#hand on a shoulder a background moment them standing next to each other

[yellowlaboratory]

Oh I have to send another ask to talk about more Jiara how much did you love how both times JJ dropped the treasure hunt and the trip with John B and Big John to save Kiara? Everything with Jiara was amazing this season all except no second kiss and the finale didn't have as much with them. The reunion had to be my favorite where he was asking if they hurt her in a soft voice. How are we going to get through this hiatus? I could barely wait when we had a week left.

i have literally not stopped thinking about jj consistently choosing kiara over the treasure since i watched. JJ's line in the first episode when they are looking at the painting of the burning boat - "it's about the gold, not kiara. it doesn't help us." like WHAT. it so clearly shows where his head is at and what he considers important and it makes me want to SCREAM. and in episode 9, when they are waiting to go save Big John, he was so antsy and he was so upset that everyone was literally, like, five minutes late and he needed to go but then kiara's not there and he KNOWS something is up. He goes from not waiting to wait even a second longer to delaying his whole trip by 8 hours and telling the other pogues to go on without him because he needs to save kiara. LIKE.

i do wish we got a second kiss in the finale but i think s4 is going to serve. i also LOVED the reunion on the dock scene - it's between that and the high five after they get on the plane to South America for my favorite scene.

hiatus is gonna be something for sure alkjdsfhlkasjdfhsdf but here's to hoping early renewal means early filming means early release!!!

[chosok-amo]

ONE TOO MANY : GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU

the first time you have an argument with your two boyfriends is because they've been ignoring you for weeks, so you return the favor.

wc. 4,3k | m.list | part. 2

warning. boyfriends! satosugu, angst to fluff (kinda), petnames, light arguments, silent treatment, and idk.

as you sit on the couch, the dim light of the living room casting long shadows across the room, you glance at the clock. it's late—much later than usual for geto and gojo to be coming home. a knot of worry tightens in your chest, but you push it aside. you know their work can be demanding, but you miss them.

the door finally creaks open, and your heart leaps as geto and gojo step inside. but something feels off. their usual smiles are absent, their shoulders slumped with exhaustion. geto barely acknowledges you with a nod, and gojo doesn't even glance your way, heading straight to the kitchen to grab a drink.

“hey...” you begin softly, but your voice trails off as they move around the room like you're not even there. geto drops his bag by the door and heads for the stairs, clearly ready to crash in bed without a word. gojo's usually bright eyes are dull, and when he finally looks at you, it's with a tired expression that makes your heart sink.

“i’m just... really tired,” gojo mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck as he avoids your gaze.

you feel a wave of frustration and hurt rise within you. they’ve had long days before, but they’ve never been so dismissive. you stand up, crossing your arms, trying to figure out what to say, how to break through whatever barrier has suddenly sprung up between you. “baby... what's going on?” you ask, your voice laced with concern.

geto pauses at the base of the stairs, sighing deeply, “just... give us some space, okay? we’ve had a rough day.”

his words hit you harder than they should, and you’re left standing there, feeling more alone than ever as they head off to bed without another word. the room feels colder, emptier, and you’re left wondering if it’s something you did, or if there’s something they’re not telling you.

the next morning you wake up to the smell of coffee and the soft sound of music coming from the kitchen. your stomach does a flip, a hint of excitement mixing with lingering unease. you slide out of bed and pad down the stairs, your heart rate picking up as you near the kitchen.

the sight that greets you is unexpected. geto and gojo stand side by side, their back to you as they putter in the kitchen. gojo's tall form easily dominates the space, his shoulders broader than you remembered. geto's hair is ruffled, still messy from sleep, and it's a stark contrast to his usually composed appearance. they haven't noticed you yet, engrossed in their task as they move around each other in a synchronized dance.

you lean against the doorway, watching them for a moment. gojo's slender fingers skillfully flip pancakes, and geto hums along to the music playing softly in the background, a spatula in his hand as he tends to the bacon.

it's a scene so domestic and natural, yet it feels surreal given their cold demeanor from last night. it's as if they're trying to pretend yesterday never happened, to go back to normalcy. geto suddenly looks up, catching your gaze. his expression turns serious, his dark eyes locking onto yours. gojo continues cooking, his back still to you, but you can almost feel the tension radiating from him.

“you're up,” geto comments, his voice neutral.

you clear your throat, trying to keep your tone light, “yeah, the coffee smell woke me up.”

“coffee's almost done,” gojo says without turning around, his voice lacking its usual playful edge. an awkward silence settles over the room, thick and stifling.

you watch as they continue to cook, each movement precise and calculated. no small talk, no casual touches or laughter like you're used to. gojo plates the pancakes and bacon, setting them on the table, before finally turning to face you. his normally bright eyes are cool and detached.

“breakfast is ready,” he mutters, breaking the silence.

you swallow the lump in your throat, feeling the distance between you growing wider with every passing moment. the breakfast they've prepared looks delicious, but sitting down to eat together feels like an impossible feat given the current atmosphere.

you shift your weight, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten further. the air in the kitchen is charged, and the earlier domestic scene has been shattered. geto turns back to the stove, his shoulders tense as he tends to the food. gojo continues flipping pancakes, his movements more rigid than normal.

“so...” you begin, your voice breaking the silence, “about last night—”

“don't,” geto interrupts, his voice firm. “can we just not do this right now?”

his blunt response hangs in the air, and you're taken aback by his abruptness. you feel your frustration and confusion mounting, but before you can say anything, gojo puts down the spatula, his voice laced with irritation.

“yeah, maybe we should just focus on the food,” he says, avoiding your gaze. the room falls into an awkward silence again, only the sound of cooking filling the air. you can feel the tension building, the unspoken words and emotions hanging heavily between you.

you look at them for a second, just staring without saying a words and they can see how quickly your expression change to cold as clear as the day. you swallow hard, the words you want to say sticking in your throat. instead, you just nod, barely meeting his eyes as you mumble, “okay.” your voice comes out small, almost defeated, as you focus on the floor.

even as you agree to let it go, the hurt gnaws at you. you want to bridge the gap, to reach out to them, but the coldness in their demeanor keeps you at arm’s length. the silence stretches on, and you’re left feeling more alone than ever, standing just a few feet away from the two people you thought you were closest to.

the meal is eaten in a heavy, uncomfortable silence. neither geto nor gojo make an effort to talk like they usually do, their eyes focused on their food. gojo's movements are mechanical, while geto's gaze keeps shifting towards you, his expression a mixture of guilt and determination to keep his distance.

as you finish eating, they quickly rise, busying themselves with cleaning up, still avoiding any meaningful eye contact with you.

as satoru reaches for your plate, you finally speak up, your voice firmer than you expected, “don’t.” he freezes for a moment, his hand hovering over your plate. you can feel his gaze on you, but you don’t look up. “i’ll do it myself,” you add, your tone making it clear that this isn’t up for debate.

geto looks up, his eyes flicking between you and gojo as if silently trying to communicate. gojo seems ready to argue, his jaw clenching, but geto subtly shakes his head, a silent warning. a beat of tense silence passes before gojo reluctantly pulls back his hand, a flash of something that looks like hurt in his eyes. he mumbles something under his breath that you don't quite catch.

pushing down the knot of emotions threatening to choke you, you stand up from the table and walk towards the sink where geto is still standing, his presence a heavy weight in the small space. without looking at him, you ask, your voice edged with coldness, “are you done?”

geto nods, his expression unreadable as he steps back slightly. there’s a moment where you consider softening your tone, but the way they’ve been treating you today and days before hardens your resolve.

“then move,” you say, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade. if they want to treat you like this, then you’re not going to just sit there and take it. you’ve given them space, tried to be patient, but their coldness is more than you can handle right now.

geto hesitates, a flash of something—guilt, perhaps—crossing his face before he steps aside, giving you room to move past him. you take your plate to the sink, the cool metal under your fingers grounding you as you begin to rinse it off, your movements sharp, deliberate.

as you stand there, the sound of running water filling the silence, you can feel their eyes on you, the weight of their unspoken words pressing down on your shoulders. but you don’t turn around. if they want to push you away, you won’t beg them to stay close. not tonight, not anymore.

geto remains where he stands, watching you silently, while gojo leans against the counter, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on you as well. the minutes pass in a tense silence, the sound of the water and the clinking of dishes the only noise. you can feel their eyes on you, their gazes burning into your skin, but you keep your focus on the task at hand, refusing to break.

geto finally breaks the silence, his voice soft, but with an edge of determination, “can we talk?”

you pause for a moment, letting his request hang in the air. a bitter scoff escapes your lips as you turn off the water, feeling a surge of irony wash over you. you turn to face him, your expression hard as you look between geto and satoru. “oh, now you wanna talk?” you ask, your voice laced with mockery. “when i wanted to talk, you both shut me out. but now that i’m doing the same, suddenly it’s time for a conversation?”

there’s a biting edge to your words, a reflection of the hurt and frustration that’s been building up inside you all weeks. you don’t bother hiding it, letting them feel a fraction of what you’ve been feeling. if they want to push you away, then they’ll have to deal with the consequences.

geto falters, his expression flitting momentarily to gojo, before returning to you, his eyes reflecting a mix of regret and stubbornness. gojo doesn’t say anything, his jaw set, but you can sense the tension radiating from him as well.

“i know,” geto starts, his voice a bit shaky, “i know we’re being unfair. we owe you an explanation. we just…” he trails off, his gaze breaking yours as he glances at gojo again, almost seeking validation. gojo remains silent, his face stoic, but his eyes betray a flicker of internal struggle.

they both shift uncomfortably under your sharp words, gojo’s gaze darting away and geto’s expression darkening. their discomfort only adds fuel to your indignation.

“yeah, it’s funny how that works, isn’t it?” you continue, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “you ignore me for weeks and then suddenly want to talk when i’m finally done playing your little game. well, too bad. i’m done playing along,” you turn the water off and walk away to your shared bedroom.

gojo’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist before you can step away. the suddenness of his action catches you off guard, his grip tight but not aggressive. “wait,” he says, his voice low, his eyes searching yours.

geto steps towards you, his expression a mix of guilt and determination, “please.”

the desperation in their voices is unmistakable, and it’s the first sign of vulnerability they’ve shown all weeks. it’s enough to make you hesitate, to feel a flicker of reluctance. but you stood on your grounds— trying to stood on your ground. “i have works to do,” you mumble before push his hand away.

the past few days have been a blur, a mixture of long hours and late nights. you've been coming home later and later, deliberately avoiding going to bed with them, choosing instead to crash on the couch, wrapped in a blanket of silence and exhaustion. it’s not just the late nights—it’s the subtle shift in your routine, the way you’ve distanced yourself, mirroring the coldness they showed you that night. you’re not even sure if they’ve noticed, but it’s become your own form of silent rebellion, a way to protect yourself.

tonight is no different. when you finally walk through the door, it’s nearly one in the morning, your body heavy with fatigue. you’re expecting the house to be dark and quiet, but as you step into the kitchen, the soft light catches your attention. they’re both there, geto and gojo, standing near the stove, the faint smell of food lingering in the air.

gojo looks up first, his expression serious but tinged with something you can’t quite place. geto follows, his gaze steady as he watches you enter. “can we talk?” gojo asks, his voice more gentle than it’s been in days.

you hesitate, your hand tightening around the strap of your bag. “talk about what?” you reply, your voice is neutral, guarded. geto steps closer, concern etched into his features. “we heard you’ve started taking missions again,” he says quietly, the words heavy with implication. “why?”

you feel a flicker of something—anger, maybe, or frustration. they ignored you, pushed you away, and now they want to question your choices? it feels like a cruel twist of fate.

“why not?” you shoot back, dropping your bag onto the counter with a soft thud. “i figured if you two can focus on work and shut me out, then maybe i should do the same. why waste time waiting around?”

gojo's expression hardens at your answer, a shadow passing over his features. geto’s eyes flick between you both, his expression pained. “we’re not shutting you out,” gojo insists, his voice strained, “we’re just..”

“busy,” geto finishes, his gaze dropping to the floor.

the kitchen falls into thick silence, the tension stretching the air between you all. gojo leans against the counter, his arms crossed, while geto stands in the middle, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders tense.

you feel the pressure of their gazes on you, waiting for some reaction, some sign of understanding or forgiveness. but instead, you simply shrug your shoulders, your expression carefully neutral. “okay,” you mutter, the word simple but loaded with a cold indifference that makes their attempts at explanation feel small.

gojo shifts his weight, clearly frustrated by your continued coldness. his jaw clenches. geto tries a different angle, his voice soft. “we've been worried about you being out there alone.”

your eyes flicker back to his, and a flash of irritation passes through them. “alone?” you echo, a bitter edge to your tone. “really? you guys have been MIA for weeks, but now you're worried about me being alone?” the absurdity of the situation hits you, and a mocking laugh bubbles up, escaping in a few harsh chuckles. “you guys are unbelievable,” you say, the laughter carrying a mix of disbelief and hurt.

the laughter seems to take them by surprise, their faces reflecting a mix of guilt and confusion. the mocking tone of your voice stings, cutting through their attempts at reconciliation with a sharp edge.

gojo's jaw tenses, his hand clenching into a fist.

geto winces at the sound of your laughter, his eyes downcast. “i know it looks bad,” he murmurs, his voice almost pitiful.

“looks bad?” you repeat, your voice raises an octave, anger leaking into your words. “that's a nice way to put it. you two have been distant for weeks, acting like i don't even exist. then suddenly you're here, in the kitchen, when you know most nights i get home late.”

you step forward, your eyes narrowing as you gesture towards them. “were you waiting for me?” you ask, your voice quiet but seething with anger. “were you hoping to catch me in a weak moment, when i'm tired and vulnerable, so you could have this little heart-to-heart and feel better about yourselves?”

they both take a step back, looking taken aback by your sudden aggression. gojo's expression is a mix of guilt and defensiveness, while geto's eyes widen at the accusation. you take a deep breath, letting the anger ebb away just enough to speak. “i don't have time for this,” you say, letting out a sigh, “i only came home to get my things because my flight leaves in two hours. i’ve got a mission abroad for a week.”

the reality of your departure hangs in the air, the urgency in your voice making it clear that this conversation will have to wait. you turn, starting to gather your things, feeling the weight of their eyes on you as you move. the distance between you all feels like an insurmountable chasm, but for now, you have to focus on what’s ahead.

geto's eyes widen in surprise, while gojo's face pales. “wait—” they both speak at the same time, their voices filled with a mix of shock and desperation. geto quickly regains his composure, stepping forward, his arm reaching out. “hold on a second,” he says, his voice urgent, “you can't just leave—” gojo cuts in, his expression a mix of guilt and worry. “you’re not seriously going alone, are you?”

you brush off geto's arm, continuing to gather your things. “i don't have a choice,” you reply, your voice firm. “the higher-ups assigned me to the mission. i have to go.” gojo steps in front of you, his eyes meeting yours, a hint of pleading in them. “can we at least talk about this?” he asks, his voice quiet.

you pause, hesitating for a moment before shaking your head. “there’s nothing to talk about. my flight leaves soon, and i have to get ready.”

you can see the hurt in their eyes, the realization of your words sinking in. they hadn’t been there for you, and now they expected you to stay? to wait around for a conversation you didn’t think they even wanted to have?

gojo runs a hand through his hair, his expression frustrated. “what if something happens to you out there?” he says, his voice low and tense. geto steps forward, his eyes on yours, his voice pleading. “you can’t just leave things like this.” the desperation in their voices is a stark contrast to the coldness you’ve been experiencing these past few days. but it’s too little, too late.

your hands pause for a moment, your heart rate increasing at their reactions. you had wanted a reaction, but this intense concern was not what you had expected. you look back at them, your expression carefully nonchalant, despite the flurry of emotions swirling inside you.

“why not?” you asked, your voice betraying none of your inner turmoil. “you two are the ones who have been busy and distant. if you've got your own priorities, then why can't i have mine?”

gojo lets out a frustrated exhale, his hands clenching into fists by his sides. “that's not fair,” he mutters, his voice strained. geto looks torn, his eyes flickering between you and gojo. “just because we've been preoccupied doesn’t mean we don’t care.” the guilt in his voice is evident, mirroring the guilt you’ve been feeling. but you push it aside, trying to maintain the facade of indifference.

you let out a heavy sigh and sit down, looking up at them with a weary expression. “then what's fair, satoru?” you ask, your voice is steady but tinged with frustration. “tell me. i’ve been waiting for you two for days, weeks even. when i don’t wait around and i finally start doing things for myself, that’s not fair?”

the question hangs in the air, the weight of it pressing down on all of you. the silence that follows is thick with unresolved feelings, leaving the three of you standing on the edge of understanding, yet unable to bridge the gap between you.

gojo's gaze drops to the floor, his jaw clenching as if he’s struggling with his own emotions. geto's eyes flit between you both, his expression pained as he takes in your words. there's a moment of heavy silence before gojo finally speaks up, his voice low and laced with something you can’t quite place.

“you're right,” he admits, his eyes lifting to meet yours. “we've been shitty. we’ve been distant, ignoring you, making you feel like we don’t care.” geto nods in agreement, his eyes meeting yours as well. “we messed up,” he adds, his voice soft. “we've been dealing with some things and we shut you out.”

gojo runs a hand through his hair again, his gaze darting away and then back to yours. “we didn't mean to hurt you,” he says, his voice quiet but sincere, “we just... we weren't thinking.” the weight of their words hangs heavily in the air, and you feel a pang of sadness at their regret. “but you did hurt me,” you reply softly, your voice carrying a trace of vulnerability.

they both flinch at your words, their expressions flickering with guilt and remorse. gojo lets out a heavy sigh, his hands clenching into fists.

“we know,” he mutters, his voice almost a whisper. geto steps closer, his eyes filled with a mix of hurt and understanding. “we were idiots,” he says, his voice filled with remorse, “we didn't realize how much we were hurting you until you started spending less time with us.”

you take a deep breath as you stand to leave, the unspoken emotions and unresolved tension still linger between you. “i need to go. ijichi is waiting for me,” you say, the words firm but carrying an undertone of sadness.

you pause at the door, looking back at them. “we can talk when i get home,” you add, offering a faint, weary smile before stepping out. the door closes behind you, leaving them with the weight of your words and the promise of a future conversation.

they both watch you leave, their expressions a mixture of guilt, sorrow and a hint of hope. gojo's shoulders slump as you close the door behind you, while geto lets out a sigh, his eyes still fixed on the empty space where you were just a moment ago.

the apartment feels strangely quiet without you, the weight of the conversation still lingering in the air. they both know they have a lot to make up for, but for now, they wait, anxiously anticipating your return.

a week has passed, and the tension has only built as they waited for your return. when you finally come home, the sight that greets you in the living room is striking. geto and gojo are there, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and desperation. they look worn, their usual composure replaced by a sense of helplessness, as though the time apart has taken a visible toll on them.

they both rise as you enter, their eyes searching your face, a mix of hope and apprehension in their gazes. it’s clear they’ve been counting the days, each passing moment stretching into a painful reminder of their mistakes and your absence.

