#i need to spend more time on my fic anyways

[saltynsassy31]

Full disclaimer, I have to read any of the fics written for Shockwave and the kids yet as I've been busy and off Tumblr for a bit for my own mental health lol

But I recently saw a photo of an abandoned carousel in some underground area filled with puddles and it reminded me of that one deleted scene from Detroit: Become Human where the Jerry's make a broken carousel work again for Alice and they all just watched her happily play on it as the world around them crumbled.

And, with that thought, it also reminded me of Shockwave and the kids and I simply HAD to write a small drabble fic of it. Sorry if it isn't accurate for the characters or the story already made, but I hope it's enjoyed regardless :3

And, I hope, with all the angst going on, this fluffy story will satisfy yall a bit XD

[This is the post I saw that inspired me to write this, if anyone wants a visual of the place: https://www.instagram.com/reel/DGog_W_vDiR/?igsh=b3FsYm50enJhM3ln ]

AU belongs to @keferon

Carousel

~☆~

As the days went by, the situation they all found themselves in was slowly starting to get far too real. It was fun, at first, running around abandoned buildings and scavenging for whatever they could find, spending time with their newly acquired aquatic dad friend who kept them safe and well fed.

But then things started to show up and it scared them. Shockwave tried to avoid the areas with the most floating bodies, the children having seen enough of that (and he hoped they hadn't seen any they would recognise), but every now and then something would float up and startle them. Other times they'd run into bigger problems while scavenging and they had far too many close calls for Shockwave's liking.

They tend to keep themselves entertained, for the most part. Shockwave only occasionally indulged. But, usually, he could simply gently float on the surface of the water and let the kids tire themselves out. However, they've become more quiet lately.

It was hard to tell what caused it. Could be a myriad of things, as listed before, maybe it was finally starting to dawn on them how the situation was far from ideal. Maybe it was the conversation they had with that Orca - Jazz, was it? Shockwave couldn't tell, and it bothered him.

He missed their lively chatter (it still happened, but few and far between). A part of him was starting to wonder if the humans who called him out on the fact that this wasn't normal behaviour for human children were right, a small pang of regret reaching the back of his mind.

But he shook those thoughts away. Now wasn't the time. Nothing about their situation was normal anyway, he was already providing more than enough for them to survive this cruel world.

Shockwave was aggressively pulled out of his drifting thoughts by an ear piercing screech that immediately put him on high alert.

“Guys! Guys! Look!” He heard Skids say. Turning to look at him, he followed where the boy was pointing at.

It looked to be some kind of fair or theme part, it was a little hard to tell. Half of it was submerged, but there were some areas in which the water had receded. Shockwave relaxed once he deemed the situation safe, but still gave a small scrutinising glare at Skids for causing unnecessary concern - which went, of course, completely ignored.

“Oh wow, it looks pretty banged up, huh?” Tc noted, crawling closer to the edge of Shockwave's back to get a better look.

“But there might still be some things left over. You know how much they tend to sell in these places? And now we can just snag them!” Warp argued, already getting excited at the thought.

“Do we really need more useless things to carry around?” Trailbreaker argued, the bag he carried strangely heavier on his back.

“There are other things we could do there.” Skids quickly chimed in. “We could check out some of the games they have.”

“Would there be any still working?”

“Carnival games easy to fix, Soundwave up to the task.”

They all turned to look at Soundwave, seemingly to silently fall into an agreement.

Warp turned to face Shockwave, clasping his hands together as he pleaded. “Can we go there? Pretty pleaaaase?” Before he could even answer, the others had joined them.

He wasn't going to say no. This was the exact type of fun distraction they needed, maybe it would help them go back to their usual, energetic selves. So the theatrics were unnecessary. Still, he couldn't help the small amusement it brought him. He pretended to think it over, as if he didn't already have their answer.

“Hmm, I don't know…”

Those simple words were enough to make them all Start to plead harder, making their eyes as big as possible, throwing promises he knew they'd never actually follow through.

That broke the façade he was trying to play up, causing him to laugh. “Alright, alright. We can go.” The kids erupted into celebratory cheers, hugging each other and jumping on Shockwave's back. “But don't stray so far where I can't reach you, okay?”

They all nodded, but he only had trust in some of them to actually obey his orders.

Regardless, he swam over to the abandoned park and waited until they had slid off of him before crawling over onto land. The ground was still pretty wet, so it made it easier for him to slide around and follow them, keeping himself to the more deeper puddles when possible.

He watched as they all went to different directions with their own, small group. Tc and Warp, always tied to the hip, ran over to some of the stands that still had some prizes hanging. Windcharger and Trailbreaker followed Damus as he ran to play some of the games that didn't require power to work. And Skids and Soundwave went…

Where did they go?

Panic immediately followed the realisation. Shockwave stood up straighter and began to spin his head around in search of the two missing kids. The others didn't seem to have noticed their absence, too enthralled in their own activity.

He was about to start calling when he heard a familiar boisterous voice call from not too far. “Guys! Over here! Come see what me and Soundwave just discovered!”

Immediately, all of the attention was on Skids who had a smile so wide Shockwave was worried he'd hurt himself with it. The others looked at each other briefly before making their way over, Damus hesitating a bit before putting down the fishing rod he held and following the rest.

Shockwave did so as well, to the best of his abilities anyway. The further they went, the tighter the space became and less water reached the surface for him to easily slide around. He wanted to voice his complaint of them going too far, like he had explicitly told them not to before coming here (and really, he thought Warp would have disobeyed first before Soundwave. Skids made sense, but him?) But before he could even think of what to say, Skids noticed his struggle and seemed to remember something.

“Oh, right! Almost forgot.” He jogged over to the mer shark and gently grabbed at one of his fingers to guide him elsewhere. “There's an opening that takes you directly to the area we found. You have to swim underneath some rubble, but it should fit you.”

The boy took him to some dilapidated attraction of the park, it was too broken to tell what it used to be, but it did create an opening that allowed Shockwave to fit through perfectly fine. “Just swim straight ahead and it should take you to the area, we'll meet you there.”

Immediately, Shockwave didn't like that idea, and he didn't need to voice his thoughts for the teen to catch on, his glare doing the job just fine. “It'll be fine, don't worry! It's not that far. Less than a minute, probably less than a second for you since you're so big you'll just have to slide in and out. Besides, there's nothing here, the place is completely barren.”

Shockwave was still unconvinced.

Skids took to pleading. “Please! It'll be quick, I promise you. And worth it too! It's the exact thing we've been needing, and Soundwave put a lot of work on it. I know you don't like leaving us alone for even a second, but give it a chance?”

They stared at each other for a moment, Skids making his eyes as wide and innocent as possible and Shockwave hoping the stubborn teen would dispel this idea with his glare alone.

In the end, Skids guppy eyes were far too powerful even for a great shak such as Shockwave. And the kid was right, wasn't this what he wanted for them to begin with?

He let out a heavy sigh of defeat and reluctantly agreed to it. “Fine. I trust you, but if anything shows up–”

“We don't engage with it and call for you, yes, I know. Now go! Soundwave is waiting!” Skids ushered Shockwave to submerge himself into the large opening with the wave of his hands and only joined back with the others once he could no longer see the large mer.

One relief Shockwave had was that the tunnel formed was large enough that he could easily turn around and pop back out if he heard any of the kids in danger, though it also lacked any proper escape for him as it only had one direction for him to go. Straight ahead or backwards. 

But Skids was right in saying the trip was short, he could already hear the muffled voices of his children. Soon enough, he found himself resurfacing, the lively chatter being the first thing his senses picked up on.

When the children heard the splash of water, they all turned to look towards the source of the noise, their excitement almost blindingly radiat in contrast to the dark, murky room they found themselves in.

The place was closed off by fallen buildings that created a sort of cave around them, plenty of fauna already making its home here. It was fairly empty as well, save for the large, round attraction in the middle of the room. It had horses stuck to poles inside it, a dim pink and gold decorating the whole thing, the paintings that littered it had long since faded and it was hard to tell what it once was.

“Okay, you're here, good.” Skids turned to Soundwave, who was standing next to what looked to be a control panel. “Soundwave, would you do us the honours?”

The other teen nodded, bending down to start pulling at some wires in place of pressing the buttons offered. Warp scoffed, crossing his arms and looking skeptically at his friend. “There's no power here, how in the world are you going to get it to work? I swear, if you brought us all the way here for nothing I–”

Before he could finish his sentence, a blast of music and light echoed loudly around the empty space, causing everyone to flinch back and cover their ears. Shockwave nervously looked around, worried that the loud noise might have attracted some unwanted attention. Once the shock faded, Skids ran up to Soundwave and gestured proudly at the now working carousel.

“Ta-da!”

“Wh…how is this possible!?” Warp questioned, looking at Soundwave for answers, to not only be ignored, but shoved around by the other kids who ran towards the attraction. “Seriously?! Is no one else even a little bit concerned on how this is possible?”

Tc placed a hand over his shoulder, bringing his attention to him. “Warp, just enjoy the miracle. When are we going to get another chance like this?”

Warp could only grumble. Tc was right, they wouldn't, not for a long time. That didn't mean he had to accept it though.

Shockwave watched as they all walked over and picked their favourite horse, Tc and Skids fighting over the same blue one before Trailbreaker broke their fight up and offered his to Tc, walking up to help Damus up and sit with him instead. Shockwave observed the way Soundwave continued to pick at the control panel and looked up at the other children, waiting for their confirmation that they were ready before clicking something and closing the panel. As soon as he did that, the carousel began to slowly move, the horses bobbing up and down in gentle motions, causing the kids to excitedly cheer.

Soundwave stepped on the moving platform while it was still picking up speed and sat on a random horse near Windcharger. Although not as vocal as the others, he was clearly enjoying it.

Shockwave couldn't quite get what was so entertaining about the thing. It was slow, even after it picked up some speed, and the music was painful to the ears. But that didn't quite matter, did it? They were happy, and they were having fun.

It clearly was something they knew about before the tsunami, before their civilization fell apart. A simple joy of life that they missed.

And, in a world dimmed by tragedy and destruction, where at every corner something threatens their very existence, isn't that all they could ask for?

So, in a small moment of peace, Shockwave let himself relax. He bent forward and rested his chin over his crossed arms and watched as his children sang along with the screechy music, bouncing on their fake horses and pretending they were in some high chase in their little imaginary world.

In this dreary reality, even the artificial light of a broken past could make it all worth it. 

[darkwicks]

Homecoming

You’re a casual fan, you think. Spider-Man is cool, and you just really like him. That’s all... until you learn that the friendly neighbourhood web-slinger is so much closer than you think.

PAIRING.⠀Xia Yizhou | Caleb x Reader

CONTENT.⠀female reader | superhero AU & Spider-Man Caleb | descriptions of anxiety, fluff, happy ending, mentions of blood and bruises, secrets, slice-of-life (as much as it can possibly be), some angst and hurt/comfort | ~7,6k words

A/N.⠀I really said "I'm going on a writing hiatus" and "I'm gonna lock in" with my whole chest knowing damn well I'm a liar ... anyway yeah this fic was inspired by this Spider-Man Caleb fanart... it made me go crazy.... I hope you enjoy!

available on AO3 | reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

@hunters-association @theseabreezestreet

You were on the verge of a breakthrough. You just knew it.

You were absentmindedly swinging your legs back and forth as you sat at the table. Your laptop was open and displaying several windows—some were images of Spider-Man, some were news articles. Your tablet, and in turn, your notes, had gone completely forgotten. Spending time passively scrolling social media was far from productive, but compared to what you were reading, exam revision was totally dull.

Developing an interest in Spider-Man had been unintentional. You saw him mentioned in the news. Out of curiosity, you looked him up, and all of a sudden, you found yourself deep in the rabbit hole. Before long, you were up-to-date with daily news, keeping up with his movements and making friends with fellow Spider-Man fans. It was swift and unexpected, but you found it more fun than whatever you were previously doing.

He was far from the first superhero Linkon City had seen. There used to be rumours about the God of the Tides and how he ruled the seas for centuries before he found the love of his life. There was also Lumière of the N109 zone, a vigilante who suddenly stopped being active about fourteen years ago. Legends of the Abysm Sovereign and the Foreseer were passed down through generations. No one had proof they existed, only the product of their labour. It was as if they didn’t want to be seen. Still, that didn’t stop your interest from getting piqued.

The difference between Spider-Man and the past legends of Linkon City was that Spider-Man was still active. A web-slinging genius with a no-kill rule, he made the streets significantly safer. Photos and surveillance footage of him were constantly shared, but no one had any luck finding his identity yet. You weren’t investigating him for malicious reasons. You were just, for the lack of a better word, nosy. You wanted to know the man behind the mask instead of the neighbourhood guardian the news always talks about.

You looked at your screen. There was a rough timeline of his appearances the past week. He was in different parts of the city, catching robbers and other criminals with his presumably handmade technology. There wasn’t a strict pattern to how he operated. It seemed that he liked to lurk before making a move. It was how he brought down the corrupted colonels of the Farspace Fleet. Fighting crime appeared to be easy for him, and he wasn’t as destructive as some were. It was impressive. Everything he did had you in awe. His dexterity and swiftness, his strength and courage—he was just what Linkon City needed, you thought.

Just as you were about to go into another deep dive, a hand pushed your laptop shut. Caleb was towering over you when you snapped your gaze to him, brows furrowed as you gave him an offended look. He lightly jabbed your forehead and only smiled in response, seemingly pleased with your reaction.

“You’re supposed to be studying.”

You sputtered. “I was studying!”

“No, you weren’t. You were looking at Spider-Man again.” He tapped his fingers on your tablet, reilluminating the screen once more. “Your exams are next week. You need to focus.”

“I can multitask,” you argued half-heartedly. “And, I’ve never let you down, have I?”

Caleb took the seat across from you with an exaggerated sigh. “I guess not.”

“Why do you hate Spider-Man so bad anyway?” You frowned, trying to move his hand away. He didn’t budge. “He’s keeping the city safe. That’s a good thing!”

“I don’t hate him, but you’ve been distracted. I’m trying to help you.”

“You sound jealous,” you joked. Resting your cheek in the palm of your hand, you looked up at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Are you sad I’m not giving you enough attention?”

He pursed his lips, visibly unimpressed. “Set the table. Dinner’s ready.”

“You’re no fun!” you whined. “It’s not my fault there’s finally something interesting!”

You begrudgingly moved your items to the side and got up to make your way to the kitchen, slippers sliding against the floor. The savoury aroma swirled into the air, making your stomach growl involuntarily. Your irritation now forgotten, you made quick work of setting the table and pouring two glasses of water. With your job finished, you waited at the table, eyes drifting over to the TV on the wall. The screen displayed two reporters behind a desk beginning the evening segment. It faded into a clip of men webbed stuck to a lamppost, undoubtedly the work of Spider-Man himself. They were looking to rob an innocent passerby before the webslinger caught them red-handed.

“Huh. That’s where we live,” you spoke up after rereading the headline.

Caleb placed the plates on the table. “That’s why I always tell you to be home before curfew.”

“It’s not like I break curfew anyway,” you grumbled. “You know I hate being out when it’s dark.”

Distracted, you kept your eyes on the screen. The public had mixed opinions about Spider-Man himself. You, along with your circle of friends, thought of him as a hero, feeling safer knowing that he was out there protecting innocent people. From helping an old woman cross the street to busting evil plans, he was using his talents and intelligence for good. He worked tirelessly every day to keep the streets pristine and harmless. The police, on the other hand, weren’t as fond of him. The LCPD openly expressed their distaste for Spider-Man, citing that he was an obstacle in their investigations. Some people thought he was just another guy with a gimmick. These criticisms didn’t seem to bother him at all. If anything, every time someone said anything negative about him, he’d work even harder just to prove them wrong.

