with you.

find those who need you to lament with them.

we should let ourselves hurt together today. and then we can hope together tomorrow.

"Rejoice with those who rejoice; weep with those who weep." - Romans 12:15 (NRSVUE)

[yayll]

IM SO HAPPY YOU LIKE IT!!! Opposites attract are literally my favorite trope ever, i love bad boy unhinged rockstar Dazai and him developing a crush on the cute, considered the industry sweetheart who dresses in frills and bows idol/pop star Reader, and considering that idols change their outfits to support the themes of songs/tours i can imagine they get a matching outfit set one day and its rock style…..idol reader dressed in black and other dark colors, rips in their clothes and some skin showing……Rockstar!Dazai is biting the bars of his encloser-TeenZai anon

so sorry this is so late angel.... also i may have gotten a bit carried away w this concept................ i love u teenzai anon this one's for u and all the rockstar!dazai adorers out there (and for me bc i'm INSANE for this whole thing put me downnn) basically idol reader taking up dazai's rocker aesthetic for the concept/theme of the tour is literally the DEATH of him. and not in the way he's always wishing for >:3

~ a little something about Rockstar!Dazai and Popstar!Reader finding a middle ground ~

You show up to soundcheck one morning completely in tune with the plan for the show but thinking nothing of it, because you're sweet and cool and in perfect flow! Something Dazai simply isn't and it makes him practically gawk as you saunter past him into the dressing room. a few moments later you walk out in a matching outfit that compliments the one he's wearing and it's all over. Completely fucking done. The man practically goes non-verbal for a few moments when he suddenly calls for his assistant to fetch him his pack of cigarettes so he can dash outside to the alley of the venue to get himself together. The nerve of you to look absolutely ravishing in a completely different aesthetic... So hot. So annoying.

Of course you follow behind him, curious and also hoping he's genuinely okay (you're not just a sweetheart for show and he hates that!) You find him leaning against the wall, his lighter failing to give him the flame he needs for his sweet relaxation. All he hears is soft giggling and light footsteps.

"I'll light it."

You take the lighter from him and flawlessly flicker it alive while he just watches you with the stick between his lips, amazed and slightly aroused. He can't help but notice the way his nerves seem to immediately settle with you nearby and it both comforts and concerns him. Dazai looks down at your face as you lean forward with the lighter, a tiny moment of softness appearing in his eyes as he watches you light the end of his cigarette, the flame from the lighter making his Hazelnut eyes light up slightly. He quickly takes in a long and deep drag, his shoulders visibly immediately relaxing once the smoke hits his lungs, and his cool guy demeanor is back on. You chime in, poking your head back into his line of sight.

"Better?"

You smile at him sweetly, always keeping things cordial.

"Much."

He stares at you under his messy bangs, his narrowed eyes softening by the second as his lips curl upward. You're just too true.

You simply hum, standing around idly though not in the way that claims awkwardness, but rather the comfortable kind of silence neither of them get to experience often in this fast paced industry. You look down at your black platform leather boots, a sheer contrast from who you usually present as and it somehow feels liberating. You breathe out, matching his coolness.

"Thought so."

He almost snorts at that, and turns back to look over the features of your angelic face. no amount of black you wear could overshadow the glimmer that follows you everywhere you go. You're a lucky star that's gone as quick as it comes. One day he'll make a wish on you.

"You know me so well."

You huff into a soft laugh that lingers and eventually dies in your throat when you realize the fluttering in your chest is only growing. Yikes. You mutter, low and careful.

"I just... Didn't want you to have a bad night tonight, I guess. With the concert and the album dropping and all... I hope you don't mind I'm sort of dressed like you, heh."

You end it with a shrug as you look ahead at the clouds in the sky and for the first time in a while you feel a tinge of nerves. you, the industry's sweetheart can still feel that after your major lasting success? shocking.

He huffs slightly in response, leaning his back against the wall and tilting his head up, staring up at the sky as he mutters back.

"It's not like I ever really have a totally good time on nights like this, anyway."

You flash your attention at him, tilting your head. In all your years of the supposed 'clashing' between you, you have never heard him speak this way.

"Nights 'like this'?"

He glances back over to you, bringing the cigarette back to his lips for another quick drag before responding, watching you stare at him intently.

"Ahh, performing. All the people. The fans being all over me. The media. All of it, all the time. It's exhausting, actually. I know I'm super hot and talented, but the performance doesn't always end when I get off that stage."

This causes you to lean in just a tad and murmur, curiously.

"... So why do it? All of this?"

And just when he's about to truly spill it all, talk about his never ending battle with his mortality and his career and the way you dominate every single topic in his mind, he simply just looks at you and blows cigarette smoke in your face with that signature smirk of his you always pretend to find so irritating.

"Sometimes it feels real and constant. It's the only thing I can count on... Other than seeing your silly little imitation of me on stage. Hate the mesh, by the way."

You simply stare, taken aback by his oddly sincere and blunt answer. You mutter under your breath as you bite your freshly manicured nails.

"...Yeah?"

Dazai hesitates a moment, his dark eyes glancing away from you as he takes another drag from the cigarette, a moment of vulnerability flickering through his expression. He takes another moment before responding, his voice gruff and a little shaky.

"Yeah..."

He continues to stare off to the side for a long moment, a hint of something like longing and painful restraint crossing his expression as he seems to internally struggle with something. Dazai's expression hardens a little as he finally looks back at you, his shoulders visibly tense as he puffs on the cigarette again, blowing out a long stream of smoke as he tries to push down his own feelings.

But you can tell, you can always tell. Media training, baby.

After what feels like an eternity, you reach out for his cigarette and take it in between your lips, taking a long drag of it yourself. You puff out smoke in a far less cool way than he made it seem, feigning nonchalance as if this isn't the first time you've ever even TRIED one of these damn things.

"Minty..."

He glances at you as you take the cigarette and take a drag yourself, a small but subtle flicker of curiosity in his expression. He watches you exhale and blow out the stream of smoke, before responding in a sardonic voice.

"Since when do you smoke, little miss bubblegum pop?"

You choke out a laugh, waving away the smoke to regain your breath. You smile faintly with a shrug as you hand it back to him after taking one more drag for good measure.

"I don't."

He raises his eyebrows slightly, giving you a look of mischief.

"Then why are you puffing on my cigarette, hm? Your manager would have a stroke if they saw you like this, you know. I'd be marked as a 'bad influence'~"

You shrug again and hum with all the bravery in the world your little heart can muster.

"...Tastes like you, is all."

He just continues to stare at you for a moment, processing your answer. Dazai's expression still remains as unreadable and emotionless as ever, but his eyes flicker for a moment, something indiscernible flashing through them for a fleeting second. It's the internal panic from how badly he wants to kiss you right here and now. He seems to hesitate for a moment before responding with a small smirk forming on his face and sounding wayyy too eager.

"...Is that a good thing?"

You exhale, the smoke leaving your nostrils as you murmur softly, eyes locked on his.

"...Yeah. It's a real and constant thing."

His breath hitches, shoulders visibly reacting by scrunching up as you give your answer. He doesn't say anything, but there's a flicker of something like vulnerability in his expression, a hint of softness around his eyes that betrays his usual cool and careless exterior. He remains silent for a moment longer before responding, his voice a low murmur.

"Yeah... Real."

And before you know it, you simply decide to say fuck it! And do something you'd never have the guts to do before Dazai and his ridiculous self entered your life. You lean in slowly, inching closer and closer to his lips. You're within an inch of kissing him when you whisper.

"... For good luck tonight, Osamu."

Dazai watches you in silence as you lean forward towards him, his expression going from unreadable to filled with pure unfiltered need. As you pause just inches away from his mouth, his eyes flicker once more, his dark irises shifting down to your lips for a second before returning to your eyes. For a moment he doesn't move, just staring down at you with an almost pathetically vulnerable expression on his face. You know better than to say his name like that. Then, in a low voice, he whispers back.

"... Shut up."

He leans down suddenly, pressing his lips against yours. Dazai's lips press against yours in a firm, almost desperate kiss. One of his arms wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against his body, while the other hand moves up to cradle the back of your head, threading his fingers through your purposefully messy yet somehow still soft hair. The kiss is passionate and intense, you can't even fathom how it's all gone down like this but you don't care.

Dazai thinks about how you taste delicious, sinful, and more importantly: Real.

For a few seconds, he kisses you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth, before he finally breaks away, the both of you gasping for breath as he speaks in a quiet and hoarse voice.

"I can't think straight around you like this you silly little thing."

You smile, suddenly back to being bashful and absolutely ready for whatever happens tonight. You both look stunning and it's not just the outfits that speak on it. It's the genuine spark between you two, the collaboration everyone wanted but you NEEDED.

Just when you're about to reply to his snarky comment, your managers bust through the door to the alley and frantically fuss over you both as they yap about how late you are to soundcheck and the pre-show meet and greet. And why do you smell like cigarettes?!

Dazai turns up the charm and bad boy persona while you play up the apologetic and totally easygoing idol who's more than happy to make up for the lost time with the fans! And now in a different color scheme than they're used to!

Before you and Dazai are whisked away into opposite ends to finish getting ready, he leans into the shell of your ear, barely grazing it with his lips as he whispers playfully.

"You drive me crazy. See you on stage, and then maybe backstage~"

You swear you can feel every nerve in your body twitch when he smugly prances away from you after saying that.

... And of course the concert is a total jam, everyone's raving about the new music + matching outfits you're both sporting along with the undeniable chemistry you're cooking up. It's in the way you smile at each other in between songs, or when Dazai's singing a particularly flirty lyric he gazes at you instead of the screaming fans in the crowd. You dance and he watches, just like everybody else always does when you're in the room. Spellbound.

He may be wishing on you a little earlier than he thought he would be, but you don't seem to mind one bit, his lucky star. ⋆｡°✩

[opiopal]

MC who hates Lucifer’s guts, yet will go into his study or the music room when overstimulated by all the noise of the HOL. Like, they’ll plant a glitter bomb in his room, and after he’s done finally cleaning up MOST of it, he walks into the music room and sees MC sleeping on the couch listening to a record all peacefully. Or just like…the brothers will randomly notice MC goes missing and is found either spaced out in their rooms or fast asleep.

uhh…basically, an MC who is usually very loud and competitive, will get overstimulated by all the sounds and general loudness of the HOL, and later be found hanging out or asleep in the most random places.

this is so long I’m so sorry-

(Like sleeping in mammons car boot/trunk)

omg YES, but this has also got to be SO hard for mc like omg,

I am imagine them absolutely getting into it with Levi or S8n or literally ANY of the brothers over small things, mc is just digging for a challenge always. “I bet I could eat this faster” “I bet I could beat you in this game” “I bet I could win more money than you” Ect. Ect. but eventually they’re social battery runs out and they can’t help but curse their own behavior, so eventually they slowly separate from the chaos they had created and go into a quiet room, and honestly luci’s room would be so perfect for that. Who in the world would willing bother him in his office? ESPECIALLY when he’s working? Well Mc would, I can imagine Luci is just so used to his brothers going from plotting against him then switching up to needing their older brother, so he doesn’t really mind most of the time. Though he does think mc can be.. a little annoying, but there’s nothing he hasn’t seen when each of his brothers are all uniquely problematic. so typically when mc comes into his office silently, carrying headphones, or a book, or a sketchbook, he just motions for them to take a seat in one of the chairs he has in there as he turns back to the paperwork he was filling out. which they both just sit in silence as mc unwinds in their own way. Though mc makes sure to make it obvious they don’t do this bc they enjoy being around him,

“you know this doesn’t mean anything. Right?”

“of course mc,”

Though he smiles a bit when they aren’t looking.

with the other brothers I could imagine it just feels like another belphie is around whenever mc needs to chill, cause despite being such a loud and obnoxious creature, mc still somehow manages to sneak around so quietly that they wouldn’t have even realized they entered the room. honestly, maybe it’s just a me thing, but I think Beel would be one of the best people to just relax against. Like, I can only assume he runs pretty warm, and no one in the world could convince me he isn’t pudgy in a lot of areas, so he’s comfortable. And he doesn’t mind in the slightest! He’s used to his brother sleeping on his arm, so why would he care about mc doing it to? And he’s very good at sitting in silence…. However the constant chewing would probably add to the overstimulation lowkey, so if Beel is mc’s chosen unwinding person for the day, they might need to bring their headphones with them. belphie may also be a very good chilling out person, I could totally imagine he’d be a great weighted blanket if that’s what mc needs in that moment, if mc is also on the chunkier side he would also very much so look forward to it. To him it’s just like laying on a pillow, so he doesn’t mind in the slightest!(though he’s such a heavy sleeper I don’t think he’d care if mc was a bit on the skinny side, honestly any discomfort will be forgotten the second he closes his eyes lol) though I’m sure he’d be asleep for way to long and mc may have to fight to be freed of him, so if mc decides they need their living weighted blanket and they have plans later.. they’ll probably have to cancel their plans cause they’ll be there till dinner.