“hey,” you greet them with a small, tentative smile.

the room is thick with unspoken words and emotions. geto and gojo exchange a glance, their expressions softening slightly at your presence. they both take in your appearance, their eyes roving over you as if checking for any sign of injury from your recent mission. their shoulders relax somewhat, relieved that you're relatively unharmed.

gojo is the first to speak, his voice low and hoarse, as if he hasn't used it much these past few days. “you're back,” he murmurs, his eyes fixed on yours. geto stands behind him, his arms crossed as if holding back his own mixture of relief and anxiety. “how was the mission?” he asks, his voice a soft counterpoint to the tense silence.

you nod, your smile fading slightly as you respond. “the mission went well,” you say, your voice calm but carrying a hint of fatigue. geto uncrosses his arms, his posture relaxing a bit, while gojo’s shoulders seem to ease from their tightness. the tension in the room begins to shift, making way for the conversation and reconciliation that have been waiting for this moment.

you nod in response, your heart feeling the weight of the moment. “yeah, we can talk,” you say, but the words feel inadequate for what you’re really craving. “but could you hug me? i feel like i’m going to lose my mind if i don’t get a hug from you right now.”

gojo doesn't need to be told twice. he immediately steps forward, wrapping his arms around you in a tight grip, pulling you into his chest, his embrace so strong it almost lifts you off the ground. he buries his face in your hair, his breath shaky against your skin. “god, i missed you so much,” he murmurs, the words muffled against you.

geto hesitates for a moment, watching gojo's embrace. the sight of it makes his chest ache, a pang of jealousy mixed with guilt. but then, as if unable to resist, he steps closer, his arms wrapping around you from behind, his front pressed against your back. his embrace is gentler than gojo's, but no less heartfelt. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

you let out a deep sigh of relief as they wrap their arms around you. the warmth and closeness of their embrace offer a sense of comfort that you've been missing. the tension that’s built up over the past week starts to dissolve, replaced by the soothing reassurance of their presence. in this moment, the words and explanations can wait as you simply allow yourself to be held and to feel that things might start to mend.

they both hold you tight, their arms firm against you. their hold is almost possessive, as if they're afraid you're going to slip away. they don't say anything, their only response a mix of soft breathing and the occasional whispered murmur of your name.

after a few moments, gojo pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you. his blue eyes roam over your face, taking in every detail as if he hadn't seen you in years. his voice is hoarse when he speaks, filled with a mixture of remorse and vulnerability. “can we sit?” you nod, a small but weary smile crossing your face. “yeah, let’s sit,” you agree, feeling the weight of the past week begin to lift just a little as you prepare to talk and hopefully begin to heal together.

they both guide you to the couch, with gojo sitting beside you while geto takes the armchair across from the two of you. as you settle into the cushions, their eyes follow your every move, as if afraid you might disappear again at any moment.

the room is silent for a moment, the only sound coming from the gentle ticking of the clock on the wall. gojo seems a bit unsure where to start, his eyes flickering between you and geto. geto takes the initiative, his eyes staying fixed on you. “we owe you an explanation,” he says, his voice soft but filled with regret. “we understand why you’re angry at us, and we’re sorry.”

gojo fidgets beside you, his gaze dropping briefly to his hands in his lap before he forces himself to look at you again. “we were caught up in some things,” he says, his voice low and almost ashamed. “and we shouldn’t have shut you out like we did.”

geto nods, his eyes never leaving your face. “we were idiots, plain and simple,” he admits, his voice filled with remorse. “we didn’t realize how much we were hurting you until you started distancing yourself from us. seeing you leave, not knowing if you were okay or not, it was one of the worst things we’ve ever experienced.”

you listen quietly, your fingers absently playing with the hem of your skirt. their words, while sincere, do little to erase the hurt you still feel from the past week. the pain lingers, a reminder of the distance and isolation you felt.

they both notice your distant expression, the silence in the room growing heavier. gojo’s hand clenches into a fist by his side, his eyes pained as he watches you fiddle with your skirt. geto’s eyes flicker to gojo for a moment before refocusing on you. he seems to struggle for words, his expression filled with regret. “can you look at us?” he says softly, his voice carrying a hint of pleading.

you slowly lift your gaze, meeting their eyes. the hurt is still there, but you try to convey a sense of willingness to listen and understand. “i’m here,” you say quietly, your voice steady despite the lingering pain. “i’m listening.”

gojo's hand reaches out, almost involuntarily, to take yours, his fingers intertwining with yours, as if seeking some physical connection to ground him. his grip is gentle but firm, a plea for forgiveness and understanding in his touch.

geto's eyes flicker between your faces, his expression taut. “we’ve been careless,” he says, his voice thick with remorse. “we’ve been too lost in other things and we didn’t pay enough attention to you. and that was wrong of us.”

as geto speaks, his remorse is evident in his voice, you take a deep breath. “you’ve been ignoring me for weeks,” you say, your voice steady but tinged with the hurt you've been holding onto. “it wasn’t just about not paying enough attention. it felt like you didn’t care at all, and that really hurt.”

they both flinch at your words, their expressions crumpling with guilt. gojo’s grip on your hand tightens, his eyes dark with remorse, while geto nods slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor before meeting yours again.

“we didn’t mean to make you feel like we didn’t care,” geto says softly, his voice filled with regret. “we were just…” he trails off, struggling to articulate the weight of their actions.

gojo steps in, his voice strained. “we were dealing with some stuff, and we didn’t handle it well. there were ongoing issues with the higher-ups, never-ending missions, and the stress of yuuta and yuji’s executions. the pressure from the school and everything else just piled up, and we let it affect how we treated you.”

the added context helps to explain their actions, but it doesn’t completely erase the pain. the burden of their responsibilities and the way they’ve neglected you come into clearer focus, but the healing process will take time and effort from all sides.

you take a deep breath, your voice steady despite the lingering hurt. “i know you were dealing with a lot,” you say quietly. “i’m dealing with the same stuff—higher-ups, never-ending missions, everything that comes with it. but that doesn’t mean it was okay for you to shut me out.”

you squeeze gojo's hand gently, the firmness of your grip reflecting your resolve. “i understand that you were overwhelmed, but it didn’t excuse how you treated me. i needed you, and instead, i felt abandoned.” the words hang in the air, leaving room for reflection and a path towards healing.

they both hang their heads, their expressions marked by remorse. gojo's grip on your hand tightens, as if begging you to understand. geto’s eyes avoid yours, his guilt palpable. they both know you’re right, their previous justifications sounding hollow now.

gojo sighs heavily, his voice soft but firm. “we know we screwed up,” he says, his eyes meeting yours again. “and we're sorry. we truly are. we shouldn't have let our issues affect how we treated you. you deserve better than what we've given you.”

you take a deep breath, your voice trembling as you begin to speak. “i tried to take fewer missions because i know you both were worried. i wanted to be around more, to show you that I care. but every night... every night, when i’m in bed between you two, you turn your backs on me.”

your tears start to blur your vision, and you struggle to keep your composure. “no matter which side i turn, all i see is your backs. it felt like you were shutting me out, like I was invisible to you. i feel like i have nowhere to go, and feel more alone.”

the emotion in your voice is raw, and the tears that spill down your cheeks only deepen the weight of what you’re expressing. the room fills with the sound of your quiet sobs, adding a poignant layer to the shared moment of vulnerability.

their eyes widen as you continue, their expressions turning pained as you lay bare the depths of your hurt. gojo's grip on your hand turns almost crushing as he listens to your words, his heart clenching as he hears the anguish in your voice.

geto's face is pale, his throat bobbing as he swallows, the sight of your tears a physical manifestation of the pain they've caused. gojo's voice is rough, his eyes fixed on yours. “we didn’t think you felt that way,” he says, his voice hoarse. “we’re sorry. we were idiots.”

gojo’s other hand reaches up, cupping your cheek gently, his thumb wiping away some of your tears. “please don’t cry,” he mumbles, his voice cracking as he watches you cry. geto sits up straighter, his eyes fixed on your tear-stained face. “we’ll fix this,” he promises, his voice filled with resolve.

gojo nods, his eyes soft as they roam over your face. “please, just let us make it up to you,” he says quietly, his hand still holding your cheek.

you take a shuddering breath, your voice wavering but firm. “you know how it was at home before i came to jujutsu high. i was always walking on eggshells every day. i don’t want to feel that way with you two. i love you both so much, and it hurts to feel like i’m just an afterthought.” the weight of your words hangs in the air, a poignant reminder of your vulnerability and the deep emotional connection you share.

you look at them with a mix of sadness and fear, your voice trembling. “and i feel so scared because i’ve started to think that maybe I should leave. i don’t want to, but the way things have been... it makes me wonder if staying is just going to hurt more.” the admission is heavy, your fear of leaving mingling with the pain of feeling disconnected. It’s a vulnerable moment, revealing the depth of your uncertainty and the impact their actions have had on you.

their eyes widen at your words, their expressions changing from guilt to fear. gojo’s hand tightens on your cheek, his eyes turning desperate, while geto’s hands clench into fists in his lap. gojo’s voice is strained, his eyes searching yours. “please don’t talk like that,” he murmurs, his tone pleading. “please don’t even think about leaving.”

geto scoots to the edge of the armchair, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and desperation. “you don’t have to go. we can fix this, just stay.”

they know, from the moment you first got met each other and you told them they were going to go down in history as the world’s biggest idiots instead of swoon over them, that you’re not the type of person to be a pushover. they’ve always admired how you refuse to let anyone disrespect you or treat you as less than you deserve. from the beginning, they understood that once someone starts treating you badly, you’re ready to leave—no matter how much you love them—because your self-respect has always been paramount.

and now, as you stand before them, telling them that if leaving is what it takes to keep yourself at peace, you’ll take that chance and face the consequences, they can feel the weight of that truth. their admiration for your strength has always been part of what they love about you, but now that very strength threatens to take you away from them.

the fear in their eyes deepens, a reflection of the realization that they’ve pushed you to the edge, and they know you won’t hesitate to step away if it means preserving your sense of self-worth.

they sit in stunned silence for a few moments, the weight of your words sinking in. they know you well enough to know that when you say you'll leave, you'll follow through. the thought of losing you, of losing what they have, is too painful to bear.

geto breaks the silence first, his voice soft but filled with an edge of desperation. “you don’t have to leave. we can fix this.” gojo nods frantically, his hand on your cheek holding you more firmly now. “please, don’t talk about leaving,” he murmurs, his eyes pleading.

you take a deep breath, feeling the tension in the room as they hold onto you, their desperation clear. “i did think about leaving,” you admit, your voice is soft but steady. “but it was just for a second because i can’t bear the thought of living without you two. i love you both too much, and that’s why i’m here, willing to talk.”

their grip on you tightens slightly, a mix of relief and guilt washing over their faces. geto’s shoulders relax a little, and gojo’s eyes soften as he hears your words. “i don’t want to lose you,” you continue, “but i need to know that things are going to change. i need to feel like i matter to you as much as you matter to me.”

they both nod slowly, understanding the seriousness of the situation. their hands remain firmly on you, desperate to maintain whatever connection they still have with you.

gojo’s eyes are filled with remorse, his voice soft. “you matter to us,” he says quietly, “so much more than you ever realize. we’ve been idiots. we took you for granted, and we didn’t give you the attention and care you deserve. that ends now.”

geto nods, his expression taut. “we’ll do better,” he says firmly, his voice filled with determination.

they both hold onto you tightly, as if trying to convey the depth of their feelings through touch alone. gojo’s eyes are fixed on yours, his expression filled with remorse. “we’ve been so focused on our own problems that we neglected you,” he mutters, his voice soft. “that won’t happen again. we swear it.”

geto nods in agreement, his hand reaching out to hold your other cheek softly. “we were stupid,” he says bluntly. “we didn’t realize how much we were hurting you until you were almost gone.”

you intertwine your hands with theirs, holding onto them firmly as you look into their eyes. “i’m not going to apologize for how i acted this past week,” you say, your voice calm but resolute. “i was just trying to give you a taste of your own medicine, to make you feel the effects of your actions. but that doesn’t change the fact that i love you both so much.”

they both nod, their eyes dropping to your intertwined hands. they know you're right, that you don't owe them any apologies. they have hurt you, and they know it's up to them to make amends.

gojo speaks first, his voice soft but firm. “we don’t expect you to apologize,” he says, his thumb lightly caressing your cheek. “we deserve what we got. you had every right to react the way you did.”

geto nods in agreement, his hand squeezing yours gently. “we were selfish, careless,” he murmurs. “we’re sorry.” you smile softly at them, feeling the weight of their remorse in the way they hold onto you. “i don’t mind you prioritizing your work,” you say gently, your fingers tightening around theirs. “you’re the strongest jujutsu sorcerers, and people rely on you. it’s your responsibility, and i understand that. i just don’t want you to turn your backs on me again.”

their expressions reflect the truth of your words. they know the demands of their profession, and they know they'll always be expected to prioritize their work. but they also know they messed up by neglecting you in the process.

gojo’s eyes stay fixed on yours, his voice low. “we won’t let that happen again,” he promises, his hand gently squeezing your cheek. “we’re going to find a way to balance our responsibilities and give you the attention you deserve.”

you lean your side against gojo's chest, feeling the warmth and strength of his body. with your hands still intertwined with theirs on your lap, you look up at them, your voice gentle but firm. “please, just talk to me when you’re feeling down or overwhelmed or anything,” you ask, your eyes searching theirs for understanding. “i’m here for you, and i want to help. but i can’t if you shut me out.”

gojo wraps his arm around you as you lean against him, his eyes softening as he listens to your words. geto nods in agreement, his grip on your hand gentle but firm.

gojo’s voice is soft, filled with a hint of guilt. “we know,” he says quietly. “we were wrong to shut you out. we promise we’ll communicate better from now on.” geto’s expression is taut but sincere. “we’ll talk to you when we’re struggling, and we’ll make sure you’re still a priority.”

you smile softly at them, a sense of relief washing over you as you feel the sincerity in their words. “thank you,” you say, your voice filled with gratitude. “thank you for trying to sort things out instead of just letting it be.”

they both look at you, their eyes filled with a mix of guilt and love. gojo’s arm tightens around you, holding you closer to him, while geto's hand gently caresses your hand in his. gojo nods, his expression firm. “you’re too important to us to let things fall apart like this.”

geto's voice is soft but determined. “we’ll do whatever it takes to make it right again.”

they sit with you in a comfortable silence for a few moments, the air filled with a mixture of relief and unspoken emotions. gojo's hold on you remains firm, his broad chest firm and warm against your side, while geto's hand gently intertwines your fingers with his.

finally, gojo speaks, his voice soft. “can you promise us something?”

you hum softly in response, your curiosity piqued by gojo’s gentle tone. you glance up at him, waiting for what he has to say, still feeling the warmth of their touch grounding you.

gojo's eyes meet yours, his gaze unusually serious. “promise us that you won’t shut us out either,” he says quietly. geto nods in agreement, his hand squeezing yours gently. “we want to know when you’re not okay,” he adds, his voice firm but gentle. “we don’t want a repeat of this week. we don’t want you to feel like you have nowhere to go.”

you nod softly, feeling the sincerity in their words. “okay,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. the promise settles between you all, a silent understanding that things will be different moving forward. the weight of the past week begins to lift, replaced by a sense of renewed connection.

they both nod at your response, a visible relief washed over them. gojo's grip on you tightens again, his arm holding you even closer to him, while geto's hand gently caresses your fingers in his.

they both watch you for a few moments, their gazes filled with a mixture of love and newfound determination. they can feel the shift in the air between you, and finally, gojo speaks again, his voice quiet.

“can we ask you something?”

gojo smiles faintly, the sight of your smile melting away some of the tension in his own face. he glances at geto, who nods slightly, before returning his attention to you. “can we sleep with you tonight?” he asks, his voice soft and sincere. “we miss you.”

you playfully roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “of course,” you say softly, “i miss you too.”

they both exhale a sigh of relief, their expressions relaxing instantly. gojo’s arm squeezes you again, his body pressing against you firmly. geto’s grip on your fingers tightens slightly as his eyes linger on your face.

gojo’s voice is low, the relief clear in every syllable. “thank god,” he mutters, his voice heavy but filled with something soft and sincere.

geto nods slightly, his eyes meeting gojo’s for a moment before he turns his gaze back to you. “we missed holding you,” he says quietly, his voice equally as sincere. you look at geto, noticing the lingering guilt in his eyes. geto’s gaze meets yours, his eyes reflecting the lingering guilt. “come here,” you say softly. when you tell him to come closer, he moves to kneel between your legs, his expression still marked by regret.

as you slip his long hair behind his ear, your touch is gentle and reassuring. “you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” you say softly, your voice filled with understanding. “i know you care deeply, and that’s why this hurts. but you’re not alone in this.”

geto's shoulders slump at your words, the weight of his guilt visibly lessening. his eyes stay fixed on yours, the regret in them slowly being replaced by a soft vulnerability.

he leans into your touch, his head tilting slightly involuntarily at the touch of your fingers to his hair. “i know,” he mutters, his voice still heavy with guilt. “i just wish i hadn't let it get this bad.” geto’s voice is soft, the regret and guilt audible in it. “i just… i just can’t forgive myself for causing you pain,” he murmurs, his voice strained.

you give him a reassuring smile, your voice gentle. “i’m not in pain anymore, so you can stop feeling guilty,” you say softly. “we’ve talked things out, and we’re moving forward. it’s okay to let go of that guilt now. we’re okay.”

geto’s eyes search yours, the guilt still visible but diminishing by the second. he nods slowly, his expression taut but hopeful. he speaks softly, his voice still laced slightly with regret. “i know. but i just… it’s hard to shake this feeling, you know? it’s like a knot in my chest that won’t loosen.”

you lean down and gently kiss his chest, then move to his neck and jaw, your touch tender and soothing. each kiss is a silent reassurance, conveying that you're okay now and that you're not mad at him anymore. your actions are meant to comfort and ease the lingering regret he feels, showing him through your touch that things are healing.

his breath hitches at the feel of your lips on his chest, his body tensing for a brief moment before melting into your touch. each press of your lips sends waves of comfort through him, the knot in his chest loosening with every gentle kiss.

he wraps his arms around your back, pulling you closer, his grip tight and unyielding. when your lips reach his jaw, he tilts his head to give you better access, his eyes fluttering shut. you pull away slightly, your hands still resting gently on his shoulders. you look into his eyes with a soft, reassuring gaze. “don’t feel guilty anymore,” you say gently. “we’re okay. let go of that weight you’re carrying. we’re moving forward together.”

his eyes open slowly, meeting yours. the guilt in his eyes has lessened even more, replaced by a deep vulnerability and newfound trust. he nods slowly, his hands gently pulling you even closer to him.

he leans his forehead against yours, his voice soft and sincere. “i’m trying, i promise,” he murmurs. “i’m trying to let it go. it’s just… it’s just hard, sometimes.”

“shut up, stop it,” you softly murmur. you gently move your hands from his shoulders to his neck, guiding him closer. “come here,” you whisper softly, pulling him towards you until your lips touch his.

he smiles faintly at your soft command, his body willingly moved closer to yours. he doesn’t protest when you gently pull him closer, his eyes closing instinctively as your lips meet his.

the kiss starts slow and hesitant, his body tense against yours as if he’s expecting you to pull away at any second. but gradually, his lips soften, the tension in his body melting away as he surrenders to the tender connection. as geto continues to lean towards you, your back gently presses against gojo’s firm chest. gojo's arms instinctively wrap around you from behind, his presence a comforting anchor as you and geto share a tender kiss. the closeness between all three of you creates a cocoon of warmth and reassurance.

[suuuupernovaaa]

Treat | Hobie Brown x f!Reader

Your innocent image is shattered when Hobie finds your hidden piercing.

Art credit.

Requested by @friedturtlewhispers. Essentially this, with a different piercing.

Mature. Smut. 18+.

The show hasn't been over for two minutes yet when I feel two strong hands on my waist, gripping tight and pulling me backwards. I nearly spill my drink on the already sticky floor of this underground bar as Hobie spins me around, and brings his lips crashing down on to mine.

"Oh!" I let out a muffled gasp of surprise, and feel Hobie's lips turn up into a smile as they still rest against mine. He pulls away, and takes my drink out of my hand. He brings it to his nose, and takes a sniff. "Gin?" He wrinkles his nose, and I open my mouth to defend my choice, but he's already downed it in one gulp.

"Let's get out of here," he says, grabbing my hand and pulling.

"Oh, okay - bye!" I say over my shoulder to the guy I was talking to at the bar - a big fan of the band, who stands with his jaw agape. I find it awkward to mention that I'm sort of, semi, casually but not really casually, dating a band member. It feels like bragging, probably because I'm so proud of it.

We're outside in the cool night air before I know it, and there's a ringing in my ears from the show.

"Did you like it?" Hobie asks as we turn right, heading towards my apartment.

"I always like it," I reply, squeezing his hand. "Why did we leave so fast?"

He leans over, smirking down at me. "I want to be alone with you."

--

As I flop back onto the couch, I hand Hobie the beer he requested. He takes it, and immediately leans forward, setting it on the coffee table. before even taking a drink.

Unable to help myself, I pick it up and place it on the coaster that was only inches away.

Hobie rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. "You can't spend your whole life cleaning up after me."

I shrug. "Sure I can."

He bumps his shoulder into mine, and I lean back into him. Even though I enjoy spending the weekends out with Hobie, lingering in the bars after his shows until the wee hours, it feels so much more my speed to be back home before midnight, relaxed on the couch, just the two of us.

"This is nice," I say with a contented sigh. Hobie's feet are up on the coffee table, and my legs are crossed, one of my knees resting in his lap. He runs his fingers over my bare leg, starting on my shin and up over my knee. The lights are off, and the dull light of a horror film is the only thing lighting the room. I don't really like scary movies, but Hobie enjoys them as background noise.

I lay my head on his shoulder as his hand moves further up, brushing against the fabric of my skirt, and pausing for a moment as if to ask for permission.