You knew it was far from wise to idolise a public figure, but with Spider-Man, he inspired you to do your best every day. You liked to imagine he’d be proud of you if he knew you. You worked hard and powered through no matter how many setbacks you had. As silly and childish as it sounded, he made for great motivation. He was a good guy, he was cool, and—

Caleb waved his hand in front of your face, a warning tone in his voice. “Pipsqueak.”

You jolted, snapping back to the present. “Sorry!”

“Why do you like Spider-Man so much?” he asked, poking at his food. “You got a crush on him?”

You sputtered. “What? No!”

He gave you a look that urged you to continue. Heat rose to your face as you felt a spotlight shining down upon you, giving you the floor. It was hard not to feel embarrassed about something that felt so childish. You hummed thoughtfully, trying to think of words to say. Knowing you were going to sound like a child regardless, you sulked, defeated, and finally gave him a response.

“It’s just… I really like superheroes,” you mumbled timidly, fiddling with your fingers. “I admire people who use their strength for good. Like you!”

The corners of his lips twitched. He seemed pleased. “So do you like me or Spider-Man more?”

“You are jealous!” you said with an accusatory tone. “Caleb, it’s not like that! It’s like… You know when you have a favourite celebrity? That’s what Spider-Man is to me.”

He made a face, though he ended up relenting. “Okay. I get it.”

“Yeah! It’s kinda like how you used to like—”

“Your food’s gonna get cold,” he interrupted, flustered. “I put all my effort into making your favourite. Don’t let it go to waste.”

“Fine,” you drawled out, unable to hold back the smile from stretching across your lips.

Spider-Man eventually faded to the back of your mind throughout dinnertime. You found yourself engrossed in conversation with Caleb, slipping into the normal banter and routine with ease. Somewhere in between, he changed the channel to natural documentaries instead. When you gave him a questioning look, he just shrugged and said that you should take a break with him. Not one to deny his requests, your laptop went forgotten as you spent the remainder of the night on the couch with him.

It was nearing midnight, and from the way that you yawned, you were nearing your limit as well. The documentary was long finished; the past few minutes were just advertisement after advertisement, regular products with unnecessarily catchy jingles. You glanced over at him, suddenly curious. Unlike you, he didn’t seem to be tired at all. If you were more awake, you’d notice the anxious bouncing of his leg or the worried furrow in his brow, but fatigue was catching up to you fast. With another yawn, you pushed yourself to your feet, taking the throw blanket with you.

“Goodnight, Caleb.”

He smiled at you. “Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Fully sated and worn out, sleep came as easily as breathing. Images flickered behind your eyes, displaying dreams and vignettes in film reels. You dreamt of endless summers and sweetness, of growing up and exploring the world. When you woke up the next day, only a fragment of those memories remained. Caleb was already gone when you left your room. He left a note saying he’d left early and that breakfast was in the fridge. After treating yourself to his homemade cooking, you set off for classes and got the day started. It wasn’t very eventful. Classes weren’t particularly interesting. Lectures were about things you already knew, and a majority of your classmates were absent, leading to little to no conversation. Before long, the academic day was over, and it was time to return home.

The streets were bustling with activity as you waded through the crowd. Clamour and chatter were more than loud, people surrounded you, and the scent of car fumes mixed with savoury food bombarded all of your senses. You were starting to see now why people liked to say that Linkon City never sleeps. With everyone getting off work, the city was beyond crowded. Restaurants were fully seated, as were the cafés. Traffic went by incredibly slowly. Dogs barked to the sound of car horns and people were emerging from the train station in groups. You gripped your bag tightly, anxiety clawing at the back of your mind. News and posters about pickpockets were nearly a regular occurrence; it was better to be safe than sorry.

You managed to make it to a street where there were less people. You recognised some of the vendors out and about, offering them warm smiles as you walked past. Occasionally, you stopped by and bought a few snacks to take home. Now having your hands full, you were more than ready to go home and unwind. You hummed a catchy pop tune under your breath, leisurely walking down the path when the TV screens in the electronic stores came alive. You came to a stop, standing in front of the clear glass. It was a news segment. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the screen displaying surveillance of Spider-Man was context enough.

He single-handedly stopped a burglary, moving with inhuman agility and fighting with incredible strength. It showed a group of men bound together by his webs, cursing and fruitlessly struggling to break free. It took a few seconds before the familiarity of the background sank in. The convenience store, the townhouses and the DVD store… The incident happened not too far from home. A frown overtook your features. Despite the crime rate being significantly lower thanks to Spider-Man’s efforts, the curfew was still in place, and the unrest remained. It was not any different for you.

As you made a move to continue your walk, you felt something being snatched from your grasp—your bag. The thief ran at full speed, deftly navigating through the crowd as you yelled for help and followed him, aggressive footfalls slapping against the concrete. Absentminded apologies left your lips whenever a complaint was heard from a passerby. Your chest was beginning to ache, but you needed it back. It had everything. Your phone, your wallet, your house keys with the chain Caleb bought for you. You couldn’t afford to lose it.

The traffic light turned red just as the thief crossed to the other side. You contemplated just dashing through, but anxiety kept you rooted to your spot. They were going further into the distance. You bounced on your heels nervously, eyes glaring at the timer. 40, 39, 38…

It was now or never.

Cars honked at you as you ran to the other side, the combination of noise nearly sending you jumping out of your skin. You pushed through your fatigue and kept running until you tripped over your shoelaces, collapsing to the ground with a loud thud. You hopelessly reached out, watching the thief’s silhouette disappear into the distance. Tears of frustration sprang up to your eyes and you buried your face in your hands, uncaring of how you looked to other people. You weren’t fast enough. All your important things were gone, about to be left somewhere you could never find, and your information would be stolen—

“This yours?”

Your bag was dangling in front of you. Were you so distraught that you were hallucinating having someone come to your aid? You blinked and stared at it dumbly, your mind trying to grapple with the situation. The person crouched down to your level, and Spider-Man’s face came into view.

Wait…

You screamed in surprise, frantically pushing yourself away from him. “What—”

“Hey, hey, It’s okay. It’s just me. I webbed him. He’ll be stuck there for another three hours,” he said casually, speaking as though he was just another regular pedestrian and not the famed vigilante of Linkon City. “I had to look at your ID card to make sure it was you, but I’m glad I got to you in time. Here, take it.”

You barely managed to catch the bag as you were still gawking at him. What felt like a thousand questions were popping up rapidly in your head. How did he know? When did he get here? What was going on? How was he so fast? Caught off guard by your stunned silence, he brought a hand up to scratch the back of his head sheepishly, feeling awkward under your stare.

“Everything okay?” Spider-Man asked tentatively, waving a hand in front of your face. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, your reaction slightly delayed. “N-No.”

“Listen, I have to go. There’s gonna be a robbery on Ninth Street.” He helped you get on your feet, carefully making sure you had your balance. “Get home safe, okay? And don’t leave past curfew.”

“Okay,” you said, dumbfounded. It didn’t take long before you managed to snap yourself back to awareness. “Yeah, okay. Thank you for getting this back to me.”

He did a casual salute before aiming his web shooter at a building, swinging away with ease. Digging through your bag, you were relieved to find that everything was intact. Once the confusion went away, excitement came rushing in. You hastily grabbed your phone and dialled Caleb’s number, lips curling into a grin. He picked up after the first ring.

“What’s up?”

“You will not believe what just happened to me,” you said in one breath. “I just met Spider-Man.”

A loud crash was heard in the background.

You hesitated. “Are you busy? It sounds like you’re in the middle of something…”

“Everything’s fine, don’t worry about it. So, you met Spider-Man?”

You nodded, forgetting that he couldn’t see you.

“Uh, pipsqueak?”

“What? Oh, yeah. I did! I’m walking home right now. Someone tried to steal my wallet and I couldn’t catch them, but Spider-Man did and he got it back for me. Isn’t that crazy?”

“Someone tried to rob you?” You could practically hear the frown in his voice. “Why didn’t you call me?”

You blinked. “You’re at work. What were you gonna do?”

He fell silent. It took a couple of beats before he spoke up again.

“Well, I’m glad you got your stuff back. Just make sure to be home before sundown. Tell me when you’re back, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be back in time for dinner, I promise.”

“It’s okay! Take your time,” you reassured him. “I’m heading home now. See you.”

You had a pep in your step for the rest of the way, feeling in high spirits after the encounter. The weight on your shoulders was lifted, leaving you feeling lighter. You didn’t realise how much you needed to breathe. Relieved would be an understatement—it was as if everything fixed itself in front of you. You didn’t generally consider yourself a lucky person, but today, you had won. The encounter with Spider-Man replayed itself in your mind, echoing his voice, reminding you of the proximity you shared.

After sending Caleb a quick text to let him know you got back safely, you began to cool down from the day. You tossed your keys on the counter and went straight for your room, determined to change out of your sweaty clothes. Since he was normally the one to cook dinner, you didn’t have to do much preparation in the kitchen. You put away the clean dishes, washed the leftover ones in the sink, and decided to tidy up a little. With your tasks done, you returned to the living room and flopped down onto the couch with a groan. Though you didn’t hold high expectations for what was on TV, you turned it on for background noise anyway, half-listening to the dialogue in the show that was playing.

The clock on the wall continued to tick. Caleb would get off work soon. You ended up smiling to yourself, excited to tell him about your day. Lying comfortably on the couch, you continued to passively scroll through social media to kill time. You were beginning to hear the telltale sounds of people returning home. The sound of a car door closing, your neighbour’s doorbell ringing, eager dogs overjoyed to see their owner home. Considering the traffic you’d seen earlier, Caleb returning a little later than usual wouldn’t be that irregular.

With that in mind, your worries were eased a little. But as minutes faded into hours, nighttime came, and not a single call or message from Caleb was seen. Worried, you sent him a text, only for them to be left on delivered. Calling him led straight to voicemail. Growing increasingly agitated, you called him again and again, only to achieve the same result. He always told you if he was going to be late. He always picked up after the first ring. But your attempts to get through to him went unseen, and it was getting harder trying not to sink into your anxiety the longer his silence went.

You paced around the room, fingers clutching your phone as the call went to voicemail again. Your eagerness for dinner had long dissipated and was replaced by immense dread. Worst-case scenarios were starting to appear in your mind, fuelling your panic with its increasingly violent visions. You chewed on your nail as you paced back and forth, trying to reach Caleb to no avail. The situation was growing more dire with each passing second.

You glanced at the time. It was three in the morning. You were wide awake on pure adrenaline and distress. You couldn’t bring yourself to feel tired. It was as though all of your senses were on high alert. Everything was too loud, too much, and your clothes felt rough against your skin. Instinctively, you made your way into his room and crawled into his bed, hugging his pillow and rocking back and forth. The smell of his detergent and perfume soothed you enough to have you breathing normally again. Your fingertips dug into the material, knuckles going white and shaking from how rigid your grip was.

The world started to feel less daunting when you finally calmed down. You felt exhausted, completely boneless. Your eyelids were getting heavier, and as you lay there surrounded by everything he owned, you found yourself falling slowly. The room is dim with only the city lights outside peeking in through the curtains. You felt a cold draft coming through the window, sending shivers running down your spine. Fabric rustled and you felt the mattress dip, immediately jolting you awake. A mixture of relief and fury washed over you.

“Caleb?”

His breath hitched.

You blindly patted the nightstand in search of the lamp switch. Once the room was illuminated, you squinted at him through half-lidded eyes. “Where the hell have you been?” you asked groggily. “I’ve been—”

Your eyes dropped to his outfit. It was the same suit that Spider-Man wore, although more torn and worn down. Whatever tiredness was left in your system dissipated when you saw him. You sat still for a few moments, trying to contemplate whether you were imagining things or if this was real. You didn’t know where to begin. It was as if time stopped. There he was, the person you had been waiting for, standing at the foot of the bed like a deer caught in the headlights. You stared at him with your mouth agape, your mind struggling to put the pieces together despite the obviousness in front of you.

You didn’t know where to begin. Did he always sneak back home like this? What happened to him? In the end, you settled for the most urgent one in your mind—

“How long have you been hiding this from me?”

He forced a smile, the gesture awkward and tense. “A couple of months.”

“Months?” you asked, voice rising in volume. “You’ve been—you—god, I don’t even know what to say.”

“I’m sorry.”

You pursed your lips. “Come here.”

He tentatively complied, sitting down in the spot next to you. Your hands cradled his face, thumbs brushing over the bruises and making him grimace slightly. He didn’t say a single word. It was as if he was also dumbfounded himself. You were still upset, but the longer you looked at him, the more the anger faded. At least he was home. Injured, but still home in one piece. It was leagues better than the thousands of scenarios your mind was conjuring up earlier.

“You have a lot of explaining to do.”

“I know,” he murmured, voice uncharacteristically meek. It was unlike the Caleb you grew up with.

“But it can wait,” you said, pulling him into a hug. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I was worried about you.”

His arms wrapped themselves around your waist and he held you close to him, a shaky breath escaping his lips. He held onto you with a desperation you’d never seen before. He relaxed into your touch just the slightest, reassured by feeling your warm body against his. You pressed your cheek to where his heart would be, feeling its steady rhythm remind you that he was here—that he was home.

Your voice was meek when you spoke. “I thought you left me.”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“So you decided with radio silence?” you snarked back. Something in his expression flickered, making you calm down once again. You frowned at the amount of bruises visible on his face and the dried blood on his split lip. Softening, you told him, “Go take a shower and get changed. I’ll patch you up.”

He didn’t argue. He only nodded and disappeared into the bathroom, walking sluggishly. The sound of running water filled the stifling stillness as you took a proper glance around the room. There was an evidence board, several open books, and a well-used first aid kit on the desk. Your heart sank. Just how long had he been doing this, getting himself hurt and having to mend himself? Didn’t he trust you? Why did he keep this a secret from you? You heaved out a sigh and hid your face in your hands, frustration and sadness simmering beneath the surface.

There were a lot of questions you wanted to ask, but this wasn’t the right time. Right now, all you could do was be there for him.

He emerged a handful of minutes later, dressed in comfortable clothes. You scooted over and patted the space next to you, lips pressed in a taut frown. Now that the suit was off, you could see the hits he’d taken more clearly. Splashes of blue and purple were scattered across his skin, some big and some small. There were a couple of cuts and scrapes close by, both old and new. It was the worst you’d ever seen him.

“Sit,” you urged timidly. You gingerly applied the ointment on his bruises, careful not to hurt him as he stared up at you. He looked so vulnerable and so fragile that it made you feel like your heart was going to burst out of its confines. “Talk to me. Please.”

“It was Gran,” he said. “She made a serum. I didn’t know it until a few days later. I was stronger, faster… I could hear everything. I could feel everything.”

“How come I never knew this?”

“I didn’t want to worry you. I’m supposed to be your hero, remember?” He laughed in a self-deprecating way, avoiding your gaze. “I had to stay strong. Figure things out, get stronger… Make sure you’d always be safe.”

Setting the first aid kit aside, you pulled him into your arms once again. He held onto you tightly, fingers grabbing the fabric of your shirt so tightly that his hands were trembling. You raked your fingers through his hair and brushed them back, keeping them away from the wounds on his face. For a moment, it felt like there were only the two of you in the world. All you could hear was his quiet breathing as he latched onto you, unwilling to let go.

It broke your heart to see him this way.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t rely on me.”

“No, that’s not it,” he sighed. “I’d go through anything for you. I just… I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t keep any secrets from me anymore.” You pulled away. He looked up at you with a pained expression, years of secrecy and isolation making themselves known in his glossy eyes, the quiver of his bottom lip. “Can you do that for me?”

He nodded weakly.

“I need words, Caleb,” you said, your voice firmer than intended. You cupped the side of his face, feeling him clasp your hand with his own, warm and calloused. “Can you promise me that?”

“I can,” he exhaled shakily. “I promise.”

The tears you were holding back brimmed at the corners of your eyes, small droplets sliding down the sides of your face. A hushed whimper broke out of you. Caleb held on to you like you were his lifeline, refusing to let go for even a split second. The gravity of his words weighed heavy, as did him baring his heart. He melted in your embrace, sinking deep into your comfort as you gently scratched his scalp, easing every worry he was holding.