I think the most optimal people for mc to hang around would be the older three tbh, Luci would know when mc just needs silence and he’s more then happy to give that to them as long as they reciprocate said silence. mams would probably be baffled the first time he just finds mc hanging out in his room, either drawing or taking a nap, but he makes sure mc’s peace isn’t disturbed, like he’d actually be willing to fight off his brothers at the door because he know his human needs their silent reading time. So there’s no way in the three realms he’s going to willingly let their peace be disturbed because asmo wants to go shopping or the anti Lucifer league wants to plan a prank! They can forget about it until mc is ready! And honestly, Levi would probably be the greatest, he knows what getting overwhelmed often is like so he understands that mc just needs to do their thing.. but he is absolutely honored and crying on the inside because they chose him!! So he makes SURE his room is in the perfect condition for mc to hang out in, he gets his good headphones out so then mc can’t hear his game or anime, he lets them know they have free access to his mini fridge(he totally has one guys idc if it’s canon or not, he literally lives in his room he totally has a fridge of snacks, soda, and water) and he’d probably very shyly get them a sketchbook, or a box of yarn for crotchet, or literally anything they usually do when they need to relax that’s just in their own spot in his room. though giving the other two some love, I know that asmo would absolutely do some like, calming skincare face massage stuff, basically if mc needs a silent spa day amso is absolutely willing to do such a thing with them! And though he understands that’s not what they always need, he does get a little bummed when mc doesn’t go to him for detoxing. But he gets it! Go to ur thing pookie!! and with s8n, he’ll always have a book and a spot on his bed for mc when they need it, he’s good at being quiet and obviously he wouldn’t need to fight anyone off from entering his room, since it’s the same deal as luci’s office. Unless someone has a death wish, they’ll stay out of his room, even if mc is in there.

[kanasbinwriting]

Any Mychael hcs?? :)

GENERAL DATING HEADCANONS

Thank you so much for your request ^^!!! I hope you don't mind me writing dating headcanons for Mychael :>

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

- I LOVE HIM SM AHHHHHHH

- He's insecure af, as we know, so it'll take him long to believe that you don't see him as a monster

- But the moment he slowly begins to believe your honey smeared words? Oh, he's going to be absolutely smitten with you

- Do you remember the flower field where he took the MC? This is your date spot now and I won't be persuaded otherwise

- You either stargaze, have a picnic or just look at the clouds as the butterflies surround you two

- You two would make flowercrowns together, idc if you don't know how to make them. He'll gladly try to teach you

- He adores preparing little snacks and drinks for the picnic date with you

- He always hums a happy tune as he makes the snacks

- He'd undeniably enjoy morning strolls with you

- Imagine holding his hand as you two walk around in the woods. He might even hum a little tune as you do

- He was definitely nervous at your first official date

- He read tons of books about romance after he discovered his feelings for you

- He also read the most traumatising and disturbing things he's ever read

- But it's worth it if it meant that you'll be happy

- He loves listening to you talking about your interests

- He doesn't really initiate physical touch at first

- But if physical touch is your love language, he'd start to initiate it more often

- He follows you around everywhere you go when you're at his place

- He gets very flustered when you give him quick surprise kisses or hugs

- But he'll quickly ease into your touch

- He LOVES playing those no WiFi games on your phone

- RIP your phone storage, it'll be greatly missed

- He enjoys getting kisses all over his face and could spent forever in your embrace

- His love language is definitely receiving words of affirmation

- He'd definitely gift you random leaves and tell you that they reminded him of you

- They're really pretty ones though

- I think one of his love languages is also acts of service

- He just adores taking care of you

- He would love to cook with you, in a sense that you're sitting at the dining table and give the food a taste and clean the cutlery he used

- yummy

- If you tell him about your favourite food or snack, he'd always have it or at least have the ingredients ready in case you suddenly crave it

- He's definitely a morning person

- It took him SO long to share his bed with you

- If you two are sharing a bed and cuddling, he would be hesitant to leave your side, but will eventually since he wants to prepare breakfast and tend to his chickens

- He loves seeing you hanging out with his chickens and taking care of them

- They are sort of his family after all

- He'd definitely love to share one of his hobbies with you. May it be knitting or gardening, he'd be more than happy to teach you

- But he'd also enjoy just having you sit next to him as you do your own thing

- I don't think he's someone who would begin to fight over something small

- If it does happen, he would quickly apologize

- He gets pretty coy when he realises that you want to start a silly argument with him that leads to nowhere and doesn't even make sense

- If you two get into a big fight he'd definitely snap quickly, but he's quickly apologising

- He cools down pretty quickly when he gets mad, but he feels very awkward after and isn't very good when it comes to talking it out

- I do think that he gets jealous of others to a certain extent due to his insecurities

- However, I don't think he would act out of order to a certain extent

- Hypnosis can fix many things after all

- If you ever feel down, he'd wrap you up in a burrito blanket, make you tea and just cuddle you

- He doesn't know shit about comforting others, but he's a great listener

- He'd probably try to distract you with whatever comes in mind, wherever it be with food or just cuddling he's at your service

- If he feels down, he just wants to be near you in silence

- If you're mentally ill he'd probably start to bomb you with questions

- Of course, he would back down when you tell him to, but he'd be confused at first

- He's a great listener though, as I mentioned, and would do his best to learn about your issues

- Same thing goes for when you're chronically ill

- If you have a hobby you can practice at his place, he'd be ecstatic to watch you and maybe even join you in your activities

- He almost shed a tear when you made/bought him a cake for his birthday

- And when you gave him gifts? He was so delighted that he couldn't stop smiling like a goof

- He wouldn't have a dramatic reaction when you give him pet names

- I think he'd enjoy most pet names that start with the word "my", for example "My love, my dearest, my dear, etc..."

- When you two cuddle, I think he would enjoy facing you and having your limbs tangled together as you cuddle

- He purrs every time

- He could've sworn that he almost died due to his embarrassment when you told him about his purring habit

[lauvra]

Something people don't realise when they censor especially the word suicide, how ever well-meaning is that they're feeding into its status as Taboo, rendering it even more difficult for people to confront and open up about in depth. Yes, people should be able to safeguard themselves to some extent from exposure to sentiments they are not ready to deal with, however intensely the affect is whether by preference or due to triggers; we know the body has very real reactions in some people when exposed to certain ideas--we see that when social media pranks around "unreality" affect disproportionate amounts of people people with Schizoaffective disorders for example. When it comes to triggers, most of the information I've heard at least anecdotally is that long-term avoidance of these triggers does not resolve the wound, eventually all must be confronted; at an individual's own pace and as their own responsibility. Censorship though, feeds into this very real fear a lot of suicidal people have, that their disposition is somewhat "contagious"--that merely bringing up the word will drag those surrounding down into their sinkhole, too. I've been part of group chats before when women suffering with eating disorders, or suicidal ideation have referenced these topics to the result of receiving a stern warning about how triggering these concepts may be to people in the group, and as someone who feels almost always external to social dynamics, I sat watching these exchanges as if perched on a fence thinking, "you already are speaking to someone experiencing and confronting these concepts, here, now, and your way of lending support is to chastise them for mentioning it--your rhetoric is all you have" and have seen versions of this play out over and over in different circumstances--that group wasn't a book club or group of colleagues, it was a bunch of girlfriends. What are friends for? Remove yourself from a conversation if necessary; ask it be had elsewhere but to chastise someone you love? What? As a writer, I often fear words are all I have to offer; I can be flaky, change my mind, want to work on showing up for people in a real way, but I'm very glad at least that I'm not somebody who chastises suicidal people for mentioning and essentially being suicidal. As for kill, how mad would you be if you were murdered and the news claimed you passed away? I mean, really.

Why are you as an adult censoring the words suicide & kill

[ayda-agueforts]

I’m not quite sure how I feel yet about the twist that lestat is the one who saved louis rather than armand, but if there’s one thing I know it’s that I can’t tune into a show based off of “lestat apologia: the series” and expect them not to give lestat heroic character beats

[thats-a-lot-of-cortisol]

they're in love your honor

[aesops-boy]

Yeah, no kidding it’s not healthy. The idea that others want you to die or just don’t care is incredibly depressing. Depressing is not healthy.

Truthfully, I don’t actually think most people want me to die. The point of this post is to get out/explain those icky emotions, those feelings.

But what’s hard is to be met with seeming callousness. What’s hard is to be met with sentiments again and again that a person would rather “make a point” than care about the real, living, breathing people around them. The idea that someone would be complicit in othering the people like you or even people not at all like you but who do face the threat of losing everything.

Those are what hurt.

And I already know a lot of it is social media. Like I said, it’s probably the algorithm pushing stuff to me to make me feel bad. That’s what it does. But that doesn’t stop the feelings. Acknowledging that helps to do things to prevent those posts that elicit those feelings, actual actions that I can think about rather than just be stuck feeling, like blocking accounts or interacting more with the stuff I do like.

And I’m lucky enough that I can literally go outside and touch grass all I want.

It doesn’t change the fact that I have to come back inside eventually to family and friends (now ex-friends, thankfully) that actually do feel how I described. Who don’t give a shit except to “make a point” and have actively chosen again and again to vote for people who say the absolute worst about others, including the people like me.

And no, they probably don’t actually want me to die. But there’s something about saying one thing but doing another that really makes a person feel that maybe that’s not true, feel hurt and betrayed and unsafe.

And I’m sure there are people who would say the same about me. They have the freedom to say what they want. They can feel just as hurt. I hated all the major candidates because it felt like no matter what, ideologically, I’d be hurting good people with a vote. And not voting didn’t feel better.

It’s not a happy situation. Of course social media doesn’t help. My physical situation doesn’t help.

It’s worse when people are nice about it. “No, I don’t want people like you to die. I just think your inherent existence is deviant and a threat to children and unhealthy, and I’m going to pretend that you’re not like that so that I can reconcile the fact that otherwise I’d be saying and thinking all those things about you. I refuse to acknowledge that treating you this way is killing you except when I feel too guilty about it and then call you overdramatic and tell you that of course I don’t think you’re like that. Then, I’m going to change absolutely nothing about how I choose to think or act.” That is an explicitly spelled out version of the thoughts of people I can’t escape by touching grass, at least not right now. Some of it has been told directly to me, and the rest is the obvious unspoken.

So it’s a good thing my original post was about how things feel rather than how things may or may not actually be. I really hope that things are as you say, and that people really don’t want people like me to die. That’s just not how it feels to me.

I will hurt now. I will act to change my situation when I can.

(Also, if you think I complain too much and need to go touch grass, I kindly suggest that you block my blog. I do a lot of complaining and expressing hurt that doesn’t make sense or line up all the time. It’s what my blog is for. And usually, touching grass doesn’t help.)

Everyone has probably already said and read all there is to say about the US election, but I need to get some things off my chest, so here we go:

I’ve seen a lot of blame from blue toward people who voted green. We knew it would split the party… is what blue would normally say. But this time, it really looks like it didn’t. Jill Stein hasn’t gotten any significant portion (read: not even 1%) of the vote in any given area, except apparently one place in Michigan? (As of writing this, at least.)

And to their credit, I’ve seen a lot of blue actually point this out, too. A lot of blue have acknowledged that as easy as it normally would be to blame a third party splitting the blue vote, it simply does not add up here.

However, I’m a bit disappointed with green. Maybe it’s just my algorithm, which would make sense given that social media gets a lot of success from trying to make you upset and therefore engage, but the responses from green have been troubling. It seems like every one that I see is… celebrating? That they made the “right” choice? The “ethical” choice? That they didn’t vote for genocide?

I mean, sure, I guess technically they didn’t vote “for” genocide… but… there is simply no world where an individual could reasonably believe that for this election specifically, all those blue votes were going to flip green. In fact, it might have even required red votes to flip green.

And it hurts because in deciding to vote to… ease their conscience? No, they didn’t split the vote per se, but it still hurts. “I decided to toss my vote! And I’m glad that blue didn’t get elected because it shows that voters will not stand for blue not supporting Palestine!” is what it sounds like. And what are the Palestinians supposed to do in the next four years with someone who is Hell-bent and has explicitly stated that he wants to wipe them out?

And I don’t want to make everything about me or about people in this country who clearly are not being bombed. But it also hurts personally because you can basically substitute Palestinians for any given minority in that sentence, and it will ring true.

No, green didn’t split the vote. But… can green only act morally superior because blue didn’t win? It feels like some weird version of “owning the libs.” Would it have been different if blue had won? What would it be then? Would green double down on claiming that blue voted for genocide? Would green claim that at least blue realized to not vote red or that even red saw the light and flipped? I don’t know.

And again, it hurts because for every celebratory video I see, every call that claims that green showed blue that they were serious about not voting for genocide and that they will organize and try to get green elected next time…

I hear, “I didn’t care about throwing Palestine under more bombs if it meant I could keep people from voting blue. I didn’t care about Project 2025 if it meant I could keep people from voting blue.”

And no, it’s not fair to blame green for how things turned out. But this is why I at least get so damn hurt seeing these celebrations from green.

I want green to organize. I want green to put a third party that could actually win on the ballot. I want green to put in the work on a large scale between these big elections to get the electoral votes. And I want green to put in the work at the local level to get a third party in from the ground up. I want a third party. I want to never be in this situation again.

As usual, the blame lies with the blue party, red party, and red voters.

The blue politicians alienated their voters. As much as green’s celebrations hurt, what I heard from the blue party was, “We’re willing to compromise with red by giving in to them and getting nothing in return. We’re willing to try to appeal to voters who will never vote for us. We know they won’t. But we’re still going to do this anyway.” Of course I know most of the blue politicians don’t give a damn about me or people I care about. But I was hoping they at least wanted power. This is such an extreme alienation, too; are they really so confident that they can retain their status as the only other option? Maybe. Maybe that’s exactly it. I don’t know. But I know it hurts, too.