We've been seeing each other for a while, enjoying each other's company and getting to know each other, but physically, it hasn't gone all that far. It almost has, a few times, but Hobie's always had some emergency to attend to.

I feel a little foolish... but I'd almost like to be able to call him my boyfriend before we go any further. I know we're adults, but the label means something to me, anyway.

When I don't protest, his fingers snake up under my skirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake. My breathing is coming more rapidly now, my heart pounding, and his fingers are almost at my panties now. I'm stiff as a board, tense, waiting for his next move.

"Before we... can I ask you something?" I say.

"Anything, love," he replies, but doesn't move his hand. He's tracing soft circles on my inner thigh, and it's hard to gather my thoughts. I remove my head from his shoulder so I can look at him.

His eyes are dark, his lips parted just slightly, and when I glance down, I see the bulge in his pants. I feel an ache in my lower stomach, and wetness between my thighs.

"Are you, or like, am I your..." The words are going as fast as they're coming, and my mouth is dry.

"You're my girl. My only girl. I'm yours." His words are assertive, sure, and his gaze is locked steadily on mine.

I grab his shirt, pulling him to me for a desperate kiss, so elated with his words and so beyond ready for him to do absolutely anything he wants to me.

Leaning back to lay on the couch, I pull him so that he's on top of me, he settles between my legs while his tongue explores my mouth.

His hand finds its way up my thigh again, and runs underneath the waistband of my underwear. His thumb dips down and brushes softly over my clit, and I gasp.

So does he.

"What's that?" he asks, and a blush settles over my cheeks. He sits up just a little, so he can look me in the eyes. "Is that a... piercing?"

I purse my lips a little and nod. "Yes."

"Fuck me, Y/N." He brings his mouth back to mine with twice the fervor of before, and pulls my panties to the side as he does, running two warm fingers over my clit, down to my entrance, and back. "I can't believe... you have that pierced. Oh, fuck, I'm so hard," he moans into my mouth, and I arch my back off the couch as he uses his fingers to trace circles around my piercing.

"Oh, Hobie," I moan, grasping his back. He sits up suddenly, removing his hand from me, and I collapse back onto the couch in a huff.

He takes his vest and shirt off, and then pulls my panties and skirt down over my legs. There isn't a moment to breath before his face is between my legs, and he takes my clit into his mouth, sucking and biting gently, then dragging his tongue down to my entrance to gather the wetness that is quickly forming there.

"Hobie!" I gasp, holding his shoulders tightly. He doesn't let up. He brings up two fingers, teasing at my entrance as he takes my clit back into his mouth, and pushes them gently inside me. "Oh, God," I moan, pressing down onto his fingers as they fuck me.

He's making the most delicious noises, humming and grunting and moaning as he works, showing me no mercy. I feel absolutely desperate with need, and every time he thrusts his fingers in, I grind down on them.

"Oh, god, oh, shit," I gasp as he brings me closer and closer to the edge. He rolls the piercing around his mouth with expert precision, working delicately and then biting down, keeping me always guessing, driving me to ecstasy.

He pulls away just for a moment to look up at me. "Cum for me," he demands, and when he brings his lips back to my swollen mound, I explode. I scream his name as I do, unashamedly loud in my orgasm, and he continues his assault, giving me wave after wave of pleasure, until I am absolutely exhausted.

He brings his head up to mine, and grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him.

"What the fuck, Y/N?" he says with a teasing smile, and kisses me firmly. "That's a hell of a surprise."

I grin shyly back at him. "That's the point."

"You're so... innocent. Your ears aren't even pierced! You almost never swear. You go to church, for christ sake!"

I roll my eyes. "Only on holidays with my parents."

"Still," he replies with a laugh. "What a fuckin' treat."

[phant0mth1ef]

i kissed the scars on her skin, i still think you’re beautiful.

-

can be read as part 3 to this boy’s too young to be singing the blues, or as a standalone :3!

-

empty. your hospital room was empty. void of all life. the sheets were as if nobody had slept there in years, the window shades were put back to their normal, idle position, and all the decorations that class a had put up for you were now gone.

but he was still directed to the room where you were supposed to reside. he stood at the doorway, his jaw open as he stared inside, trying to look for any signs of life. because why else would they send him here if you weren’t there? you were still alive. right?

he was worried, to say the least, until he heard quiet muffled sounds coming from behind him, you were standing, your iv was right next to you as you looked up at the boy with half-lidded eyes.

“hi katsuki.” you yawned.

“you spent all that time asleep and you’re still tired?!” there was the snarkiness and attitude you knew and loved.

“exhausted really. come in.” you motioned for the boy to follow you as you made your way to your bed, sitting down and patting the space next to you.

“why’s it look like a grey’s anatomy scene in here?” he was always so blunt, even if you were currently in the worst shape possible.

“didn’t wanna get too comfortable. i don’t plan on living in here any longer than i have to.” something was off. you didn’t have that stupid happy go lucky smile on your face.

“my quirk. they took my quirk.” you looked down as the tears welled in your eyes, trying to smile but it was quickly broken.

you never knew what to do with your hands, so you just played with your fingers whenever you were scared.

“that’s what you’re so upset about?! you almost died.” even when you’re feeling down he still manages to scold you.

“i know but,” you sniffled.

“i just-. i really wanted to become a hero with you katsuki.” the boy was never one for emotions, choosing to hide them rather than showcase them.

but in that moment, he slowly felt his hard exterior crumbling as he swore his heart begun to break, you had meant every word you said to him, your tears were real tears.

“tch. you’re real dense, ya know that?! you’re already a hero dumbass. you fought in that stupid war. you earned the right to be called a hero.” he looked away from you, not meeting your eyes because he refused to let you know he was crying.

until you heard him sniffle, and you pretended not to laugh even though your own eyes were filled to the brim with tears.

“you cryin’ katsuki?” a laugh had slipped out as he angrily snapped his head back to face you.

“hah?! no! it’s just stuffy in here.” it was hard to watch him pretending to be tough while he had a tear falling from his eye.

“s’okay to cry, y’know.” you leaned your head on his shoulder, and he turned at your sudden action.

then proceeded to put his head on your head, making mitsuki nearly jump at her son’s sudden actions, and yet she was quick enough to grab her camera, quickly snapping a photo.

the same photo that bakugou had looked back on after eri had successfully rewinded your body to the time when your quirk was still a part of you.

the same photo that was on display at your wedding, along with about a gazillion childhood pictures of you both, you both had been in the background of many pictures despite never knowing each other, it was as if an invisible string had tied your souls together.

and sure enough, the photo was hung in your shared home, along with another picture of you both as pro heroes, your children walking by it every day on their way to school.

[joonsmagicshop]

Stress Relief Series Part 5- MYG

 Summary: A couple weeks ago Taehyung asked a favor. For you to have sex with his bandmates to relieve some tension and stress. How can you say no to that.

Paring: Yoongi/Reader (Namjoon, Jin and Taehyung are mentioned)

Rating: M/18+

Word Count: 5k

Tags: smut, fingering, eating pussy, soft Yoongi, dom Yoongi, hand jobs, cum eating, dirty talk.

Authors Note: My sweet Yoongi.

In case you missed it

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Yoongi knew he should have changed the code on his door ages ago.

Maybe he would actually get work done if he did.

His fingers danced across the keyboard as he pulled his headphones tighter against his ears to block out the sound of his bandmates talking.

His shoulders were starting to hurt from being so slouched over a computer desk his eyes were dry and his patience was thin

So very thin.

Yoongi knew what his strengths were, making music was one of them but lately he felt as if he had just hit a wall and could not break through it. He was stuck, musically constipated as Hobi said, which caused everyone to break out into giggles and Yoongi to shoot Hobi a very lewd gesture causing everyone to burst into laughs again

Yoongi closed his eyes for a moment and tried his best to get in a happy calm mindset but he could still hear Taehyung and Namjoon teasing each other in the background and Jin munching away on something.

Yoongi had enough and he ripped his headphones and turned the chair around.

“Alright everyone out! You all are annoying and I can’t concentrate. I’m changing the passcode tomorrow so out. Now.” He demands as Namjoon and Tae stare at him in shock and Jin just kept eating.

“We aren’t even doing anything! You had your headphones in the whole time!” Tae argues as he shoots Yoongi his signature pout which usually works, but not today.

“I could still hear you and Namjoon chatting. Out! Seriously I can’t concentrate. And Jin stop eating and getting crumbs everywhere. Honestly” Yoongi grumbles as he crosses his arms and stares them all down.

“Yoongi you spend all your time here we feel like we haven’t seen you except at dance practice. We wanted to hang out with you.” Namjoon says standing up and coming to sit in the chair next to Yoongi, concern written all over his face.

Yoongi let out a sigh, he didn’t mean to make Namjoon concerned, he had enough to worry about as their leader.

“Yeah, Yoongi I just wanted to hang out with my favorite Hyung.” Tae pouts as Yoongi shoots him a small smile.

“Rude!” Jin calls out kicking Taehyung’s shin and Namjoon puts a hand over his heart fake offended.

“Laying it on thick to stay. Nice try but no. Out all of you.” Yoongi says as Taehyung and Jin grumble but gather their things.

“I’ll stay and help you with the song,” Namjoon responds as he grabs the spare headphones out of the desk drawer and scoots closer.

“Thank you Namjoon. Finally some help.” Yoongi complains as the other two roll their eyes.

“Wow, Yoongi you seem stressed…” Taehyung starts with a smirk and Yoongi knows where he is going with this.

He hasn’t forgotten the proposition Taehyung made to them a month and a half prior. He had just been so busy he hadn’t thought about it.

Well okay, he has thought about it but it’s usually after a long studio session or dance session very late at night when it would be rude to call upon a stranger, so Yoongi would let his hand wrap around his cock and imagine it was someone else. Those were the nights he slept the best.

“Yeah, Yoongi you might want to do something about that. If only there was someone to help.” Jin teased as they both refused to leave standing by the door with matching smirks.

“Did I not tell you to get out?” Yoongi shoots back as he stares them down giving them death glares.

“Okay, guys enough. We are all stressed out let’s not make it worse.” Namjoon says diplomatically as Yoongi feels his shoulders slump again.

“You don’t have to be you know. I gave you a way out…an option.” Taehyung reminds them with a wave of his cell phone which has Jin cracking up beside him.

“Enough. Out.” Yoongi demands as he points to the door.

Taehyung giggles and opens the door to leave but Jin doesn’t leave just yet, his hand hovering on the door as he adjusts his bag on his shoulder.

“Ah, Namjoon I forgot to thank you for going to that exhibit and ditching me for dinner. I had a fantastic night. You really missed out".” He says teasingly with a wink as Namjoon’s eyes go wide.

Taeyhung is hunched over in the hallway cackling like a maniac and Yoongi is very close to standing up and slamming the door in their faces.

“Jin…seriously,” Namjoon whines with disapproval in his voice.

When Taehyung first brought the idea forward it was obvious that Namjoon disapproved. He reminded them they were idols and they needed to be careful and this was a huge risk. Taehyung reminded them he had been with Y/N for months and nothing had happened and his career was still intact, leaving it open for each of them to decide individually.

It seems not everyone shared Namjoon’s worry.

“And just so you know, my face is still handsome when I’m fucking someone against a mirror.” Jin finishes with a satisfied smirk as Yoongi finally has enough and stands up to slam the door in his so-called handsome face.

Taehyung and Jin run down the hallway cacking like hyenas before Yoongi can catch them and when he does slam the door it’s not as satisfying.

He runs a hand down his tired face and marches back to his computer where Namjoon is still seated in shock.

“You okay?” Yoongi asks as he fiddles around to pull up the song he had been stuck on for the past couple of days, sincerely hoping Namjoon could help him or he might scrap the whole thing out of frustration.

“Yeah, I just… they went against my warning? The maknaes I understand... they are horny little monsters but Jin? He is the oldest and supposed to be responsible? What if something happens?” Namjoon frets.

“I’m sure it will be okay. Taehyung said he has been with Y/N for a while and nothing has happened. I mean Jin was the one to point her out to him in the first place…responsible my ass. Either way, it already has happened and time machines don’t exist. We have enough to worry about with this tour.” Yoongi points out as Namjoon fiddles in his seat.

“I’m calling a meeting,” Namjoon says pulling out his phone.

Yoongi stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Namjoon no. What’s a meeting going to do anyway? You tell them not to they are going to want to do it more. We should just leave it.” Yoongi says as Namjoon grumbles and puts his phone in his pocket.

“Let’s just focus on the song okay? Please? Or do I have to kick you out too?” Yoongi half jokes as he grabs his discarded headphones.

“Sorry, Hyung just…stressed out,” Namjoon admits as Yoongi nods and puts the headphones over his messy hair as they both get to work.

The thing about someone warning you not to do something…

It really does make you want to do it more.

This was one of those times Yoongi hated being right.

He and Namjoon worked on the song for a total of two hours and Namjoon did help him get over his creative block.

It was a good studio session and Yoongi was grateful for his friend.

However, Namjoon had plans with some friends at his house, and even though he offered an invite to Yoongi multiple times Yoongi declined.

He wanted to stay and work on the music some more despite Namjoon telling him he needed rest and to eat something.

“I’m going to text you every hour Yoongi and if you are not out of this studio by eleven I’m dragging you out,” Namjoon warns as he throws his helmet over his head and waves as he leaves.

The problem is that Yoongi had all these ideas when Namjoon was around. He felt the creative juices flowing.

Now that Namjoon is gone and he is alone everything feels wrong.

His sweater is too hot, his hair tickles his face, his eyes burn from staring at a screen for too long, his shoulders hurt, he feels itchy and irritable and he is hard, so painfully hard in his track pants it’s annoying him further.

“Namjoon no. What’s a meeting going to do anyway? You tell them not to they are going to want to do it more.”

Yoongi hates being right.

But since Jin mentioned it Yoongi has not been able to stop thinking about it. It had been ages since he had something to satisfy him other than his right hand and the thought was tempting. How amazing it would feel to slide into a tight wet pussy, how good it would feel to have someone moaning his name, taking his cock, taking care of him.

He can hear Namjoon’s panic in the back of his mind. What if something does go wrong?

However, his skin is prickling with heat and his stomach is swooping with need and just at the thought of fucking someone his cock is twitching and leaking in his track pants making his skin itch some more.

Maybe Taehyung was onto something after all.

Fuck it.

Yoongi grabs his phone from his desk with one hand and palms the head of his cock with the other. He wants to relieve at least some tension so he doesn’t blow his load the second he gets to you.

With his free hand, he types out a message.

And lucky for him it doesn’t take long for you to respond.

By the time you hear the knocking on the door, you have just gotten the food all laid on the table.

You smirk to yourself as you smooth down your shirt and open the door to see Min Yoongi standing there.

He shoots you a shy timid smile as you lead him in and right to the kitchen.

His eyes widen and you try not to laugh.

“What’s all this?” He asks blinking slowly as he takes in the dimmed lights and the takeout containers.

“Y/N you didn’t have to do this.” He says softly as you pour him a glass of water and gesture for him to sit down at the table.

“I didn’t do this. Taehyung did. Well I mean… he texted me and gave me the heads up you might reach out. When I told him you did he ordered all this food for us and said you were stuck in the studio today and probably didn’t eat. He got all your favorites… or at least that’s what he told me” You admit as you sit across from Yoongi and his eyes soften.

“He was being a menace today and I had to kick him and Jin out of my studio he really knows how to suck up,” Yoongi explains as you start to pile his plate high and he runs a hand through his hair.

“Yup, that sounds like Taehyung.” You tease as you give him his plate and work on making your own.

You pile on a little bit of everything and push your chair closer to Yoongi as you both eat.

Conversation flows freely and you find Yoongi very easy to talk to. He tells you a little bit about his day and asks you about yours.

The whole thing is very domestic for two people who just met twenty minutes ago.

Once dinner is finished you pack everything up and leave it in the fridge reminding yourself to make Yoongi take it home with him.

You turn around to see Yoongi who is sitting in the chair, arms crossed over his stomach and trying his best to keep his eyes open.

He just looks so exhausted.

“Come on Yoongi time for sleep.” You coo as his eyes slowly flutter open and a pink blush paints his cheeks.

“But- I didn’t come here just to eat and sleep, I wanna fuck you.” He says innocently as you bite back a smile and help him out of his chair.

He loops an arm around you and buries his face into your neck as you guide him to your bedroom and help him flop down on the bed.

“How about we sleep first, baby? You look two seconds away from passing out.” You say to him.

“I’m fine I promise.” He says pouting out his lower lip looking as cute as ever.

“Yoongi how about we take a little nap at least? You can’t keep your eyes open.” You push, and much to your surprise he doesn’t argue and instead climbs up the bed.

You giggle when he throws back the smallest corner of the comforter to slip under and once he gets himself situated he makes grabby hands towards you.

You throw back the covers and climb under so you are the little spoon and immediately Yoongi wraps his arms around you and pulls you flush to his body so your back is pushed up against his chest and his nose is pressed into your hair.

“Thank you Y/N. m’ sorry this probably isn’t what you expected. And I don’t usually cuddle with people I don’t know…m’ just so tired.” Yoongi admits in a small voice as you push yourself closer to him and rub your hands up and down his arms.

“Yoongi let me take care of you, you are clearly exhausted from working so hard Let’s both get some rest okay?” You say softly as you bring his hand up to kiss the back of it causing him to push himself closer to you.

You were unsure how long you had slept for, all you knew was Yoongi’s arms were wrapped tightly around you and his cock was hard and pressing into your backside.

You craned your neck to look out your window seeing the sky dark and littered with stars. You both must have slept for at least a couple of hours.

You put your head back on the pillow and were about to doze off again when Yoongi let out a breathy whimper against your back and ground his cock harder into your butt. His hands tightened around you and you could hear the soft pants and whines that were spilling from his mouth as you smiled.

His moans were getting more high-pitched as he ground harder into you and your hand came around to cup at his bulge but you stopped yourself.

You never went over rules or anything with Yoongi because after you ate you both fell into a food coma-type sleep.

You weren’t sure if it was okay to touch him and you didn’t want to do it without his permission.

The only thing you could do was wake him up and just as you were about to do so you felt something else against your backside.

A pulsing vibration from a phone which meant someone was calling him.

You shook his arm to wake him and looked over your shoulder to see his eyes blearily opening as his phone continued to vibrate against your hip.

“Mm, what time is it?” He asked voice husky with sleep which made your stomach swoop, his sleepy voice was so sexy.

“Yoongi your-” You said as he suddenly realized and his eyes nearly popped open as he shoved his hard cock away from your backside and started apologizing profusely.

“No not that! I think someone is calling you. Your phone!” You say as he sits up still slightly disoriented as the vibrating stops.

But just as it stops it starts again and Yoongi leans back to fish his phone from his pocket frowning when he sees the screen.

“Shit, it’s Namjoon.” He says shooting you a look.

“I can leave if you need some privacy.” You say already turning to get out of bed, but Yoongi stops you with a strong hand on your thigh as he stares you down.

“Stay. This will be quick.” He says taking the call and holding the phone up to his ear as you slip back under the blankets.

“Hello?” Yoongi says as you fiddle with the blanket and try to make yourself look busy. Even though Yoongi wanted you to stay you still felt like you were intruding on something you shouldn’t have

You can faintly hear Namjoons worried voice over the phone. How he tried to text Yoongi multiple times and got no response.

You are about to stand up and leave despite Yoongi’s wishes when his long fingers circle your wrist and you gasp and stare at him in shock when he brings it to his hard cock and raises an eyebrow at you.

“Are you sure?” You whisper not wanting to be picked up by Namjoon on the other line as he nods and you slowly start to apply pressure to his hard cock through the thin material of his track pants.

“Mhmm. I know Joon. Mhmm.” Yoongi drawls as Namjoon continues to talk and you continue to stroke his cock through his pants watching as his hips rut up into your hand and how his eyes are fluttering with every pass of your palm.

Without hesitation, you dip your fingers into his waistband and boxers and circle the base of his cock, a choked groan leaving his lips as you hear Namjoon stop his talking, and you eye Yoongi.

“Yeah I’m okay Namjoon, sorry I just woke up from a nap.” Yoongi admits as he mouths the word “move” to you.

You dance your fingers along his painfully hard shaft and when you reach the head of his cock you can feel him dripping all over your fingers.

You gather as much of it as you can before taking your hand out of his pants and holding your fingers up to his face so he can see for himself.

His eyes widen when you take your fingers and pop them in your mouth, licking and sucking at the juices.