“Don’t lie to me again, okay?” you murmured into his ear.

“I won’t anymore. I swear.”

—

Though months seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye, the emotional turmoil stayed deep in your heart the entire time.

Life had turned completely upside down. With the new knowledge of him being Spider-Man looming over you, you were having trouble placing yourself. Some days, you felt excited and happy for him. He was more open with you when it came to his successes. He’d tell you about the petty criminals he caught or the passersby he helped while swinging through the city. He was passionate about his identity as Spider-Man, and he was committed. You wanted to support him in every step of the way. Some days, you’d feel like you were sinking. You previously didn’t worry all too much when Caleb returned home late, but since that day, fear and anxiety kept you company on lonely nights.

He didn’t always return looking completely beat up. Sometimes he was unscathed. Sometimes it was just a couple of bruises. But you hated being home alone, especially in the dark where everything seemed to get much worse. You were losing sleep because you’d stay up to wait for him to come home. You needed to see him with your own eyes, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to go to sleep in peace. He tried to give you estimated times to soothe you, but it didn’t always work. You’d wait in the living room, rock yourself back and forth as you wondered if he was coming home.

Your mind wouldn’t let you forget that he lied, either. You already forgave him a long time ago, but you remembered. You’d question yourself, question him, and what would come after was an overwhelming sense of guilt. He was trying. He was more open. He was showing you an important part of himself, bringing you along with him on his journey, yet doubts still lingered in your mind. He kept his cheerful disposition, constantly reassuring you that everything was going to be fine, but your mind was filled with what-ifs. What if he was hiding more from you? What if he was lying? What if he thought of you as a burden?

It was irrational to feel this way. You knew that very well, and yet, you still felt like you were fading out of his life. You talked to Caleb normally, interacted with him like you always did, but something felt different. It was as if he was drifting further and further away from you. Your outstretched hand, desperately trying to reach him, and his fading silhouette. Everything had changed. You felt like you were losing him in real time and there was nothing you could do about it. Everything had changed, yet it was all the same. You still had breakfast together. He still picked up the phone after the first ring. He still smiled at you, looked at you like you were his whole world. You were teetering between security and uncertainty. You didn’t want to feel this way, but you were helpless. These feelings came by themselves, and the more time you spent alone, the more difficult it became to ignore them.

Your sentiments towards Spider-Man had only grown stronger with the knowledge that Caleb was him. His name was more well-known in the city, growing popular among kids and women, and he was constantly being praised by the press. You supported him. You had total faith in him, trusted in him and his strength. But sometimes you’d stay awake stressing about how safe things truly were. More fame meant more notoriety among criminals, and you’d often wonder how long it would be before something drastic happened. You wanted the best for him, you really did, but something guttural gnawed at you. The desire to keep him to yourself, the need to protect him. You wanted to sink your teeth into his flesh, to keep him in your maw. You wanted to hide him away somewhere only you knew.

You dreamt of it sometimes—of risking your life for him just to keep him safe. You constantly wondered if things would be easier for him if you left. You knew there was much that he wasn’t sharing with you yet. You knew it would take time regardless of how much he trusted you, Still, you felt as though you were being kept in the dark. Being Spider-Man seemed to be so easy for him. It suited him, even. You couldn’t see anyone else doing the same thing that he did. But you didn’t know what you were meant to be. You felt for him very deeply, as did he, but the vagueness in the air bothered you more and more every day.

Were you only being selfish?

You thought back on one of the mornings you spent with him. A full spread of breakfast lay across the table and the news played in the background. The sun was shining bright, peeking through the gap between the curtains, and the weather was good. But there was a sense of foreboding that loomed over you, one that you couldn’t keep to yourself. You called his name softly, leading him to look away from the screen.

“Are you okay?” you asked. He blinked at you, confused by the question.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

Somehow, it wasn’t enough.

“Are you okay?”

You didn’t know.

“I’m good. Sorry, I just thought you looked a little distracted.”

The lie slipped out of you with ease. You felt childish. You felt burdensome for needing reassurance from him that he wasn’t going to leave you behind, but you could never bring yourself to say it. Between your pride and the overwhelming fear of rejection, the words you desperately wanted to stay would remain within the confines of your mind. He didn’t seem to be convinced by any means, but he didn’t push the matter. A part of you wished he did.

It wasn’t a fight. There was nothing wrong. Even when he returned home blood and bruised, exhausted out of his mind, you took care of him with love and care. It didn’t matter that you didn’t understand why he was risking his life. Caleb never broke his promises or broke away from the path to his goals. He wasn’t about to let you stop him. With great power comes great responsibility, he said. But was this responsibility thrust upon him, or was he doing it out of his volition?

You hated feeling helpless. You knew he didn’t need you to do anything, but you felt like you weren’t an integral part of his life anymore. You felt like a bystander, like someone he was slowly forgetting. You shouldn’t feel this way. You should feel happy that he still cared about you, that he cared about the city to give his all into protecting it, yet your mind just wouldn’t let you. Your thoughts on Caleb hadn’t changed. You still thought he was the most important person to you, but what used to be admiration and even love for Spider-Man was turning into resentment little by little.

Some days, you hated him. You felt like a little kid without her favourite toy. You felt like a lonely child in a class full of people. You knew it was useless to dwell on these things, so you tried to occupy yourself. You put all your effort into your studies. You kept yourself busy doing chores even on the days when it was his turn. You didn’t wait to eat dinner with him; you went out for food and drinks with your friends, came back a bit later than the sunset. It wasn’t as if he’d notice. He wasn’t home when you needed him to be.

His name was constantly trending on social media. Spider-Man rescues bus from hijackers. Spider-Man stops bank robbery. Spider-Man comics and merchandise releasing. His name became the talk of the town, earning the attention of the rest of the country. The newfound fame kept him even busier to the point where people were starting to dig deeper into his true identity, leading fans and investigators to wait outside your home. You kept ignoring them, but they were persistent. Your declining of their questions only made them more curious. Not only did you feel like he was slipping out of your grasp, but also like the safety of home was in jeopardy.

It wasn’t his fault. You couldn’t blame him for it. But sometimes you wondered if he knew just how much this was affecting you, as self-centred as it seemed. The satisfaction you expected from uncovering the truth about Spider-Man never came. The final piece of the puzzle was right in front of you, living and breathing under the same roof as you were, and all you could harbour was disappointment.

What Caleb was doing was major. He was keeping the city safe—keeping his home safe, for you and everyone. You found yourself sinking further into guilt and bitterness, the light at the surface growing smaller as you fell deeper and deeper. It was childish of you to be throwing a tantrum over something like this. So, you decided to grin and bear it. He understood you like the back of his hand; doing the same to him was the very least you could do. You pestered him less about his missions, stopped trying to call again and again when he didn’t respond. He’d always come home, even if it took days. He never broke promises. He promised he wouldn’t.

If he noticed the change in you, he didn’t mention it. His actions, however, said otherwise. He did his best to pay more attention to you. He tried to spend as much time with you as he could despite your conflicting schedules. He listened to everything you spoke about, promised you to be careful when you asked, and continued to protect you in his own way. You didn’t know exactly what it was that seemed to switch the dynamic completely, but at a certain point, you were no longer drowning in the pool of negativity. The sun seemed to shine brighter, the flowers in full bloom, and your cheeks ached from how much you’d been smiling. The lingering sense of foreboding faded into nothingness, replaced by pure optimism and trust. The future didn’t feel so glum anymore.

You supposed all you needed was time.

Time to heal, time to process everything. Time had a way of turning wounds into scars, healing phantom pains into a comfortable stillness. The claws that had your heart in a death grip had loosened, letting go of the chains they wrapped around it. You felt lighter, happier. Some semblance of normalcy had returned—as normal as it could be considering his dual life, but you weren’t going to take it for granted. You felt like you could finally breathe after being underwater for so long. Even here, where you were alone in the apartment, you didn’t feel lonely. It was… normal. A relief. It didn’t feel so suffocating anymore.

It was quiet save for the sound of your nails tapping against the keyboard. It was a sunny afternoon. Having had a productive morning, you aimed to finish the rest of the day in the same way. You were focused and determined to finish the essay quickly so you had more free time. But as the hours went by, that determination waned, and you found yourself at a dead end. You blankly stared at the blinking cursor on the word document. It almost felt like the thing was mocking you. Fatigue and boredom were catching up to you increasingly quickly. You knew the material by heart. You knew what you wanted to talk about. Yet no words came to mind—you were drawing a blank, and the thoughts in your mind were already drifting off elsewhere.

The counter was littered with snacks, surely something Caleb would chide you for. Your tumbler was long empty, left with nothing but melted ice cubes at the bottom. The dishes awaited cleaning in the sink and the TV remained turned on, playing a rerun of some generic soap opera. Defeated, you closed the word document, eyes drifting to the window beside you.

Outside, the skyline was painted in hues of orange and blue. Birds flew over the horizon, ready to migrate elsewhere for the upcoming spring. Your chest rose and fell with your exhale as you let your mind wander. You used up your creativity for the day, you thought. You haven’t made significant progress on the essay since you started it a few hours ago. Before you could beat yourself up about it, three loud knocks were heard from the window. Caleb’s masked face peeked over the wall as he gave you a gentle wave. Giddy, you got off your chair and skipped over, fingers deftly undoing the lock on its doors. You slid it open, allowing him to crawl in.

“I thought you were busy fighting crime,” you teased, watching as he took the mask off. His hair was tousled and his cheeks were flushed from exertion. “Are you slacking off?”

He huffed, amused. “I can multitask.”

He unhid his hand from his back and handed you a large bouquet of sunflowers, the gesture immediately making you melt. Flowers weren’t that out of the ordinary. Caleb liked bringing you gifts and trinkets he thinks you’d like. You got an equally large bouquet during your high school graduation and another one when you were accepted into university. You took it with a smile, murmuring a quiet ‘thank you’ and curiously looking at him. He bounced on the heels of his feet, seemingly nervous about something. His brows knitted together.

“You okay?”

He met your gaze. “Do you still think Spider-Man is better than me?”

You blinked a few times, confused. From the way he said it, it appeared that it wasn’t the first time he thought of something like this. You chuckled and crossed your arms over your chest, shifting your weight to the other leg.

“Getting jealous of yourself, Caleb?” It was your turn to be amused. “I never said he was my number one hero.”

“You never said I was your number one hero either.”

You sighed in mock exasperation. “Why is this important? You’re the same person.”

“I just wanna know,” he said, uncharacteristically sheepish.

“First of all, that happened once,” you corrected, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Second of all, I love you. Spider-Man or not.”

His lips curled into a smile. “You love me?”

Warmth blossomed across your chest, rising all the way up to your cheeks as your lips parted in surprise, sputtering incoherent syllables. You awkwardly turned your head away, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. Love had never been discussed, not really. It just felt like an unspoken commitment since you were children. He was the most important person to you, and you were the most important person to him. You never really thought about labelling your relationship.

Your eyes widened when you remembered you always referred to him as your partner whenever you spoke of him to your friends. You already gave it a label without realising it. You opened and closed your mouth like a fish, struggling to come up with a reply. You could feel his gaze on you, hear the satisfaction and mischief in his words. Clearing your throat, you tried to compose yourself and decided to follow through. You couldn’t take it back anyway, and even if you could, you didn’t want to.

“Yeah. I do,” you said, feigning indifference. “I thought you knew that.”

He couldn’t stop the smile from expanding into a grin. A breathless chuckle left him. His cheeks seemed to be getting even pinker as he fidgeted in his spot. He scratched the back of his head with flustered giddiness, struggling to keep eye contact with you. You didn’t think you ever saw him this shy. He was always your brave hero Caleb, the same boy who held you when you had nightmares, the same boy who held your hand when the thunderstorms got too loud. He was the same boy who defended you from bullies and got into trouble for getting into a fight with them. He was the same man who held nothing but affection in his words for you, the same man who would fall into playful banter with you.

You sighed softly, the corners of your lips twitching up. “You’re not gonna say it back?”

Though he didn’t need to, there was still a hint of insecurity in your tone. You looked at him expectantly, still watching as he tried to maintain composure. You weren’t used to seeing him this way, but you thought you could learn to do it. It made for a rather nice sight.

“I love you too, pipsqueak,” he finally said.

You beamed at him, placing the bouquet on the counter before leaping into his arms, delightfully laughing when he caught you effortlessly. You looped your arms around his neck and hooked your chin on his shoulder. Your legs were wrapped around him, your body supported by his arms around your waist. He held you as if you were as light as a feather. He nuzzled into your hair, letting out a content sigh. The air felt so light, so carefree. The remnants of your worries disappeared into the air, replaced by pure joy and unbridled affection.

“So… What’s the plan? Are you done with the day?”

“I’m going back to work. They need me,” he replied. With a jovial tone, he continued. “But I’ll be back for dinner.”

“You mean it this time?” You pulled away, searching into his eyes for honesty. You were still prone to worrying. His vigilante lifestyle was full of unpredictable moments, so it consistently kept you on your toes, leaving you unaware of what to expect. You were desperate for his words to be true. You felt as though you’ve been away from him for way too long. You craved his presence, his warmth—you craved him.

He gave you a boyish smile. “Yeah. I do.”

And that was a promise.

[nanamisgirly]

PLEASE, STAY

↪ ( ˶ a part of you wants to scream that yes, you did care. you still do. that you were just too afraid to stay. but you do none of that. instead, you do the only thing you're good at, you walk away. and he lets you. for mere seconds, he lets you leave— again. and then you hear him “don't you fucking do this again.” his voice isn't a plea, it's a command. for a moment, you think that he won't let you go. that maybe—just maybe—he'll grab your wrist, yank you back, force you to deal with this. but he doesn't. because he still wants you to choose him. and you never do.˵ )

pairing ᥫ᭡。richman!Gojo x bodyguard reader. they had a sort of situation ship before.

content ᥫ᭡。fem!reader, no curses au, they're both around 30, smut at the very end, very provocative gojo (?), mean reader ig, a lot of cursing, angst, oral sex, unprotected p in v sex, mention of blood, fights scenes, broken bones, pet name (mostly sweetheart and once baby), sexual tension, slow burn, explicit language, explicit content, power dynamics, military mention (mild ptsd), gun mentions

word count ᥫ᭡。13k

notes ᥫ᭡。this is for my 200 followers 🥹 thank you for all the reblogs they are very very much appreciated!! I didn't know where I was going with this fic lmao, I just hope that some of you will enjoy reading it! I'm always open to feed back :))) be mindful this is my first long (?) fic, I threw some stuff together and hoped for the best oops

you were assigned to gojo saturo. of all the men you could possibly protect, it had to be him— you're ex-friend with benefits. 

you sat across from him at a table that probably cost more than your entire apartement, fingers twitching under the weight of irritation. the upscale place was dimly lit, the kind meant for quiet luxury. 

“you both understood?” your superior asked, sharp gaze flickering between the two of you. Gojo grinned, the same playful smirk on his annoyingly handsome face. the past nine years had only done him favors, he'd grown taller— making him tall like a damn tower— his features sharper, his frame broader. 'maybe he'd been training' you thought. ‘or it’s just life sculpting him into something even more irritatingly perfect.'

you left him when things started to be serious. back then, Gojo had some difficulties to understand he was just a sex friend. but it didn't really matter, you had to leave for the military anyway.

for a long time, you didn't want to process feelings, attachments— that was just bullshit. and now, nine years later, somehow, you were right back where you started.

you retired from the military after sustaining severe injuries. but you still craved the thrill— fights, missions, the adrenaline rush. it kept you on track. like drugs, you were addicted. so you became a sort of bodyguard. over the years, you had protected royals, rich heirs, celebrities— anyone with a target on their back. it owned you the reputation as being the best in your field. you were ruthless, cold-blooded, killing without hesitation if needed. 

your face remained stoic, your gaze locked onto gojo as he held yours. “yeah, got it. babysit the rich brat until the gala's over.” you mocked, leaning back against the chair. 

satoru chuckled, he couldn't help but tease you “oh, come on now. you make it sound so boring” tilting his head like a cat toying with its prey. “i thought you'd be happy to spend some time with an old friend”

you scoffed. “friend is a strong word, Gojo” that response only fueled his mischief. “you're right” he crosses his arms as he continues “we were never��just friends” insufferable brat. “i'm here to do my job. nothing more” you said without a hint of emotion in your tone, fixing him with a glare that should've shut him up.

it didn't.

his piercing blue eyes gleamed with amusement “of course, sweetie," he purred, resting his elbows on the table, leaning in “just admit you missed seeing my beautiful face.”

you exhaled sharply, already exhausted 'maybe a small knife pressed against his throat wouldn't hurt— just a little warning.'