And of course, red. Oh, red. Where do I even begin? Red politicians… repulsive. They say the absolute worst about people, especially those who are vulnerable to them. Red voters… I don’t understand. I must assume they truly hate people like me, or at the very least, they simply truly do not care what happens. When their neighbors disappear, when the blood runs in the streets, it will be fine to them. Maybe that extreme makes some of them uncomfortable, so they simply do not believe it will happen.

“Blue is oppressing us!” they say. So they vote for people who have promised to oppress blue harder. But those people are not just oppressing blue. They’re oppressing red who look like blue, who come from the same place, who aren’t the type of red they want.

“I just want things to be normal and prices to be cheaper,” says “more reasonable” red. Then why vote for the ones with an entire plan, a manifesto, laid out on exactly how they’ll make everything very un-normal? The prices won’t be cheaper when you’re unprotected. The big money would rather see people die than live so long as they can make money, so long as they can keep costs to themselves low, so long as they can make prices high. What makes you think they’ll see you as any different?

But I guess if more people like me (and many more who are not like me in the slightest) die, then gas will be cheaper. Certainly less demand.

I guess if more people like me (and many more who are not like me in the slightest) die, then that’s just divine justice for not voting green.

I guess if more people like me (and many more who are not like me in the slightest) die, then that’s just even fewer people blue politicians have to pretend to care about.

Enjoy those eggs.

[neo-shitty]

spring day never latches on to a permanent face. it takes the form of the people i miss whom i have no way of reconnecting with. ever since i read that message in my inbox, it has taken the form of you, kesya.

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 ❞

❝ SATORU GOJO HAS LOVED YOU SINCE YOU WERE KIDS - HE’S GONNA MAKE YOU HIS ! ❞

✧ series: call it what you want (part one)

✧ pairing: younger!satoru gojo x reader

✧ summary: satoru gojo fell in love with you from the moment he met you at eight years old. and now, in his twenties, when he sees you again after you move back to be closer to your aunt and your cousin, suguru, he knows — he has to make you his by the end of the summer.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, eventual smut, childhood friends to strangers to lovers, fake dating, gojo is four years younger than you, rich boy!gojo, suguru is your little cousin, very fluffy, slow burn, like they don't even kiss, but they will :), love at first sight for gojo, naoya is your ex,

✧ w/c: 15,285

“Never thought we’d be doing this, did you?” Satoru muttered in your ear, breath fanning hot against your neck, “be a little quieter, sweetheart, otherwise Suguru might hear us,” 

You whine, but his fingers drag against your kiss bitten lips, until the digits slide into your mouth, as his hips rut against yours. And you didn’t think you’d ever be in position with your cousin’s best friend — pressed to the doorway of your apartment where Suguru could walk in at anytime. 

This isn't what you thought would happen when you invited him over to talk. This isn't what you thought would happen when you agreed to pretend to date him. This isn't what you thought about -- but how could you think about anything with the way his breath felt against your skin?

He loved you -- loved you since you were kids, and he couldn't let you go, not like this. Not when he had you.

Not that you even wanted him to.

You didn’t think you’d shiver as he pressed open mouthed kisses down your neck, tongue flicking against your burning skin. You never thought you’d want to moan his name, like you had, far too many times. 

“You may have never thought about this, Princess, but I sure have,” he presses a kiss to your jaw, the wet sounds your skin slapping together, as he reaches around your body, pinned on your stomach to the mattress, to rub at your swollen clit, drawing a muffled cry from your lips, “far too many times,” 

In fact, Satoru Gojo knew exactly the first time he fell for you. It was the day he first met you. 

“Be my girlfriend!” 

It was less of a question and more of a statement.  

One declared in the doorway of your room, with flushed cheeks and flowers in hand. And they weren’t your cheeks or hands, but your baby cousin’s best friend. 

The first time Satoru Gojo asked you out was at the ripe old age of eleven, but truth be told he had held this crush since the moment he saw you when he had come over to Suguru’s house for the first time, almost three years ago now.

Your fingers brushed his as you gently took the flowers, “Satoru, you know I care about you, but not like that. You’re better off seeing other people your own age, ok?” You smiled at him, the same way you always did, a slight pout on his lips as he nodded, saying nothing more. 

And you knew you were right — there was no fucking question that you were right. He was eleven and you were fifteen — an age gap untenable and unreachable.

But now—

“Long time no see,” Satoru said, lips curled in an all too cocky smile that you couldn’t believe belonged to the same blushing kid who confessed so earnestly back then, “it’s been too long,” your name rolled off his tongue with a familiarity that was the same but all too different. 

But he wasn’t a kid anymore — far from it. It had been over a decade since you had seen him, as the summer he confessed was the last one you had spent at your aunt and uncle’s home. And you and your family moved overseas shortly after that, and you didn’t return until now, four years after you graduated college, for a job offer you couldn’t pass up. 

And you didn’t realize that so much time had passed. 

But he did. 

“Eh? What do you mean you can’t help me unpack today, Sugu?” you hold the phone between your ear and shoulder, as you rip open the tape on yet another box you had hauled into the proper room to unpack, “you told me—“ 

“I told you I’d help you unpack if I had time. But now, I’m stuck at work until the evening,” you heard your cousin sigh over the phone, “But don’t worry — you’ll have help—“ 

You’re too busy trying to rip the tape off as you rip into Suguru to notice the door creaking open behind you, “Suguru, I swear to god if you’re sending a total random stranger to help me—“ 

“Not a total stranger,” a voice says behind you, and your head whips around so quick, you nearly drop your phone, gripping it, “unless not seeing me for years makes me one,” 

A mess of white locks and sunglasses tilted downward to reveal a hint of his cerulean eyes that you could never forget — but still, you barely recognize the man that has them. Even if the grin on his lips with the lilting sound of his voice told you that he very much recognized you. 

“Satoru?” Suguru’s explanation falls on deaf ears, as Satoru’s eyes don’t bother to take in your new place, all too focused on you, hands slipping into his pockets, “you—“ 

He steps forward and plucks the phone from your fingers, “Yo Suguru, I told you it’d be better as a surprise,” and you gape at him, as his grin curls wider, “yeah, yeah, I didn’t take the phone to have you lecturing me — I get enough of that from my dad,” and Suguru says something that makes Satoru’s cheeks flush, and he hangs up, before his attention returns to you, “so, shall we unpack?” 

A few minutes turns into hours of hauling boxes inside and then unpacking them. It’s relatively silent, surprisingly for Satoru. The silence was a far cry from the boy who couldn’t shut up for two seconds, telling you about the test he aced or something stupid that one of his classmates said or asking you about your day. 

Instead you watch him haul boxes like they were filled with styrofoam and air from the truck outside, and then lift his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, a flash of his abs shiny with perspiration. Your eyes dart away, suddenly incredibly fascinated with the contents of this box of kitchenware you opened up, cheeks burning, wondering when did the little boy you looked after become a man? 

“Princess, where do you want this?” Satoru lifts a box, and you can’t see the writing on it from the angle he picks it up. 

“Do you still have to call me Princess?” The embarrassing nickname your aunt had given you still stuck — the one that Suguru would always tease you with, while Satoru’s decidedly lacked any malice, “my aunt only called me that because she wanted a girl so bad,” 

“Is that why Suguru is growing out his hair now? Trying to fulfill her dreams?” You snort, as you walk over to him, “it still fits you regardless of the reason Princess,” 

You’re close, even with the box providing glancing around the box until you find it scrawled on the box underneath his arm — his very…muscular arm, veins bulging and muscles tense underneath the weight of the box—

“So this is stuff for my bedroom, you can just leave it on the floor, it’s right over here,” you lead him over and he places down the box, “I think that’s mostly it, I’m sorry Suguru made you come down here to help,” 

“You don’t need to apologize, I wanted to see you,” and you smile softly, “it’s been too long,” 

“It really has,” and your neck strains a little with how he towered over you, “can't believe you’re the same little boy I used to babysit,” 

And he rolls his eyes, “Suguru would say it’s arguable I could still use a babysitter,” and you chuckle, “I’m not so little anymore, but I wouldn’t mind if you were my babysitter,” 

Was he? No. No, he wasn’t. 

Right? 

“Stop fucking around,” you shake your head, as you head into the kitchen, “do you want to wash up, and then maybe I’ll order take out to thank you?” You’re turning on the faucet. 

You don’t notice the slight pout on his lips, one he schools into a smile as you glance back at him, blinking as you find him shirtless. 

Fuck. How was it possible for a person to be this gorgeous? Sweat slid down his body, slipping between the dips of his chest and ridges of his abs until disappearing into the fabric of his pants, or somewhere hidden— 

You look away — “I’d rather take a shower. Do you mind?” And you force your voice not to come out a squeak, busying yourself with washing your hands, just so you don’t have to look. 

“Yeah, of course, the bathroom is just around the corner. There should already be fresh towels inside,” and yet his steps grow closer, as you glance back, “uh—“ 

He’s still fucking shirtless. 

“Instead of take out, can we grab dinner somewhere? You haven’t been back to the area recently so it’s a good chance to show you around,” 

“You really don’t have to—“ 

“I want to, Princess,” he cuts you off, reaching around you to grab a water bottle off the counter, “get ready while I clean up?” 

And you bite your lip, “Okay, okay,” and he grins back, a glimpse of the little boy that beams at you when you’d praise him for a high mark on a test. 

“It’s a date!” And he’s off, disappearing into the bathroom, and you’re left there, wondering — what had you gotten yourself into? 

~~~

“So,” Satoru lifts a spoonful of his dessert — a fruit parfait with a sugar coma inducing amount of whipped cream — and you were almost relieved to see some things about him hadn’t changed. How many times had you scolded him as a kid not to eat so much sugar — and he still hasn’t kicked the habit. You bit back your chuckle, as he spoke, “did you get dumped?” 

You almost choke on your drink, as you splutter for a moment, before glaring at him. 

And yet the more they stayed the same. 

“I see you’re as subtle as you were when you were 11,” you mutter, setting your drink down, as you wipe your mouth with a napkin. Satoru tilts his head, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. 

“So you dumped him?” He leans back, “I didn’t know you had such high standards,” your cheeks burn, distracting yourself with becoming enthralled in the menu — Satoru had dragged you to a hole in the wall barbecue place (after your insistence that you didn’t want anything fancy after unpacking for hours). 

“How did you know I broke—“ and you cut yourself off at the obviousness of the answer, slapping another piece of meat on the grill, the sizzle punctuated by your words, “I’m going to murder him,” 

“Well, you’re in the right place to dispose of his body,” Satoru licks the spoon clean, before sticking it back in the whipped cream, “why did you break up with him?” 

You shrugged, “I realized he was a narcissistic prick who only wanted me as a trophy,” and Satoru whistled lowly,  “I’m done with dating losers. And dating in general,” 

“I don’t think you should give up on dating just because you had a few bad experiences,” his voice grows soft, “you deserve to be happy and taken care of, even if you have bad taste,” 

And you pout, “I don’t have-“ and he tilts his head, and you lift a few pieces of meat from the grill onto your plate, tongs clattering slightly as you set it down, “fuck, I do,” you groan, shaking your head, “that’s why I had to get out of there. Just needed a fresh start you know?” 

“Sometimes that’s just what you need,” and your lips curl. 

“Sounds like you speak from experience,” and his eyes flit up to yours, gleaming in the low light of the restaurant, cerulean irises catching the drops of light like comets across his gaze. 

“Don’t know what you mean, Princess,” he busies himself with his parfait, and you scoff. 

“Come on, half the girls in this place are glaring at me while I sit here, the waitress has been flirting with you, and now they had brought you out the biggest dessert that I’m starting to wonder if they even serve it here,” he spares a glance around, several gasps from giggling girls who avert their gazes, before his eyes are back on you. 

“Jealous?” You roll your eyes — he wasn’t lacking for ego at least. 

“More like wondering what a guy like you is still doing single,” and he sighs, leaning back, with a tilt of his head. 

“You sure are curious about me,” and his gaze softens for a moment, while he picks at his dessert, scooping the strawberry off the top, “there’s only really been one person that I really wanted,” his tone grew more serious, lips in a bittersweet smile, “but she’s never really looked me like that,” 

“Don’t tell me it’s one of those things where she rejected you and you have to have her now,” and he chuckles, shaking his head, gaze far too wistful. 

His words are slow, as slow as the ice melting in your glass, “It’s more of if I don’t have her, I don’t want anyone else,” and your heart squeezed — would you ever have someone care so deeply for you? 

“Then why haven’t you said anything?” you picked up another piece of meat off the grill, “anyone would be lucky to be with you,” and you meant it — he was blunt, but also kind, sweet, not to mention rich and you flushed as you thought back to his hiked up shirt — good looking. 

But he only stares back at you, tilting his head — expression unreadable, an emotion you can’t grasp before it’s hidden under his gaze’s tempered waters, “Are you included, Princess?” 

There’s a pause, as you almost chuckle, but your laugh dying in your throat at his expression — that same smirk, but the way he looks at you stops your mind in its tracks — only one word rolling around in your head: what? 

And your brow furrows, your lips parting in a response you don’t have — only questions, ones you don’t get to ask as Suguru slides in beside you. 

“Sorry, I’m late,” Suguru sighs, the moment broken, and you don’t catch Satoru’s expression, too distracted by your cousin, “got stuck in a staff meeting,” 

“I told you academia is hell,” you elbow him, and Suguru rolls his eyes, as he shrugs off his suit coat, “were these meetings the reasons you got held up or are they just an excuse so you didn’t have to help me?” 

“Who said it can’t be both?” And he earns a smack to his shoulder, your attention turning back to Satoru, his gaze fixed outside. 

“You’re unusually quiet, Satoru” Suguru kicks him lightly under the table, “not like you,” 

He looks at you first — and you grasp the emotion he had hid before — what was it? Sadness? Longing? — right before it’s gone again as he slides his mask back on, grinning as he always does. 

“What can I say? The view outside is much better than your ugly mug,” and the two of them begin to bicker, and you lean back in your seat, a smile pulling at your lips, even as you glanced back at Satoru. 

And now you wondered if you would ever get an answer to your questions. Or maybe, you sipped your drink, it was better not to have it answered at all. 