“Namjoon listen I have to-go I gotta go,” Yoongi says as you can hear the muffled noises of Namjoon protesting on the other line.

“Yoongi where did you nap?” You can hear Namjoon ask as you place your hands on his shoulders and lean in, kissing at the exposed skin of his neck as he throws his head back and you hear a small thump from when it hits the headboard.

“Nam-J-oon I have to go-seriously,” Yoongi says voice cracking as you suck on his neck letting your tongue flick over his warm flesh.

“Min Yoongi you better not be doing what I think you're doing!” You hear Namjoon warn.

You lick a bold stripe up his neck from collarbone to earlobe as Yoongi hangs up on his friend and throws his phone across the room.

His hands are tight on your hips as you position yourself so you are straddling him, pushing your wet core into his throbbing cock as he grabs you and pulls you in for a bruising kiss.

His lips are soft as they push into yours. His hands stay tight on your hips and your heart is racing in your chest when he wastes no time slipping his tongue into your mouth.

The kiss is heated and laced with heat and passion that it makes your head spin. He shifts his hips to push his hard cock into you and you whine against him as your core throbs with need.

“Need you. Fuck need you so bad. I’ve been hard all day thinking about this.” He mutters against your lips as his hands tug at the hem of your shirt pulling it over your head.

You can faintly hear his phone vibrating on the floor and you pull back to stare at him.

“Namjoon again?” You ask as Yoongi doesn’t seem too bothered, he is preoccupied with exploring your body with his tongue and taking off your bra.

“Yoongi your phone.” You cry out when he finally gets the bra off and his lips attach to your nipple sucking harshly causing moans to spill from your mouth and your eyes to close as your hands tangle in his hair.

“Don’t give a shit about Namjoon right now. Need you so fucking bad. Let him break down the door it’s not gonna stop me from fucking you.” Yoongi growls as he thrusts his cock up against you again and you whine.

You rake your hands through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes as he stares up at you, lips still wrapped around your nipple and a grin on his face.

“Woke up so fucking hard, wish you didn’t wear pants so I could have just slipped it right in.” He admits as you groan and grind your wet pussy down on his lap.

“Gonna soak my pants, baby. Gotta take these off.” He says as he helps you off of him and crawls down the bed so he is between your legs.

Your eyes widen in shock when he pulls your pants down harshly and throws them on the floor, muffling the sound of his still-vibrating phone even more.

“You sure you don’t want to answer your phone?” You ask as Yoongi kisses up and down your legs, stealing your breath from your lungs.

“And miss the chance of eating you out to get yelled at by Namjoon. Not a fucking chance.” He growls as he slowly makes his way to your core.

He takes his sweet time kissing up your thighs as you moan and thrash on the bed. Your body is on fire with need and you feel your core throb with every swipe of his tongue on your legs and thighs.

“Yoongi… please.” You cry out as you prop yourself up on pillows to get a better view of him between your legs.

“Please what? Use your words” Yoongi demands looking smug between your legs as his fingers run along your upper thighs.

“Touch me.” You whisper holding your breath in anticipation.

“I am touching you love.” He teases.

“Min Yoongi I swear to god. Please.” You cry out as he finally dips his finger into your folds and collects your wetness bringing it up to your clit and making your head hit the pillow and your eyes roll back.

“Fuck baby your soaking my fingers. Needy little thing aren’t you? Did the other boys touch you or was it all just talk?” He hums as he rubs small slow circles on your clit causing you to arch your back.

“Needy? You were the one grinding your cock into me earlier.” You tease as he removes his fingers and gives you a hard stare.

“I can stop you know.” He teases back with a mischievous smile as you whine and push your hips up, desperate to get him back to where you need him most.

“That’s what I thought.” He muttered as he lay himself down on the bed and your eyes widened as he brought his face closer to your dipping center.

“Fuck Yoongi.” You moan as he flattens his tongue against your slit and licks it all up.

You cry out and fist the sheets desperate to hold onto something and to ground yourself as Yoongi flicks his tongue over your clit causing you to cry out.

Yoongi works you with your tongue until you are a screaming sobbing mess under him. You feel your orgasm fast approaching and he must feel it too as he shoves two fingers deep inside of you and begin to scissor them, stretching you out as he licks and sucks at your clit.

Right when he curls his fingers deep inside you your body lets go and you arch up from the bed, his name falling like a prayer from your lips as your pussy clamps around his digits and you cum all over them and all over him as his tongue is still buried between your legs and his hair is tickling your thighs.

You come down and slump on the bed breathing heavily as you desperately try to catch your breath. You watch as Yoongi gently closes your legs and crawls up the bed towards you, his eyes sparkling as he shoves his pants and boxers down to free his hard, leaking cock. He throws them somewhere in the room as you giggle.

“So much better holy shit almost came in my pants tasting you.” He admits as his hand circles his cock and he strokes it slowly, trying to ease some of the built-up tension as you watch.

Yoongi’s skilled hand strokes and tugs at his cock, he takes his time with it letting out soft whines and moans with every pass of his fingers against the aching shaft.

“Fuck Yoongi, so hot.” You whimper as you close your thighs tightly trying to ease some of the ache between them.

Yoongi’s eyes travel down your body as he smirks when he sees your thighs clenching.

“One orgasm isn’t enough?” He asks releasing his cock and letting it smack against his stomach.

He crawls on top of you and uses his hands to spread your legs.

Your breath hitches when he leans down to press a soft slow kiss to your mouth and you reach up to tangle your hands into his sweaty hair.

“Hold them open for me. Let me grab a condom.” He whispers as he shimmies down the bed to grab his pants and digs through the pile of clothes to find his discarded phone.

His mouth draws up into a smirk when he checks the screen.

“Five missed calls from Namjoon. World record I think.” He teases as he grabs a condom from his wallet and throws his phone back down on the pile.

He takes his time rolling the condom on his hard length and you roll over to flick on the bedroom lamp casting the room in a warm glow.

"Is everything okay with Namjoon?” You ask as Yoongi crawls on the bed and positions his cock at your entrance.

“Yeah, he’s just… You know he’s our leader and he is the responsible one out of us. He feels like what we are doing isn’t the most responsible thing and is just worried.” Yoongi admits as he pushes his hair back from his face and stares you down.

“Does he know I signed a NDA contract? I legally can’t say anything…at all… ever?” You ask as Yoongi slides his cock head against your entrance coating it in your juices.

“Yeah, Taehyung told us that part it’s just… Namjoon you know. He worries a lot.” Yoongi admits with a fond look on his face.

“Sounds like he’s stressed out.” You tease as Yoongi lets out a laugh and slowly pushes his cock head inside.

The stretch is delicious and you open your legs wider to welcome him. He takes his time inching inside of you until he is fully sheathed and he pushes his forehead against yours and you both breathe heavily.

“Jin and Taehyung joked about that this morning. Couldn’t stop thinking about it. That’s why I’m here. And fuck was it a great decision. You’re so tight for me darling.” He mumbles as he presses soft kisses against your temple.

“Did you get hard in the studio? Thinking about me? Thinking about this?” You purr as Yoongi closes his eyes and shifts his hips rocking into you gently.

“You have no idea. Was fine when I was working on the song, the second Namjoon left. Fuck. Couldn’t stop thinking about it. Felt like I was in heat. Needed this soaked pussy so bad.” Yoongi growls as you feel his cock twitch inside of you and you moan.

“Please tell me I can move. Please.” Yoongi begs and when you nod he grins wickedly down at you.

Yoongi pulls his cock most of the way out and grabs your legs. Before you can process it he has your legs thrown over his shoulder and starts to pound into you harshly.

You grip the blankets for support as Yoongi’s hard cock drags against your walls. He is fucking you with so much enthusiasm you feel like you might go right through the headboard.

Yoongi is moaning above you and is hitting that spot deep inside of you that has you crying out his name and gripping the sheets harder.

“Yoongi fuck, please. F-fuck feels so good.” You cry out as he reaches down to play with your clit, his skilled fingers rubbing it in a way that has your orgasm fast approaching.

“Baby girl you feel so good around me, pussy so good I want to scream.” He growls as he shifts his hips and slams into you harder causing your pussy to clench around him.

“Gonna cum princess, gonna cream my cock and make a mess for me,” Yoongi says as you nod frantically, your whole body tensing as you feel your high fast approaching.

“Yoongi right there fuck! Please!” You beg, not even sure what you are begging for.

Your orgasm rips through your body as you arch up from the bed and cry out his name. Your pussy clamps tightly against his cock as Yoongi bends forward to kiss you and you feel his cock twitch and empty into the condom, he can hardly thrust into you as you continue to ride out your high.

“so so good baby. You did so good.” he praises as his lips find yours and he gives you soft slow kisses, his hair falls over his face to tickle your cheeks and you grab at his shoulders desperate to feel more of him

Once you both come down Yoongi pulls out and throws the condom away. He positions himself down on the bed beside you. His hands come to scrape his hair away from his face as he stares at you with a dopey grin.

You lean in and press a small kiss to his cheek as you get up to get a towel and use the washroom.

Once you get yourself cleaned up you head back to the bedroom and let out a soft giggle. Yoongi is spread out on the bed and fast asleep. One hand is resting on his stomach and his hair is a mess and his lips are parted as he softly snores.

You inch over to the bed and use your warm washcloth to wipe around his soft cock, careful not to wake him.

Once finished you throw the covers over his body and grab a big tee shirt to sleep in as you curl up next to him.

His arms wrap around you and he buries his face in your hair. You hear a content sigh leave his lips.

Right as you are about to doze off you hear a phone vibrating again and you bite back a laugh as you snuggle into the covers and fall asleep.

TAGLIST

@take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d

@m00njinnie

@minghaosimp

@madebyjungkookie

@iammeandmeisiam

@allie-is-a-panda

[nerdiel-has-no-braincells]

Cat Nap

ft. gojo satoru x gn!reader

summary: gojo had just gotten an earful from his teacher and is seeking you out. what he finds is unexpected ❦

a/n: i’ve been working on this short one for a while deciding on how long i actually wanted it but decided to keep it short but sweet

Satoru stretched as he walked through the halls of Jujutsu college. Yaga had given him another lecture about his lack of attention in the classroom. While Satoru had stayed behind, Shoko and Suguru had snuck off to smoke. You, however, disappeared, and he was trying to find you.

He knew you weren’t inside the school — the sun was shining and the weather itself was perfect for you being late Spring. You enjoyed spending time outside so Satoru knew you were outside somewhere.

Opening the door to the outside hall, his eyes wandered around, looking for that familiar figure.

Hands in his pockets, he wandered outside. You weren’t in the training grounds, you weren’t in the forest nor were you near the vending machines. He had one place to check, which was your favorite tree. The tree was big enough to shade you from the sun without taking away the warmth. Often Satoru would find you there and eventually it became the group’s lunch spot. It had a nice view of the city and the cherry blossoms in the Spring. It easily became his favorite spot as well.

As he neared the tree, Satoru looked up to see the top of your head. A smile appeared on his face as he felt his heart pound as he got closer to you.

Standing in front of you, Satoru tilted his head to the side and let out a quiet chuckle. You had fallen asleep, leaning against your favorite tree, earbuds in your ear and your mp3 player beside you. You were too cute.

Taking out his flip phone, he took a picture of you as you slept, making it his background.

The smile on his face matched the feeling in his heart; warm as he looked at his new background.

Putting his phone back into his pocket, he sat down next to you leaving no space. He told himself that he wanted to be there for you in case you fell over but in actuality he wanted to touch you.

He slowly and gently took your hand and held it, rubbing the pad of his thumb against your soft skin.

Looking at you, he wondered what you were listening to so he reached his free arm around and gently took out one of your ear buds and set it into his ear so that he could also listen to your music.

A warm and comforting song was playing and he immediately recognized what song it was—he’d caught you singing it one day when you were passing the training grounds on your way to the vending machines.

He felt at peace. It was the perfect sunny day where he spent time with the one who was perfect for him listening to the perfect song.

Closing his eyes, he let himself relax and lull into a deep sleep.

Shoko and Geto wandered around looking for the two of you. Satoru was meant to find you but it had been an hour with no word causing them to find Satoru as well.

What surprised them was the sight of you and Satoru sleeping against the tree, holding hands, your head on his shoulder and his head on top of yours, the two of you connected by earbuds. A smile was formed on your face while you slept as if you were dreaming of this exact moment.

The sight made Shoko and Geto want to let out an audible ‘awww’ but they didn’t want to risk waking you up.

Instead, they took out a camera and took a photo of the two of you.

Shoko planned on printing two copies; one for you and one for Satoru. The two of them knew of your feelings for each other, but the both of you were blind to the other’s feelings. She secretly hoped this would help you understand each other’s feelings and finally, finally get together.

Turning back around, they decided to let the two of you have your time together. They’ll just tell Yaga they couldn’t find you once training started.

tags: @mrsyixingunicorn10 @cinnaa-x @xamilarin @cloudsinthecosmos @rivaiken @vr00m-vr00m @shycreatorsandwich @the-fab-killjoy

Sequel to Cat Nap here

Jujutsu Kaisen belongs to Gege Akutami

©️nerdiel-has-no-braincells Please do not copy, translate, and post as your own. Reblogs, likes, and comments are ok with me!

[silent-stories]

𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐍𝐎𝐀𝐇

aka spending some time with a very sleepy noah at the airport

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

The fluorescent lights overhead cast a sterile, harsh glow over the airport terminal, reflecting off the polished floor you were sitting on and highlighting the exhaustion that hung in the air like a thick fog. It was the middle of the night, and the bad weather outside showed no signs of letting up.

The storm had rolled in faster than expected, grounding flights for hours and leaving the terminal packed with travelers who all seemed to be in the same state of weary frustration.

You glanced around, noting the rows of filled seats, people sprawled across chairs, bags tucked under their heads or against their chests, trying to catch any sleep they could. It was a sea of tired faces, everyone resigned to waiting out the storm.

A few rows over, Jolly, Folio, and Nicholas had spread out on the floor, each of them settling in for the long wait. Jolly leaned back against his backpack, scrolling through his phone while tapping his fingers rhythmically against his knee. Folio and Nicholas, crouched by a nearby vending machine, were peering through the glass, trying to decide between stale pretzels and some kind of fruit bar.

You shifted your gaze to Noah. He was standing a few feet away, staring blankly at the departure board, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

Even from where you sat, you could see the fatigue etched into every line of his body. The long tour had been relentless, every night spent pouring his heart out on stage, every day moving from one city to the next, barely catching any rest in between.

You knew how much he loved it—how much he lived for the music and the energy of the crowd—but it had taken a toll. Now, with the tour finally over and the promise of home so close, the flight delay was like the final straw.

Your phone buzzed in your hand, the notification you’d been expecting. You unlocked it to check the latest update from the airline. Another two-hour delay. The flight that was supposed to take you back home was now pushed even further into the early hours of the morning. You groaned softly, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your hand.

Noah caught the sound and turned to you, his brow furrowed.

“What’s the verdict?” he asked, his voice rough, like he was fighting to stay awake.

“Two more hours,” you replied, shaking your head. “Looks like we’re not going anywhere for a while.”

He exhaled sharply, the sound part sigh, part groan. He walked over to you, his steps slow, like he had to remind his legs to move. When he finally reached you, he dropped down beside you on the floor without hesitation, his back resting against the cold wall.

The seats were long gone to other passengers, so the floor was the only option. He slumped there for a moment, his head tilting back to rest against the wall. His eyes drifted shut, his face a mask of sheer exhaustion.

“I don’t even have the energy to be annoyed,” he mumbled, half to himself.

You smiled softly, scooting a little closer to him. “I don’t think anyone here does,” you said, gesturing toward the scattered crowd around you, many of them in similar states of defeat.

He chuckled weakly, but it was a tired sound.

For a few minutes, you both sat in silence, the noise of the airport around you reduced to background static. You watched as his head slowly tilted forward, his chin dropping toward his chest.

He jerked awake once or twice, the familiar battle to stay conscious playing out in the slight twitch of his shoulders, the brief widening of his eyes. It broke your heart a little to see him like this, running on fumes.

Without thinking, you reached out and took his hand in yours, threading your fingers together. His hand was warm, his skin rough from years of playing guitar, but the contact seemed to ground him. His grip tightened around your fingers for a second, as if he was reassuring himself you were there. He glanced at you, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the soft hum of the terminal.

You smiled back, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Hey.”

Noah sighed, and his shoulders slumped even more, like just holding your hand had taken the last of his strength. He let out a breath, long and slow, and shifted closer, leaning into you slightly. You didn’t mind, scooting a little more to give him space. The floor wasn’t the most comfortable place, but it didn’t matter—not when he needed you like this.

After a few moments, Noah let go of your hand, moving to rest his head on your lap. He hesitated for just a second, his eyes flickering up to meet yours, almost like he was checking if it was okay. You smiled down at him, brushing a strand of his dark hair back from his face.

“It’s fine, Noah. Just rest,” you whispered, gently stroking his hair, encouraging him to relax.

That was all the permission he needed. His body seemed to melt into the floor, and he shifted slightly to get comfortable. His breathing slowed almost instantly, and within minutes, his eyes were closed, his face peaceful as sleep finally claimed him.

You looked down at him, your fingers still gently threading through his hair. He was always so strong, so full of energy when he was on stage, commanding the attention of thousands of fans with just his voice. But here, in the quiet of the terminal, he looked so vulnerable, so tired.

It was rare to see him like this, to see the weight of everything he carried so clearly written in the softness of his features. His features seemed softer in sleep, his lips parted just slightly as he breathed deeply, his body completely still.

The chaos of the terminal faded into the background as you focused on him. You kept running your fingers through his hair, slow and gentle, careful not to wake him. He shifted occasionally, nuzzling deeper into your lap, his breath warm against your leg.

Every time he moved, you smiled, feeling the quiet contentment that came from knowing you could be there for him, that you could give him this moment of peace when he needed it most.

Time seemed to pass in a blur, the minutes stretching into what felt like hours as you sat there, cradling Noah’s head in your lap, your fingers continuing their steady rhythm through his hair.

The sounds of the airport—the distant overhead announcements, the murmur of conversations, the occasional clang of luggage wheels on tile—became a distant hum, lulling you into a sense of calm.

Despite the uncomfortable floor and the exhaustion gnawing at your own body, you didn’t move. You didn’t dare disturb the fragile peace of the moment.

Noah shifted again, this time turning his face slightly toward you, his breath brushing against your thigh. His expression was so relaxed, so open in sleep, and you found yourself smiling down at him, your heart swelling with affection. It was moments like this—small, quiet moments—that reminded you just how much you loved him, how much you cherished these fleeting instants of vulnerability when he let his guard down.

After what felt like an eternity, you heard the faint ding of an announcement over the loudspeaker. The gate attendant’s voice crackled through the terminal, announcing that the weather was clearing and flights would soon be boarding. You checked the time on your phone—it had been almost two hours, just like they said. The wait was almost over.

You glanced down at Noah, who was still fast asleep, his breathing deep and steady. You hated to wake him, but you knew you didn’t have much choice. Leaning down, you brushed your fingers gently over his cheek, your touch light as you whispered, “Noah… Hey, it’s almost time.”

He stirred at the sound of your voice, his eyes fluttering open slowly. For a moment, he looked dazed, like he didn’t quite remember where he was. Then his gaze met yours, and a small, sleepy smile spread across his face.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep as he shifted to sit up, rubbing at his eyes. “Did I fall asleep on you?”

“Yeah,” you said softly, “But it’s fine. You needed it.”

He smiled, his eyes half-lidded as he leaned into your touch for a moment longer before sitting up fully. He stretched, his joints popping as he groaned softly.

Then, without a word, he leaned in, his gaze flickering down to your lips just for a second before he closed the distance between you. His lips were soft, warm against yours, and the kiss was gentle, slow, like he was savoring the moment. His hand moved to cup your cheek, his touch tender as he pulled you just a little closer.

You kissed him back, the noise of the busy terminal fading away as the world shrank to just the two of you. There was no rush, no urgency, just the quiet, sweet feeling of being with him in that moment, connected after a long, exhausting journey.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, and he smiled, his voice barely a whisper. “Thank you."

You smiled. “Always.”

As the gate announcement continued, you both stood, gathering your things, reuniting with the rest of the band, and getting ready to finally board the plane.

Despite the long wait and the exhaustion still clinging to both of you, there was a sense of calm between you—a quiet understanding that no matter how chaotic things got, you would always be there for each other.