“what i miss, is protecting some quiet person who knows their limits and let me do my damn job in peace. this, is what i truly miss”. Gojo hummed, shamelessly dragging his gaze over you “personally, i missed that sharp tongue of yours.”

“alright, enough,” your superior cut in, his tone serious— a clear warning that he had no patience for the ridiculous back-and-forth between you two. “stay close at all times. there are threats left and right against him leading up to the gala.” he turned his attention to gojo “you don't act up, and you listen to whatever she tells you.” the rich man was clearly enjoying himself “don't worry, i love when she bosses me around” he winked at you before standing up and leaving the restaurant. like this was all a game to him.

your superior exhaled heavily, already bracing for the headache to come. then, he dropped the next bomb. “you need to stay at his place.”

you try your best to keep a straight face. “what?” 

“gojo is already informed. you're moving in tonight.” and with that, he left the table, leaving you seething.

your fist met with the surface with a dull thud. “damn it,” you muttered, frustration curling hot in your chest.

this is going to be a long, long week.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

you rode to gojo's house, spending the time to talk yourself down. you had spent years perfecting your composure. you had survived war zones, assassinations, and high-profile threats. there was no reason for gojo fucking satoru to get under your skin.

and yet.

his house— no, his mansion— was perched high above the city, a fortress of sleek glass and security. the driveway alone was bigger than some of the safe houses you'd stayed in.

when you pulled up to his gates, the night was well-advanced, the cold biting at your cheeks as you lifted up your helmet. you met some guards at the entrance stating that gojo was expecting you. of course, he was.

the second you stepped through the doors, the place smelled ridiculously expensive. the living room was massive, with a sunken seating area surrounding a glass-enclosed firepit. there are floor-to-celling windows stretched across the space, offering a panoramic view of the glittering cityscape below. a massive, curved staircase led to the second floor, the railings lined with soft, glowing, light strips, guiding the way up.

the place screamed luxury— unapologetically extravagant, but with taste. just like satoru gojo.

you sighed, rolling the tension from your shoulders as you tugged off your gloves. the ride had been long. your muscles ached. your motorbike uniform clung to you, slightly damp with sweat. all you wanted was a shower and some sleep.

“you're so sexy in that uniform” his voice came from above. you looked up to find him leaning against the railing, messy white hair, sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms, collarbone peeking through his loose neckline of his shirt.

and that goddamn smirk.

“gojo,” you warned, voice firm. he ignored it entirely, blue eyes twinkling as they dragged over you with zero shame. “seriously, bending you over in it wouldn't be so bad.” your fingers twitched. satoru in all his splendor. 

“wouldn't be so bad if i curb-stomped you into the floor.” you respond. gojo restrained a laugh, eyes sparking with mirth. he fucking loved this— pushing your limits. “actually, i wouldn't mind that either” you grit your teeth at the comment. “just show me where my fucking room is." 

when you reached him, he let out a dramatic sigh, “not even a little peck before sleep, sweetheart?” you blankly stared at him “alright, no need to look at me with so much love” he ironically says as he turned around, leading you to your room.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

4am. the digital clock glowed dimly as you pounded your fists against the heavy bag. you slept only two hours— which, honestly was decent considering you never slept well. the military had drilled into the art of light, vigilant rest, training you to snap into action as the slightest disturbance. and staying here, with gojo just down the hall, only worsened that already unstable peace.

“fuck it” your fist connected with the training bag, a loud thud echoing through the empty gym. you did a home tour by your own after gojo dropped you to your bedroom— and to your relief, you found a fully equipped training room. exactly what you needed to burn off frustration time to time.

sweats dripped down your temple, muscles burning from exertion as you moved with precision and force, the heavy bag jerking with each impact. your t-shirt had been abandoned long ago—tossed to the side as the heat from training built up—leaving you in nothing but sports bra and low-slung sweatpants. 

“gojo, are you going to stay there for long?” you snapped as he stayed put in the doorway, thinking you hadn't noticed him those past fifteen minutes, arms crossed like he had all the time in the world. he grinned, unbothered “was testing if you could notice a threat even while distracted” you snorted “well, now that you oh-so-sweetly reassured yourself, could you fuck off?” your fist slammed onto the bag harder, sending it swinging violently.

you felt gojo's eyes on you, it almost burnt holes on your skin. his eyes darted at the sweat slipping on your back. “damn," his voice was low “i think i prefer you like this— hot, sweaty, breathless.” he insisted on the last word. your eyes flicked to his figure as he took slow steps forward. “i think i like you gone.” he clicked his tongue, tilting his head as if you disappointed him “why always so hostile? i could be way more helpful than that punching ball.”

you were too fucking exhausted for this, your next punch sent the bag flying so violently it nearly knocked over the weight rack. you caught it with one of your wrapped hand, fingers tightening around the worn leather. you exhaled sharply, preparing yourself to face gojo and his bullshit. “i swear satoru—” you stepped closer to him, closing the space between you. only to realize how stupidly tall he was up close. you weren't small but standing like this— with a solid eight inches between you— made you feel very tiny next to him.

“satoru," he repeats “it's been a while since you've said my name. say it again” he leaned in, eyes lazily tracing your lips, the small hairs at the back of your neck sticking to your skin, your full breasts pressed tight against your sports bra. a strong desire lingering in his eyes as he imagined licking every drop of your sweat. he tested your patience “you know,” he murmured “i really love this view.” 

and that was it, you had enough. in no time you grabbed him, hooked your arm, and flipped his ass over your shoulder— slamming him onto the floor. before he could react, you were on him, your thighs straddling his hips, your hand wrapped around his throat. gojo eyes widened in shock— he did not expect that. but the surprise was soon enough replaced by a slow curl of his lips.

“fuck,” he chocked out “that was hot, sweetheart.” you tightened your grip around his neck “gojo, you're a fucking perv.” you felt something hard pressing between your legs. “i'm just a man." he lifted his hand, acting innocent "you kept bouncing around that bag, how could i not get some ideas?”

the worst part of all those stuff is that you were turned on by all his teasing. your panties dampened any time he made a comment over the little talk you both had in those past ten hours.

“gojo, you're a total pathetic man,” you mutter rolling your hips down harder, closing your thighs firmly around him just to hurt a little more. his pupils blown wide and his lips part sightly— that fucking bastard was loving it. “y-yeah, pathetic” he chokes out “i- i'm a- a very p-pathetic m-man." your panties were so damn soaked by now as his length presses sinfully against your core. you refuse to acknowledge the feelings, you don't need it, you don't need him, you don't need to go back to him.

you release his throat with a final squeeze, eyes heavy, dragging your fingers down his heavy chest— feeling the hard ridges of muscle tense under your touch, before you push yourself up and off him. you see his hips twitching up, as if he was chasing the missing heat of your pussy. gojo let out a broken— needy whimper, as you adjust your waistband and roll your shoulders back, trying to gather your thoughts. ignoring the aching pulse between your legs. 

your feet leading you to the door. you throw one last glance to gojo, you can see his erection straining against his pants from where you stand, aching to be taken care of— gojo's features twisting in desperation. “be ready at eight a.m. We've got recon to do.” and with that, you leave him there, fighting the urge to go back inside and kiss him senseless.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

the ride to the venue is longer than necessary with gojo whom insisted on riding with you. you should have known better than accepting his demand. he can not keep his hand to himself.

at first, his hands rested innocently on your stomach, but as soon as you took off, he let them slide lower, palm resting on your inner thighs— fingers tracing circles way too close to your core. the vibrations of the bike only make it worse.

at the next red light, you snap your hand down, gripping his wrist. “keep your hands to yourself” you warn him “either way i'll have to cut them off” his chest rumbles with laughter against your back. “what if i don't want to?” you hear his teasing voice through the speaker of your helmet “you're never asking about what i want, sweetheart.” his hands squeezing you through your pants. “i think i'm gonna kick your ass off the bike. go to hell that damn mission” your jaw tightened, ‘why does he have to make everything so difficult’ 

the light turns green and you don't hesitate to accelerate like a damn crazy— earning some curses from gojo, his arms wrapping around you, his thighs locking firmly against yours. once he accommodate to the speed, he's laughing, slightly enjoying the way you speed down the street like you're trying to outrun the heat pooling between your legs.

you parked in front of the luxurious hotel, one of the most extravagant hotels in the city by the way. the gala will be held there, a beautiful place— a perfect representation of gojo's wealth and arrogance. “gorgeous place, huh?” he muses. “maybe we should get a room after the mission, to celebrate our teamwork.” you swing your leg off smoothly, ignoring him as you unbuckle your helmet.

when you step inside, multiple people are working on the preparations— setting up tables, adjusting lighting, and fussing over floral arrangements. you walk straight past them, heading toward the ballroom where the gala will take place. the room is massive— high ceilings with floor-to-ceiling glass windows, multiple balconies. it's beautiful, but a logistical nightmare for security. too many places to hide, too many potential vantage points for a sniper.

gojo lets out a low whistle, walking a step behind, hands in his pockets— acting like a damn tourist instead of a man with an actual bounty on his head. you walk past the ballroom, letting him doing whatever he is. you head toward the back corridors, checking the service entrances, mapping out the security offices. The staff is too busy setting up to pay you much attention— except for the occasional glance at gojo, probably wondering if he's some high-profile guest.

then something shifts. a group of security personnel moves in, just a little too fast. too coordinated. you recognize the stance immediately— trained, disciplined. not just the hotel staff. your instincts scream at you, your feet move before your mind fully catches up— you step toward gojo to warn him…and that's when you see it. a figure in the hallway, gun raised. aimed directly at gojo's head.

your body moves before your brain processes. you twist on your heel, muscles coiled, and throw your knife. it slices through the air, and the second it buries itself deep in the shooter's forearm, he lets out a sharp yell, his aim faltering. it's all you need. you charge.

your combat boots barely make a sound as you sprint toward the shooter. you're on him before he even recovers, grabbing his wrist and twisting it outward— hard. 

POP. he screams, his shoulder socket dislocating from the brutal angle, the gun slipping from his fingers. your knee flies up, slamming into his sternum. you feel his ribs shift under the impact, his breath leaving him in choked gasp before you shove him aside like trash.

“holy shit—” gojo starts, but you don't hear the rest as you see three more attackers already closing in. one of them lunges with a knife— fast, trained. but so are you. you shift sideways at the last second, grabbing his wrist mid-swipe. then in a brutal motion, you twist. his own blade sinks into his thigh. a strangled gurgle leaves his lips as he stumbles back, collapsing to his knees, clutching the handle buried in his leg.

suddenly you feel arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you from the floor. you snap your head back, cracking the nose of your opponment with the force of a fucking hammer. blood sprays onto your shoulder and the wall. your fast to slam your elbow into his throat, his air supply instantly cut off, his body jerking as he crumples to the floor.

the last guy is bigger, stronger— seems to be military trained from the way he moves. but that doesn't matter, you've had to deal with fiercer men before. when he's close enough, you drop low— leg swings out in a sweeping arc. CRACK.

his legs are ripped out from under him. he fall onto his back, gasping for air. you don't let him breathe, your fist driving down, once.

twice, three times.

the last punch bursts his lip open, blood dripping down his chin. your fingers wrap around his throat. you lean in close, sweat dripping down your temple, eyes heavy of the need to kill. “you fucked with the wrong person.” you hear a broken noise coming from his lung. you tighten your grip.

and then— clapping. 

you whip around, chest heaving. and there stands gojo, grinning like the devil himself “well, well, well.” he whistles, stepping over the bodies of the men you just demolished. “i gotta admit, that was fucking sexy” your brain is still catching up, heart pulsing with adrenaline “what the hell is wrong with you?” you snap. “we almost got fucking assassinated.”

his grin deepens. “sweetheart…” he crouches down, tilting his head. “that wasn't an assassination.”

you freeze. you hope it's not what you think it is.

he gestures lazily at the unconscious men. “that was a test.” he lifts his shoulders, unbothered. “wanted to be sur you still got it” he winks, amused.

your blood runs hot. “a test?” gojo shrugs, way too casual for someone who just watched you beat the absolute shit out of four men. his gaze drags over you— knuckles bloodied, chest rising and falling hard— and his smirk only widens.

you don't think much as you launch at him, fury taking over— fully prepared to knock that smug grin off his face for good. but this time, he's ready. he catches your wrist mid-swing. “no, no,” he purrs, his grip tightening just enough to make you aware of his strength. “play nice.” your free hand grabs the collar of his shirt, yanking him closer “fuck you and your stupid games," you spit "i can't wait for this week to end.” you see red. 

gojo's amused eyes faded into something darker. his eyes once playful, turn sharp, dangerous. “and what?" his voice is low, cold— jaw clenched so tightly it might break. "leave like you did nine years ago?” his face inches closer, his warm breath hitting your skin. “leaving without a second look?” your stomach twists. he's standing too close— looking at you like he wants to rip you apart.

your chest rises and falls sharply. your body is still burning from the fight, but this— this is worse. you rip your wrist from his grasp, shoving him hard enough that he stumbles back a step. and he laughs. an empty laugh, far from his usual cocky, full-bodied laugh. “that's all you ever fucking do, huh?” his voice is sharp. “run.” you flinch, ever so sightly. but he sees it. and he seems satisfied ‘i finally got a reaction out of her.’ 

"i didn't have a choice". you force the words out, voice controlled. gojo's expression darkens. “bullshit, you always had a choice.” he steps forward, and this time, you don't move back. if he punched you, it will be well-deserved. you wouldn't dodge it. his fist on your face would hurt less than the words coming out of his mouth. 