~~~

Satoru Gojo was eleven years old when he fell in love with you. It was from the moment he met you. 

And there hasn’t been anyone else since. 

He supposed it was inevitable in a way — since Suguru was his best friend, and his first, and when his family finally decided to enroll him in school, instead opting for private tutors, for the social aspect of making connections, of course. Because what else was your eleven year old son good for then helping to make future business deals easier? 

But Satoru made friends with the one person who couldn’t help their deals — Suguru Geto, one of the only scholarship students in the entire school. And Satoru’s want to avoid spending his days with servants or on the rare occasion, dealing with his dad’s lecture for getting in another ‘disagreement’ with one of his classmates (that ended with that classmate crying after Satoru evaded his punch and kicked him in the shin), ended up with him at Suguru’s place. A lot. 

Then soon enough, he was spending most of his summers there too. And that’s when he saw you. 

“You said your cousin’s here? Is she nice?” Satoru asked, taking off his shoes, as Suguru shut the door behind them. 

“She is, except when she’s being a pain about homework. And when she gets mad, she reminds me of my mom,” Suguru grimaced, as he walked past him, calling out for you. You rounded the corner, book in hand, and Satoru’s eyes grew wide. 

“Hey Sugu, you brought a friend?” You walked over, still clad in your high school uniform, before introducing yourself, and offering him a warm smile, “it’s nice to meet you. I’m Suguru’s cousin,” 

Satoru didn’t know what this feeling was — and he wouldn’t until a few more summers passed, and his hormones kicked in — but all he knew was that he would do anything to see you smile like that at him again. And he did — he would spend as much time as he could with you — talking to you about a test he aced, about something funny that happened at school, or even ratting on Suguru about what he was up to (earning him many knocks to the head by his best friend). But every time you smiled or laughed, it was worth it — worth every second he spent counting down the time to summer break so he could see you again. 

But he didn’t know his seconds would run out so soon — and he only learned one random day going home with Suguru, from a snippet of a conversation he had with his mom. 

“I know, I know she’s coming next week,” Satoru’s interest hadn’t been peaked by Suguru’s conversation until then, because he knew exactly who they were talking about. After all, you always came right at the start of break, and finally he could see you again — and maybe this time, he could tell you how he felt. 

“I know, I know it’s her last time here so it has to be perfect,” and Satoru’s head snapped back to Suguru, last time? “I will,” and Suguru hangs up, a sigh on his lips, “my mom is being so annoying about my cousin. So what it’s her last time staying with us? It doesn’t mean we have to—“ 

“What do you mean it’s her last time?” Satoru kept his tone steady and slow, even as his heart thrummed against his ribs as if it was a xylophone, “she always comes every summer—“ 

“Of high school,” Suguru corrected him, “she is applying to university this year — most of them are abroad, and it seems likely she won’t be back in Japan, not for a while,” Suguru continued to complain on their way back to his place, but all Satoru could do was think about you. 

It was your last summer with him. His last chance to make a move, to be something more than your younger cousin’s friend. His last chance to make you see him as a man, not a kid. 

He had to confess, his fingers curled into fists, before the end of the summer. He would make you his girlfriend — one way or another. 

And he did confess back then, Satoru thought, as he picked up a photo, wrinkled and yellowed at the corners, a picture that Suguru’s mom had taken of you and him the summer you had left. A candid of him and you looking at each other — one that Suguru’s mom had slipped to him with a knowing smile and a wink (one that had mortified him as a teenager). 

He was always looking at you — no matter where he was, his eyes always found your form, a magnet to its opposite pole, and he didn’t know how to stop you from drawing him in. It had been over a decade and he still couldn’t. 

He stared at your smiling face, the very same face that had looked at you with a smile fading to confusion this evening. He had gotten so close to asking you — to telling you how he felt — and he flips to the next picture, a scowl on his face as a picture of him and Suguru with his smug smile stared back at him. If only fucking Suguru hadn’t interrupted. 

He shook his head, flipping back to his picture of you. This wasn’t the summer and he wasn’t a kid anymore. And you weren’t out of his reach, bound for another country across the ocean. No, you were here — only a short drive away. 

And he made a promise to himself — he would get you to fall in love with him, before the end of this summer. 

~~~

You hate first days. 

“Did you see the guy waiting outside?” one woman whispered not so softly as you passed by. 

“Yeah looks like he’s waiting for her,” the other’s lips formed a frown but only to hide her smirk. 

From the time you were a kid, your first day of school was something you had all the time from your family moving around. You were always the new kid — the one who would be met with wide eyes and curiosity, only to be tossed aside a few days later. 

But this was a fresh start that you had wanted — a new job far away from where you had started, with new responsibilities — a first day you had looked forward to, until it went so downhill. 

And it was all your ex’s fault. 

You texted Suguru — is it too early to quit on the first day? 

He replies, well it’s been four hours, think you’ve lasted through one of my dad’s long winded stories longer than that. What happened? 

You glanced outside towards the front of the building. It was more like ‘who happened?’ 

It was an innocuous enough morning, of introductions, trainings, orientation, and finally computer set up. You were rifling through your paperwork, trying to figure out what sheet looked the least daunting when someone called for you. 

“There’s someone looking for you outside the lobby,” you saw a flurry of looks shared and smirks shot in your direction, and when you arrived downstairs you knew why. 

What. The. Fuck. 

You couldn’t help it. You bursted outside, “what are you doing here?” It was your ex — the very same ex who had started at the same overseas company after you both graduated and the one you had. And again, had chosen to follow you here. 

“Waiting for you to change yer mind,” Naoya tilts his head, hands in his pocket, “and I know you will, because you love me,” he raises his voice to catch the eye of several passerby, and you grab his wrist, dragging him away. 

“Fuck off,” you hiss under your breath, “I told you it’s over, and don’t you have a fucking job?” 

“Did you forget? I’m rich, another reason ya can’t do better than me,” Naoya’s lips curl into that same grin, one you knew as charming once, until you saw past his pretty pink lips and glimpsed the sharp fangs behind them, “I took time off. Did ya think it was a coincidence we ended up at the same company?” 

You gritted your teeth, “Naoya—“ and he breaks from your grip, instead his fingers dig into your wrist. 

“All ya are is me. All that you have is me. And all you will have is me,” he dared closer, breath warming your lips, as he took hold of your other wrist and tugged you close, “the sooner you accept that, the better, doll,” 

‘Doll.’ The term of endearment you had seen as precious to you. Something you always loved to hear roll off his tongue, the word you had learned to learned to reply to, even more than your own name. The one you regarded with such love had burned, burned until the flames licked your skin and knew what it really meant — a doll with strings, one he was meant to be the master of. 

“Don’t call me that,” you rip your hands away, “leave. You’re embarrassing yourself,” 

“Am I?” He tilts his head, jerking his head in the direction of your building where your offices had a clear view of this, “or am I just embarrassing you?” 

You stared out the window for a moment and you knew he was still out there — judging but the way your phone was on the verge of suicide by notification, he was still very much there. And now, all people would know of you is the new worker with a crazy stalker ex. 

I’m calling the police, Suguru’s text popped up, what’s your workplace’s address? 

You think I hadn’t thought of that, Sugu? You sigh, he’s not doing anything. He’s on a public sidewalk. They can’t do anything to him. 

Another text: when do you get out? You glance at the time, seeing another two coworkers whisper to each other, stealing looks. 

An eternity — In another two hours. 

I’ll handle it. Just wait in the lobby after work. And you frown. 

Sugu, I can handle it. I don’t need you to come down here. 

You always fought your battles. You didn’t need anything else to — or anyone else to pick them for you. Not even your baby cousin — no matter how sweet his intentions were. 

Don’t worry. I’m not coming down. And you frown, staring at the text, before your phone rings, and you groan as ‘Assistant Director’ flashes on the screen.  

You were so fired. 

You weren’t — as you shut the door of his office behind you. However, he did advise you that this company had a strict no nonsense policy and did want personal drama to be dredged up in the office. And you were given the day to sort out your “mess.” 

You scrub a hand down your face, but it wasn’t even your mess, and how would you fix it? He wasn’t going to listen to you. You sit at your desk, packing up your bag for the day. And your phone vibrates. 

Come down. 

You hesitate, But he’s still downstairs. 

Just go. 

Fuck. You sling your bag over your shoulder, piercing eyes digging into your back, vultures circling an already dead carcass, whispering still even as the elevators doors shut. 

And you almost wish they never opened when you see what’s waiting for you outside. 

Fuck. 

You grit your teeth, stomach in absolute knots as if to brace yourself for the complete shitstorm you’re about to deal with. 

“Satoru?” 

Satoru Gojo leaned back against his expensive (likely imported) car, shiny as it was new, sunglasses glinting in the light, but not brighter than the grin he gives you. He holds out your favorite drink, a tilt of his head. 

“Are you ready to go?” 

You glance around, as he places the drink in your hand, “But what about—“

“Let go of me!” 

Satoru’s lips curl, sliding his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, “Oh, I’ve gotten him handled,” 

Naoya stood between two men restraining him, both in suits, as his face contorted in anger, veins bulging, eyes darting between the two of you, “Do you know who I am? I’m the heir to the Zenin Corporation — you cannot treat me like this. I’ll have you—“ 

“Heir? Really?” Satoru stepped forward, blocking him from your view, “is that right? I thought the Zenin hadn’t decided announced a successor yet,” 

You furrow your brow — how does Satoru— but then you’re being put into a car with Satoru’s arm curled around your waist, as he opens the door and tucks you into the passenger seat. 

And now you won’t know. At least not now. 

Naoya scoffed, “And who are you to know anything about—“ 

“Have you heard of the Six Eyes Corp,” and Naoya’s eyes narrow, “you should have because we account for a large chunk of your business. And if that support were to disappear,” he flashes his blue eyes at him over the rim of his sunglasses, “I’d hate to tell them it’s because of this,” 

“You fucking liar, like you could tell anyone anything—“ 

Satoru chuckles, “You’re right, I am a liar,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “I don’t need to tell anyone. Except my father,” 

Naoya’s sneer fades into confusion, his eyes narrowed, “Don’t fucking tell me—” 

“Then I won’t,” he steps forward, hands slipping into his pockets, “but if you ever step in her presence again,” he jerks his head towards you in his car, “then I will, and you don’t wanna know what happens if I do,” he steps in front of Naoya, back blocking your view so you don’t see him grab Naoya’s wrist, blue eyes aflame with something far deeper than anger, “because it will much worse,” he squeezes Naoya’s wrist hard making him flinch as he grits his teeth at Satoru’s smiling face, “who knows? Maybe I’ll break your wrist next time.” 

He turns around, waving off the guards, as he makes his way back to his car, sliding into the driver’s seat, smile fading to concern. 

“Are you alright, Princess?” You’re watching those people drag Naoya away, his hateful gaze trying and failing to get a last look at you as the guard takes a hand to the back of his head to force his gaze forward. 

“Where are they taking him?” 

Satoru starts the car, the quiet rumble of the engine filling the silence of his pause, “just to the proper authorities. He won’t bother you again,” 

You bit your bottom lip, eyes burning with tears — and you don’t know whether if it’s embarrassment or relief, “I’m sorry—“ 

“Don’t finish that sentence,” and your eyes slide to his, a soft smile on his lips, “you don’t have anything to be sorry about. Or to thank me for,” he cuts you off as your lips part, “is your wrist okay?” 

You glance down and see the slight redness still lingered, a final parting gift, and your other hand closes over the wrist, “it hurts a little, but I’ll ice it when I get home,” 

“We’ll go to a hospital to have it looked at,” and you’re shaking your head. 

“I don’t want to sit—“ 

“Then I’ll hire a doctor to come see you,” and you stare at him, as he rolls to a stop at a red light…is that a pout? “I just want you to be ok, Princess, please,” 

You bite back a small smile, and ignore the flutter in your heart, “Fine, you win, let’s go to a walk-in clinic,” and you spot his shoulders relax, “but it’s not really fair when you give me your infamous pout,” 

He raises an eyebrow, “‘Infamous?’” 

“You used to whip that out all the time on me and on my aunt when you were a kid — it did always work,” 

“Not always,” he replies, as he turns into the parking for the walk-in clinic, “in fact, I remember a time that it specifically did not work,” 

“And when was that?” You tilt your head. 

And he smiles, “When I asked you to be my girlfriend,” and you furrow your brow, nearly forgetting the memory, until it hits you. 

“Oh my god, the last summer I spent here,” you covered your mouth with the tips of your fingers, a chuckle on your lips, “you were very direct,” 

“I could say the same about you,” and you roll your eyes. 

“You were a kid. You were way too young for me, you know that,” you unbuckle your seatbelt, “plus now I bet you could get any person you want. That’s why I was surprised why you didn’t have a girlfriend,”

“Like I said, there’s only one woman in the world for me,” his eyes find yours, cerulean bathed in sunlight, light catching across his irises, “and only one woman I ever wanted to be with,”

Oh. 

Oh. 

No, no, that couldn’t be it — you couldn’t be her, not after all this time—

You blink, “Satoru, you don’t—“ 

“Well our age difference isn’t a problem anymore is it?” Your brain is struggling to process, lips parting with no words, “Princess,” his fingers brush yours, gently grazing your hand, as your gaze finds his again, “when are you going to take me seriously?” 

“Satoru—“ 

“Just don’t say no,” Satoru cuts you off, pulling his hand away, “don’t say no and think about it,” you open your mouth only to waver at the sight of the pout on his lips and you sigh. 

It was hard to say no, especially right now. 

“Okay I won’t say no,” you slip from the car, lips breaking into a wide grin, before sticking your head inside, “don’t smile like that. It’s not a yes,” you huff, cheeks burning and stomach erupting in butterflies. 

“Not yet,” Satoru says as you shut the door, “not yet, Princess.” 