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion

[beansprean]

Exit Interview

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Bust of Nandor on a streaky blue background, leaning forward on one hand, the other raised in the air, palm-up. His eyes are closed on a nonchalant expression, head tipped down, as he casually states "Then it is settled. You are officially released from your service." 1b. Reverse shot of Guillermo, leaning forward as he stands from a chair, looking up at Nandor with a hesitant smile. He asks, "...That's it? I'm not your familiar anymore?" 1c. Close up of Nandor's left hand settling on Guillermo's shoulder as he responds, "Not my familiar, not my bodyguard..." 1d. Wide shot of them both standing in profile, facing each other, the background now streaked with gold. Nandor smiles down proudly at Guillermo, hand on his shoulder, and continues, "...but a fully-fledged member of the household. And my friend." Guillermo happily meets his gaze, lips pressed around a smile of genuine joy. 1e. Close up of Guillermo, the panel back to the streaky blue as the background beyond the panels begins to lighten to the grey of dawn. The next 4 panels are no longer square but angling inwards as if pulled together by an unseen force. Guillermo leans his head toward the hand on his shoulder, his own hand rising up to hold it, and smiles wide even as his gaze dips shyly. He asks, "So...what next?" 1f. Reverse shot of Nandor barking out a nervous laugh, gaze fixed on Guillermo as he replies, "What next indeed!" 1g. Zoom out to them both in profile, Guillermo's hand still on Nandor's hand on Guillermo's shoulder. Guillermo grins affectionately upwards as Nandor straightens and takes a step forward, nervous grin still wide and frozen on his face. He tosses out his free hand in some kind of shrug and says, "Well!" 1h. Repeat. Nandor steps closer still, and his flailing right hand comes to rest, very gingerly, on the side of Guillermo's face. Guillermo's hand slides down Nandor's arm as his left hand shifts to touch his neck, smile gentling as he blinks in surprise. Nandor's expression softens as well, head tilting slightly as he moves his gaze toward where his hand rests on Guillermo's cheek and he continues, "Perhaps..." 1i. Repeat, closer. Nandor has both hands on Guillermo's cheeks now, head dipping down so their noses are only an inch apart. His expression is almost dazed, as he murmurs, "Just..." Guillermo tips his head up as well, lips parted, his left hand sliding up Nandor's side. Their hooded gazes are each fixed on the other's mouth. The center of the panel begins to lighten with a white-gold glow as the shape continues to distort, parts of the characters stepping out of its bounds completely. The background behind the panels continues to get lighter, and the silhouettes of flying birds begin to fly in, closer and closer, growing lighter a step ahead of the background. 1j. Repeat. They move closer, Nandor's eyes now closed and head tilted as their noses slide past each other, lips only centimeters apart. Guillermo's hand slides up further to press against Nandor's ribs, gripping, his eyes still open the slightest amount as if to ensure this moment doesn't disappear. The panel lightens. The birds fly closer.

2a. Repeat. The center of the panel bursts into bright vertical beams of white and gold, the border bleeding from black to a wall of light as they close the final distance between them. Guillermo's eyes finally close, mouth pushing into the gentle kiss. 2b. Repeat, a wider shot as the glowing light inside the panel breaks the borders completely, flooding into the background as it begins to turn to streaks of purple and pink, birds now flying through the broken panel walls. Nandor pushes forward to deepen the kiss, hands clutching at Guillermo's face, Guillermo's head tilting back further as he presses himself close. 2c. Repeat, wider shot of them both now freely standing in the background, streaks of light blooming into yellow and orange. Guillermo is leaning back even further, fingers digging into the back of Nandor's shoulders as he is nearly dipped, their heads tilting the other way as the kiss continues. Nandor, expression blissful, smiles slightly into it. 2d. Close up in a panel bordered by light, the colors inside bolder and brighter: reds and oranges on top, blues and purples on the bottom, the center streaked with light. Both a sunrise and a sunset. They have broken the kiss and Guillermo has straightened, but they do not part from each other. Nandor's right arm curves around Guillermo's back and his left cups the back of his head, keeping him close as he nuzzles their noses together with a serene smile, eyes closed. Guillermo pushes up into the contact, flushed and smiling, one hand at Nandor's back, keeping them pressed together, and the other sliding up Nandor's chest. Guillermo lets out a breathy chuckle and whispers, "Yeah. That could be next..." /end ID

[libbyfandom]

Let’s take a look inside Modern!Mizu’s Camera Roll! Featuring Reader and BES Characters (Companion Piece)

Screenshot of an undercut with long hair.

Screenshot of a wolf cut.

Picture of her tv screen showing her new high score at a video game. (To rub it in Taigen’s face that she beat his)

Her hand cupping the back of a pretty neck covered in hickeys.

Akemi death-gripping a trash can with her face buried into it as she hurls. The rollercoaster Mizu forced her on is in the background.

Selfie of her and her adoptive father at a baseball game. (She couldn’t get him to smile. He only hummed, which made her laugh)

Video of you asleep on her, your head on her shoulder and your hand curled up on her chest. Her fingers are gently brushing the side of your face for a minute, before your eyebrows pinch in sleep. You make a soft, stressed noise unconsciously. Her lips press to your temple for a long moment. “Shh shh shh.” Your expression relaxes again, and she goes back to gently stroking your cheek.

The full moon.

A video of Ringo coming up silently behind you and Akemi while you're standing in line at a coffee shop. You two turn around and nearly jumps out of your skin when you sees him. (He's always so silent)

Screenshot of a quote “How do we forgive ourselves for all the things we did not become? -Doc Lubel”.

Her torn up jeans and bloodied outer thigh as she sits in the grass along the road, her crashed motorcycle in the background.

A video of her holding your wrists down in bed, oh so slowly pressing kisses all over your chest where she yanked your top up to your collarbone. Every once in a while she bites into your skin without warning, gripping your wrists tighter when your body arches and tries to twitch away with broken whines. She waits each time for you to stop moving, staring intensely up at you with your skin between her teeth, before she licks at the bite to soothe it away and restarts the cycle.

Video of her sitting on her bed practicing knife flipping.

Her hand holding a book titled "Waiting by the Front Door: Children of Parents with Addiction".

A close up of the price tag of the book "Waiting by the Front Door: Children of Parents with Addiction".

Saved selfie Ringo sent of the two of them on a hike.

Screenshot of a dinner reservation confirmation for two at a new restaurant downtown.

Video of Akemi in the middle of some rant in Mizu and Ringo’s living room. The darkness outside the window suggests it’s very late into the night. She gestures wildly at something off camera. “-and Taigen pees in the fucking shower-!” Taigen’s voice comes from somewhere off camera, loud and offended. “I aim for the drain!” You sit in the background behind Akemi, looking disturbed and distressed.

Screenshot of piercings. (For the wish list people are asking for)

A gif of a character going “Some god damn peace and quiet”. (For the wish list people are asking for)

The ocean.

Saved video Ringo sent of you two at the beach bonfire. You’re cuddled up into each other while sitting against a log, your legs overlapping hers. You’re both staring into the fire, absentmindedly playing with each others fingers where you’re holding hands on your lap. She’s never looked more relaxed.

You and Akemi in the backseat asleep on the drive back from the beach.

Saved photo you sent her of her and her adoptive father playing chess. Her brows are furrowed as she thinks over her next move, sitting properly with her hands in her lap. This is instead of how she usually plays with one leg propped up on her chair and elbow leaning on her knee when she plays with Akemi.

The one nice photo of just her and Taigen, posing in a big mirror at a dark, more upscale restaurant wearing suits.

Screenshot of receipt for two concert tickets on your birthday.

Ringo laying head down on a pile of finals notes in defeat at the library.

Screenshot of a text you sent of a grocery list.

A video in her “Hidden” folder that is 37 minutes long and requires a password that only she and you know.

Screenshot of the word “Bitch” in Barbie pink font.

You curled up on the couch fast asleep, wearing Mizu’s oversized college sweatshirt.

Saved photo Ringo sent of Mizu standing in the bathtub making a peace sign with one gloved hand as the other holds Akemi’s newly dyed and wet burgundy hair while Akemi is seen leaning over the tub so Mizu can rinse out the excess dye.

A picture of her hand holding an engagement ring nestled inside a green velvet box. She wanted Akemi’s opinion. So she’ll stop having an anxiety attack over what she picked.

[anna-the-undertaker]

Indomitable Will

The human will is a force to be reckoned with... especially when they have something to protect.

Tags: @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf @obeyme-sheeplife @caprinaesprout

Part 1: Adrenaline

MC awoke slowly, the sensation of soft sheets against their skin gradually pulling them back to consciousness. Their body felt sore, muscles aching with a dull, persistent throb that reminded them of the intense fight they had survived. As their eyes fluttered open, they recognized the familiar surroundings of their room in the House of Lamentation. The dim light of the Devildom's moon filtered in through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room. They wondered how long they had been asleep.

Sitting up, they winced as the memories of what happened began to return in fragments—the ambush, the fight, the overwhelming rush of adrenaline that had kept them going after their body should have given out. They touched their side gingerly, feeling the smooth, unblemished skin where there had once been deep bruises and possibly broken ribs. Simeon must have healed them, though the soreness remained as a stark reminder of how close they had come to losing everything.

Swinging their legs over the side of the bed, MC took a moment to steady themselves before standing. Their limbs felt heavy, but they needed to find the others. They needed to know if Luke was okay.

MC walked slowly through the quiet halls, each step bringing back more of the harrowing ordeal. The house was eerily silent, the usual background noise of the brothers' banter and activity absent. As they neared the living room, they heard hushed voices—a conversation already in progress.

When they reached the doorway, MC saw everyone gathered together. Some were seated while the others were scattered about the room. Luke stood in the center, tears still glistening on his cheeks as he recounted what had happened before and after they had been dragged to the forest. The others listened intently, their expressions ranging from confusion to concern.

Solomon stood nearby, leaning casually against the wall with a sly smile on his face, eyes glinting with a knowing look as the others pressed him for answers.

"How could they have fought off those demons on their own?" Lucifer asked, his brow furrowed in frustration.

"I thought humans were supposed to be fragile," Levi added, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"MC didn't use any spells," Asmo chimed in, looking equally puzzled. "They didn't use our pacts either. So how did they manage to beat up those demons as badly as they did?"

Solomon only smiled more broadly. "That's something you'll have to ask them yourself."

At that moment, MC stepped fully into the room, drawing all eyes to them. Luke was the first to react, his blue eyes widening as he rushed forward and threw his arms around MC, hugging them tightly. “MC! You’re okay!” he cried, his small frame shaking with relief. “Thank you, thank you so much for protecting me…”

Before MC could respond, Simeon moved next, enveloping both MC and Luke in a gentle but firm embrace. “You did something truly brave, MC,” he said softly, his voice filled with gratitude. “Thank you for keeping Luke safe.”

As they finally released MC, Simeon guided them over to the couch, where Mammon and Beel quickly made space between them. MC was barely seated before Belphie climbed onto their lap, his legs draping over Beel’s, while he latched his arms around MC’s torso, burying his face into their stomach.

Mammon's arm came to rest protectively across MC's shoulders, his worry evident in his tight grip. "You had us all scared, ya know," he muttered, though his tone was more gentle than usual.

Beel nodded solemnly, his eyes not leaving MC aa his hand came to rest on Belphies back, an open invitation for MC to hold it. "You shouldn't have had to go through that alone."

"Don't scare us like that again," Belphie grumbled, his voice muffled. "Next time, just summon one of us, okay?"

MC managed a small smile, one hand grabbing Mammon's and the other grabbing Beel's as they looked around at the others. The warmth of their friends’ presence was comforting, and for a moment, they just soaked it in.

But then, the questions started.

Diavolo, who had been standing by the fireplace, finally spoke, his voice filled with both curiosity and concern. "MC, we've heard what happened, but what we don't understand is how you managed to fend off those demons on your own. It's... remarkable."

Lucifer crossed his arms, his gaze sharp but worried. "Indeed. You've shown strength that we didn't expect, even knowing you've grown since coming here."

Barbatos, standing next Diavolo, nodded thoughtfully. "It's almost as if your strength increased dramatically in the heat of the moment. How is that possible?"

MC took a deep breath, gathering their thoughts. "It was the adrenaline," they began. "In situations of extreme stress or danger, the human brain releases a hormone called epinephrine or more commonly known as adrenaline. It makes you stronger, faster, and more focused. It's a survival mechanism."

Solomon, who had been silently observing, offered a knowing smile. "Humans are fascinating in their resilience. Adrenaline can push the body to its limits, allowing them to achieve feats they wouldn't normally be capable of. I've seen it many times in my long life."

“Yeah. There are stories of humans lifting cars to save someone trapped underneath, or running for miles without stopping when they’re in danger, or even fighting off animals like bears or tigers," MC added. "Adrenaline can even be used in medicine to restart someone’s heart if it stops beating.”

There was a moment of stunned silence as everyone processed this information. Asmo looked genuinely impressed, his usual playful demeanor replaced by a rare seriousness. “I had no idea humans could be so… fierce,” he admitted.

Levi looked both awed and slightly unnerved. "So, you're saying it's like a temporary power-up? But it's something humans can do naturally?"

MC nodded. "Yes, but it's also dangerous. The effects of adrenaline can wear off quickly, and you're left exhausted, sometimes even in shock, and any pain you have will hit hard. That's why I passed out shortly after you all arrived."

Satan, who had been quiet until now, leaned forward, his eyes intense. "So, this ‘adrenaline’—it’s something that can be triggered in any human under the right circumstances?"

MC nodded. "Yes. It’s not something we can control easily. It’s just... there, when we need it."

Beel frowned slightly, his protective nature shining through. "But it’s dangerous, right? If you push too hard…"

MC gave a small, tired smile. "Yes. It can be. But in that moment, it was one of the things that kept me going."

Belphie tightened his hold on them, his voice low. "I don’t like the idea of you having to rely on something so dangerous. We’re supposed to protect you."

Lucifer spoke once more. “You’ve explained the physical aspects of adrenaline, but what drove you to fight so fiercely? What was going through your mind?”

MC took a deep breath, their gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before they met Lucifer’s eyes. “Fear was definitely there, but it was overshadowed by my need to protect Luke and to survive, not just for myself, but for all of you.”

Mammon's brow furrowed. "For us?"

MC nodded. “All I could think about was everything we’ve been through together, everything we’ve done, and everything we’ve yet to do. I refused to die there. I refused to let those demons take away everything I’ve fought so hard for.”

Asmo placed a gentle hand on MC’s arm, his usual flamboyance muted. “You were protecting us…even when you were the one in danger?”

MC smiled softly. “It wasn’t just about me. It was about all of us. I felt the adrenaline kick in, and it made my heart race, my mind sharpen…but there was something else, too. I felt all of our pacts. I felt all of you with me.”

Simeon, who had been listening quietly, spoke up. “You felt your pacts? But you didn't use any magic?”

MC shook their head. “No, no magic came from them. It was just…a reminder. A reminder that I had people waiting for me. People who would be hurt if I didn’t make it back. That’s what pushed me to keep fighting.”

Levi looked away, his voice tinged with guilt. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone…”

MC turned to him, their expression earnest. “I wasn’t alone. I had all of you with me in spirit.”

Beel smiled softly. “You fought for us. Even though you were hurt and scared, you fought because you didn’t want us to lose you.”

MC nodded again. “Exactly. I fought because I had things I wanted to protect. The thought of all of you, of everything we’ve done together, gave me strength. The adrenaline pumped my heart harder, but it was the memories of all of you that kept me standing.”

Solomon spoke last. “The human spirit is something remarkable, isn’t it? Even in the face of overwhelming danger, it finds a way to endure, to protect what matters most.”

As the Avatar of Pride and the eldest of the brothers, Lucifer has witnessed countless battles and conquests, both in the Celestial Realm and the Devildom. He’s seen power in all its forms—brute strength, cunning intelligence, and magical prowess. Yet, MC’s resilience is something altogether different, something that challenges his understanding of power. They have stood against him, faced dangers that would crush most beings, and survived trials that even the strongest demons would falter under. “Humans are fragile, or so I believed. But this one and possibly others… They defy that fragility with every breath. It’s not just physical strength or magical ability—it’s their spirit. They have something that even I, in all my pride, cannot fully grasp. A will to survive that seems almost reckless, yet undeniably admirable.”

"The human will is a force beyond comprehension," Lucifer mused, his expression thoughtful. "Humanities tenacity in the face of danger is something even a demon can admire." He felt a mix of pride and concern—pride in MC’s strength, but concern for what such strength might mean in the future. Their unyielding spirit was an asset, but also a reminder of the unpredictable nature of humans.

Mammon’s feelings for MC are complicated, filled with a mix of protective instincts and admiration he struggles to express. He’s seen them face down enemies that should have easily overpowered them, yet they keep getting back up. He knows what it’s like to fight for survival, to be driven by the fear of loss, but MC’s tenacity is something he both admires and fears for. “They ain't just any human. They’ve been through so much—stuff that would make most people give up. But not them. They fight like they’ve got nothin’ to lose, but I know it’s ‘cause they’ve got everything to lose. They’re strong, yeah, but I can’t help but worry. What if one day they push too hard and…” Mammon shakes his head, unable to finish the thought, the idea of losing them more painful than he’d ever admit.

"How could I have let them face that alone?" he berated himself, but beneath the guilt was a deep-seated respect. "They fought like a demon…no, even fiercer. They fought like a human."

Leviathan has always struggled with self-esteem, envying others for their strengths and abilities. But MC’s courage is something he finds himself in awe of, even as it stirs a familiar jealousy. They don’t back down, even when they’re scared, and that’s something Levi can’t help but admire. “I’ve always thought I was weak, that I couldn’t stand up to anything. But they… they face things that terrify me, and they don’t even flinch. It’s like they have this hidden power, not magic or strength, but something deeper. I wish I could be that brave, to stand up and fight even when everything seems lost.... I always thought humans were weak," Leviathan admitted to himself. "But this human, my Henry… they’re like a protagonist in one of my games and animes, standing up against impossible odds."

As the Avatar of Wrath, Satan understands the drive to fight, the need to stand against what angers and threatens you. Yet, MC’s resilience goes beyond anger—it’s a calm, unwavering determination that he finds perplexing and admirable. He’s watched them endure pain, betrayal, and even death, yet they continue to stand, to fight, to protect those they care about. “I’ve always believed that wrath is what fuels survival, that it’s anger that keeps you going when nothing else can. But they’ve shown me something different. It’s not rage that drives them, but a resolve that’s deeper, more unyielding. Human strength doesn’t come from wrath, but from something else, something I’m still trying to understand."

His final realization is this: "It’s a dangerous thing to corner a human who has something to protect. They will fight beyond their means."

Asmo’s world revolves around beauty, pleasure, and love. He sees beauty in everything, but in MC, he sees something different—an inner strength that shines even in the darkest of times. Their resilience, their refusal to give up, is a kind of beauty he’s never encountered before. “Humans are usually so breakable, so easily swayed by their emotions, but not them. They’ve faced so much darkness, yet they shine brighter for it. There’s a beauty in humanities strength, in the way they keep going, keep fighting. It’s… captivating, really. They’ve shown me that beauty isn’t just in looks or charm, but in the strength to endure.”

Beel is driven by loyalty and a deep sense of family. He’s seen MC put themselves in harm’s way to protect others, something that resonates deeply with his own values. He admires humanities courage, their willingness to sacrifice for those they care about, even when it means facing dangers far beyond their capabilities. “They’re always thinking of others, always putting themselves last. It’s something I understand, something I respect. Humans endure so much, but they never stop fighting, never stop protecting. It makes me want to be stronger, to be there for my family like MC's been there for us.”

Belphie’s relationship with MC is the most complex, haunted by guilt and remorse for what he did to them. He once saw them as weak, a mere human not worth his time. But now, after seeing their resilience firsthand, his view has shifted dramatically. “I tried to break them, to make them give up, but they came back stronger. I used to think humans were weak, that they couldn’t stand up to us. But they’ve proven me wrong, time and time again. They’ve survived things that should have destroyed them, things that would have destroyed me. Now, I can’t help but feel… respect. And maybe a little fear, too.”

Diavolo’s fascination with the human world is well-known, but MC has shown him something even he didn’t expect. Their resilience, their will to survive and protect, has become a testament to the potential he sees in humanity. “Humans are full of surprises. They endure, they adapt, they fight even when all seems lost. It’s that spirit, that unyielding will, that makes them so interesting, that sets them apart, that makes them so valuable to our world. MC has shown us all that humanity has a strength all its own, a strength that’s not just about power, but about their will. It’s a reminder of why this exchange program is so important, why I believe in the potential for our worlds to learn from each other. The human spirit, when allied with demons and angels, could create something truly formidable.”