“you just didn't choose me.” your heart stops, feeling something inside you cracks. but you don't want him to see it. so, as much as you hate what you're about to say, you steel yourself and let it out “what, you think i owed you something?” the words taste bitter, burning your tongue even as they leave your mouth.

gojo's lips parts, but nothing comes out at first. then quietly— too fucking quietly “no.” his voice is ragged, raw. “but i thought you cared.” you feel it like a punch to the gut. gojo never says things like this. he surely is all teasing remarks and well-placed avoidance but never is he a looking like you ruined him. like you destroyed a part no one could ever rebuild— except… you.

a part of you wants to scream that yes, you did care. you still do. that you were just too afraid to stay. but you do none of that. instead, you do the only thing you're good at, you walk away. and he lets you.

for mere seconds, he lets you leave— again. but then you hear him “don't you fucking do this again.” his voice isn't a plea, it's a command. for a moment, you think that he won't let you go. that maybe—just maybe—he'll grab your wrist, yank you back, force you to deal with this. but he doesn't.

because he still wants you to choose him. and you never do.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

the ride back home is fine. if fine meant quiet, tense, and filled with too much unsaid shit hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break. then yeah, it is fine.

gojo didn't pull his usual antics— no wandering hands, no teasing remarks. just silence. his hands stay firmly on his own thighs, gripping the edges of the seat. and somehow that irritates you even more. 

you can feel the weight of his gaze the entire ride back, burning into the back of your head like a brand. he doesn't speak, but his presence is suffocating.

by the time you pull up to his estate, he gets off the bike before you can even kill the engine. his movements are sharp, jaw clenched, shoulders tense. for a moment, he just stands there, staring at you, like he's debating something. you stare back, chest rising and falling with the remnants of adrenaline still buzzing through your veins.

but then, with a low scoff, he turns on his heels, and heads inside without a word. you don't follow. not immediately. taking a moment for yourself. trying to gather back your composure. 

you stay seated on your bike, hands tightening around the handlebars, knuckles white. heart pounding like a war drum against your ribs. the wind bites at your skin, but it's nothing compared to the cold settling in your chest.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

the next day is spent preparing for the gala. you go over the blueprints of the venue again, double-checking entrance and exist, every potential blind spot. 

the chaos from yesterday has been cleaned up— not a single trace of the fight remains. the bloodied bodies have been taken care of, the shattered glass replaced with pristine tables, the blood smeared across the walls scrubbed away as if it never existed. as if it was nothing more than a fever dream.

you analyze the guest list, looking for possible threats. you argue with gojo about security placements, mostly because he doesn't take anything seriously. “take a look at this. tell me if you recognize anyone shady.” the tall man barely glances at the screen before muttering, “they're all shady.” you roll your eyes "that's not helpful." he shrugs, stepping toward the grand windows. “i don't really care.” that pisses you off. “gojo, could you at least pretend to care?” you put a hand on your hips, patience thinning. 

he exhales through his nose, barely sparing you glance over his shoulder. and then, with a calmness that cuts deeper than yelling ever could, he says, “you're the one who didn't care, remember?” and that shuts you up. 

he doesn't wait for your response, doesn't push, doesn't linger. just clasps his hands behind his back, taking a slow tour of the ballroom, his gaze dragging over the chandeliers, the polished floors, the extravagant decor— all while completely ignoring you.

the gala is tomorrow. 

and you don't know if you're ready.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

morning comes too soon. you barely slept, torn between the looming mission ahead and the cold, unbearable silence that had settled between you and gojo. since that night at the hotel, it had been nothing but tension— thick, suffocating, unspoken. a battlefield of sidelong glances, clipped conversations, and empty spaces where words should have been. especially your words. words of regrets.

and now, as you sit stiffly across from gojo on his sleek leather couch, arms crossed so tightly your nails bite into your skin, it's clear nothing has changed. he doesn't look at you. he hasn't since that night. since those words left his mouth, cutting deeper than any blade you took.

your superior clears his throat, dragging you back to the present. his voice clipped, all business. “you'll be attending as a couple.” the words slam into you like a wrecking ball.“you're kidding” you say flatly, glaring at your superior. “no,” he says simply. and you hear gojo letting out a laugh. the sound sends cold down your spine. 

“it's the best cover. gojo is a known public figure, and he's expected to bring someone. you, on the other hand, aren't on anyone's radar. it's the perfect excuse to keep you close and avoid suspicion.” you shake your head. “there has to be another way.” you bite the inside of your cheek, gripping your own arms as if that'll keep you from exploding. this is a fucking disaster. “there isn't.”

fucking hell.

how are you supposed to play lovers when everything between you is broken, shattered, and stitched back together with nothing but avoidance? you can feel gojo's eye on you, but you refuse to meet them. you already know what he's thinking. that you well-deserved that. that you were the one who ran away from him nine years ago, without any explanations.

your jaw locks as you finally risk a glance at him. he's watching you, studying you. blue glacial eyes pinning you in place. then slowly, he tilts his head. lips curling into a grin. “well,” his voice low, with something dark. “this should be fun.”

the moment your superior is done talking, you push yourself off the couch and stride toward your room, your pulse hammering too fast. it's too much.

the air is still charged, like static before a storm. even more now that you know you're going as a couple. behind you, gojo doesn't say a word. he doesn't try to stop you either. of course, he doesn't. 

you try to convince yourself it's easier this way. easier to act like none of it matters. like the past isn't clinging to both of you with bloodied, desperate hands.

the second the door clicks shut behind you, you let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. the tension in your shoulders lingers, pressing your forehead against the door. 'focus' you tell yourself. tonight is business, the mission comes first. it's not about him— not about your feelings.

you step into the bathroom, turning the shower knob. water rushed out, steam filling the space almost instantly. hot, scalding— exactly what you need. you peel off your clothes, letting them drop carelessly to the floor before stepping inside.

the first touch of water burns, but you don't move away. instead, you welcome it. let it wash over you, over your skin, over the lingering heat still trapped in your body from the way gojo looked at you earlier. your hands slide over your arms, down your sides, over the curves of your body, the pressure firm as if you could scrub away the past— him. 

the water runs through your hair, down your back, down your thighs, and still, you can't shake the way your body remembers him. the way it still reacts to the mere idea of him. it pisses you off. your fingers tighten into fists before you force yourself to exhale, resting your forehead against the cool tile. you stay like this for a while. letting the water scald you, hoping it can burn out the thing still curling inside your chest, still whispering his name in the back of your mind. 

by the time you finally step out, steam curls around the mirror, the bathroom thick with heat. you wrap yourself in a towel, sighing as you push the door open. as you step closer to the bed, you notice a box on your bed. black, sleek, expensive. your breath catches for a second, it's not hard to guess who left it. you approach it slowly, a wary sort of anticipation buzzing under your skin. 

on the box, a note. a small, folded piece of paper with gojo's handwriting.

‘’ sweetheart,  i can't let you ruin my reputation with those cheap dresses you own. i have an image to maintain, after all. a rich man can't have people thinking he's poor. wear this. — satoru ‘’

your breath stutters for a second. sweetheart. something in your chest tightens, flutters, pounds. you crush it, fight it. with steady hands, you set the note aside and lift the lid of the box— and you freeze. 

the dress inside is breathtaking. it's a shade of blue so deep, so striking— the same as his eyes. you swallow, fingertips ghosting over the fabric. it's impossibly smooth, slipping through your fingers like liquid, designed to mold to every curve, to hug your body like a second skin. a dress that demands attention. you take it out of the box and immediately notice the back. or rather, the lack of one. the fabric dips dangerously low. with a sort of thin white belt that wraps behind your neck, fastening at the nape before cascading down in a delicate, tantalizing line. tracing your vertebral column. a seductive dress, yet functional enough to fight in case.

you return your attention to the box. your eyes widen as you see a pair of underwear. a soft filthy shade of blue, slightly lighter than the dress delicate and teasing. the panties are sheer in all the wrong places, practically see-through, the thin straps barely qualifying as fabric. offering little to the imagination. there's subtle glittering embellishments, catching the light just enough to draw eye. 

just enough to drive a man insane. your throat runs dry. that fucking bastard.

you dig further into the box, only to find jewelry. a necklace so fine it barely feels real, elegant enough to steal attention. earrings that shimmer subtly, matching perfectly with the delicate bracelet nestled beside them.

everything about this is so intimate. you hate that your heart still reacts, that your fingers tremble slightly as you lift the necklace, as you let the fabric of the dress slip between your fingers. every single piece was selected with intent. this isn't just a gift, it's a statement.

gojo satoru is back at it again. back to his games. back to this push and pull. he's testing your limits once again. you need to show him, you need to keep your bold cold. mission. mission then next… gojo.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

8:17 p.m. you see as you finish getting ready. adrenaline rushing through your veins. your hands move on mechanism, fastening the holster around your thigh before slipping the small firearm into place, the slit of your dress perfectly concealing it. since gojo is the host, there won't be any security checks for you at the entrance.

you allow yourself one final breath, steadying your pulse as your hand move to the door handle. tonight, your job is to protect him. nothing more.

you push the door open, and nothing could have prepared you for what is waiting for you. in front of you stand an anxious gojo, fixing his suit jacket, smoothing the fabric before his fingers nervously reach up to adjust his tie.

your breath hitches. the tie he's fumbling with is the exact same shade as your dress— his signature blue, the color of his eyes, the color that haunts your dream more often than you'd like to admit. his scent hits your nose, flooding your senses. something fresh, subtly spiced. it messes with your head, makes it hard to focus. his hair a little bit messy, like he's been running his hands through it while waiting for who knows how long.

and when his eyes find yours, everything in you freezes.

gojo stays still. his usual teasing remark falter, no lazy smirk, no arrogance. just… silence as his gaze consumes you. it's like the weight of the last few days of distance disappears, and all that remains is the way the dress clings to your body. 

“i-” he starts. “that's…you- i mean,” he shakes his head, trying to gather his thoughts. he takes a slow step forward, his hand reaching out. you don't hesitate, taking it in yours. his fingers are warm against yours, his grip tight, like he's afraid to let go. to let you go. 

he gently turns you, his eyes trailing over the open expanse of your back. he swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. “what's happening, satoru?” you tease “you finally dare to look at me, after all the ignoring these pasts days?” you tilt your head back, lifting your chin to meet his eyes. even in your heels, you remain towered by him, his presence overwhelming. gojo's eyes betray something deep— pain, maybe regret. 

“sweetheart…” he murmurs, pulling you closer by the hand that holds yours. the sudden motion takes you by surprise, a gasp leaving your lips as your body crashes into his. “you have no idea what you do to me.” gojo growls softly. the heat of his body pressing against yours, makes you weak. you can't stop the way your breath hitches.

the word mission keeps echoing in your head. you shouldn't give in, not when he got so defensive, not when you still had walls built around you. “gojo,” you whispers as his eyes flickers to your lips. he leans in, his forehead touching yours, closing his eyes. “we need to figure it out.” he says simply. “give me a chance.” his hands grip your waist, molding your body to his. “tell me why you left, please.” his voice filled with a raw, aching honesty that make your heart drop.

your brain is racing at a thousand miles per hour, your pulse drumming in your ears. the connection between you two is palpable, undeniable. your hands go to the back of his head, tugging sightly his hair, making gojo groans. you breathe out his name, your lips just brushing against his “after the gala,” you murmur. “but let's go for now. we're running late.” you pull back but the heat remains. a pretty shade of pink creeps onto gojo's cheeks. the sight of it makes you smile. 

you both reach the bottom of the stairs, and before you can move toward the door, gojo's voice calls out, low and filled with something close to mischief. “wait.”

you stop in your tracks, turning to look at him, and that playful smirk makes its comeback. he lifts your hands, then loosens his grip just enough to intertwine his fingers with yours. his eyes fixed on your face, watching for your reaction. “it's better like this,” he says, his voice mix of teasing and seriousness. “if we're playing couple, let's do it right,” he adds. you shake your head in disbelief, unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “satoru, let's go now." he opens the door, the cold night air hitting your skin “i love when you call me saturo, sweetheart.”

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

the streets blur past, neon lights casting fleeting glows over his sharp features as he drives through the city. Gojo insisted on being the one to drive, choosing one of his luxurious car— not without making a comment on how it'd be nearly impossible to ride your bike in that dress but he'd gladly let you ride him in that dress. 

the ride is quiet. not the comfortable kind, but the charged, suffocating kind. you can feel his eyes flicking toward you between red lights.

the hotel appears, tall and grand, its golden lights illuminating the massive entrance. unlike when you came checking security, the driveway is packed with luxury cars, men in tailored suits, women in gowns worth small fortunes. there're even photographers lining the barricades, flashes firing like relentless lighting. 

despite your superior's briefing, you still feel nervous. of course you have attented events like this before to protect your clients, but never were you the center of attention.

suddenly, dodging bullets in a batteflied seems far less stressful than whatever the hell this masquerade is. at least, the car windows are tinted, giving you some more minutes.

gojo feels you tense up as he stops in front of the entrance. he turns to you, bringing a hand to cup your face, tilting your chin so you meet his gaze. “it's okay, sweetheart," his thumb traces soft, reassuring circles on your cheek. “i'm with you. focus on the job, okay?” then, with an easy smile, he steps out of the car.

the moment he does, you hear people calling his name, cameras clicking furiously. and gojo being gojo, steps out with that infuriating confidence, adjusting his cufflinks like he owns the damn place. pretty fucking bastard

gojo makes his way to your door before the valet even moves. he opens it himself, hand extended, waiting. and you can feel this is not only for the show. you let out a sharp exhales, taking his hand to get out of the car.

the moment your heels hit the ground, the flashes explode even brighter, voices pitching higher, demanding your attention. gojo's fingers intertwine with yours—firm, possessive—as he pulls you closer, leaning down just enough so only you can hear. “wanted to let you know,” his breath tickling your ear “knowing what's under this dress is no helpful to hide my boner in front of these photographers.” 

before you can react, he presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your temple. then with the smooth ease of a man who knows exactly what he's doing, he lifts your hand to his lips and plants the softest kiss against you knuckles. “also, don't forget to smile.”

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

inside, the gala is exactly what you expected— crystal chandeliers spilling molten gold over the sea of designer-clad elites, laughter too polished to be real, and conversations laced with unspoken agendas. the air is thick with expensive perfume and quit power plays.

gojo moves through it effortlessly, magnetic as ever. he plays the perfect host, flashing easy grins and exchanging pleasantries with people you couldn't care less about. you, on the other hand, remain sharp, scanning the room, keeping your senses on high alert.

or at least, you try.

it's hard to stay focused when you're super-aware of gojo's warmth. his palm resting low on your back, fingers tracing lazy, absentminded circles against your spine. his lips graze your temple as he leans in, voice low with some meaningless observation, but his breath is too warm, too deliberate. a shiver runs down your body.

the hours stretch on, an endless cycle of fake smiles and calculated small talk. the weight of the night starts pressing against your ribs, exhaustion creeping in. you need a moment.

“i'm getting us drinks,” you murmur, pulling away from gojo's touch, ignoring the way your body immediately protests the loss of warmth.

“how thoughtful of my wife” he teases, lips curling into something wicked. you almost fall to the floor, headfirst. 

wife. the word comes too easily from his mouth, like it belongs there. you catch yourself liking it.

shaking off the heat starting to take over you, you weave through the crowd, reaching the refreshments table. your mind still lingers on gojo, your thoughts are full of him. you're convince you need him. you don't want to run anymore.

a shadow of a smile tugs at your lips. 

when you turn back— two glasses of champagne in your hand— gojo is gone.

your pulse stumbles. your breath quickens, eyes scanning every corner, every exit. nothing. where the hell is he? 

you shove the glasses onto the nearest table, ignoring the startled look of a waiter. your training urges you to stay calm, but panic claws at your throat. gojo isn't just your responsibility. he's—

focus.

you spot one of the security personnel near the ballroom's entrance, a stocky man with an earpiece and a sharp gaze. you stride toward him, voice low but urgent. “did you see gojo leave?” the man frowns slightly “he stepped out a few minutes ago. took the private elevator up.”

your stomach knots. “who was with him?”

“not sure. a few men. well-dressed.” fury spikes through you. 'and that didn't alarm you?' you could beat his ass off if it wasn't for gojo right now. where did they find those incompetent men.

spinning on your heel, you move fast, heart hammering. the gala's noise fades behind you as you push through the discreet hallway leading to the private elevators. the display shows it stopped on the roof.

your pulse spikes. you slam the button. nothing. locked.