~~~

“Huh? You did what?” 

You loved your aunt. You really did. She and her husband had taken you in when your parents were too busy working to properly take care of you during the summers. But times like this reminded you—

—-she truly was her mother’s sister. 

“Well your mother was telling me that you haven’t dated anyone since you’ve been back—“ 

“It's only been a month!” You had barely finished getting unpacked, and in fact, you still had at least five boxes still stacked up in the closet, “I’m not interested in dating, I’m trying to focus on work,” you rubbed the back of your head, “new topic, please,” as you sip on your drink. 

And after the debacle Naoya had caused, you needed to — you had put up with the whispers and stares for a few days, but since Naoya had stayed away, the rumors faded with time. Now things had died down for the most part. Except for—

“Has Satoru still been picking you up?” You nearly do a spit take, but instead you choke down the water, coughing, “eh? Are you okay, honey?” 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” your cheeks burn at the thought of Satoru — he was always a bold kid, but you didn’t think he’d confess to being in love with you all this time. Especially now as a man — and not a kid, “yeah he’s still picking me up,” 

When he had confessed to you all those years ago as a young teenager, you had thought nothing of it. Except that it was a crush on his best friend’s older cousin — something that would pass easily with time. You hadn’t even thought of it in all these years. 

But now, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

Especially when he kept showing up to pick you up from work. And now you were stirring other sorts of rumors. 

After he had taken you to the walk-in clinic, he had driven you home, making sure to check if your place was secure enough, and that you weren’t too shaken up. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drop you off to Suguru’s?” he had asked, crossing his arms, “I could also drag his ass here, he owes me anyway,” 

“No, no I’m really fine,” you chewed your lip, looking down, “you sure he’s not going to come back?” and he leans down, forcing you to meet his gaze, as he tilts his head. 

“Sweetheart, you think I’d even leave your place if I thought there was a chance of him coming back?” he offers you a smile, and you scoff softly, shaking your head, “trust me, he won’t be bothering you again, not while I’m around,” and he added, “and I’m not going anywhere.” 

And you didn’t know what to do with the promise in his words. Because you knew he meant that — in more than one way. 

But even so, he hadn’t brought up his confession — not once. 

“He’s so sweet isn’t he? Suguru is always so busy but Satoru’s making time to pick you instead,” your aunt gushes, and you shake your head, your aunt did have a habit of being a little hard on her son, “by the way, would you mind stopping by the house today?” 

“Why’s that?” 

And well, how did you end up here? 

You stood in front of the entrance to a very expensive looking building with a very intimidating doorman, with a large tote bag full of food that your aunt had insisted you drop off. She had given you his address, but by the time you arrived, you realized that you didn’t even have his number. And now Suguru or your aunt weren’t picking up their phones. 

Fuck. 

You were internally debating whether to talk to the doorman or to just go home and deal with this another time, when you heard someone speak behind you. 

“Looking for someone?” You jump slightly, whirling when you see Satoru, hands in his pockets, a smile on his lips, as he lifts his sunglasses to meet your gaze, “didn’t think I’d find you hanging outside my apartment building, princess,” 

“Well, you show up outside my workplace and I’ll be showing up outside your apartment building,” the words leave your mouth without much thought, as your cheeks burn at the implication, “I mean—” 

“Is that supposed to discourage me from picking you up?” he grins, “Doesn’t sound like a bad deal to me,” 

You roll your eyes, before holding up the bag, “My aunt asked me to drop off some dishes for you. She’s worried you’re eating too many sweets,” 

He takes the bag from your hand, fingers brushing, as he shakes his head, “I shouldn’t have ever told her that I had cake for dinner,” and you snort, unable to hide your giggles, “what’s so funny?” 

“I can see a lot about you has changed, but your sweet tooth is just as bad as when you were a kid,” and you see him scratch the back of his head, “is your favorite dessert still mochi?” 

“You still remember that about me?” A smile pulling at his lips, and your cheeks burn, but you refuse to waver. 

“Well, it’s hard to forget you threw up all over the rug when you ate too many,” You bite back a smile when you spot the tips of his ears burn red, as he gapes at you. 

“Did you have to bring that up?” He mutters, a small pout on his lips, and you snort, as he can’t help the curl of his lips, “now, c’mon,” his fingers brush the small of your back. 

“Satoru, where—“ but his hand is firm as he guides you towards his building. 

He flashes you a grin as he signs you in with the doorman, “Do you think I’d let you come all this way without staying for dinner?” 

~~~

“Do you want anything to drink?” Satoru’s penthouse was nothing less than immaculate — high ceilings, pristine floors, and an interior designed living space. You swore in some places it was still shiny — and you felt very out of place in your casual wear for the weekend. 

“Just a water,” you reply, as he opens his refrigerator and you raise an eyebrow at the fully stocked compartments, “wow,” you murmur, and he’s pulling a water and a fancy looking juice out of it. 

“What was that?” He raises a brow, and you stammer a moment, “c’mon princess, share with the class,” 

“Just surprised your refrigerator isn’t just stuffed with just desserts, sweets, and ice cream,” and he hands you your water, before sitting beside you, spread out on the couch, as he always was. 

“Oh it is, it’s just very well hidden,” and you snort, as he throws his arm over the back of the couch, “I may be an adult but I’m not going to be a boring old geezer like my father,” 

“I don’t think I could ever see you becoming boring, Satoru,” you chuckle, and he tilts his head. 

“Is that a rare compliment from you, princess?” And his grin only makes your cheeks warm, as you roll your eyes.

“More like an observation,” you reply, as your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you pull it out to check — who would be messaging you now? 

Oh fuck. 

“You ok there?” 

No, no you weren’t. Because your lovely aunt had given your number to a prospective match, and now he was texting you. A lot. 

“It’s nothing,” you sigh, shaking your head, putting your phone on ‘do not disturb.” You would have dinner first, and then you’d murder your aunt after dessert, “do you want me to help take out dinner?” 

“You expect me to believe you don’t hire a chef to make these sides?” The food was spread out across the table, many of the dishes your aunt had made plated and presented, but along with sides that Satoru had made, “Suguru had made it seem as if the only thing you ever made was microwave ramen,” 

“Well jokes on him, I burned it the one time I tried,” he grinned, “but I did learn to cook, I just never bothered to cook for Suguru,” 

“And why’s that?” You take a bite of the pickled radish he had prepared. 

“Because I’m not trying to impress him, am I?” And you nearly choke slightly, as you manage to swallow, “you should know I’m so much more than a pretty face, Princess,” 

You sigh, “Satoru—“

“Have you thought about what I said at all?” 

And you had. A lot more than you cared to admit. Especially after all he had done. Everything he had to Naoya to defend you. And just about him — how sweet he’s been, how protective, how kind, and how you’d like nothing more than to do the same for him—

But…

“I have, but Satoru, our ages—“ 

“We’re both adults. We both graduated. We haven’t seen each other in over a decade,” his leg brushes yours as he shifts closer, “are you telling me you don’t feel anything?” 

You didn’t know how to answer that — not when you didn’t really know yourself. And you always knew the answer — you knew you wanted to study abroad, you knew you had to leave Naoya’s company, and you knew you wanted to live here — so why was this the one time you didn’t? And why was he the one thing you were unsure of? 

You bite your bottom lip, “But, Suguru—“ and he scoffs softly. 

“Are you really thinking about Suguru right now?” he asks, “or would you rather date the guy blowing up your phone earlier?” 

Your eyebrows knit together, “How did you know—“ 

“Well I know it’s not Naoya, and I heard from Suguru that your aunt wanted to set you up,” fucking Suguru—and your lips twist into a pout, he tilts his head, not bothering to hide his smile, “if you dated me, you could get your aunt off your back,” he muses, leaning against his elbow, “she always did say I was family, and I’m not looking to be your brother,” 

Your cheeks burn at his words, “Satoru,”

“Think about it, Princess, you don’t have to give me an answer now,” but his eyes flicker to your phone, “but I know you’ll find me once you meet any one of these guys your aunt sets you up with,” 

You grimace at your phone, picking it up to see the messages from the guy your aunt had given your number to, “fuck,” you murmur, locking your phone before tossing it away, an image of you trapped at a dinner across the most boring man alive. And then you glance up at Satoru, still a smug smile on his lips, and then back to your phone. 

“What’s your plan?” 

~~~

“So, I heard you turned down the boy I gave your number to,” 

Your aunt hardly pulled punches. 

She never did when you and Suguru were growing up — she always knew what the two of you got up to, even if you were both sure she could never find out — she always did. Even the one time that the two of you had snuck out to get ramen on a late night, Suguru’s parents were in a dead sleep — but by the time you both snuck back in, she was waiting for both of you in the hallway. But this time, she wasn’t even leading with a wind-up before swinging. 

And then she adds, eyes narrowing, “He said you declined because you’re dating someone,” 

She was going for the kill. 

She turns to grab the whistling tea kettle, turning it off, before pouring the hot water into two cups. You force yourself not to bite your bottom lip, the smallest tell was dangerous, even with her back turned, “Is there anything he didn’t tell you?” She’s placing the tea cups one by one on the tray, as if laying out her pieces on a board only to corner you. 

Your aunt frowns, “His mother told me,” great, even better — he was a momma’s boy, and now you were starting to wonder just how many bullets did you dodge,  “are you seeing someone?” 

You were beginning to regret this plan — and you don’t know why you let Satoru talk you into it. 

“You want me to do what?” You stared at Satoru as if he had suggested going diving with sharks, which is not far from what he was suggesting, “tell my aunt that we’re together. No way,” 

“Aw, am I that embarrassing to date, Princess?” And you roll your eyes. 

“Yes, for me,” and he’s tilting his head, “my aunt will immediately tell my uncle and Suguru — and I don’t know which one of them would kill you first,” your uncle wasn’t one for words or conflict, but he had a soft spot for you — and a fist for anyone that tried to come date you without his approval. 

“Eh? Doesn’t Uncle like me?” And you snort, the one sided conversations that Satoru had with your uncle that usually ended with your uncle excusing himself to get away from that “annoying moron.” 

“He doesn’t hate you but,” you choose your words carefully, “he doesn’t prefer you,” 

Satoru scoffs, crossing his arms, “Well Auntie loves me, and I had a plan for this,” and she did, she had quite the soft spot for Satoru, ever since he was a kid. You couldn’t exactly blame her — he looked like an angel, even if the words that left his mouth made it seem like the contrary, his fingers brushing against a strand of your hair, “and soon I’ll make you love me too,” 

Fucking cocky bastard, you thought to yourself, cheeks burning at the thought of the smirk on his lips, but you’re jarred back to reality as you hear the clattering of cups and spoons.  

“I am,” you reply, and your aunt’s head whips around, the clinking of the glasses cutting through the pause, “it’s new,” you add, as she sets down the tea cups, placing the tea dispensers in each one, “I wasn’t sure if I should say anything,” 

“Why wouldn’t you? This is wonderful,” she blinked, and her brow wrinkles, “unless it’s that Naoya—“ you flinch at the thought of him. 

“No, I’m done with him,” you wave her off quickly, wrinkling your nose at the thought of that bastard, grabbing the tea cup, the scent of green tea wafting from the steam that warmed your face, as you blew air to cool it off, “it’s someone I reconnected with here,” 

Your aunt raises an eyebrow, “So soon? Is it someone from work?” Again, is the word she implies with the sentence, a sharp tone that nicked your armor. 

“No, it isn’t,” and she’s sipping her tea, and you take a sip only to burn your tongue, “but he is younger,” 

“That’s not a problem if he’s not too much younger — how old is he?” and this was exactly why you hadn’t wanted to tell your aunt, it was more of an interrogation than a conversation. 

“He’s about Suguru’s age,” and she’s tilting her head, “Suguru introduced us,” and that wasn’t a lie — it was true — both in the past and now. 

“Really? And Sugu is okay with you dating his friend?” Your aunt may be gossip and a meddler, but she wasn’t a fool, your hesitation is your end, “and I assume you’re telling me all this to get me off your case and to ask not to tell Suguru,” she sighs. 

“Auntie—“ 

“You know I don’t like lying for either of you—“ 

“But—“ 

“No, I can’t—“ 

“How about lying for me?” Satoru stands in the doorway, head tilted, a smile on his lips. And your aunt blinks before she slowly puts the puzzle pieces together, a mix of emotions crossing her expression — confusion, disbelief, and maybe a hint of joy, before she settled on a neutral 

“Satoru—“ 

He frowns, “Auntie, you know Suguru will kill me for dating his cousin, please,” and then he does what he does best — pouting. 