Barbatos is ever the observer, always watching, always analyzing. He’s seen MC’s journey from the beginning, and their resilience has only confirmed his belief in the importance of Diavolo’s vision. “Humans are more than they seem. MC’s journey has shown us all that their strength lies not in power or magic, but in their will. It’s a strength that defies logic, that challenges the way we see the world. Their resilience is a testament to the potential, a potential that we must not underestimate.”

Simeon has always believed in the potential of all beings, in the power of love, faith, and the human spirit. MC embodies these beliefs in a way that resonates deeply with him. “Humans face so much darkness, yet they refuse to be consumed by it. Their spirit is unyielding. It’s a reminder of the strength that lies within all of us, a strength that comes not from power or magic, but from the heart.”

Luke looks up to MC as a protector, someone who embodies everything he admires about humanity. He’s seen their strength, their courage, and it fills him with a mix of awe and worry. “I’ve always admired them, but now... I realize just how strong they really are. They’re not just a human, they’re my hero. I want to be strong like them, to protect the ones I love like they’ve protected me.”

The young angel realized that a human's actions weren't just about survival—they were about love, loyalty, and an unwavering determination to keep their loved ones safe. It was a lesson in courage that Luke would carry with him forever.

Solomon, with his vast experience and knowledge, sees MC’s actions as a reflection of humanity’s greatest strength. He knows better than anyone the potential within them, and he’s proud to see it realized. “Humans have always been underestimated, but that’s their greatest advantage. In the face of danger, they find strength even they didn’t know they had. MC is a perfect example of Humanities indomitable will. It’s a power that defies nature. And it’s something that, as long as it exists, makes humanity a force to be reckoned with.”

Bonus:

After the story of MC's encounter in the forest spread at RAD, the reactions from the demons became mixed.

Some demons became wary of MC, keeping their distance as they realized that the seemingly "fragile" human was capable of holding their own, even without magic. They whispered about the event, exchanging nervous glances when MC walked by. The idea that a human could take down multiple demons in a fight unnerved them, making them more cautious.

However, not all demons were deterred. A few, intrigued by the tale and eager to test their strength, began trying to pick fights with MC. They saw the story as a challenge, wanting to see for themselves how this "little human" had managed to overpower their kind. These demons would approach MC with sly grins, making snide comments or outright challenging them to duels, eager to provoke a reaction.

Despite this, MC's reputation at RAD began to shift. Some demons now looked at them with a newfound respect, acknowledging their strength and tenacity. Others kept their distance, not wanting to be on the receiving end of that same strength. But whether it was out of fear, respect, or curiosity, one thing was clear: MC was no longer seen as just a human. They had proven that humans were more than capable of surviving in the Devildom, and that alone was enough to make everyone at RAD take notice.

[lilioopdf]

be here and be holy

pairing: reader x anyone! (no names again :p)

notes: 0.9k words, no warnings, all fluff (i think)

a/n: drafted this in like june…… i was just too lazy to actually write and edit it 😶😶 anyway i think this is an awkward timing to be posting a fic but sem break has arrived and i was finally in the right headspace and mood to write so yay 🎉🎉 if you’re reading this, i wish you a lovely day/night ahead! enjoy! 💗💗

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚ ✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊

he’s just ended training, and you’re too far away, seperated by 16 hour flights and weird timezones.

his hair is slicked with sweat and plastered to his forehead as he’s sat on a bench in the changing room, back hunched over his phone, watching the little typing bubble that keeps popping up from your end, waiting for you to send the first text.

someone claps his shoulder as they make their way out, but he cannot be bothered to glance up at them, too busy fixated upon the typing bubble in your chat.

finally, after what feels like an eternity, he sees the text.

“how was training?” you ask, it’s short and simple, but he find himself smiling back at his phone nonetheless as he types back a reply, hoping he doesn’t seem too eager, too hopeful.

too in love.

a drop of sweat slides off his fringe and lands onto his phone screen. he knows he should probably go take a shower first, but he can’t help it— not when it’s you on the other end, asking him how his day was.

someone claps his shoulder as they make their way out, but he can’t even be bothered to look up at them, too busy staring at the typing bubble from your side of the chat.

and then it stops.

a call pops up instead. a video call.

he allows himself a quick second to comb his fingers through his hair in an attempt to look presentable for you before he picks up.

there’s laughter on the other end— must be your friends, he thinks.

he hears you hush them, shooing them out of the room before he hears the sound of a door close. your camera turns on, and he feels himself flush the moment he sees you. you’re so pretty, and he can’t help but stare.

it should be night where you’re at, right? that must be why the lighting’s so dim, why the camera’s so grainy, but it doesn’t explain why you still look so sweet, and as lovely as ever.

“hi,” he breathes out, noticing the way a shy smile makes its way onto your face.

“hi,” you reply, voice soft. you take a moment to register where he’s at, taking in his sweat slicked hair and the clear exhaustion present in his face.

your brows furrow, and you tilt your head, “you haven’t showered?”

he stills, stalling a little before shaking his head bashfully. “no, uh, i thought i’d talk to you first.” he scratches the back of his head awkwardly, watching as you try and hide the knowing look on your face.

neither of you know what to say next. you’re both shy, but you do like each others' company, even if it is made a little awkward at times by accidental longing glances and too long eye contact.

you've both been staring at each other through the phone screen for a while, but you're suddenly jolted out of the moment by knocking on your door.

"are you still talking to him?" he hears a friend of yours call out, and he swears he can hear the laughter they're holding back. he finds it amusing, almost endearing, how your face goes pink, stuttering slightly as you tell them you're almost done.

your friends erupt into laughter in the background, and you sit up in embarrasment, shyness covering your face.

"sorry, that's darla... i'll call you back later, okay? go take a shower and stay safe."

he nods, saying a quick goodbye, wishing you the same. he waits for you to hang up first, hand gripping onto his phone just a little too tightly.

he doesn't notice the older driver standing opposite him, watching as he said his goodbyes to you just a few seconds ago.

"is she pretty?" the other driver asks, eyes fixated upon the younger one, an almost teasing smile om his face.

there's a pause, and your sweet boy registers the way his heart is pounding wildly in his chest as he tries to keep his expression neutral.

"yeah," he replies quietly, cheeks tinged pink as he chews on the inside of his mouth, refraining from saying more. (truth is, he'd like to talk about you. about your laugh, your smile, your kindness, and your wit. but a gym locker room is no place for such a topic, and those are not things he should be thinking about a friend.)

the other driver presses on. "she must be nice, if you're hiding her away this much." there's a teasing lilt in their tone, and he ignores it, wishing he could continue his conversation with you instead.

"she is nice,” he replies, tone coming out a little defensive, ever ready to defend your honour. they give him a knowing look, and he clears his throat, speaking again. "she's kind. sweet."

he averts the gaze of the older driver as they try to read his expression. after a long moment, he feels a strong pat on his back. "good for you, son. i mean it."

there's a meaningful look in the eyes of the older driver, and he almost looks... proud. it looks likes he's refraining from saying more as well.

"you've been performing better." a pause. "you look happier too. good for you," they offer him a small smile. "treat her well, son."

and that is that.

he feels the knot in his chest ease a little. he's careful not to get too ahead of himself— you're only still his friend, after all.

one day, he promises himself. soon.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚ ✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊

© lilioopdf 2024 – please do not plagarise, repost, or translate any of my work on this or other platforms

thank you for reading this far! take care of yourselves and remember to stay hydrated and safe 💗💗

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

May I build myself a home here? (may I please call you mine?)

you will know me, though I have no name - series masterlist here

pairing: kuroo tetsurou x reader x kozume kenma

length: 1.5k

genre: pure fluff

warnings: this is just like,,, typical workday morning with kuroken, very domestic, deals with trying to grow up and find your footing in the world, trying to make something of yourself blah blah blah the usual, background kagehina bc I can't help it

a/n: no one in the world cares abt this except for me but it's ok we'll deal with it

It's Kenma sliding into bed next to you that wakes you finally, his movements slow and tired as he pulls the covers up to his shoulder. He grumbles when you sit up, the hands that had been reaching for you falling back onto the mattress with a dull thump.

"Sorry, baby," you say quietly, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. "I gotta get ready for work." He mumbles something unintelligible and his fingers twist into the material of your sleep shirt, pulling you closer. You let him, for just a moment, before carefully prying him off of you, giving each of his fingers a kiss as you pull them away from your shirt, leaving him in bed in favour of standing and stretching.

In the kitchen, Tetsurou is already mostly dressed, dress shirt buttoned and tie hanging loosely over his shoulders. He switches the kettle on when he sees you come in, reaching to take your coffee mug down from the cupboard for you. It hasn't been long since the three of you moved in together, but Tetsurou's always been good at this - at making himself into a home for the people around him. 

"Good morning," you murmur as you walk up to him, leaning forward to let your forehead thump against his back and your arms wrap around him as he checks his phone. He turns in your hold to face you and pulls you closer, a kiss from him finding the crown of your head. 

"Did you see the news?" He asks gently. You groan and reach blindingly for his phone, but he's already reading you the headline. It's something that sounds a little too much like click-bait, a story about how pro volleyball players Hinata Shoyo and Kageyama Tobio were spotted in some kind of compromising position in a public restaurant. 

"Compromising position," you repeat, pulling away from Tetsurou to look for your own phone. "What, were they holding hands?" He laughs, a scratchy sort of thing that makes you smile.

"Something like that, I'm sure," he agrees, sliding a hand onto your lower back and pressing a kiss to your cheek as he hands you your phone from the counter. 

"Well, I'm sure you'll be dealing with it, too," you say, opening the article on your own phone just to frown at it. "This isn't exactly good PR."

Tetsurou smiles gently at your words, rolling his shoulders as if that will help the stiffness in them - as if this will be the day the ever-pressing weight is lifted from them. It's never really surprising to the two of you - the fact that people care so much more about the drama of these players than the sport they've given their lives to. But it does, over time, wear you down, and you know that there are times when Tetsurou feels he's fighting a losing battle. You know, because you feel it, too. 

You open your mouth to say something, to promise that, somehow, you'll fix this, when your phone rings. As Hinata's name shows up, you squeeze Tetsurou's arm gently in acknowledgement and slip past him to take the call, huffing out a laugh as he chases after you for one last kiss.

Tetsurou doesn't need to really hear the other side of the phone call to know what's going on, but he listens nonetheless as he switches the kettle off, Hinata's voice loud and hysterical enough that it echoes through the phone. He's seen the article, of course, and he's going on about how it's not their fault, they didn't really do anything - they were just going out to dinner and would you please do something about it, please, Tobio and I will both give you exclusive interviews -

Tetsurou would laugh if he didn't feel so bad for Hinata, because never mind, apparently, that you were their teammate at Karasuno and they give you exclusive interviews any time you ask. Never mind, of course, that you go to their house for New Year's every year and you undoubtedly believe them and will help them in any way you can. Never mind that this is why you do this job, this is why you chose to be a sports reporter of all things - to drive the conversation to where it ought to be.

You're trying, trying, to get Hinata to stop talking long enough to tell him that you'll write him an article, a good article, when his voice cuts out and there's some scuffling on the other line. You've heard this enough, fortunately, to know the sounds of Kageyama wrestling the phone away from his partner and you wait patiently, leaning into Tetsurou to press a kiss to his cheek as he fixes your morning coffee for you, glancing at his watch as he does.  

Eventually, Kageyama succeeds in ceasing Hinata's babbling and he thanks you in that tight, solemn way of his, asking you if you're coming to cover his game on the weekend. Of course, you are - and you tell him as much. It was never really in doubt, but Kageyama likes to be reminded that he has people on his side, and buying you a coffee before the game is as close as he gets to knowing how to say thank you. You don't mind.

By the time you're off the phone, Tetsurou is gone from the kitchen, and you abandon your phone on the counter to chase after him back to the bedroom - because you're sure that's where he's run off to.

Sure enough, you slip through the door in time to see him there harassing a mostly asleep Kenma, cooing and kissing him while Kenma tries to bury his head further under the covers. With his streaming schedule, he sleeps a lot later than you two, always hiding away in the quiet of the mornings. But there's nothing that could stop Tetsurou from getting his goodbye kiss, and you get your own from him, as well, as you slip into bed next to Kenma for a cuddle before you leave, too. 

"You forgot your coffee," Kenma mumbles, his face pressed against your collarbone.

"How did you know that?" You ask quietly.

"Because you do this every morning." Tetsurou laughs at the way you huff at Kenma's words, leaning over to press a kiss to your head before he moves away from the bed, pulling the blackout curtains further shut so that Kenma can sleep. 

"I'll bring it in to you before I leave," He says before stepping out of the room quietly, leaving you in the silence with Kenma. You jostle him slightly as you shift, earning you another groan from him.

"Did you hear us talking in the kitchen?" You ask softly.

"Shoyo screams so loud I could hear him if I was outside. You should turn your phone volume down when he calls."

"I'll remember to next time," you promise. You both know you'll forget. "Anyway, I'm sure people will ask you about it. Don't comment on it, ok? Not until I get something official out, at least." Kenma lifts his head to frown at you, then, his brows furrowed and hair mussed.

"If people are going to come onto my streams and shit talk my best friend, I have to say something," he points out. You rake a hand through his hair, smoothing out the tangles.

"I know, I know - just, take it easy, ok? I want to let them get their side of things out before gossip spreads anymore." Kenma huffs at your words, letting his head thump back down into your neck as he nods. He's much the same as Tetsurou, you think, in how stubbornly he digs his heels in, how much he's willing to fight this fight. You understand it, of course, this need he has to make it known how good this sport is, how important it is to you all - how important it was to him when it saved him in high school.  

You understand, of course, that this is what the three of you do - you help people, you build the bridge, you pull people onto this stage that was once yours and you fight to keep them up there.

The hand that lowers the net, that's what Hinata had once said about it, not long after you saved him from another particularly harsh gossip article. You'd laughed when he'd said it, feeling that it was a bit much to be so grateful for you doing your job. It's humanity, is what you'd told him. And it's what we're here to do.

As Kenma sighs sleepily against you, burying his head further into your neck and letting his hands tangle into your shirt, as Tetsurou slips quietly back into the room to put your coffee on the nightstand and give you one last kiss before he goes, you can't help but think about it all. You can't help but think that you're doing everything you need to do and being everything you need to be - right here in the quiet safety of your home, in a little piece of the world that you can call your own.

[like-a-diamondinthesky]

my love | h.h.j

-> the first i love you m.list

pairing... bf!hyunjin x gn!reader tags... fluff, established relationship, camping trip, hyunjin’s whipped your honor

hyunjin calls you a new pet name. a heartwarming confession ensues.

wc... 843 words a/n... this has been sitting in my wips for over a month 😨 chatgpt rated it "a solid 9 out of 10" after i finally revised it today so here you go!! i hope you guys enjoy it <3 also, icymi my taglist is open if you'd like to be added!

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You and Hyunjin have been dating for only two months, but every date he's taken you on has been magical. He treated you as if you were his entire world like the true romantic he is. No matter how busy his schedule was, he would take the time to free it up to meet with you and make the sweetest, happiest memories.

This weekend, Hyunjin brought you to a campsite far away from Seoul. As beautiful as the city lights could be, he needed clear skies for what he had planned for you tonight. When you arrived, the scene that welcomed you was beyond beautiful. Several lanterns and fairy lights lit up a path on the ground, leading you towards a pink gingham blanket laid out on the grass, rose petals scattered around it.

"Hyun, this is beautiful." You ran towards the blanket, plopping yourself down and looking up at the sky. "Oh my god, you can see the stars so clearly out here!"

Hyunjin sat beside you, smiling at your excitement. "That's why I brought you here. I know how much you like constellations, so I wanted you to be able to see them in person," he said as he draped an arm around your shoulders, leaning his head on yours. "Plus, I know you get out of bed late at night and look outside the window when you think I’m asleep. You pull out your phone and use a constellation app to try and connect the stars—even if you can’t see them clearly because of the city lights."

A warm blush crept up to your cheeks when Hyunjin revealed that he had caught on to your little habit. You turned to give him a tight hug, sending swarms of butterflies directly to Hyunjin's stomach. Now, he didn't know much about constellations, except that you absolutely loved them. Automatically, that meant he loved them, too. Whatever you loved, he loved, because he loved you.

Looking up at the shining stars in the night sky, Hyunjin lay down on the blanket. You were lying beside him, propped up on your elbows. You pointed out your favorite constellations, tracing the lines in the air.

"That's Pegasus up there," your fingertip connected the stars, drawing the legs. "And next to it is Andromeda." You moved your hand to the right, Hyunjin's eyes following your every movement.

He didn't care if he didn't really understand what you were talking about. What mattered was the way your eyes lit up when you recognized another pattern in the sky or the way your smile grew wider when one particular star shined brighter than the others. Lord, he’s smitten.

There was music playing in the background, care of Hyunjin, and a slower song started playing. Standing up, he offered you his hand. "Let's dance, my love."

Taking his hand, you pulled yourself up. Hyunjin placed your hands on his neck and rested his own on your hips as you swayed to the music.

"My love?" You questioned the nickname as you raised your eyebrow, the corners of your lips quirking up into a smile. “That’s new, you haven’t called me that before.”

“Thought I’d try it out.”

“I like it,” you rested your head on Hyunjin’s shoulder, nuzzling your nose into his neck. Though it was faint, you swore you could feel his heartbeat quicken. “I like you, too.”

You continued to dance with each other, listening to the soft tunes in the background. After a few moments, Hyunjin subtly breaks the silence.

“I like you a lot. Like a lot, a lot.” He admitted as he placed his hand on your chin, gently angling your face up so he could look into your eyes. “I've never wanted to be with someone as much as I do with you."

Your gaze never left his. Tucked behind his irises was a whole galaxy, each star shining and burning bright with passion, just like his love for you. There was so much thought and feeling put into everything he said.

“I think...no. I know that I love you.” After his confession, Hyunjin patiently waited for your response, a nervous smile painted on his face.

Instead of replying, you reached up and pressed your lips to his, celebrating this tender moment with a kiss. Whenever Hyunjin kissed you, it had always been with purpose, with love, and this was no different. Except, this time it felt more intense, like there were more sparks than before.

Slowly, you pulled away and rested your forehead against his. “You have such a way with words, you know?”

Hyunjin chuckled softly, whispering back, “Yeah, I know. Don’t you have something else to say?”

“I don’t know, do I?” You asked teasingly. He playfully hit your arm, eliciting a laugh from you. Then, lowering your voice into a whisper, "I love you, too, Hyun.”

You spent the next few moments (seconds, minutes, hours—who knows?) dancing, wrapped in each other's arms. You were in your own little world with Hyunjin, and you would not have it any other way.

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taglist: @kflixnet @jinnixxn @elllisaaa @captainchrisstan @laylasbunbunny

comments, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated! © like-a-diamondinthesky 2023

[former-ghost-of-the-internet]

One Night in Medellín

(Screen shot and image edits done by me)

Summary: Takes place during s2ep5, when Los Pepes first attacks the narcos on the streets of  Medellín. You lose your hearing during a standoff and are dumped at the Search Bloc base. Javi comforts you in the aftermath, finding ways to communicate through your temporary deafness. 

Javier Peña x f reader

Word count: 3526

Rating: 18+ for some dark content in the background. My blog/‘place I keep my reblogs’ is very Mature, so no minors allowed there, sorry.

Warnings: series typical violence, hurt/comfort, soft Javi, tiny bit of your blood, descriptions of panicked reader, generally able-bodied reader, might read as shorter than Javi, only one instance of female clothing for a funny awkward moment, no specific descriptions of reader, hopefully this is fairly inclusive for everyone. No y/n, no smut.

Authors note:   100% bad information on everything medical related in this story. Any cultural inaccuracies are my own fault too. Apologies to Steve Murphy for being the butt of a joke or two. First time writing in second-person. Not American so the spelling will be slightly different.

Please enjoy 😊

....

Medellín nights were always festive, despite one man’s war with the Colombian government. 

You’d had a long but good day, far far away from the UNICEF office and in a little communa church hall, where you and the other doctors and nurses had vaccinated as many children as could be rounded up. Even the abuelitas had rooted out the most stubborn kids, and either guilted them into coming down, or whacked them in the right direction with their walking sticks and shoes, if not open palms on skulls. Each time was a commotion, and to ease hurt childish feelings, you slipped enough pesos into their hands for an ice cream. For the hard-working abuelitas a coffee cart vendor happily provided free coffee, after you had thrown a pretty smile his way and warned him the little old women were worked up enough to be a threat to anyone not on their side. And he absolutely wanted to be on their side. 