“fuck” you mutter under your breath. you don't have time to wait. without hesitation, you head for the stairwell, heels be damned. you rip the gun from its hidden strap at your thigh and climb two steps at a time. the adrenaline burns away any exhaustion, pushing faster.

by the time you reach the the top, your breath is ragged. hand tight on your gun, you push the rooftop door open just enough to see—

and your blood turns to ice.

gojo stands near the edge, bathed in city lights, his white hair a stark contrast against the night. the wind howls between the buildings, the breeze fluttering his tie— the same shade of his eyes, the same shade of your dress.

his usual carefree stance betraying nothing, hands in his pocket like he's discussing business over whiskey rather than staring down the barrels of guns. 

four men surround him. they're dressed too well to be common thugs, but you know better—real danger rarely looks the part. one of them, a broad-shouldered man with a jagged scar curving at the corner of his mouth, has his gun aimed directly at gojo's chest.

your grip tightens around your own gun.

and then gojo speaks. “i suggest you let me go,” he drawls, voice laced with amusement. “or my wife's going to rip you apart.” he smirks “also, we arranged we talk after the gala, to make things clear, i don't think she'd be very happy that you keep me for the night.”

the men exchange glances, unimpressed. scar-lips steps forward, a cruel smirk twisting his scar. “you're worth a lot, Satoru Gojo.” a ransom situation.

gojo pinches the bridge of his nose like they're giving him a headache. “look,” he starts, tilting his head slightly. “i don't know who sent you, but this is embarrassing. four of you? to handle me? if i were you, i'd start running before she gets pissed.”

they barely have a second to process his words before you make your move. you can't risk any longer. and gojo is doing perfectly at distracting them.

one breath. one shot. 

you step out. aim. fire

the bullet buries itself into the shoulder of the man nearest gojo. he stumbles back with a pained grunt—

and gojo moves.

he moves faster then the wind whipping through the rooftop. in the time it takes for scar-lips to turn toward you, gojo there. a sickening crack echoes through the rooftop as gojo drives his elbow into the wide man's jaw with enough force to send him staggering. without pause, he pivots, driving a brutal kick into another's ribs. the crack is sickening.

you react instinctively, ducking behind an industrial vent as one of the men pulls a gun in your direction. another shot rings out— gojo's this time. he moves like liquid shadow, disarming one of the attackers with terrifying efficiency. the man barely has time to process that he's slammed into the ground.

scar-lips, despite his disoriented state, reaches for his gun again.

gojo doesn't let him. he's on him in a blink, gripping his wrist with an almost lazy ease before twisting it violently in the wrong direction. the man screams, his gun clattering to the floor. gojo doesn't let go. instead, he leans in, voice sickeningly sweet. “told you she'd be mad.”

you freeze. you've seen trained fighters. you are one. but this? this is something else. the speed, the precision, the sheer control— it's unsettling. suspicious. 

the last man standing tries to flee, you take aim and fire a warning shot near his feet. he freezes, hands trembling in surrender.

the rooftop falls into silence, only the labored groans of the fallen men breaking the stillness. the adrenaline still surges through your veins as you lower your gun, stepping closer to gojo, who brushes nonexistent dust off his sleeve like he didn't juts annihilate four men in less than two minutes.

“you good?” he asks, eyes flickering over you, concern hidden beneath his usual playful tone. “i should be asking you that.” 

“what? you think a couple of suits can take me down?” he winks, but there's something unreadable in his eyes. something he doesn't want you to see. you don't press. at least, not now.

instead, you step forward, pressing your heel into scar-lips' injured arm. he yelps “so, who sent you?” scar-lips stay still, unwilling to say anything.

the other men groan on the ground, the sting of their broken bones keeping them from trying anything stupid. gojo sighs as if he's bored. as if this whole thing is an inconvenience rather than a threat to his life. he reaches into his jacket, pulling out his phone. 

“you know,” he hums, tapping the screen with a lazy smirk “i could call someone. but they wouldn't be as nice as she is.” he gestures at you with a tilt of his head, his tone light, but his eyes? glacial.

scar-lips doesn't flinch. you press down harder on his arm. “fuck! alright, alright!” gojo grins like you just made his night. 

“contract” he grits out. “someone put a price on your head. it's big. too big to ignore.” gojo clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “that's vague. who?” scar-lips looks like he's debating wether answering is worth the consequences. “not local”

“international” you press. he nods, slowly. “someone wants you dead, gojo. badly. all we got was a time and place.” his gaze flicks up to you, sharp despite pain. "and instructions to take you too".

the air grows thick. “me?” the man on the floor exhales “whoever hired us knew you'd be with him. they want you alive.” something cold settles in your stomach. gojo, however, laughs. it's quiet, then louder, echoing against the rooftop.

scar-lips looks at him like he's lost his damn mind. “what the fuck is wrong with you?” gojo wipes at the corner of his eyes like he actually found that funny. “man, you guys must be new do you know how many times someone's tried to put me in a body bag?” he leans in closer, voice dripping lower. “and not one of them ever succeeded.” gojo nods toward you, lips quirking. “someone wants her alive? buddy, you should be more scared of that than anything else.” 

you glance down, they want you alive. that means whoever put out this hit isn't just after gojo— they're after something he has. the implications make your blood runs cold. but you don't have time to dwell on it.

one of the men on the ground— one you thought was barely conscious— lunges.

it happens fast. too fast.

a blade glints under the rooftop lights, aiming straight for gojo's ribs.

your gun fires before you think. the gunshot rings out, echoing accross the night.

the man crumples.

scra-lips yells, trying to scrambles back, but gojo's hand shoot out, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him up. “i'd be annoyed if this wasn't so damn prediactable.” his voice has lost its amusement. it's cold now. deadly. “you made a big mistake touching what's mine.” gojo's fingers tighten. for a second, you think he'll kill him.

but instead, gojo sighs—a sound full of tiredness— and his grip loosens. “i'd love to drag this out, but we have a gala to return to,” he says, and with that, he lets go. the man collapses to the ground, coughing violently.

gojo steps over him like he's nothing more than a discarded piece of trash. he reaches for your hand, gently pulling you away. “someone's coming to pick you up.” he adds, his tone far too casual for what just happened “be grateful. i called someone to take care of you, buddies. i only do that to my special guests.” 

he slams the rooftop door shut behind them with a sense of finality, cutting off the chaos that lingers in the air.

as you make your way down the stairs, you abruptly stop, questions swirling in your mind. “what's wrong?” gojo asks. you meet his gaze, searching his eyes, trying to figure out what he's hiding from you. he steps closer "you okay?” you should nod. should brush it off like you always do.

but you don't answer, and you feel the weight of silence settles between you. it's suffocating, you don't know how to break it. so you shake your head. you want to ask him why he hired you. why he needs you when he could've handled everything alone. you want to know if there's more to this—more to you—than just being his bodyguard. the questions burns at the back of your throat, but you swallow it down, afraid of what the answer might be.

gojo's hand pulls you from your spiraling thoughts, his touch gentle—like always when he touches you—making you gasp. his palm cups your cheeks. “hey.” his eyes are full of concern, worried. his tumb brushes over your cheek, a fleeting touch, as if he's trying to ground you. you're not sure if it's for your sake or his. 

“you're acting weird,” he murmurs, tilting his head. your throat tightens. “and you're acting like this is normal.” a short laugh escapes him, not a single hint of humor in it. his grip on your face loosens, but he doesn't pull away. “what do you want me to say?”

“i want you to tell me why,” the words come out quieter than you intended, but no less desperate. “why hire someone to protect you?” something flickers in his gaze, quick enough that you almost miss it. his fingers twitch against your skin. “you really think i need a bodyguard?” the way he says it sounds wrong—too light, too easy. 

“exactly. you don't." your voice is unwavering now, the certainty of it strengthening you. “not after i saw what you did tonight. the way you fought— it was effortless. you're better than any soldier i've ever seen.” you hesitate, the memory clicking into place. ”better than me.” and now that you think about it, you remember your punch he blocked that night, back at the gala preparations. the sheer force he used. you should have realized then.

gojo is quiet for a moment. then, finally, he sighs, letting his hand drop from your face. the loss of his warmth makes your chest ache. “i thought it'd be obvious by now,” he mutters, looking away.

it isn't. 

it's not obvious at all. and the fact that he won't just say it outright makes your frustration curl tight in your chest. 

you take a step back, shaking your head. “well, as you can see… it's not.” you cross your arms, the hurt leaking into your voice. gojo's head snaps back toward you, eyes narrowing. “you overthink too much.” you scoff, anger bubbling up despite your exhaustion. “then give me answers. if you did, i wouldn't have to.”

his jaw clenches, and for a second, you think he's going to throw out some flippant remark, something to brush this all under the rug like he always does. 

but then— 

he takes a step forward.

and another.

until there's barely any space left between you.

“maybe i don't want you to know,” he says, voice low, almost quiet to hear. the words send a sharp pang through you. he's never been this blunt before— not like this. “why?” you whisper, almost afraid to ask, but you need to go through this. together. “once you know, you won't look at me the same.”

your heart clenches at the quiet honesty in his voice.

“satoru," you murmur, refusing to back down, “you dressed me tonight. you brought me here as your date. you even called me your wife.” your voice shakes, but you keep going. “and i was scared to lose you tonight.” the words slip out before you can stop them, raw and unfiltered, the weight of them hitting the space between you with unbearable force. 

gojo stills. his breath is uneven, and his eyes—those brilliant blue eyes—widen just slightly. you close your own, exhaling shakily before continuing.

“i ran once. nine years ago.” your voice is barely a whisper now. “i was young. i was afraid. and it was a mistake.” his entire body tenses. “Satoru,” you open your eyes, meeting his. “i want you. all of you. and surprisingly, i'm willing to stay. to stand next to you. to kill for you if that's what it takes to keep you safe.” you pause, your voice thick with emotion. “i'm not afraid of threats. i don't want to run anymore.”

gojo looks wrecked. completely and utterly undone.

you step closer, pressing a hand to his chest, feeling the rapid, unsteady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “nothing you could ever say will change the way i see you.” your voice is firm “nothing.”

he swallows hard, his hands twitching at his sides like he doesn't know whether to pull you in or push you away— to protect you from people that would want to hurt you, only to hurt him.

but then— he breaks. 

his arms wrap around you, crushing you to him, his grip almost desperate. his forehead drops to your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. and for the first time, gojo satoru—the untouchable, unshakable man— trembles.

“making me go through all that," he says against your hair, "being irrefutable with me and letting me beat the hell out of four men—" his fingers gripping the fabric of your clothes like he's terrified you'll disappear. “it took you all that to finally tell me what's on your heart?”

you let out a watery laugh, wrapping your arms around him just as tightly “i'm sorry.” he lets out a shaky breath, his lips brushing your temple. “stay,” it's not a command, not a plea— just a confession. you close your eyes, letting yourself sink into his warmth, into the way he holds you like he's never wanted anything more. “i'm not going anywhere.”

and just like that, nothing else matters.

the gala, the stares, the whispers— none of it exists as you slip out through the back entrance, hands locked together, ignoring the world you're leaving behind.

gojo doesn't let go.

not even when he open the car door for you, not even when he slides into the driver's seat. his hand stays on your thigh, fingers warm and steady, tracing idle patterns against your skin. every red light is an excuse— an excuse to lift your hand to his lips, pressing slow, deliberate kisses on your knuckles, the pads of your fingers, the inside of you wrist.

you shiver, watching him through lidded eyes. “you're being soft.” gojo hums, a lazy grin pulling at his lips. “you love it, don't you?” and you don't deny it.

the drive is quiet, heavy with something unspoken. when he pulls up in front of his house, fingers still tracing slow, burning circles on you thigh, the weight of earlier comes crashing back. you shift in your seat, eyes flicking toward him. 

“what were you going to say earlier?” his hand pauses for just a second— just long enough for you to notice. then, instead of answering, he leans in, his breath hitting your jaw as his lips ghost over your skin. “you really want to talk about that right now?”

the air is charged, thick with frustration and need. his lips press against the corner of your mouth— featherlight, teasing, but you can feel the restraint in the way his fingers grip your thigh. you tilt your head, giving him more access as a sigh leave your lips. “i need to know.”

gojo groans, low and deep. his hands move— one sliding up higher up your thigh, the other tangling in your hair as he pulls you toward him, his lips finally crashing against yours.

the kiss is messy, heated, all tongue and teeth and pent-up frustration. you don't even remember shifting onto his lap, only that his hands are on your hips, gripping tight enough to leave marks. his breath is ragged when he pulls back, forehead pressed against yours. your lipstick stains his lips, smudged, messy, sinful.

“you really wanna do this now?” his voice is rough, uneven. his fingers slip beneath your dress, brushing against your bare skin. “because if i start talking now, i won't stop. and i'd rather have you like this, falling apart in my hands. or my tongue. begging for more.”

your pulse is wild, but you don't back down. “satoru.” you lift a hand, softly wiping the lipstick from his lips. “tell me.” his sigh is one of defeat, his head falling back on the headrest. “i didn't hire you to protect me.” his voice is quieter now, raw in a way you've never heard before. “i hired you because i wanted you close.”

your breath catches. gojo chuckles, but there's no humor in it. “you ran from me nine years ago,” he presses open-mouthed kisses along your neck— wet, lingering. “did you really think i was going to let you do it again?”

your eyes burn with emotions— ones you don't have time to process because gojo's lips trail lower, his tongue flicking out, teasing, tasting. "being an influential young man got me some enemies. I had to know how to fight like a soldier— if not better. as the years went by, I became even more influential. and with some quick calls, I was able to find you."

“i don't think i deserve you, gojo.” the words spill out, breathless. gojo clicks his tongue, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. his hands frame your face “sweetheart,” his voice barely above a whisper “let's go inside,” his teeth graze your skin “i'm going to show you just how much you deserve me.”

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

you barely step through the threshold before gojo's hands are on you again, pushing you against the wall. his kiss is devastating, all-consuming, a plea and a demand in one. his hands roam, sliding down your sides, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, like he's afraid you'll slip through his fingers again.

“you're killing me,” he groans, voice hoarse, “i need you. need to taste you.” your dress is barely hanging on, undone but still covering you like some cruel temptation, and that makes it worse for him. he doesn't pull it off— not yet. his fingers skim the fabric, then push it up, bunching around your waist. that's when he sees them.

your light blue panties— delicate, sheer, adorned with tiny pearls. the one he meticulously chose for you earlier. he fucking loses it at the sight.

“sweetheart.” his voice shatters, his breath stuttering as his thumb brushed the pearls, the fabric already damp. a pretty little thing wrapped up so nicely just for him. his hands shake when he presses his palm flat against your cunt, cupping you through the soaked fabric. “you're so wet. you wanted me this bad?”

you whimper, nodding, your knees already weak.

he drops to his knees so fast it's almost embarrassing. he doesn't even push your panties aside right away. instead, he leans in, kissing up your thighs— not just to tease, but to worship. his lips press against every scar, every mark, each one a silent promise. “my pretty strong girl,” he murmurs, his fingers squeezing your legs. “i will take care of them later.”

“satoru—”

his mouth finds the inside of your thigh first, biting down hard enough to make you whimper before soothing the mark with his tongue. then finally, finally, his mouth is on you. a hot, wet, messy kiss pressed right against your cunt, sucking you through the fabric of your panties. you gasp for air, your hands tightening on his white hair, earning a moan from him, an actual moan.

his tongue pressed flat against your cunt, teasing you through the pearls and lace. you gasp, body jolting, thighs trying to squeeze together, but he won't let you. his strong hands hold you open, force you to take it.

“f-fuck—" you breathe, fingers diving into his hair.

gojo grinds his face into your pussy like a possessed man. “god, you taste sweet even through this,” he slurs, drunk on it, his voice muffled. “missed having my mouth on you.”

his tongue dragged over the fabric, lapping, teasing, sucking, his fingers slipping underneath to pull them to the side. “Gojo—” your head slams back against the wall.

he didn't let you finish as he spreads your pussy open with his thumbs and buried his face between right into your core, eating you out like he was trying to ruin you for anyone else. like he needed to prove something.

it's sloppy, desperate, obscene.

he's licking into you with long, deep strokes, his nose bumping against your clit. his fingers dug into your ass, yanking you closer, forcing you to grind against his mouth, fucking his tongue with every rool of your hips.

“t-too much—” your body is trembling.