And your aunt breaks — with a one hit-KO. 

“You must have been blessed by some needlessly annoying god,” you murmur as he walks you back to your place, sun gleaming as it gave off its last rays of light before setting for the night,  “because I don’t know how you still get her to fall for that,” 

“I was born blessed,” and you snort, as you catch sight of his smile out of the corner of your eye, “and speaking of which, when’s our first date?” 

“Straight to the point, huh?” You stop walking, hands in your pockets, “Satoru—“ 

“Don’t tell me you’re about to launch into another speech about how you can’t date me,” he gives an exaggerated sigh, “I could go back to your aunt and tell her how you broke my heart and let her pull out list of aunties who have sons who are excited to meet you—“ 

“Alright, fine, a date, but one thing first,” you step close to him, making his breath catch, pretty blues finding your gaze, the very same he would love to get lost in, before they flicker down to your lips. And he swears you can probably hear his heart beating out of his chest, thumping at the bony bars of his ribcage, and he hates it, hates how you have him twisted around your finger without trying, “Princess—“ 

You reach for him, fingers nearly about to brush his cheek, his eyes fluttering, before you flick his forehead, “ow!” 

“I was just going to ask when our first date is going to be, but if you rather I go on a bunch of blind dates—“ and he’s shaking his head, rubbing his forehead all the same, “then do you have any ideas?” 

He grins, “Plenty, but there’s one in particular.” 

~~~~

“An amusement park?” 

He sat next to you, driving, hand on the console and you couldn’t help but brush your arm against his each time you moved — and you felt as if he did it on purpose. 

He raises an eyebrow, stealing a glance out of the corner of his eye, “Uh-huh, got a problem, Princess?” 

“No I’m just surprised, we went to plenty of these as kids,” you glanced at him, his eyes concentrated on the road, fingers curling a little tighter around the steering wheel. 

You had raised an eyebrow at his choice, but now that you were here…it wasn’t a bad pick. 

You hadn’t been to one in years — not since your summers with Suguru. The screams in the distance told you there was a rollercoaster not far off, the syrupy sweetness of sugar somehow emanated from every inch of air, and the park was filled to the brim with families and couples. 

You glance at Satoru, a plain t-shirt and shorts, and somehow he still looked as if he stepped off a page of a men’s style magazine. He looked around, his eyes landing on a vendor selling cotton candy, and you hid your chuckle. 

“C’mon,” you took his hand, leading him over without a second thought, and you’re grabbing a giant cotton candy for him, made into a flower by the vendor. Satoru’s practically vibrating with excitement, slinking his hand around to sneak the vendor money before you even had a chance, “I wanted to pay—“ 

“You think I’d make my date pay?” He takes a bite out of his cotton candy, sugar sticking to his lips even as he nearly inhales a petal, “even the arranged set ups should do that much,” but it’s hard to take him seriously with blue sugar all over his mouth, “what?” 

You snort, grabbing a wet nap from your purse,“Well, you’d be surprised,” and you wipe his face, fingers cupping his chin, “some guys are a little immature,” and he stares back, and you swear you see a flush settle over his cheeks, before he turns away to wipe his lips. 

“Not me,” he mumbles, tips of his ears burning red, and you bite your bottom lip, cute. 

“Should we find a ride to go on?” he immediately grins at that, offering his arm this time, and you take it, a smile tugging at your lips. 

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. 

~~~

Oh you were wrong. 

So wrong. 

“I changed my mind, I don’t want to get on,” and before you can leave a hand catches you by the wrist gently, blue eyes judging over his rimless sunglasses, “Satoru—“ 

“It’s just a rollercoaster,” just a rollercoaster? No, it was literally your death. You stared up at the contraption above you, the echoing screams growing louder as the line crept forward — akin to a rickety boat that Charon would wade you across into hell itself. 

“No, I can’t—“ you shake your head. 

“C’mon it won’t be that bad—“ 

“So you admit it’s going to be bad,” and he’s biting back a smile, “what?” 

“I just never really saw you being scared of anything, Princess,” he sighed loudly, “I guess I’ll have to ride it all alone,” but that only serves to make many women (and men) stare at him as if to offer him their company. 

“You have options,” and he shakes his head, his hand outstretched as the two of you enter the final stretch of the line. 

“Like I said, sweetheart, there’s only ever been one option for me,” and your fingers graze his with several second thoughts, but when his fingers laced with yours, you knew there was no turning back. 

“I didn’t know you could scream that loud,” 

You grinned at a shaken up Satoru, throat probably raw and aching as he frowns, face turned away, “I’m not used to the speed, unlike you, from how I heard you drive,” and you bite back a laugh, as he fails to hide his flush from you, his ears burning red. 

Your chuckle is a badly disguised cough, “Are you pretending to be this way to make me feel better?” You tease, and he’s crossing his arms. 

“No way I’d let myself look so lame in front of you, I’m no better than Ijichi,” and you raise an eyebrow. Ijichi was a boy in Suguru and Satoru’s class when they were kids — one that Satoru loved to complain about being slow. 

“You still think about him?”

“He’s my assistant,” and you snort at the thought of Satoru still hassling that poor guy. 

“I hope you pay him well,” he’s officially pouting again.

“I didn’t know it would be that intense!” you tilt your head, as the two of you find a corner of the park that’s not so crowded and riddled with children running amok, and you watch him down a sugary soda drink he had bought from one of the food stalls. 

“You act as if you’ve never been to an amusement park,” he’s quiet for a second too long, and your eyebrows knit together, “but Suguru—” 

“You guys would go every summer, but it was when I had my prep classes on the weekends,” he runs his fingers through his white locks, “I would have skipped when I was older, but by the time I had stopped caring what my father thought of me, you had already gone to college and Suguru’s family stopped going,” 

You frown — you knew Satoru didn’t have the best upbringing — yes he had every opportunity at his fingertips, all the money in the world that you couldn’t even fathom, but you could count the number of times he’s mentioned his parents on one hand. 

“I was always so jealous when you guys would go,” he sighed, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips, “it seems silly now—” 

“No, it’s not,” you cut him off, shaking your head, “you should have been allowed to be a kid,” 

He chuckles, a noise that sticks in your chest, “Well, more than anything, I wanted to go with you,” his cerulean eyes find yours, a soft smile on his lips, “thank you for indulging me, princess,” 

“Well, you’re the one doing me a favor, right?” you tease, getting to your feet, “c’mon we have plenty of other things to do — I saw a booth with candy apples not too far over there—” you point, and his fingers are already finding yours as he nearly drags you along, a laugh caught in your throat as you can’t help but smile at his excitement. 

It’s infectious, you thought as the two of you got in line, Satoru nearly vibrating with need for his sugar fix, and you shook your head, biting back a laugh, just like him. 

~~~

“You don’t have to walk me home,” the sun had long sunk by the time you both had left, staying to catch a glimpse of the fireworks before heading back, “it’s not that far from here,” 

The two of you had opted to take public transport to the amusement park, knowing there would be next to nowhere to park or rather only the middle of nowhere to park. The cicadas were already beginning their symphony, filling the relative silence of the neighborhood now, except for the chatter heard from inside houses or outside in gardens. 

“Who would carry your loot home?” and he tilts the giant plushie to show his unimpressed face, “you barely wanted to carry this at the park, even after you begged me to win it, and I did, in one shot,” 

And he did, he had won you a giant polar bear plushie nearly as tall as you were in his hands, along with several bags of sweets he had bought on the way out, just to snack on tonight (and you seriously wondered if he ate anything that was not coated in mochi, chocolate, or sugar). 

“I don’t remember begging you — I asked you,” you cross your arms, and you know he’s smiling behind the bear, using the plushie to hide his goddamn smirk, “i did! I just asked if we could try to win it—” 

“And I remember the phrases ‘please’ and ‘i need it’ being involved in the conversation,” you felt your cheeks burn, “you still like these things, huh?” 

“What do you mean?” and he moves the polar bear under one arm, the bags in the other so you could actually see his face. 

“You always loved plushies, you had that one from your parents that you kept in your room with you all the time—” 

“Panda, I was very original with that name,” you shake your head, before your gaze turns to him, his sunglasses gleaming on his head in the low light of the streetlamps, “I can’t believe you remembered that,” 

“There’s barely a thing I’d forget when it comes to you,” and you bite your lip, heart squeezing at his words, “you look like you wanna say something, princess?” 

You reached the outside of your apartment building just as night fell, humidity still clinging to the thick summer air. The light of the lobby spilling out into the sidewalk through the glass doors, just as the streets grew quieter. 

And you do — you’re not sure if you should ask it — a question posed on a precipice of uncertainty that you didn’t know if you wanted to step off of. But you know you had to, at one point or another. 

You could just go inside, brush off his question, and leave the day at that. But a nagging question had wriggled it’s way to the forefront of your mind, and you knew it wouldn’t leave your mind until it left your tongue. 

You chew on your lip, “You say these things so easily when it comes to me, but how are you so sure?” 

And he shrugs, his eyes not leaving yours for even a second, “I just know,” 

“But how?” He’s shaking his head, stepping forward, until he’s a breath away, your eyes flickering from his gaze to his lips for a split second, your own air caught in your traitorous throat. 

“Instead of wondering why I feel why I do, I think you should wonder why you’re so unsure,” and his fingers graze your cheek, tilting your chin upwards, his touch sending heat to the far reaches of your body, and he’s leaning forward. Your eyes nearly flutter shut, as his words nearly warm your lips, but no, instead they brush against your ear, “because if I was still just that kid to you that I was all those years ago, then why aren’t you pulling away?” 

Your eyes blink open, as he pulls away, grin on his lips, as he hands you your polar bear plushie, “Satoru—“ and you don’t even know what you want to say — you want to argue, you want to say something, anything, but nothing comes out but his name. 

“You shouldn’t let a guy get that close, Princess, especially not twice,” he sighs, lips still curled, “because if you let me that close again, I won’t be leaving without a kiss,” 

And you could only stare after him as he left — fingers touching your ear he had whispered against, lips pursing, as you huff, cheeks burning as you step inside your building, burying your face in white fluff of the polar bear that looked a little too much like someone’s hair. 

“Idiot.” 

~~~~

You’re avoiding me. 

Satoru wasn’t wrong. You were — but not exactly on purpose. Or at least you didn’t think so. It had been the third time you had turned him down in the last week. Although, today’s wasn’t intentionally so. You stewed in a corner of the bar, eyes glancing at your phone — what was really an appropriate time to leave a work-sanctioned event without looking completely anti-social? 

It was never really fun coming to these events alone — but you knew if Satoru was here, you’d actually have a good time. You were almost surprised he hadn’t shown up at your place or your work to see you — all he had done is text you. And why did that almost disappoint you?

You checked the time again, met with the notification of Satoru’s message again before you swiped it away out of sight. But he wasn’t out of mind. He hadn’t been for days. You rubbed at your temples — you hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep since your day at the amusement park, thoughts spinning in circles and it was all his fault. You had done everything to get him out of your head — minimize contact, not see him, even drag yourself to an event like this — but still, you stared at your phone screen again, the ghost of his words still warming your ear. 

You couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

Fuck. What were you doing? You took a long swig of your drink, hoping the alcohol could erase some of that night out of your mind. The last thing you needed to be thinking about was Satoru Gojo. 

“So who’s the guy who has been picking you up after work?” 

You nearly choked on your drink. Really? You downed your drink, hoping you can ignore the question if you take long enough downing the searing concoction that the bartender had handed you, maybe they would let you off the hook. But as you finish the drink, you only find your coworkers staring back at you still. The hush that fell over this group of women was far too reverent for a conversation about a man. 

“He’s my little cousin’s best friend,” you reply, ordering another drink — you were going to need it, and the women exchange glances, fake smiles plastered on their lips. 

“He’s not your boyfriend?” and a strange twinge settles in your chest at the question, poking and prodding your tongue to say no, no he wasn’t, but you almost didn’t want to. 

“No, he isn’t,” and the women grin amongst each other, “if you would excuse me—” 

“Wait, wait, we just started talking, come on now,” you sigh internally, as they order another round of drinks as they corral you to their table, maybe after this you could finally leave. 

~~~

“What’s got you so down?” Suguru slides into a seat across from Satoru — Satoru who couldn’t stop checking his phone to see if you had replied. 

“What do you mean?” he sighs, he shouldn’t have sent that text earlier. He shouldn’t push so much, he’s already pushed enough with his comment. God, why the fuck did he say that? What if you thought he was a creep—what if you thought he was disgusting? What if— 

“You look pathetic,” Suguru sips his coffee in his hand, scrolling through his phone, “who is it?” 

Satoru sits up, locking his phone, tucking it away as if it would incriminate him — flashing your name across the screen like it was plastered over his mind, “what do you mean?” 

“I’ve never seen you like this, you keep checking your phone — you barely can keep track of it most of the time,” he shrugs his shoulders, “I figured you must have grew a dick and started liking someone,” 

“Look who’s talking — when’s the last time you dated someone again?” And Satoru catches the crumpled up paper Suguru tosses, “don’t get on your high horse if you don’t want the same thing back,” 

“At least I’m not waiting like a lovesick puppy over my phone,” Suguru mutters, taking another sip of his drink, and that’s when a phone ringing cuts through the silence — that was your ringtone, the very one he set to know when you’d call — just so he wouldn’t miss it, “looks like your waiting by the door paid off,” 

“Fuck off,” Satoru mumbled, walking off with his phone as he picked up, “hello?” 

“Suguru!” Satoru’s brow furrowed at the sound of your cousin’s name leaving your lips, “can you pick me up plz—“ your words were slurred, sounds of chatter cutting through the background. 

“Princ—“ you hiccuped, a small groan leaving your lips. 

“You can’t tell Satoru, he’ll come here and my coworkers won’t stop asking me about him,” you sigh again, mumbling, “why does he have to be so—ugh, it’s not fair for someone to be that pretty—“ 

Pretty? 

His cheeks burned, as he covered his mouth with his hand, trying and failing to bite back a stupid smile on his lips — it’s not fair for you to be this cute. He would have preferred ‘handsome’ or ‘perfect’ or ‘your boyfriend’ — but he could settle for pretty. 

“Anyway!” You cut his thoughts off, “could you come get me?” And Satoru bit his lip, glancing at Suguru — he could tell Suguru to get you, he could, but the odds of you letting something slip to Suguru—- “remember you can’t tell Satoru—“ 

—was really high. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right there, and I won’t tell him,” he adds, because you already had. 