With the unused vaccines stored at a major hospital, and saying goodnight to the local doctors who’d been right next to you since sunrise, you’d headed to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant one nurse raved about during one break you’d taken with her, with free coffees, thanks to a sharp glare from the abuelitas, bless their hearts. 

It was further from the city centre than where you’d been told to stay close to at night, but you hoped your very bright UNICEF shirt would offer some protection in the dark. Even your backpack had a big red cross on it. Anything to say you were a doctor, here to help, and absolutely not a threat. 

The restaurant was packed, even the few plastic tables shoved outside were full, and the small waitstaff offered paper plates to take-away, which many people had chosen, and sat on the street curbs to eat, under the yellow streetlights.

At last the line to order, which the waitstaff had banished to wait outside the actual restaurant, had shortened to only you and the two men in front of you. They both carried full gym bags. And as you noticed with a slight chill through your spine, handguns tucked into their belts. They chatted together without a care in the world, as you looked away to make sure you didn’t see their faces, even in low-light. 

You stared up the street to the top of the hill and the man who walked down it with an assured swagger, encased in khaki pants. Like he’d stepped out of the jungle. 

You frowned as he passed under a streetlight. Something about his face was familiar in a bad way. 

He had his focus on the men standing next to you, and in a blink, drew his own handgun out. 

An arm grabbed you around your shoulders, pulling you back into a chest, your backpack falling to the ground. Then the cold metal of a weapon held to your ear. 

Shouts in Spanish between the men, some sort of negotiation happened as you tried to simply breathe. This is what everyone was afraid would happen to you, from the president of Colombia, to your superiors, and your family, down to the Medellín officials and a couple of American DEA agents. They’d all wanted you to stay out of the murder capital of the world. You’d told them no one would target you. The local doctors were still here, so why shouldn’t you? 

Now you were a human shield, not because of your work, but because you were the closest person to grab. You had never considered the possibility of it before this minute. 

The man behind you moved a step back, taking you with him. Except your legs refused to work, staying where you had left them. Another step back, dragging you along, and your legs crumpled underneath you, making you slide down his body at an awkward angle. Enough for the man in khakis to shoot.

The bullet entered his chest right by your ear. All sound stopped and you were falling.  

You landed on a dead man’s chest. On instinct, you curled into yourself and away from everyone, hitting the rough and hard concrete of Medellín’s streets. 

Hands grabbed you and hauled you to your feet, half carrying you to a waiting SUV. First you, then your backpack were bundled into the darkness of the back seat. The dead men’s gym bags also ended up with you. The owner of the hands hopped into the front, and the driver took off.

A hand came back to tap your cheek, grabbing your chin and twisting your head to look up. The accidental light of street-lamps and cars flashed across your view. He smiled at you and his mouth moved as if he was talking.

You frowned and focused on his mouth. None of his words were getting through to you. You blinked hard to try to clear away the fuzziness of the world, but it changed nothing.

His mouth made these exaggerated shapes and his spare hand moved in circles, like a hamster spinning uncontrollably on a wheel. Maybe he was shouting at you.

You blinked again to be sure, and then had to shake your head. You couldn’t hear anything.

He smiled then tapped your ear and gave a thumbs down. You nodded. 

That caused an explosion of arms from him, as he whacked his driver on the shoulder. Looking back at you, he took note of the UNICEF insignia on your shirt, and you realised where you had seen him before. Carlos Castaño. A paramilitary man based in the jungle, fighting communist guerrillas. 

You had met once before. You’d had to get permission from every side, paramilitary commanders, regular military commanders, government officials, and even the guerrilla commanders, before they let you step anywhere near the Amazon. All so you could vaccinate a few children in a communist village.

The communists had been straight-forward to convince, once you talked in their lingo, focusing on healthcare for all. For the others, a bribe that came out of your pocket, another a promise not to get in the way of anything and to get out in under 24 hours. The Castaños you convinced by saying the communists were dirty, potentially disease-ridden plague carriers. If the brothers couldn’t promise you every communist in the jungle dead in three months time, then they had to let you in to vaccinate, so no epidemic could start from their continued existence. 

You hated saying it, and drunk too much later that night to get the sound of it out of your mouth, but it worked. Those kids wouldn’t die from a preventable disease. But you couldn’t save them from a bullet shot by mad, greedy men. 

Carlos smiled at you again, and pointed his driver to take the next left. 

Some minutes later, the car pulled up to the curb.  Carlos turned to you and put a finger over his lips and shushed you. Then he dragged the same finger across his neck and finally pointed it at you. 

You didn’t know what your face was doing at this point, you probably looked like a scared rabbit, all wide eyes and trembling body. Carlos broke and laughed at you, waving you out of the car. You fumbled with the car door, and stumbled onto the dark, damp street, dragging your backpack with you. They sped off into the night as you stumbled with your own weight.

Not far away, in a pool of white light, was a gate-way guarded by Search Bloc officers. Carlos had dumped you, the little lost foreigner, in front of their base. Your legs co-operated long enough to get you to the gate.

The guards stopped you with one hand up and the other resting on their rifles. You raised both hands up, and announced to everyone’s ears but your own, your name and nationality, that your passport was in your bag. The words felt like they slurred coming off your tongue, like they were heavier than usual. You wondered if you made any sense, but one man nodded at you to continue. It took you no time to dig out your passport. 

With a short inspection of your passport, and a torch flashed into your face, the guards waved you through the gate. One of them touched your ear and brought it up to your eyes to show you blood. The other held his radio up to his mouth. 

As you checked your ear for more blood, a police car came from the base, and the guards helped you in. A short ride and you were taken inside the bright building. The lights blinded you, and you tried to cover your eyes, barely seeing the medic ushering you to a bench. 

You kept blinking, like if you could turn off the world for a bit you would be alright again. You’d be able to focus, to think, to speak, to hear. The outside world was right there in front of you, and as much as you tried to reach out, you were locked behind your eyes. 

A warm hand caressed your arm and shoulder, bringing your attention to its owner. Javier Peña. He stared at you with big brown eyes, looking you over better than any doctor. His hand slid down to yours, keeping it safe under his. 

Javi listened to the medic, then his attention went to a nearby officer, and you saw his lips ask a question, his eyes straying to the dark streets beyond the base. You shook your head, grabbing his shoulder with your other hand, pulling his eyes back to yours, shouting out your warning in clumsy sounds you couldn’t quite hear. If you had your way, no one, not even the narcos, would be out on those streets tonight. Especially not him. 

Because Javi cared. No matter what anyone, or even he said. His heart cared for so many people you’d lost count, though he tried to keep it secret from the rest of the world.

And somehow, somewhere, he decided he cared about you too.

Javi nodded, as serious as ever, and cupped your cheek. Message understood. Relieved, you crumple into him, his arm wrapping around you to hold you close. His chest rumbled, maybe talking to you, or maybe to the officer. After a few breaths, he squeezed your hand and tilted your body back to look at him. He nodded towards the stairs. You nodded back and he helped you up, letting you lean against him.

He led you upstairs, past many doors, until he reached one particular darkened room, and ushered you in. You recognised some of Javi’s colourful shirts piled on a chair, and larger piles of Steve’s shoes, pants, and tops, scattered over half the room and one of the two-tier bunk beds.

Javi led you to a small desk, its small lamp draped a soft light over the room, pulled out the chair for you, and poured a glass of whiskey. He made sure you had both of your hands cradling the drink before he let you take the slight weight from him. You sipped a little at the strong drink, watching as he first gathered up his few visible clothes, shoving them in a suitcase, and then collected Steve’s mess, roughly sorting and folding, then at last dumped into a closet.

Javi went to the neater bunk bed, not Steve’s, pulling back the thin covers, inviting you to rest there. But you didn’t move. You just sat there blinking at the world.

He came back to you, dropped to a knee, and untied your shoelaces, gently taking off your shoes. Setting them aside, his eyes looked you over again, and settled on the whiskey in your hands. He pointed at it, and then glanced up at you. It took a second or two before you realised he was asking if you wanted more. You shook your head and moved the glass away from you. Javi plucked the drink out of your hands. He had a quick debate with himself, ended with a short shrug, and then downed the remains.

Putting the glass on the desk, he swallowed again, before catching your gaze with his. He lifted both hands to his chest, cupping them like the air was something heavy he could hold up, and jiggled them up and down. Then he pointed at you and made a gesture like he was swiping a cobweb away. You frowned and he repeated the sequence. This time his cupped hands looked like a bikini top. You still had no idea what he wanted to say.

With a quick lick of his lips, he reached forward and tapped a finger on your bra strap under your top.

Your face heated as you realised his question. Did you want to take your bra off? Yes, you did, and you nodded at him.

Javi joined you in nodding, but then put a finger up, telling you to wait. Another nod from you, and he was on his feet, dragging out his suitcase again, digging to the bottom of it. At last he brought out a khaki green t-shirt, and placed it on the end of the bunk for you. As you got to your feet, he shoved the suitcase away and retreated to the door, closing it behind him.

He could have stayed and turned his back, but maybe Javi thought that was too hard to mime. You change out of everything except your undies, draping it all over the back of the chair, and slipped on the t-shirt.

The door remained shut. It felt colder without him in the room. You rubbed an arm to try to stop your shivers. Was he coming back? Should you wait? Or was this everything you could expect from him? He had done plenty for you.

He’s probably not there. Why would he be? He’s got files to read still, the radio to sit by, informants to call, Steve to rescue, or maybe he’s finding another bunk to sleep on. So long as he stayed on the base it would be fine. He would be fine.

The hallway is empty. It has to be. You were on your own, you just had to be alright with that. And you would be. Eventually.

It would take time but you would be good again.

You huddled into yourself, your eyes dropping to the ground, as you tried to make your heart understand that Javi had done enough for you tonight. Then you saw the shadow under the door, like something was behind it. Your hand was on the knob before your brain could think.

Javi twisted his body to face you. He had stood guard on your door as you changed. The worried look over his features seems to be a permanent guest this evening.

Your eyes must have said please come back, as he maneuvered you inside with a gentle hand above your elbow, and followed, closing the door again. He sat you down on his bunk bed, and then further down to lie on your back.

He rubbed your arms a few times, slow and comforting, staring at you for a while. At last one hand came up to cup your cheek and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. You nuzzled closer, his mustache tickling your skin. Your heart, mind, and body called out for Javi to stay. Nothing else would help you, could soothe your tremors, calm you and find yourself again, like being close to him.

Javi drew back, and your hand shot out to grab his arm, gripped tight so he couldn’t leave you.

His hand still cupped your cheek, his thumb soothing over the slight hurt he’d caused.

When your breathing eased, you pointed at him and then at the bunk below you.

Javi looked over his shoulder at the door, like he was saying he would find another place to sleep, but that wasn’t what you meant.

You jostled his shoulder to get his attention once more, pointed forcefully first at him then at your bunk. Not another bed, this one. With you. This time he understood. His eyes flicked from place to place, your bunk and then Steve’s bunk, even down at his shoes as he thought of something, and then he nodded.

You were shuffling to make room for him when he stopped you. Javi pointed at you then covered his eyes with a hand. He wanted you to keep your eyes closed, so he could get comfy too. But it meant you’d be down another sense. No sight and no sound. The world would be even further from you.

His eyes begged you to trust him. You took a few deliberate breaths, and he waited for you, watching for any sign of major distress. At last, you nodded and used both hands over your eyes to show you weren’t peeking.

In your darkness and quiet, the only company you had was the bunk under you and Javi’s weight next to your thigh. You could smell his aftershave and cigarette smoke, not overpowering, but most definitely there with you, and not leaving anytime soon. Nice and comforting and him. You took deep breaths of it.

He shifted his weight forward, one way then another. Shoes, you guessed. He came back to you, and did a short wiggle. Something landed next to your arm, soft and warm. His shirt.

Javi’s weight left the bunk completely. Panic made your muscles clench, and you forced your hands down into your eyes, trying to glue them in place, and breathed as best you could.

Something rougher and stiffer and warm landed on top of his shirt. Jeans? He was still here.

You waited a long, long moment for something more to happen.

Two fingers tapped the back of your hand. A deliberate action, purposeful, a message to you. Safe to look now. You drew your hands away and saw Javi standing next to the bunk in a pair of white boxers, folding his shirt and jeans away in his suitcase. He leaned over and placed a quick kiss on your forehead. A thank-you for your bravery.

He left before you could catch him, going to the bottom end of Steve’s bunk, lifting it up and closer to your bunk. He repeated with the top end, and you got to your knees, reaching over to grab the metal frame and pulled it in snug next to yours.

Javi, the genius man that he is, had just created a queen-sized bunk bed. Room enough for your body and his broad shoulders.

You watched as Javi climbed into his side, wondering how he wanted to sleep, when he draped his arm over to you, hugging you to lay snug against his side, your head resting on his bare chest, one of your arms across his waist. He fussed with the covers for a moment or two, making sure most of your body was underneath it.

He was warm and smooth and solid. Safe. At last. You breathed in deeply, his unique scent filling your nose, and then let it go. Another in, and out again.

Your heart had settled. The world was as far away as it needed to be right now. Or perhaps the world was as small as this room, as this bunk. This man. Your arms around him, and his around you.

If your eyes closed tonight, Javi would be there, under your touch.

One more thing left to do. You shifted to look into his eyes. They were filled with concern, until you whispered your thanks to his ears alone. Even a tiny smile on his lips crinkled the corners of his eyes. You couldn’t stop yourself from planting a kiss to his cheek. One of his hands cradled the back of your head, and he nuzzled his nose against yours as soon as your lips left his skin, then moved up to your forehead, kissing it again.

Those brown eyes locked with yours for a moment, before he closed his eyelids, and then opened them quickly and nodded at you.

He wanted you to close your eyes. So you did. You felt Javi lean in closer still, and then his lips placed a kiss first on one eyelid, then the other.

Opening your eyes, you pressed your forehead to his, and moved your hand from his chest, to soothe over his jaw, his chin, then trace over his lips. You wanted to kiss him there. And from the glint in his brown eyes, he wanted it too.

But it wasn’t the right time. Both of you knew it. Besides, you wanted to hear him.

Javi’s lips twitched into a soft grin as if he heard your last thought. His mouth formed words, slow but firm. Three short words. Then he settled you back down onto his warm chest.

You felt Javi’s heartbeat against your cheek, counted its beat without numbers, let its languid pace lull you further towards sleep, until at last your eyes closed with the peace he gave you.

And in your dreams Javi’s heartbeat was your world.

....

Thank you for reading!!!!!!!!!!!!

[fantasticsandwich]

yandere influencer x fem! reader (pt 1)

Don't you know you're the apple of his eye?

The dull hum of the museum’s air conditioning blended with the soft shuffle of footsteps, hardly alleviating the stifling heat that clung to  your skin. You trailed behind Cillian, gaze lingering on a serene landscape that seemed worlds away from the cramped gallery you occupied. However, instead of succumbing to the immense discomfort of being perceived, Cillian was in his element, angling his body to capture the perfect selfie, his phone held aloft.

“Stand over there,” he directed without looking your way, focused on capturing his reflection in the glass protecting a centuries-old portrait. “I need more light.”

Yielding an ungodly ring light, you shuffled into place, feeling the tight pull of your blouse as you dangled it over your head. Struggling to hold it in one hand, you fidgeted, tugging at the fabric, wishing you could blend into the walls and disappear. Your oversized glasses slid down the bridge of your nose as you glanced at Cillian, who paused to wipe a bead of sweat from his forehead before flashing another practiced smile at his phone. Or rather, yours, because he thought pictures always looked better through your lens despite the inferior quality.

A couple cast a glare in your direction, clearly annoyed by the disruption. You watched Cillian wave dismissively at the glaring onlookers, his attention never straying from the image on his screen.

“Can’t have them ruining the shot,” he murmured.

As Cillian lined up another photo,  your thoughts churned. The museum had become a stage, and Cillian, its sole performer. Every sculpture, every painting—they were merely props for his endless stream of portraits. You wondered if he saw anything beyond the likes and comments each picture might garner.

“Isn’t it hot in here?” you ventured, seeking some acknowledgment of the discomfort you felt. “The light isn’t helping. Maybe we could enjoy the art without—”

“Comfort doesn’t get followers, Y/N,” he interjected, his tone light but firm. “You know how it is. Image is everything.”

“Right, of course,” you answered, your cheerful facade slipping into place as easily as your sleeves slipping down your arms. “Image is everything.”

In the silence that followed, punctuated only by the sound of Cillian’s camera shutter, the art around you—a tapestry of colors and emotions—seemed to fade into the background, overshadowed by the one-sided performance playing out before it.

His silhouette morphed with the statue beside him, his body language shifting from casual to statuesque in a heartbeat.

“Y/N,” he called over his shoulder. “Stand next to that one. I want  a photo. It looks like you.”

You hesitated, your eyes tracing the contours of the marble goddess before her: poised, serene, and eternally graceful. You glanced down at your own trendy and curated, yet slightly mismatched attire.

“Um, sure,” you replied, stepping forward with a forced smile. Your limbs felt awkward as you raised an arm, trying to emulate the statue's elegant gesture. The solid chill of the museum air wrapped around your exposed skin, making you acutely aware of how out of place you looked.

“Just like that,” Cillian encouraged from behind the camera, his voice smooth as silk. The device made a soft click sound as it captured the moment.

“Did it turn out okay?” You asked, hoping your performance had been convincing enough to meet his standards.

“Let me see,” Cillian murmured, tapping on the screen with slender fingers. A pause stretched between the pair, filled with the hum of distant conversation and the subtle clicks of camera shutters from other visitors. “Perfect,” he declared, the word dropping from his lips like a verdict. He switched off the camera, his eyes not meeting yours. “Just perfect.”

Your heart fluttered with a mixture of relief and unease. His approval was something you couldn’t help but crave, despite the cost. His hand brushed against yours as he handed back the device, leaving a trail of cold uncertainty in its wake.

“Thanks for helping,” he said with a smile. “Let me treat you to something.”

Exiting the viewing hall, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the muted whispers of other patrons as you and Cillian found your way to a secluded bench in the museum's on-site cafe. A sigh escaped  you, your shoulders slumping slightly as you settled onto the cool metal seat, Cillian taking the booth. Already, he held his phone. His thumbs flicked across the screen, dredging forth a gallery of images.

“Look,” Cillian said, holding the phone between them. On the screen was a photo of him standing confidently next to a marble statue, both strikingly handsome, distant and untouchable, cold in their own regard. “Which is prettier?”

You hesitated, your gaze flitting between his expectant eyes and the image of the two figures frozen in time. You zoomed in to inspect their expressions. The statue’s face was one of great speculation, perhaps even sorrow. Cillian, though undeniably attractive, seemed haughty, almost too aware of his beauty. You experienced a surge of jealousy when you realized his skin was as pale as marble and his eyes were as clear as the glass protecting it from view. Adorned by a light blush, his cheeks were not untouched by the heat. Still, not a single hair was out of place. Not a single blemish or dark spot on that noble farce. His skin was smoother than porcelain.

Meanwhile, spotting your bespeckled reflection on the screen nearly caused your heart to stop. Little flyaway strands plastered against your forehead and splay out across your flushed cheeks. Sighing, you turned your head away, pressing against your shoulder to push your glasses up the bridge of your nose. You felt a dull ache as your lips parted to answer, only for the words to tangle in your throat.

“Hard to choose, right?”

“Both are remarkable,” you managed to say, your words carefully neutral. You hoped your voice didn't betray the unease that coiled within, the sense of being tested. His smile widened, but there was a sharpness to it that didn't quite reach his eyes, and you wondered if your response had been enough to satisfy.

“Of course,” Cillian replied, the word drawn out like a soft purr. “But I’d prefer you say I’m living art.”

Your gaze lingered on the screen as Cillian flicked to another photograph, this one a close-up of his profile silhouetted against a canvas of Renaissance art. His nose stood out. Roman, straight, and perfect, casting a shadow that seemed sculpted by the same hands that had carved the figures they admired all afternoon.

“You are. You look like a statue,” you murmured, voice laced with an involuntary admiration that made your stomach clench. Why weren’t you as pretty as him? Was some cosmic force punishing you for a misdeed in a past life?