“been too long, huh? missed me eating your pretty little pussy?” sliding his tongue down to fuck into you, groaning when you clenched around him. you were so wet, so fucking wet, dripping down his chin as he worked you over, puling moans out of you that made his cock throb painfully against his zipper.

his arms wrap around your waist, locking you in place, forcing you to take everything he gives. his moans vibrate against your skin, needy, delirious, he's getting off on this as much as you are. “taste so fucking sweet,” his voice is muffled by your heat. “could stay down here forever.” he doesn't stop, doesn't let up— not even when your thighs squeeze around his head, when you're shaking so hard you can barely breathe.

your body locks up, pleasure tightening, so close it hurts. his fingers dig into your flesh, his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking just right, and that's all it takes— you break apart with a cry, shuddering, coming all over his tongue.

gojo groans like he's tasting something forbidden, something addictive, lapping it all up, refusing to let a single drop go to waste.

by the time he pulls away, his lips and chin are glistening, his pupils blown wide, his chest rising and falling like he just ran miles. your dress is still on, but your panties are pushed to the side, and gojo is a wrecked mess between your legs, staring at you like he's ready to die for you.

 “come here.” you grabbed him by the collar, pulling him into a flithy desperate kiss. his hands scrambled to get his belt open, shaking so badly he barely undo it. “l-let me help,” you whisper, your hands brushing his as you pull his belt free, undoing his zipper. “i want to make it up to you” you look at him in the eyes “for running away.” your hands slide over his thighs, palming the thick outline of him through his pants. he's already rock-hard. gojo let out a pathetic whimper. “s-shit, you don't have to—”

the second you slide down his boxers, his cock slaps against his stomach, thick, flushed, dripping. “f-fuck—” he lets out when your hand wraps around him. he's so hard it must be painful, a bead of precum leaking from the flushed tip.

you dropped to your knees and looking up at him through your lashes “i need to, satoru” 

gojo chokes “fuck— yeah, please—” with nothing more you took him in your mouth. his hands immediately flying to your hair, not pulling, just holding, like he needs something to ground himself

his entire body jerked as your tongue drags up his length, flicking over the tip before you sink down, taking him deep. tongue pressing against the thick vein running along his dick. you hollowed your cheeks, bobbing your head, your hand stroking the rest of him. it's slick and obscene, the sounds echoing in the hallway. your lips stretched around him.

“f-fuck— sweetheart,” gojo is a mess above you. a whimpering, panting mess. his thighs tensed, his whole body shudders. “fuck, f-fuck— too good, it's too fucking g-good—” he wants you to let you continue. he wants to watch you take him apart. 

but he wants to feel you. it's been nine long years for fuck sake. he just needs your pretty little cunt wrapping around his cock. “i-if you don't stop— shit— if you d-don't stop r-right n-now, i'm gonna—” he grabs your wrists, and you pulled off with a sinful pop, lips swollen, eyes gleaming.

“bed. now.” 

except… you don't make it to the bed…

you get as far as the couch before you're shoving him down, straddling his lap, gripping his shoulders. his cock is still out, flushed, leaking, twitching against his stomach. and your soaked panties are still on, pulled to the side, teasing him.

“reverse cowgirl.” you say, full of tease. his brain short-circuits. “w-what?” you don't answer. you just move, shift until your back is to him. you give him a full view on the open dress, the curves of your body, the barest glimpse of your soaked panties sill clinging to your folds.

“oh, fuck— ohhh fuck.” his head drops back against the couch. his hands finding your waist as you took his base and let your hips ever so slowly sink down.

you both are drowning. “t-toru— ahh, ‘s big—” your voice breaks. you forgot how fucking big he is. surely the biggest cock you’ve ever took. “th-that's okay, s-sweetheart,” gojo is hardly holding on, shaking beneath you. “you're d-doing good— fuck— your walls are sucking me i-in. i— fuckfuckfuck—”

inch by inch, you take him, stretching, gasping, feeling him pulse inside you.

sweat drips down your back. gojo leans in, licks it up. and then— 

he loses his patience. 

he grabs your hips, slams you down, and fuck, you both scream. his fingers are bruising, his breath wrecked against your spine, and you're already a trembling, cock-drunk mess in his lap. “t-toru— please—”

“shhh, sweetheart,” he pants, barely coherent. “let me make you mine again.” 

he drags you down onto him, thrusting up to meet you, filling you so deep you can feel him in your stomach. “ohhh— fuuuck, toru—” your hands scrambling for purchase against the couch as you rock back against him.

“that's right, sweetheart,” his forehead pressed against your bare spine. “take me— please, take all of me.” he pulls you back onto him harder, a desperate, needy little sound escaping his throat when he sees the way your pretty blue panties cling to you, your pussy stretched around the base of his cock, underwear soaked. “s-shit, your panties— fuck, that's so—” gojo can't even finish his sentence. his hands slip under your dress, his fingers finding your hard nipples and pinches them through your bra.

“satoru, i—” you sob, rolling your hips, grinding down. “that's it, ride me,” he begs, his hands palming your soft breasts. “you feel so fucking good, s-so tight—” you lift your hips just to slam back down, picking up a rhythm, and gojo loses his fucking mind. his moans spilling out in rapid desperate gasps. “fuck, baby—”

his length throbs inside you, his hips bucking up uncontrollably. he grabs at you, at your dress, your thighs, anywhere he can touch, his lips pressing frantic, open-mouthed kisses along your back. 

“d-don't stop— please— ohh f-fuck, please don't stop—” he sounds so ruined, so completely fucking gone.

somehow you grind down even harder, sending the poor guy's body jolting. he's straight-up choking, his moans turn high-pitched, pathetic, whimpering. “sweetheart, i-i can't— oh fuck, i'm gonna��” his voice breaks, shaking “i can't hold it— i can't, i can't—” 

you lean back against his chest, turning just enough to catch the sight of him— his head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted, his entire body trembling beneath you. “t-toru,” you whimper, tightening around him. “cum for me.”

that's it. that's all it takes.

Gojo slams you down onto him one last time, a ragged, broken cry ripping from his throat. His cock pulses deep inside you, his grip on you almost bruising as he spills into you, moaning like he’s coming apart at the seams. his chest rising and falling erratically, his entire body completely ruined.

and even as the pleasure fades, he doesn't let go. “you're mine. not letting you go again.” he doesn't give you time to respond as he suddenly grabs your wrists, shoving you face-down into the couch. “but that doesn't mean i'm done with you.” his body is still trembling, his cock still throbbing inside you, slick with both of your release.

“one round isn't enough,” heavy voice in your ear. he rolls his hips once, slow and deep, dragging his dick through the mess he's made of you.

your whimper is swallowed by the cushions, fingers clawing at the fabric as he strats moving again. his pace is slow at first, torturous, letting you feel every thick inch stretching you open again. then he pulls out almost completely—just the tip remained inside— before slamming back in, so deep your vision blurs.

“mhhh— satoru!” the force of it knocks the breath out of you, makes you choke on your own moan. his hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your back, fisting your hair.

“look at you, sweetheart,” he pants, voice slurred, filthy. “so wet—so messy—fuck, listen to yourself.” and oh, you can hear it. the lewd, obscene squelching of your cunt sucking him back in with every thrust. it's dripping down your thighs, coating his cock, soaking the couch beneath you.

“s'dripping” he groans, pulling out just to watch the way your hole clenches, fluttering around nothing. your slick mixed with his cum spills out. glistening, pooling between your legs. “fucking— shit” he grits his teeth, fisting his cock, slapping it against your swollen cunt. “such a pretty mess."

“p-please,” you sob, wiggling your hips, trying to push back against him. you're so sensitive, already teetering on the edge again. “please what?” his grip tightens in your hair, yanking your head back so his lips brush your ear. “use your words, sweetheart. beg for it.” your brain is mush, squirming beneath him, but you give him what he wants.

“please— please, t-toru fuck me— use me. w-want you s-so bad— need you so bad—” his breath shudders “you're so hot,”

and he slams back into you, deeper, harder, faster. you scream, your arms giving out as he fucks you into the cushions. his pace is wild, frantic, desperate— his cock found your g-spot. hitting it over and over again. until you're body is nothing but raw nerves and white-hot pleasure.

“y-you like this?” gojo struggles finding his breathe, sweat dripping down his temple. “like getting fucked stupid? like being ruined?” you can't even speak— just babbling his name.

“sweetheart, im not gonna last— fuck, i wanna feel you cum again, i need to feel it—” he moans, he swears your cunt was made perfectly for him and only him. one hand slipping between your legs, fingers rubbing at your clit in messy, quick circles.

“come on— cum on my cock, wanna feel your cum all over me,” your whole body seizes, pleasure ripping through you so hard you think you black out for a second. you scream his name, back arching, legs shaking, walls clenching tight around him he nearly collapses. “ohh— ohhh ‘s gooood— wrapping around my cock aghn,”

his hips snap forward, his voice breaking as he lets out white long hot creams. he cums so much, it leaks out around his dick— balls.

for a moment, the only sound in the room is your ragged breathing, the lewd, sticky wetness between your legs, the faint creak of the couch beneath you. gojo breaks it with a breathless, shaky laugh. “you're a fucking dream,” he mumbles, pressing lazy, wet kisses to your shoulder. his arms wrapped tight around your waist.

“satoru…” you whisper his name, running your fingers through his damp hair. he exhales and lifts you into his arms. he carries you like you're something sacred, irreplaceable. something he'll never allow to slip through his fingers again.

"bedroom," he murmurs against your temple. “i need to love you properly.” your breath catches, a lump forming in your throat. this is different. you wrap your arms around him as he carries you through the dimly lit house, his body still inside yours, still pulsing, still clinging to every last bit of warmth you give him.

tonight, he took you like he was desperate. like he had something to prove, like he needed to reclaim you after all these years apart. but now…

now he's looking at you like you hung the stars in his sky.

when he lays you down on his bed, it feels like the world stops. like you both exist in your own universe. gojo hovers over you, his hands tracing over every inch of you. he maps your body with his touch, memorizes you with his lips, presses soft, reverent kisses over your skin.

and he pauses when he reaches your scars. trembling hands ghost over them, his expression unreadable. his eyes, impossibly blue even in the dim light, flicker up to yours. his fingertips linger on your scars, tracing them so gently it make your breath hitch.

“nine years,” his lips press over each mark, worshipping. “nine agonizingly years without you.” your chest aches. you cup his face, wiping the single tear coming down his cheek with your thumb. gojo closes his eyes, leaning into your touch like he needs it to breathe. “you don't get it.” murmuring it more to himself than you.

he looks down at you like you're everything. like he doesn't believe you're real.

you don't get a chance to respond before he's kissing you—slow, deep. it's not just hunger, not just lust. it's grief, it's relief, it's the kind of love that breaks you open and remakes you all at once.

when he finally pushes into you, it's not desperate. it's deliberate— he's trying to mold himself to you, he wants to leave an imprint of himself inside you forever. “satoru—”

“i know, sweetheart,” he kisses the corner of your mouth, your neck, your collarbone. “let me love you.” 

you do. you let him take his time. let him move in deep, slow thrusts that leave you breathless. let him pull every last moan from your lips until your nails dig into his back. his name falls from your lips like a prayer, over and over again.

“feel that?” satoru takes your chin in his hand, making you look at him. “feel how deep i am? how i'm filling you up?” there's no rush, just the overwhelming feeling of being connected— having each other the way you were always meant to.

“toru, please,” you gasp into his mouth. “i've got you,” he mutters, nose brushing against yours. his fingers lace through yours, pinning your hands above your head, your legs wrapping around his waist, your body arching into him. 

“you're everything,” he whispers. “you always were.” your chest tightens, you feel yourself shatters as heat coils in your stomach, winding tighter and tighter.

you're so full of him, of love, of longing, of everything you've spent nine years trying to ignore.

“i love you,” and it sets something free inside you.

gojo chokes on his breath. his rhythm stutters. his fingers tighten around yours. his lips tremble against your skin. “say it again,” he begs.

“i love you, Satoru.” his hips snap into you harder, pace remaining slow as if he's trying to commit every part of you to memory. “say it again, sweetheart.”

“i love you—” his body tenses, his release crashing over him at the same time you hit yours. his lips find yours as you both shatter together.

when he collapses on top of you, he doesn't let go. doesn't even try. you're still tangled together, still connected when he speaks. “i was serious,” you hum, sleepy, completely boneless in his arms. “about what?” his fingers stroke over your hip. “about calling you my wife.” 

you tilt your head, searching his face. he's looking at you like you're his entire world. he's never been more sure of anything in his life. “i don't just want you here tonight,” he says softly, kissing the tip of your nose. “i want you here forever.”

tears sting your eyes, but you smile, brushing his hair out of his face. “then start calling me that now, satoru.” gojo grins— that beautiful, bright, devastating grin.

“come here, wife.”

( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

[momo-minomo]

Fic Fairy Friday: Tim and Jason Brotherhood

I love Jason and Tim, they're hands down the most chaotic and petty people in their entire family. I wish they'd be teamed up more often in the comics because every time they do the snark and sass is everywhere!

Unfortunately the Batfam fandom has developed a lot of misconceptions about their past and relationship. The main misconceptions are thinking Jason hates Tim and what happened during their fight in Titan's Tower. Fandom thinks Jason came there to murder his replacement and Tim was ruthlessly beaten down and begged for his hero to stop. In reality, Jason had grown to hate the very idea of Robin (a child soldier fighting and dying for Batman's neverending war) and came to Titan's Tower to convince Tim to quit as well as to prove to himself that Tim wasn't better than him and that Bruce didn't just trade up for a better Robin when Jason died. When talking didn't work he decided that to save this kid's life (and prove to himself that he wasn't just an inferior failure) he was going to MAKE him quit.

But if Batman, Alfred, and Lady Shiva can't control Tim Drake Jason didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell so Tim put up a hell of a fight and even when he was bleeding on the floor, barely conscious but always happy to be petty and go for the low blow, he went out hitting Jason where it hurt by defiantly stating that even beaten and bloody he is STILL better than Jason. They've long since patched things up between them, tho, and more than once in the comics Jason has made it clear that Tim is his most trusted brother. There was even that period just before Tim became RR where Jason was trying to recruit Tim to be HIS Robin so Jason could be gun!Batman and Tim was so annoyed and done with him lol. I do still enjoy the accidental brother or woobie Tim fics and will probably link a few exceptional ones here and there but I'd love to see more fics with the two being equals that trust and rely on each other, too.

This Dark Ceiling Without a Star by Miss_Lazy_Tuesday

Summary:

“For fuck’s sake, your chatter is going to drive me crazy faster than this stupid spell.” “Then you talk!” “There’s no point!” Jason snaps. “I can feel it, okay. It’s—there’s no emotion behind it, it’s not using my thoughts. It’s just a bunch of weird Greek echoing in my brain and a compulsion to act. And it’s getting stronger. Talking isn’t going to slow it down.” “Then what will slow it down?” After five long seconds of silence, Tim gives into the urge and viciously jabs his fist into Jason’s leg for the second time. “Goddammit, why?” Jason snaps, green briefly sparking in his eyes before disappearing just as quickly. “You are not seriously going to just sit there and wait to die.” “The hell do you care anyway?” “Because I don’t want you to die! Obviously!” “You fucking should.”

Momo's Notes: These boys need SO MUCH THERAPY! Tim and Jason are trapped underneath a collapsed building, Tim is slowly bleeding out, and Jason has been cursed to sacrifice himself to help power up a spell. So of course being robins they're going to remain calm, work together, and not spend their precious little oxygen arguing, right? Right? Oh goddammit boys!

Life in the Fast Lane by TheResurrectionist

Summary:

“So, let me get this straight,” Dick said, frowning, “You stole a car, kidnapped Tim, got in a high-speed chase, stole another car, fought a bunch of cartel members, and blew up a chop shop...all to get a minivan back?” “First of all, Timothy was a willing participant,” Jason said, crossing his arms, “And when you put it like that, it sounds bad.” “Jason, it sounds bad no matter how I put it!”

Momo's Notes: It's both refreshing and incredibly funny to see Tim and Jason just being normal brothers that annoy the shit out of each other while they're stealing cars and trying to take down asshole gangs out of costume. This entire fic is just chaotic shenanigans and It's so fun.