~~~

“How did you find out where I work?” Satoru didn’t know after so many years that there were still new things to learn about you still — and one thing he had learned tonight was that —- you pouted at him, stumbling slightly as he came to a stop in front of your building — you were really whiny when drunk. 

“I picked you up there, remember?” he lightly flicked your forehead that only made you huff, “now do you have your keys?” 

“Do you know how annoying you are?” And he has to bite back a laugh at your scrunched up face. 

“I do, sweetheart, but I’d love to hear you tell me,” you scoff, crossing your arms only to immediately uncross to dig through your purse for your keys, tossing out several things that Satoru catches or picks up. 

“You come to my work and pick me up, and act all swoon worthy, and perfect, and you look like that—“ 

“Like what?” he can’t hide his smile this time, and your brow furrows as you pull out your keys, lips opening and closing, until you purse them. 

“Like that,” you grumble as you teeter on your feet again, before he supports you, and he swore he heard you mumble, “so disgustingly handsome,” 

And he’s glad your eyes are half closed and focused ahead, otherwise he knew you’d smack him for the grin on his face. 

“Oi, don’t—“ and you don’t listen, nearly falling over as you unlock your door, whole body weight leaned against it, but his arm slips around you, holding you up from face planting into your floor, “you’re gonna break your neck, Princess,” 

“You wouldn’t let that happen,” You break from his grip and lean up close, your breath warming his lips, your gaze half lidded, “not when you love me,” and his heart thuds against his ribs, rattling his lungs and bones alike, “that’s what you said, right?” 

You weren’t making this easy, not with your fingers now sliding up his chest, toying with the top button of his shirt, “I did—“ 

“So are you going to prove it?” And the floor feels as if it slips out from underneath him, and all he feels is you, only you — the brush of your fingers against his chest, the faint scent of lavender from your perfume that your aunt had gifted you, and the caress of your gaze against his lips, the same eyes he could easily lose himself in — if he wasn’t careful. 

But he had to be careful — because it was you. 

“But—“

“But what?” it would be so easy to kiss you, when you were only half a breath away, lips parted and gaze asking him to do so, to just lean in—but he can’t.

Not like this. 

His thumb runs down your lips, your eyes fluttering shut, fingers sliding to cup your jaw, and he leans in — feeling your breath catch—

But he only flicks your forehead, drawing a soft yelp from you. 

“I’d like you to remember our first kiss,” and he’s corralling you into bed after that, your body keeling over into the soft mattress, as he’s able to wriggle you under the comforter. Your body relaxes into the plush bed, eyes shut, as your muscles loosen and unwind, while Satoru stands over you, the exact opposite — muscles taut and mind whirring. 

Fuck.

“You never make it easy, do you, Princess?” he mutters under his breath, swallowing thickly as he scrubs a hand down his face, “good night,” his fingers ghost over the swell of your cheek, before turning to leave—

And your fingers caught him around the wrist, eyes half open as you stared up at him, a pout on your lips but now for an entirely different, but somehow the same reason—

“Stay,” one word nearly had him crumble right there — and how pathetic was that? Maybe Suguru was right — he was no better than a puppy at your beck and call — waiting by the door for his master to return. And he almost didn’t mind — if you always came home to him.  

“Princess, you have to go to sleep—“ he could easily break from your grip, fingers wrapped loosely around his wrist, but your grasp may have been very well made of iron with how you had pinned him into place — an entomologist pinning their butterfly in their display. 

“Don’t wanna sleep alone,” a slight whine in your voice makes him waver again, but he had a problem with sleeping beside you—

He shifted in place, adjusting himself, a somewhat big problem thst wouldn’t go away — no matter how many times he thought about Gakuganji in his underwear — especially when you were looking at him like that, half dressed in bed with a pout on your lips and want in your gaze—want that he never thought would be for him. 

“Please?” And that’s all it takes, his thumb rubbing against your fingers — because he could never say no to you. 

~~~~

“Are you okay?” 

Satoru was never left alone — not since he had managed to wander off alone when he was five. It took several hours and a dozen security guards to find him at a bakery, having his third piece of cake. And when he was brought home, he was told just how many ways that could have went wrong — what could have happened to him, and most of all — how badly it could have made his parents look. 

After that, he couldn’t remember a time that his hand wasn’t clutched by a caretaker or escort — from school to home to anywhere else he wished to go. But he never wished to go anywhere, not with a stranger at his side. 

It was only when he met Suguru that he was allowed to go out without someone hovering over his shoulder. But without warning — warning that if any incident would mean he would be stuck back in his daily life. But that meant when he got distracted in the pastry section of the supermarket — looking for the exclusive mochi he desperately wanted — he found himself alone, with you and Suguru nowhere in sight. 

“Suguru?” Satoru called, head whipping around, chest thudding as the white noise of the market grew louder. His gaze falls, ears ringing with all that could go wrong, back to the life with no one at his side, only strangers— 

“Toru?” Satoru’s gaze snaps up, your hands on your hips, your head tilted, “you okay?” And he’s quickly wiping away his tears, sniffling softly, your hand finding the top of his head, “i got you something,” and you hold out a mochi in front of him, and he blinks. 

“You found it?” He’s blinking and your lips curve into a pretty smile. 

“Anything for you, Satoru,” your fingers run through his hair, “Satoru? Satoru—“ 

His eyes flutter open, finding you leaning over him, your tousled hair in messy tangles, “finally awake?” And a soft chuckle on your lips as you speak, rubbing your eye, flinching as you rub your temples, “what exactly happened last night?” 

“You mean besides you calling me pretty?” And your jaw drops, biting your lip, “and begging me to stay? Didn’t know you liked my company that much, Princess,” 

You glare at him, “well with charm like that—“ you mutter, when it occurs to you, “why did you sleep on the floor? And with that?” You point to the polar bear plushie he used as a pillow last night. 

Not his most preferred bedfellow. 

Always full of surprises, his cheeks burn, and he only can hope it doesn’t show on his face, hidden behind a cheeky smile, “Didn’t know you were so eager to share a bed with me, sweetheart,” and you roll your eyes, “I have to warn you, I have a tendency to cuddle—“ and you smack him with a pillow, he sighs, “someone wasn’t too keen on sharing her pillows with me, so this was the best I could do,”

You snort, as you take the offending plushie from him, “Did you do something to him?”

He tilts his head, “Eh?” And you hold up the polar bear plush, “what could I do to him?”  

“Someone did threaten to toss him out into the ocean so he could join his family,” 

“I can do a lot of things, but I can’t solve global warming, Princess,” and you bite back a laugh, “I was on my best behavior with him last night, even though he’s a shitty pillow,” and you didn’t have to know how he had slapped him a couple times. 

But even so, you bite your lip, looking down as you toy with your comforter, “why did you come?” 

He blinks, “what do you mean?” 

“You could have sent Suguru, but you came, and you stayed, on the floor,” and he curls his lips. 

“Well what kind of fake boyfriend would I be?” And you roll your eyes, still waiting for an answer, and his voice grows soft, “you know why, Princess,” 

“I do, but I don’t,” you murmur, fidgeting with your blanket as you chewed on your bottom lip, “my coworkers couldn’t stop talking about you last night, they kept saying how handsome you are, how wonderful, how perfect—“ 

“Should I be less handsome or perfect? Because don’t know if that’s possible—“ and it earns him another whack with the pillow, but he only catches it, “you say that like it’s a bad thing,” 

“It’s not, but I don’t know why after all these years, you still want me,” you sigh, words pushing past your lips,  “you could have anyone, Satoru,” 

“If I just wanted anyone, I wouldn’t have fell in love with you,” and you bury your face in your pillow, gaze peeking down at him. 

“You say that with such ease, how do you know what love even is? I don’t know if I know what it is,” you add, mumbling under your breath, and his eyes can’t help but follow the way your fingers run through your hair. 

“I don’t think I need to know when I feel it,” Satoru sat up, dangerously close to you, within reach yet so far out of it, “do you need to know to see the sky is blue? Do you need to know to feel pain when you burn yourself?” 

“Didn’t know you were taking philosophy classes with Suguru,” and he snorts, shaking his head, “Satoru—“ 

“Like I said before, Princess, just give me some time,” his fingers reach for you, and your breath catches, before he slowly smoothed your hair out, “and I’ll win you over,” 

Your eyes flicker to his, and god, he wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss you, but he couldn’t. He had to be patient. He couldn’t push you — he wanted you to want him just as much. He would make you fall into his arms willingly, and you’d kiss him — not the other way around. 

“Want some breakfast?” your lips curl into a soft smile, the very same smile that he had fallen for time and time again. 

“You offering to cook me breakfast?” 

“Just wondering what would shut you up the quickest,” and he has half a mind to reply with ‘your lips,’ but he decides against it, “pancakes?” 

~~~

“I can feel you staring,” 

Even with your back turned to the stove, bowl in hand as you whipped the batter with the whisk, hoping your laser focus on the pancakes would help you distract yourself. But it did little when you could feel his gaze sticking in your back, spotlights on every little movement — something that wouldn’t have bothered you before — but after last night—

This was why you never drank. 

You covered your face with the back of your hand, cheeks burning, as you placed the bowl down, what had your life become? 

“C’mon you can’t just let a guy like that go,” one of the women from work nudged you — you couldn’t remember if her name was Kanae or Kanao — handing you a refill of the drink you had gotten, “he certainly seems into you from the way he looks at you,” 

“If he isn’t, I’d take him off your hands,” Saki slurred, nearly spilling her drink, “he seems to like you. Is there really nothing between you two?” 

“Not really,” you sipped your drink, if confessing to you after over a decade was nothing, “he’s just a friend,” and he was — a friend who was your fake boyfriend. 

“You know with how you started, I thought your love life would be a lot more interesting,” Kanae sighed far too loudly, as she took another long swig of her cocktail. 

“Well we’ve talked a lot about what you guys are but we haven’t asked how you feel,” Saki grinned, sloppily drunk yet somehow masterful with her questions, “how do you feel about him?” 

And how did you? If someone asked you a few weeks ago, you would said he was just your little cousin’s best friend, a childhood friend — and you wouldn’t have thought twice. But now, he has given you so much to think about. Would you be this hesitant if you two haven’t met as kids? If he wasn’t Suguru’s best friend? If he didn’t seem so far out of your league? 

Maybe. But you were never good at going for things you wanted — or accepting things as they were. Even with Naoya, you knew you should have broken up with him — you knew he was toxic, and yet you stayed — because it was easier. 

And maybe it was easier to push Satoru away than to face how you felt.

Fuck, you were too drunk for this — you needed to get out of here, “excuse me,” you manage to slip away into the bathroom, washing your face, leaning over the sink. 

You held your forehead, steadying yourself against the cold porcelain, fingers digging into the rim of the sink — eyes burning as your head throbs, a wave of nausea pulsing through your stomach. Fuck, there was no way that you could get home alone. 

You pulled out your phone and scrolled — who the fuck would you call? The only people you knew were your family and…

Nope. No. Not an option. 

You found Suguru’s number and tried to text, only to find your eyes blurring, and you knew if you sent a message he would be holding over any typos or fuck ups over your head forever. 

You found his name, your head spinning as you clicked and called. 

He didn’t pick up.

“Fucker,” you mumble, trying to hit his name again, your head spinning, and finally someone picked up—

And then you woke up in bed. A soft groan fell from your lips, knives prodding at every inch of your brain, memory blended and choppy as you drew into consciousness. You were home, your eyes fluttering open to sunlight illuminating your bedroom, a dull stiffness in your muscles that makes you stretch, turning on your side only to be met with a sight. 

Satoru Gojo. Asleep on your floor, cuddling the plush polar bear he won for you. You stared, blinking, wondering if blinking away the sleep would somehow blink away Satoru too (it did not unfortunately). So you did the only other thing you could think of — take a picture. 

As you glanced from the image to him, bits and pieces came back — from your drunken ramblings on the phone to the ones in person, your cheeks burning as you buried your face in your comforter before staring down at him. Was it possible to die of embarrassment? You were really testing those limits. 

But even so, as you watched him sleep on top of the plushie, the only thing you could wonder was why had he stayed? He could have left after you fell asleep, or even before that, there wasn’t much you could have done to stop him. But he stayed, even on the floor, rather than anywhere else. 

“So?” you didn’t need to turn from the stove to know he was grinning, “can’t I enjoy the show, Princess?” 