“Yeah?” Cillian reveled in your praise, leaning closer. “And what about my other features? Do you think they’re just as perfect?”

You glanced at the high curve of his cheekbones, the arch of well-groomed brows, and how his smile never appeared to belong to you.

“More so. It could’ve been modeled off of you, but you’re still incomparable.”

Abruptly popping out his seat, Cillian muttered an excuse and bolted to the counter. He swiped your desserts up and returned in three long strides. Carefully, he placed them onto the table. Humming cheerfully, you swiped a spoon off the table and guided its tapered head to the dessert.

“Wait,” he said, hand blocking the spoon’s path. “Take some pictures.”

Sighing, you yielded and accepted his phone. The parfait was already melting into a puddle of unappealing, inedible goo, but you slid it across the table. When you pulled back from the lukewarm glass, sugary residue clung to your fingers. The strawberry syrup was congealing, slowly sinking to the bottom to mingle with the yogurt, bleeding pink.

Staring at the mess, you licked your lips. You longed to steal a spoonful, but you couldn’t even consider eating until Cillian decided they had enough pictures. Already, you had snapped fifteen at every angle possible. Upon request, you even shimmied out of your seat to take more.

To think, you could’ve been at home, studying, doing anything else instead of practicing your still-life portrait skills. You shouldn’t have been so excited to be invited out by Cillian. Excitement only brought disappointment.

Popping upright, your knee nearly knocked against the underside of the table. At the last second, Cillian reached out, slotting his hand between to lessen the impact. His skin was warm and soft against yours. His palm enveloped the entirety of your knee. You winced and nervously laughed at the contact, swatting him away.

“Tell me what you think about them,” you said, passing the phone back into the hands of its owner.

Your beaded keychain snagged on a strand of hair that had fallen loose from your ponytail. Wincing, you halted to allow Cillian to detangle it. Once free, you moved to stand at his side, peering over his shoulder as he flicked through every photo. One by one, Cillian kept zooming in on his face, only to pinch his fingers back out to focus on a minuscule detail. Not a single pixel was free from scrutiny.

Slipping his phone into his pocket, he sighed. His hands snuck out across the table, then his gangly arms followed. Elbows resting on the table, he cradled his face in his palms. His gaze rose, narrowed onto you, startlingly innocent.

Although it enhanced his features during photoshoots, you loathed his opaque expressions. Even after several years of knowing him, it was impossible to gauge his response, to anticipate his next word. Fortunately, most of his requests were only minimally irritating to fulfill.

“Can you take a few more pics on your phone? Maybe they’ll turn out different.” He requested, peering up from his device. Neck craned back to view you, his hair flopped over, billowing out into disarray.

A stray strand brushed against your nose, tickling. His roots were growing in, stark against his bleached strands. You pursed your lips, urging your attention elsewhere. Otherwise, he’d ask what you were looking at, and you’d have no choice but to answer. Since that apparently wasn’t a solitary task, you could expect to dedicate an additional hour to helping him pick a shade then dye his hair.

Self-conscious at the proximity, you stabbed your fingers through your hair, tugging the thick mop back. Prodding through knots, you felt the sweat of your scalp melting through your fingertips, boiling into your skin. Mournfully, you realized you would have to take another shower. And to think, you finished your favorite shampoo the morning prior. You’d ask him to buy more and call it a photography fee.

Feeling more coerced than inspired into the act, you sighed and snatched your bag off the back of the chair. Rummaging through the contents, you plucked your phone out. Cillian eyed the keychain with a small grin.

You inhaled for the sake of your patience. Lowering into another awkward position, you guided the camera around, searching for the perfect angle as he posed, arms thrown over the back of the plush seat.

He was rather opinionated about composition; he liked either having his face centered in images or leaning more to the right-hand side. Rule of thirds, symmetry, and whatnot. A simple photo became a portrait, something meant to rival baroque image. You clicked another picture when he scooped a glob of the parfait onto the spoon. Another, when he took a bite, then another when he pressed the spoon to his lips, and another when his eyes fluttered shut.

At some point during the ten-minute extension, a drop of the watery yogurt slipped past your trained eye, dribbling onto his chin. You set the phone down and moved to grab a tissue off of the table when he prompted you to continue. You complied. At last, Cillian decided to grant your wobbly arms mercy as he finally picked his final pose. To end it, he winked and blew a kiss. 

You grumbled, plotting back onto your seat. You winced when the cold metal touched your thighs. “Pay me.”

“An air kiss isn’t enough? Want a real one?”

“Pass. I’d rather gut myself.” You swiped your hair over your shoulder and grabbed a stack of napkins to fan yourself with. Hoping to experience a reprieve from the heat, you reached for your dessert and was sorely disappointed to discover that it had liquified. Only the precipitation clinging to the cup was cold. You grabbed the cup and sloshed its contents around, watching globs spill over the edge. You looked over at Cillian’s dessert and sighed upon discovering that it was in an even worse state. His big, warm hands had cradled it for too long.

Opening up Instagram, you slumped over, assassinated by a surge of jealousy. Posts about vacations in Granada, California, and Rome filled your recommended feed. These broke college students shouldn’t have been partying abroad, living it up. And why were they on vacation when there were still two weeks of spring semester left? Did they take their finals early? How? Could you still get in on the action? Oh well; it wasn’t as if you had money for plans anyway.

When you were done imposing misery upon yourself, you handed your phone to Cillian. He accepted it with the grace of a dog snagging meat.

“I appreciate it,” he said, attention glued to the screen. You saw the images flash across his eyes, his own face superimposed on his retinas as he zoomed in, pinching and frowning. After browsing and sending the photos, he placed your phone down on his lap. Ignoring your sudden anxiety, he rested his hands on the table and smiled. “I mean it. No one else does this for me. Thank you.”

You observed the rings on his knuckles. Glinting like teeth in subdued laughter, he tapped against the table. So pretty and shiny, gleaming with sunlight… And that face… If you became rich enough, you would consider asking him for fashion and skincare advice. He’d taken to giving you gifts at random, and all the products were from expensive brands you couldn’t pronounce.

The perks of having a trust fund, you supposed.

“You’re leaving the country soon, right?” You leaned back against the chair and splayed out your legs, recoiling when your foot made contact with his shim.

A trickle of sweat ran past your neck, seeping down to the plunge of your shirt. Contrarily, Cillian was dressed to attract the sun; he wore a dark dress shirt, rolled up to his elbows. The top few buttons were unfastened to reveal the black designer t-shirt trapped beneath. His jeans were black, with slices at the knees.

“I’ll only be gone for two weeks. Why do you ask? Are you going to miss me? Already feeling the crushing weight of my absence? Don’t worry. I’ll text you everyday. I’ll even bring you souvenirs.”

“No.” Firmly, you shook your head. “You’re the one who’s going to miss me.”

“Get WhatsApp so I can text you without getting charged. It’s about time you finally downloaded it.”

“So you can spam my messages with even more pictures of yourself? No thanks. You have a mirror, and my gallery is already filled by you.” You narrowed your eyes. “Even if I wanted to, how can I download anything if you have my phone?”

“You mean this thing?” Teasingly, Cillian brandished the device. When you reached for it, he leaned back, toting it out of reach. “I can figure out your password and get it for you.”

He typed random combinations of numbers until he successfully unlocked it.  You rose from your seat, more serious about retrieving it. To counter, Cillian hunched over, shielding the screen with his body.

“Relax,” he said, head disappearing beneath the table. Self-conscious again, you tugged your skirt down. “I’m sending myself the photos you took of me.”

Red with anger, you joined him, ducking beneath the table. With the slit of your phone screen showing through the opening in his posture, you glanced down, realizing he was going through your messages and replying with a selfie of himself.

“Cillian…” You grasped his shoulder. “Stop being a cunt. I’m not getting WhatsApp if you’re going to keep acting like this.”

Ignoring you, he abruptly stood. In y ourhaste to follow, your head slammed on the underside of the table. With a hand pressed against your scalp, you rose, only to encounter your frazzled expression staring back on the screen.

“Say cheese!”

Holding the phone over his head, Cillian snapped a selfie of you. As usual, he was smiling, sparkling, while your hair was frazzled and your face was sullen. Although you begged him not to, he promptly posted the picture to your Instagram, accompanied by some of the parfait and himself.

“Cillian,” you tried again. Shaking his shoulders, you groaned when he refused to budge. “Alright, then. I guess I’m just gonna get your phone.”

As if shocked by lightning, he jolted upright. He stared at her, eyes peering into your soul. “Go on. I don’t have anything to hide. But why don’t you want me to have yours? Do you have something to hide?”

“Nothing at all.”

“Good.” He shot you one of his infamous, heart-melting smiles. “Since I already looked at yours, we can look at mine together. It’d please you, right?”

There were moments when he sounded peculiar. Was it something in his tone, or was it his irregular phrasing? Regardless of the strange feeling’s origin, you felt a guilty caution and were inclined to dishonesty in his presence. You wouldn’t want to be a bad friend by misinterpreting his overly-zealous intentions.

Swiping his phone off the table, Cillian placed it into your palm. He relayed the password, but his hand remained enclosed around yours, so you punched in the code with your thumb. Chewing your cheek,  you scrolled, hesitantly tapping onto a conversation, utterly disinterested until you saw the strange memes passed between Cillian and his friend.

“Here,” you said, resigned as you handed the device back.

He smiled. “See? Nothing to hide.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Shrugging, Cillian retrieved your phone from his pocket again to scrutinize the photos in your camera roll, trained on his appearance as he glided between filters and toyed with the saturation.

You futilely observed him before redirecting your thoughts to something more productive, the upcoming final exams. Soon thought, you began to daydream about fast cars and countryside estates, forgetting how, with the new year’s onset, you watched self-help videos, browsed countless articles to curb your materialistic tendencies.

You took up new hobbies with your friends, painting and snacking on charcuterie and wine. You denied yourself the pleasures of theaters, of restaurants and shopping hauls. But when your paycheck arrived, you found yourself partitioning it into tuition costs, then different discretionary categories.

Your mother incessantly begged you to enjoy your youth. One day, you’d have a fulfilling hospital job, packed with plentiful hours. Even then, there was an expected exchange of currency; time for a pay stub. So, at some point, you lost the desire to save and smartly concluded, that whether for necessity or whim, people only made money to spend it. Money was entertainment. Money was activity. Money was the tears in your mother’s eyes when you paid for half of your snot-nosed brother’s school fees.

Money was whatever you needed it to be, and it was all you lived for. You had tried amending this mindset countless times, but no other inspiration stuck. It was fortunate that you were friends with someone who had too much of it. Cillian spoiled you on excursions, with gifts. So, if he had money, then money was him, and by proxy, you were getting that bag while being in his presence.

Once, during your final year of secondary school, you turned to Cillian for advice. You purchased a shirt from a designer brand and wore it to his birthday party, only to have his younger cousin spill juice on you, Rianning it. On the verge of a breakdown, you stormed to the kitchen. As you furiously scrubbed your shirt with a dishrag, you heard footsteps in pursuit. Teary-eyes, you turned to him and asked to hear his truth of the world.

He hadn’t been rich back then. He was only the boy in the council house next to yours, your life-long friend. He knew you better than you knew yourself. You were attuned to his every quirk.

“I’m so tired of buying, buying, buying, but never feeling like I have enough. How do you get through it? Feeling like you’re enough without having it?”

“I’ll show you,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He removed a small clasp mirror, the kind that comes free from stores with a hundred-dollar purchase, and unceremoniously presented it. “You’ve got to love yourself.”

“And how do I go about that when I haven’t the slightest clue?”

“It’s simple.” A light red tinted his cheeks. “You tell yourself ‘You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,’ and know that’s what you’re always meant to be. At the same time, you need to know you’re insignificant no matter what you do. Only relationships define you, and no one wants to be around someone pathetic. You’ll only be used like that, so you need to change to protect yourself.”

Almost reluctantly, he peered up from the glassy surface to look at you, but you felt as if he never truly looked away, as if he were still tracing the contours of his every feature through the glare of the spectacles perched on you nose.

“People say beauty is on the inside, but if you’re ugly on the inside, then you know it can be manufactured.”

Cillian still hadn’t stopped staring at himself as he walked past anything reflective, anything that resembled him. He’d still stare so deeply into your glasses, at his reflection in your eyes and you still wondered if he was searching for a mirror that would twist his form into something beautiful.

You were snapped out of the memory when he voiced a request.

“Your turn,” he said suddenly. “May I?”

“May you… May you do what?”

“You looked at me earlier. I want to do the same.”

“I  mean, you’re already looking at me…” You felt his stare and winced. “But it’s… alright? Yeah, go ahead.”

The air was thick as you waited, trying to anticipate his thoughts, unsure of what he had in mind. Cillian observed you with an intensity that felt almost palpable, his scrutiny a tangible force that rendered you immobile—a specimen under a microscope, a subject in a frame.

“Such pretty features,” he commented softly. His fingers slid along the curve of your cheek, coming to rest on the bridge of your nose. Before you could comprehend his intentions, he plucked your glasses off with a swift, almost surgical movement.

The world around you dissolved into a wash of colors, each brushstroke of reality smearing into an indistinguishable palette of hues. Sounds seemed to amplify in the absence of clear sight, the distant murmur of museum visitors swirling around like wind rustling through autumn leaves.

“You look better without these. You can’t see without them.” He dangled the glasses just out of focus, the lenses catching the light and casting ghostly reflections onto the blurred canvas. “But when I’m this close, can you only see me?” He leaned in, noses almost touching. “Sometimes, I like when you wear them, too.”

You blinked, trying to force clarity back into your vision, but it was futile. The room felt larger, more intimidating, as if the ceiling had stretched away and the walls were leaning in to listen. You were acutely aware of your heartbeat, a tumultuous rhythm against the backdrop of this disorienting scene.

“Cillian?” Your voice quivered slightly, betraying your unease.

“Shh,” he hushed, the sound slicing gently through the air. “Just look at me.”

You tried, oh how you tried, but his face was nothing more than a kaleidoscope of light and shadow, his features lost in a fog. He loomed over you, a specter made of shifting shades rather than flesh and bone. The faint scent of his cologne, usually so comforting, now seemed overpowering, filling your nostrils and clouding your thoughts.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, though whether he spoke of you or to himself, you couldn’t tell. The air was charged with a strange energy you couldn’t define. “Can you see me?”

“Only… only shapes. Outlines.”

“Like an abstract. Can you read me? Do you know what I mean?”

“No?” You said, uncertainty. “If you want to talk art, give me a day to talk to that one upperclassman who keeps begging to paint you.”

His presence was static, pointillism in slap-dash dots, yet there was a sharpness to it, like the glint of a knife hidden beneath silk. Suddenly, Cillian's hands cupped your face. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks in an unexpectedly tender gesture.

“You’re cute.” A soft laugh escaped his lips. The familiar sensation of being pinched and appraised was oddly comforting in its normalcy.

“Alright,” he said briskly, pulling away and breaking the momentary spell. Your gaze fluttered up, onto him. He stood, legs screeching against the ground as he jammed his chair under the table. “It’s about time to leave. We’ve got places to be.”

You blinked, trying to focus on his voice as it cut through the disorientation of your vision. “Can I have my glasses? And my phone?” you asked, reaching out in the direction of his voice, fingers grasping blindly at the air.

“Your glasses?” Cillian teased, dangling them just out of reach. “But you look so adorable without them.” His laugh held an edge, like the thin crack running down a perfectly glazed vase.

“As you know, I need to see,” you said, the words coming out more plaintive than intended. You felt for the spectacles once more, movements uncertain without sight to guide you.

With a sigh that suggested he was granting a favor, Cillian finally placed the glasses in your outstretched hand. The world snapped back into sharp relief as you slid them onto your nose, the cafe and its patrons coming into clear view once again.

“And this?” Cillian echoed, his tone playful. Retrieving the device from his pocket, he waved it around. “I’ll give it back, but you need to promise that we'll look at these together tomorrow. I want to coordinate our feeds.”

“Sure, yeah. We’ll align our online synergies tomorrow,” you echoed, using buzzwords and nodding although a part of you screamed in protest.

Standing, you snatched a few napkins and wiped down the photo shoot's debris. On the way out, you tossed the melted goo into the trash and bid him goodbye, slouching as you turned away and stepped onto the sidewalk, almost immediately surrounded by a torrent of pedestrians. You surged ahead, elbowing your way through the crowd.

“Hell is other people,” Cillian mindlessly commented. You instantly pinpointed his melodic voice amidst the throng. “Want me to give you a ride? Or walk you to the bus stop?”

Halting, you spun around, wrapping your hands around your mouth to shout. “No thanks. It’s not that far. You should also get home before it gets dark.”

“Alright. Be safe. Don’t get kidnapped.”

“Walking with you could endanger me. Someone would take you for ransom.”

“And you’d pay for it, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, I need to get my paycheck first.”

“Y/N,” he whined.

“You’re not Caesar, so why wouldn’t I?”

He shrugged and turned away, finally bidding you goodbye. His arms dropped to his side, madly swinging. You watched for a moment as he pranced, caught in his cool-guy act that he pursued it even as he stumbled over a curb. You chewed your lip to stifle a laugh, allowing yourself a final glance at his strange gait. You began at a leisurely pace, loosening up to let your arms swing like him. Maybe he was happy because he allowed himself to live so freely.

[astonmartingf]

YOU'VE BEEN ON MY MIND—

— co-parenting with alonso has been smooth sailing, until he starts dropping hints that he wants to be with you again

P10 ★ BEATING THE RETIREMENT ALLEGATIONS

amgf AAAAAAAAHHHH yay! congratulations to me on completing ybom, and to you for reading along with this story 😎 we have one special chapter and that's it!!!!! thank you for all your support, let's see each other on jense's story. as always, enjoy 👍

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Rushing out of the car, you grab Ales' hand with your right, pacing towards Fernando standing on the beach alone. Your mind immediately thinks back on the thought of Fernando retiring.

You've only watched him race again in the 2023 season, and the thought of him retiring never crossed your mind, it made your heart ache.

You've fully integrated his racing schedules with yours, taking breaks and watching his on-boards live and sometimes choosing certain races to go with him and Ales. It helped you bond, and make memories with Ales.

You take a glance at the surroundings, seeing as there were very few people on the beach. "Mama, you should go to papa first."

Your son's words only confirmed your thoughts, that Fernando was retiring. You walk into the gazebo, preparing yourself for the worst announcement of all. Lance said it would be good news, how is Fernando retiring good news for you?

You stand in silence, waiting for Fernando to say something while your head racks up a few words of consolation. What caught you off guard however was the soft piano playing in the background.

Turning to face you, Fernando gets down on one knee. "NO!"

Fernando stills, stopping himself from grabbing the ring box from his pocket, trying to hide the disappointment in his eyes.

"You're retiring aren't you? That's why you're proposing to me? No! You can't retire, racing is your life, I can wait a few more years to get married, is Aston Martin ditching you for the next season? You did so well scoring points, what is wrong with them letting you go. I'm going to talk to my uncle, there's no way this is happening."

You grab Fernando's hands, pulling him up from the sand, as you drag him away from the gazebo. Fat tears flowing from your eyes.

"Amor, I'm not retiring. Is that what you think is happening?"

You wipe the tears falling down your eyes, "Then why are you asking me to marry you? I don't want you to retire!"

Fernando laughs, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting hug. "So you don't want me to retire? Do you need more time, I can wait."

You shake your head, "I want to marry you, but I don't want you to choose between me and racing."

Fernando breaks the hug pressing a kiss on your forehead, "Can I not marry you and race?"

"I want that for us, I want to marry you, and watch you race with Ales, and spend my whole life with you."

Leaning in, you wrap your arms around Fernando— the smile on his face growing as you kiss him harder. "I want that for us too. Will you give me the honor of marrying you?"

You jump and cling to Fernando, shouting at the top of your lungs, "Yes! I do, I love you Fernando, and I won't have this any other way. I'm glad we saw each other through."

"FINALLY!" You jump watching Lance from the shore, with a wet Ales, sitting on his shoulders.

"Let's all wrap this up and go home! I'm sorry to be the one ruining your moment here, but Ales jumped into the water while you two were talking about retiring, I know we all waited for this moment— me especially but let's all wrap this up before Ales catches a cold."

yourusername

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yourusername wouldn't have it any other way than with you fernandoalo_oficial

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fernandoalo_oficial te amo, mi amor

yourusername 11/09/2025

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yourusername I save lives, you saved mine. CONGRATULATIONS! CHAMPION OF THE WORLD 🍾🥂❤️

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