“If you’re enjoying it so much, how about you become part of it and help?” you offer him a spatula, as he makes his way over, leaning over you, his body brushing against yours, but you ignore it all the same, eyes focused on the task instead on the warmth blooming from his touch, “I’ll spoon and you flip,” 

The two of you work in silence, as you spoon batter onto the griddle and he flips the pancakes — and it’s only when you’re both just about done that you glance over, and his lips are curled, “What are you smiling about?” and he shakes his head, as he flips the last of the pancakes onto the stack, “Satoru—“ 

“I just never really have made breakfast like this before, or had someone make it for me,” he scratches the back of his head, “my parents always had chefs or maids or someone make me all my meals, and even when I moved out, I always cooked alone or bought my meals out,” he shrugs, as he turned the stove off, “it reminds me when you’d make me and Suguru instant ramen after we came in from playing outside,” 

You snort, “You remember that?” You would get stuck making ramen for the two of them, tossing some seasoning and sauces into the mixture along with an egg, “I always put too much black pepper. I thought you hated it,” 

“But I always finished,” he added, and he did, even if his cheeks were burning red and eyes watering by the end of the bowl. Your lips curl at the memory of him at the age of twelve downing an entire glass of water and spilling it all over the front of himself. 

“Well I can make a lot more than instant noodles now,” you have Satoru set the table while you start to clean up, turning on the sink. You hear the clink of plates and utensils behind you, as he sets them down on the table, but you can feel his gaze fall over you even as your back is turned. 

“I’m going to need some proof — there were a few times you almost burned those noodles,” and you pout, turning with your hands on your hips. 

“Oh you want me to prove it now?” You turn, running your finger discreetly up the side of the used mixing bowl, finger full of batter as you walk up to him, hands behind your back. 

“And how’re you gonna do that, Princess?” the corner of his lip quirks upwards, as you step close up to him, and god, he’s fucking tall — and it kind of pissed you off — all these boys shoot up like fucking weeds, but it didn’t mean you couldn’t knock him down a bit. 

“Close your eyes, and find out,” he raises an eyebrow, suspicious, but still he obeys — good boy, the praise runs through your head to the tip of your tongue, but you bite it and the words back alike. And you’re so close, you can see his snow white eyelashes fan out against his cheeks, and he’s so unfairly pretty, 

For now. 

You’re so close, you nearly feel his body warmth radiate your skin — and you swear you hear his breath hitch — and it would be so easy to lean forward— “Princess — what—” 

And then he gasps when you smear pancake batter down his cheek, a snort leaving your lips as he gapes at you, mouth ajar. He blinks, his hand reaching for his cheek, before he stops when his eyes flit to your batter caked finger, “You—” 

You’re giggling, trying to stop yourself from doubling over at his expression, “What? I just wanted to give you a taste of my cooking before you tried it,” and he frowns at you for a moment, before his lips curl deviously, tilting his head. 

“Is that right?” and his fingers run through the smeared batter, caking his finger tips before he’s stepping towards you, “then it’s fair, if I make you taste it too—“ and you’re trying to back up, giggles leaving your lips,  but he catches you by the wrist. 

“Satoru—“ you whine as you’re trying to squirm away, “let go!” but he only pulls you close, your body nearly bumping against his — and it was your turn for your breath to catch, cerulean irises stealing the air from your lungs as you drowned in them, “hey—“ 

“Just how much are you gonna tempt me, Princess?” and you should step away, but his fingers around your wrist send warmth blooming down your arm, straight to your chest, and you can’t bring yourself to step away. 

“And how am I doing that?” His fingers tug you closer, thumb brushing against the inside of your wrist, before he leans close. 

“You know exactly how,” and your glance flickers from his gaze to his lips, and back again, resisting the urge to shut your eyes — but you don’t have to, when he smears the batter all over your cheek. 

“Toru!” You stare at him, and he’s laughing, as you grab at him, only for him to slip away, “I’m gonna kill you—“ and you move towards the sink, batter covered bowl still inside, “oh just you wait—“ 

But your beeline is cut short by his grip, arm darting around your middle, as he pulls you back. You gasp, struggling in his arms in vain — fuck his stupidly toned arms,  “you shouldn’t start something you’re not ready to finish,” his words are said against your ear, but they rush down your body in almost a shudder. 

His lips are an inch or two from yours, you would barely need to lean to reach them — the words of your coworkers ring in your ears 

“Who said I wasn’t?” His eyes find yours, his fingers tilting your chin ever so slightly, when your phone rings. 

You jerk slightly at the sound, your eyes flickering to the name across the screen and see Suguru’s name flashing on the screen. 

“It’s Suguru,” and Satoru lets go of you, as you make your way to the phone, and you swear you hear him mutter something under his breath, “what did you say?” you don’t pick up the phone but a few texts come through anyway. 

“Nothing,” he scratched the back of his head, “what did he say?” 

“He’s asking if I wanna come over for dinner tonight, said you’re gonna be there too?” And you raise an eyebrow, as Satoru fishes his phone out of his pocket and glances at it. 

“Apparently I am,” you turn on the faucet, cleaning your face off, offering Satoru a damp tissue. “Guess this won’t be the last meal we’re sharing today,” 

“Guess not,” his fingers brush yours when taking the tissue, trying to clean the batter off his cheek but only spreads the mess. You snort, as you take the napkin from him holding his face by the chin, “so how’re we gonna play it?” 

“Play what?” You toss the napkin away, both of you taking a seat at the table. 

“Did you forget?” He stabs a pancake and places it in his plate, “we told your aunt we’re dating — and that we’re hiding it from Suguru, and you just agreed to dinner with both of them,” 

Fuck. 

✧ a/n: hi it's been quite a while T_T. sorry work has been so busy. i haven't had a moment to post, and now i had to split this up because it just got too long lmao. part two will come later, i'm going to be prioritizing my kinktober fics. thank you to @coffee-and-geto for betaing :)

✧ taglist: @satorusmochis , @celestialgojo , @sugurubabe , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @strawberryfanatic01 , @cira273 , @sobbangchan , @hiraethwrote , @peppertoastuniverse , @dreamtardisspace , @redmangotango , @h4ru-h4ruu , @anpacax0 , @theshylittleelfgirl , @hyori2 , @elliesndg , @maddietries , @roses-can-be-deadly-too, @vernasce-blogs , @mrsoikawa17 , @spider-fan72 , @haoxiaoxi , @horchatacow , @lovemoreworrylessv, @maybe-a-bi-witch , @missroki , @rubyarerosies ,, @ranatherealestsigma , @svt-backup , @catsgomurp , @sakurastorm , @forest-fruits-jam , @lemonpoppy-seed , @goddess-ofthe-godless , @notgoodforlife , @johannakhalafalla , @fushitoru , @kentosbutterfly , @augustwinesworld

[luveline]

Jade can I please get a chatty af yapper sunshine girlfriend with Sirius?? Like May be someone tells her she talks a lot so she's super quiet around him cuz she's worried he'll get annoyed and break up with her but poor Sirius he misses his chatty girl and just angst with fluff

thank you for requesting! fem, 1.4k

James Potter means well. Honestly, you don’t think he has a mean bone in his body, so you try not to take it to heart. 

Unfortunately, your attempts to do so don’t work. They really, unquestionably don’t. By the time you’re outside of Sirius’ flat that afternoon, James’ small comment is all you can think of. 

“You’re so chatty I’m surprised you don’t run out of breath,” he’d said. Not without love. You’d bumped into him in Sainsbury’s and ended up talking for ages about one thing or another, you know him well, you’d even say you were friends, though he’s of course Sirius’ friend rather than your own. “But I’m the same. God, Sirius used to hate how much I talked, he’d be sick of me. I think I numbed him to it over the years.” 

You can’t imagine it. Sirius and James are best friends. With Remus, they’re the most in love threesome of friends you’ve ever met, and it’s nice; it makes you very proud to have a boyfriend who cares for others as deeply as Sirius cares for them. It’s like a constant demonstration of how he’s a good man. 

But you’d never stopped to consider that they weren’t always so seamless, and you’ve regrettably never considered that your constant talking is something that could put him off. 

You talk to Sirius about everything. There isn’t a word to describe the excitement of having someone waiting to listen to you every single night. You could tell him every detail of a day down to what colour socks you wore and you know he’ll sit there listening with his hand on the small of your back, or his fingers twined between yours. You’ve never felt so loved as to be able to just talk about everything and have him talk back. 

But… what if, this whole time, he’s been wishing for a little bit of quiet? 

What if eventually, the talking becomes too much? 

He must be with you for a reason. You aren’t holding the poor guy hostage, he acts like he’s mad for you ninety percent of the time (while the other ten percent is spent sleeping on your shoulder). 

Like now —you knock his door and you can hear him scrambling up from the sofa, the sound of a book dislodged or a remote hitting the rug, you’re not sure. The door yanks open and Sirius smiles at you, pulling you in through the gap with a familiar hand on your hip. 

“Hey,” Sirius says, tucking you against his side, “hey, did you get lovelier over the weekend?” He shoves the door closed and gives you a hug with one arm, pausing in the hall. “Sorry I couldn’t see you. I don’t think we should miss another weekend.” 

You have a lot to tell him. It’s been ages since you spent nearly three days apart, but James’ conversation stays at the front of your mind. 

You decide to be less overwhelming, but not less loving, curling your arm behind his head to pull his cheek down for a kiss. “I don’t think so, either.” 

Sirius tilts his head away from you in an invitation for more kissing. 

You’re at home in his flat. You take off your shoes and hang up your jacket. You change into a pair of jogging bottoms with loose legs and let him hoist you onto his bed for a few stolen kisses, though he isn’t propositioning you, and you end up laying across his bedspread with one of your legs in his lap as he tells you about his days without you, his thumb sliding with pressure down your calf. 

“Mostly I wished I’d asked you to come over anyways, even if it was just to sleep together at the end of the day. Maybe next time we can do that?” he asks. 

“Of course we can.” You smile at him indulgently. “I’d come over for twenty minutes if it was all I could get.” 

“Or I can come to you,” he says, “even if it’s just twenty minutes.” 

He smiles, a beaming thing, and leans down slowly for a soft kiss. 

“So,” he asks, his breath on your lips, “how was your weekend? Lonely?” 

“So lonely,” you tease lightly, eyes fluttering closed as he continues his massaging of your leg. “But it was okay. I missed you, really, and didn’t do much else.”

“No?” he asks. 

Your voice takes on a shine as he squeezes your knee, “Missed your hands.”  

“I missed your everything.” He grabs for your forearms and pulls you into a sitting position. “But everything was okay?” he asks more seriously. 

“Everything was fine.” 

He raises his eyebrows, but eventually lets them relax. “Well, okay. Good, sweetheart, I’m glad it was okay.” 

He persuades you into the kitchen to sit with him as he makes dinner, refusing to let you help, and yet insisting you be there in the same room, as though you’d like to be anywhere else. Sirius makes your favourite of his usual rotation, offering you spoonfuls for tasting, gaps of silence stretching as he struggles to find new conversation. You start answering his questions but remember time and time again that Sirius could become totally sick of you. He might already be. 

Sirius puts the food on a low heat and washes his hands. He wipes them dry, but when he takes your face, dampness lines the inside of his fingers. 

“I’d like for you to tell me what’s wrong,” he says gently, stroking at the line of your startled frown, “before it gets worse. Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Please don’t, lovely. If I’ve done something wrong, please tell me. I want us to last forever, and we can’t do that if you won’t tell me when I upset you.” 

“It wasn’t you,” you say instinctively, then regret it. 

“So someone has?” he asks, still so gentle as his hands coast down your neck like he’s sculpting you, coming to rest on the slopes leading to your shoulders. “You can tell me anything. You don’t have to keep it to yourself… please.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Sweetheart.” He frowns deeply. Couldn’t look more upset. “Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

You chew it over, not wanting or willing to cause ructions between Sirius and his oldest friend. “Well, I saw James today at the shop, and… we were talking about you…” 

He waits. “And?” 

“And he told me you– you don’t like talking. That you didn’t like talking, that James used to make you sick of it. So I know I talk too much and you’ve never made me feel like I shouldn’t, but I guess I got into my head thinking you’d get sick of me, too.” 

“When we were younger I didn’t like much of anything.” He curls an arm behind your neck to hold you in place, but it’s not a dominant sort of movement, only protective as your noses inch together. “Did you ever read that poem by Bukwoski? Let It Enfold You?” 

“What?” 

“I’m not very good at explaining myself. I thought if you knew the poem, you’d–” He laughs near your cheek. “I hated everything. It wasn’t James’ fault. He did make me sick of it sometimes, but I just wanted to hide from everything.” He breathes out slowly. “I’ve never wanted to hide from you. I can’t get sick of you. Do you get that? I can’t get sick of you. Listening to you is the best part of my day, you’re my personal chatterbox.” 

“Chatterbox,” you repeat teasingly. 

“You could talk for Wales,” he says. “And I love it, I don’t want you to stop, because I’ll never be sick of it.”

“I don’t want it to be some secret resentment.”

“I don’t resent you for anything. I knew exactly who you were when we met and I love it.” He takes your face again. “I love it,” he repeats. 

You steal a little kiss against the corner of his lips. “What was the poem?” you ask. 

“I’ll find my book, and you can read it to me. What do you think?” He takes a slow kiss as you had in the same place, words like honey. “I miss your voice.” 

He’s basically pleading. It’s not like Sirius to plead, but you pull it out of him. 

“Can I have my dinner first?” 

“The one I made while you deprived me?” he asks. “Yes, if you must.” 

He takes another kiss, but you’re happy to give it.