Good Fellows by thatcuriouscat

Summary:

After rescuing Bruce from floating around the past, Tim is Not Okay. What comes next after losing everything that really matters? Tim’s got some thoughts. So do the rest of the family. And Ra’s al Ghul. …And the Joker. Jason looks murderous. “God DAMN it, Tim, this was not the situation I had in mind when I generously taught you how to be a younger brother out of the kindness of my heart!” Even more shocked by this, Dick asks incredulously, “You, Jason Todd-Wayne, tried to give younger brother lessons? Where did you even get the audacity?” Jason rounds on him hotly. “Bitch, you wish you knew how to be a younger brother!” “FOCUS,” Tim demands. “We’ve got like, an hour to pull this off.”

Momo's Notes: I know I recommended this one for the Dick and Tim brotherhood recs but this story revolves around the three oldest batbrothers and has equally good characterization and interactions for Jason as it did with Dick. Jason's pov pages are some of the most witty and fun in the whole story and the brotherhood that forms between Tim and Jason over the course of this fic is unique.

The Right Substitution is Key by AddictedApple

Summary:

“The Red Hood has been good for Gotham,” Robin continued. “Crime in Park Row decreased by sixty one percent almost as soon as you showed up, and that’s even taking into account all the crime you commit. Drug overdoses have decreased by twenty two percent in adults and seventy nine percent in minors. Homeless minors are ninety two percent less likely to—” “Kid,” Jason interrupted. “Enough statistics. What the hell is this about?” Robin slowly lowered the tablet with his powerpoint presentation and looked up at Red Hood. “You care about Gotham,” Robin summarized. “Gotham needs Batman. Batman is missing and so is Nightwing. We need you to fill in for Batman.” “You want me to cover Batman’s patrols?” Jason clarified. “No,” Robin said. “I want you to be Batman.” Jason bluescreened. (Or: Batman and Nightwing mysteriously disappear before Red Hood has even started antagonizing them, Robin is desperate, Gotham needs Batman, and Red Hood is Batman-Shaped.)

Momo's Notes: An AU where Jason calmed the hell down before returning to Gotham, both Batman and Nightwing go missing, and Tim doesn't know who this new Red Hood guy is but statistics don't lie, he's making a positive difference in Gotham. That makes him the PERFECT candidate to take over as Batman until they can find him. Jason can't believe ANY of these idiots survived while he was "gone"

a kidnapping a day (keeps the board of directors away) by doingthewritethings

Summary:

And, well. He gets impatient when he’s already in pain. He’s still got fifteen minutes until the meeting is set to begin, and the chances of him slapping Mr. Smith-Harguson so hard that the man’s toupee flies off are rising exponentially by the second. Yeah, that settles it. He needs an excuse to get out of here, and he needs it fast. - for the prompt 'jason todd, lover of fake kidnappings, meets tim drake, lover of chaos', but it... got out of hand. happy pride

Momo's Notes: There are no words for how much I love Batfamily shenanigans and Tim and Jason are always the perfect combo for said chaotic shenanigans! Basically Tim and Jason's version of brotherly bonding is to stage fake kidnappings to get Tim out of whatever soul-sucking responsibility he desperately wants to escape from today starting with a board meeting on a day the chronic pain is especially horrific. This fic also has queer and trans batfam which makes it just chef's kiss

Little Red and the Big Bad Hood by CrzyFun

Summary:

Olivia Draper had been a good idea at first. She could pass for older than Tim could pull off while masculine and women really could get into places easier if they had a pretty face. With makeup and some stylish-yet-inexpensive clothes, Olivia could pull off most undercover ops. She was Tim’s Matches Malone. Then Hood had shown up on the scene. When Jason met Olivia, he hadn't intended to pull a Bruce and take the scrappy teen informant under his wing. She just kept showing up where he was doing business. He had no other choice than to keep an eye on her. And kit her out with armor so she wouldn't accidentally get shot. And make sure she was being treated fairly by her mysterious boss. And, okay, maybe become her big brother.

Momo's Notes: I love a good fic with a genderfluid Tim Drake! This is an au where Tim decided his main alternate ID to gather info would be Olivia Draper rather than Alvin. Cue Red Hood getting very annoyed at the obviously underaged girl sneaking into clubs full of dangerous gangsters. This one is a fun accidental enemy to caretaker with a chaotic and sassy Tim that knows he can get on Hood's every nerve with zero consequences with bonus outraged and annoyed Stephanie!

Last Laugh, First Steps by CloakedSparrow

Summary:

Running a large portion of the Gotham underground as a benevolent crime lord was harder than Jason thought it would be, but still well within the range of what he could handle. All in all, it wasn’t that different from being the type of vigilante Bruce had trained him to be become. He was feeling like he was doing a decent job as part of the Bat Family these days. The Wayne family, he wasn't so sure about. Until he receives an unexpected call from Dick while on patrol one night and the words he hears next change everything. Tim's hurt...the Joker's involved. B and Little D are out of town. Cass is here with me and it’ll take us too long t- “Where?” His death. His anger. His father. His role as a brother, as a son, as a grandson. Jason decides its time to take it all on. If he's going to help his little brother recover, then he's going to have to heal himself as well.

Momo's Notes: This is technically part 42 of a series kind of generically called "Collected Bat-Family Stories" that are actually all set in the same AU. Last Laugh is an amazing entry in the series that can be read as a stand alone fic but I'd honestly recommend going into the series page and starting from the beginning. There are fics in there that aren't Tim or Jason-centric but it's all part of one narrative and Tim and Jason are really the main characters of the whole series and it's so fun to watch their brotherhood grow and deepen. If you're a fan of Wayne Family Adventures I think you'll love this one since the characterizations are very similar imho (aside from Damian but he's slowly growing as a person over the story and will eventually get there).

middle children must unionize by Poteto

Summary: Jason realizes no one is taking care of Tim - not even Tim himself. He decides to do something about it.

Momo's Notes: Jason doesn't like how things went down between Tim and Dick when their big brother gave Robin to Damian and decides if no one else is gonna take care of the 16 year old like the kid he is and not the adult they expect him to be then he'll just have to step up and do it himself.

Playlists:

[crabsnpersimmons]

every time i see a moot in my notifs:

based on this iconic Spongebob scene of course

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah

[hidey-writes]

wip wednesday

There’s a quiet murmur of sound in the room, movement and conversation. Gu Yiran waits, lets it wash over him until he can make sense of it. Two people speaking in low voices, the occasional lilt into a question before the sound dips back down into [murmuring]. Ding Guozhu, and Zhang Xiaoguang. The quiet metal sound of a thermos opening, and Ding Guozhu’s voice cuts out for a moment.  Zheng Bei’s voice isn’t there.  Neither is Yaoyao’s, Gu Yiran reminds himself.   It’s only that — The last thing Gu Yiran remembers, concretely, with any certainty, is Zheng Bei. The look on Zheng Bei’s face, bursting in through the door, the way his expression changed when he saw Gu Yiran, something almost frantic in his eyes. The very last thing Gu Yiran remembers is the shape of Gu Yiran’s name in Zheng Bei’s mouth — not Gu-laoshi, for once, but Gu Yiran. To Gu Yiran’s right, the door to the hospital room unlatches.  Ding Guozhu and Zhang Xiaoguang’s conversation quiets as the door swings open. First, Yaoyao’s voice, “I bet you’re all starving! Lao Jiu—” and then footsteps coming toward Gu Yiran’s hospital bed, too light and quick to be Zheng Bei’s. There’s a hurried shushing from the corner. The door closes too fast to admit a second person.  Gu Yiran’s eyes are already open. He’s already disappointed.

from the third draft! hopefully the penultimate draft - at least the one scene i have drafted feels like it's only about a draft worth of revision from being done, so i'm optimistic. i'm trying a new thing where i am simultaneously constructing the "outline" / very chaotic list of events by scene for the third draft while also starting to write it. i think i'm liking it so far.

[daffodilmoreau]

light fires at night (to fill the void) by inthesea is required reading for andreillers

[huskyluvr]

I actually published the 1k word fic on Ao3. I'm not linking it because I like keeping my accounts separate + it's nothing special.

But I think this is the first time I've posted my fanfic in... 5 years? Maybe more?

[skitskatdacat63]

Finally returning home from the war(being abroad for a month+) today. I am *not* excited for the transit journey I'm about to have to endure. It's funny tho cause all I can think about is just "man I wanna go home and redecorate"(I bought a billion posters)

[singsweetmelodies]

Oh my God, I love that kiss fic already and now it's even harder to wait for the new chapter(s). I loooove that you love what you're writing, that's so important!!!!! Sending love your wayyyyy (and obvs don't feel pressured, pls) <33333

awwwww! anon, this is so sweet <3333 and i couldn't agree more!! it really is SO important to love what you're writing, because nothing burns you out faster than when you're not getting joy from writing, you know? thankfully, nothing gives me quite as much joy as these two french & french-adjacent fucks doing the nasty 🤭 what that says about ME and about my sanity, i have no idea, but at least it's fabulous for the writing 🤣❤️

[victory-cookies]

in case you were wondering, no I did not get my last reading done. fuck that shit

[shadowinthetreesbutcooler]

YOOOO THIS NEW CHAPTER FUCKING RULES DUDE!!!! rubius el diablo, bebes wawawa, THE PLANE ARE WE GETTING FRANCE BEFORE BRAZIL??? flippa my baby best girl. the talks of the devil reminds me of charlie making a deal for juanaflippa’s gun teehee poor spreen bro got shroom’d. the photos are HORRIFYING and AWESOME and im so excited to see how shit keeps going dude i love love love your writing?!?!?!

:-))) tysm!! sorry im murder for responding to these but i always look forward to what you have to say after each chapter sdfgh

[seventh-district]

.

[inkedbybarnes]

none of it was fake

bucky barnes x avenger!fem!reader

summary: you've been undercover with bucky as husband and wife. upon returning, he seems to have forgotten that it was all pretend.

word count: 1.6k+

warnings: two idiots cluelessly pining for each other. fluff. usage of petnames such as sweetheart, doll, and baby. lowercase writing.

note: hi, babies. how's everyone? this is my first fic in ages, so sorry if it's not my best one. i just wanted something cute ++ this is unedited & not proofread, might fix it laterrr. still hope you'll enjoy this one! xo

dividers made by @firefly-graphics!

comments, reblogs, and likes are highly appreciated. thank you! ♡

“i can't believe your first kiss happened during a mission. an undercover mission!”

wanda huffed, still hung up on the mission you had with bucky weeks ago wherein you had to play pretend as a married couple. there had been a kiss or two during that time, and it felt impossible not to tell your best friend about it when you had been crushing over the soldier for ages.

wanda knew what you felt towards bucky. in fact, she was the only one who knew, or at least the one you shared th information with, and she made sure to ask everything about the mission, even if it took days for her to interrogate you.

“excuse me? that was not my first kiss,” you said defensively, reaching for a cup from the cupboard that you had just opened. “and why are we still talking about this? you and nat already squeezed out every information from me for an entire week.”

“i didn't mean your first first kiss!” she exclaimed, following you around the kitchen as you made yourself a cup of coffee. “you've had a crush on the guy for so long, and the first time you two kiss each other is when you're pretending. that's not how i pictured it at all!”

you had to admit, the mission was sort of a blessing in disguise and a curse at the same time. you were glad to be able to spend time with bucky in ways you've dreamt of, but there was also the horrible reminder that none of it was real. with how avoidant bucky was with you, it was impossible for any of it to happen outside of the mission.

“well, maybe you should stop picturing us doing that sort of stuff. you're way more invested in this than i am, wanda. don't you have your own relationship to think about?” you asked. although you knew she was in a happy relationship with vision, you just wanted her to take a break from all the bucky talk. “when is your man home anyway?”

“my relationship is doing great, so i'm good. i don't need to think of it as much since he gives me everything that i need, and i think of yours because you deserve happiness as well.” she smiled fondly, her eyes sparkling with happiness. “and i'm glad that you asked because this reminded me that vision's arriving with bucky soon.”

“already?” your eyes widened at her statement, completely forgetting that bucky, along with steve, clint, and vision, were coming home today from their mission. “why didn't you tell me sooner!?”

after finishing your mission with bucky two weeks ago, he was immediately sent into another mission which specifically needed him. so, today would technically be the first time you're seeing him again since you last called him your “husband,” which was more nerve-wracking than you expected.

“hey, i'm your best friend, not your alarm.” wanda raised her hands up, defending herself. “and why are you so worried? i can feel your anxiety without needing to be in your head.”

“well, we never talked after.. you know,” you replied, taking a big sip out of your cup. “i know none of it meant anything and that we were just doing our job, but it's the first time i'll be with him normally and not as a pretend married couple. it's kinda awkward, wands.”

“you were able to pretend you didn't like the guy for months, you can do it again for another day.” she answered. “unless you finally tell him what you feel?”

“oh, that? yeah, never happening. i'm not going to risk—”

“there you are, sweetheart.”

there was a collective shocked gasp from both you and wanda, recognizing that voice from behind. except the gasps had different reasons.

you were surprised with his arrival.

wanda was surprised that he casually called you sweetheart.

you turn to find bucky already walking towards you with a smile on his face.

this man never smiles unless he was tasked to do so!

“bucky! you're back!” you awkwardly greeted him.

“yeah, didn't they tell you? i was looking for you when we landed.” he said, pulling you close to him before bending to place a soft kiss on your lips like it was something he'd always done. “you okay, baby? you look pale. did you eat?”

i look pale because wanda is right here with us and you just kissed me while acting like we're dating!

“um, yeah, i'm fine. i'm fine,” you answered, gently pulling yourself away from his arms before he could wrap them around you completely. “can we talk? privately?”

he frowned, worry etched on his face, but he nodded and squeezed your arm softly. “of course. where do you wanna talk, doll?”

“anywhere where wanda isn't there.” you said lightheartedly, throwing a sharp glance at wanda who finally understood what you wanted her to do.

“oh! right, right. i'm sorry, you guys can stay here. i have um..” she paused, thinking of a reason to say. “i have to look for vision anyway. we're supposed to watch a movie together. bye!”

and just like that, wanda was gone and you were left alone with bucky in the kitchen.

before you could speak, bucky asked you first. “what's the matter, doll?”

“what's the matter?” you echoed in a higher tone. “what was that all about?”

“what are you talking about?” he asked, seemingly confused.

“you kissed me, bucky, like it was nothing. then you keep calling me these nicknames.” you reminded him. “we're back home, not in los angeles in our fake house that we used as a fake couple.”

bucky took a step back when he realised his actions, now finding it hard to look at you. “i.. i'm sorry. i completely forgot. i just.. i wasn't thinking. i got used to how we were before,” he mumbled, still finding the right words to say. “did i make you uncomfortable?”

“no, but you made me confused,” you replied. “i'm guessing you got used to how we acted as a fake married couple, but you were gone for another mission. how are you still stuck with the old routine we had?”

“because that's all i could think about,” he answered, now staring at you. “while you're back here in the tower, completely done with our mission, i was thrown back into another one, having only you in my head to pull me back up from the fatigue.”

“you're telling me that you kept thinking about us even when you were gone? why?”

“haven't you?”

“is this a trick question?”

“it's a question to find out whether you like me too or not.”

“you.. you like me?” you blinked. “that's impossible.”

“how on earth is that impossible?”

“because you're always so cold and grumpy around me,” you answered. “i think you're just confused with all the acting we've done, bucky. you don't like me.”

“i was supposed to go on that mission with sharon, not you.” he exhaled. “she volunteered to do it, so she was initially picked. i tried getting out of it, but i had advantages that they needed for the mission to go smoothly. so, i agreed, but in one condition.”

“what was it?” you whispered.

“that you should be my partner,” he answered quickly. “ask me why.”

your heart pounded. “why?”

“because i wanted an excuse to act the way i've always wanted to. i wasn't cold or grumpy because i didn't like you, i just didn't want to scare you.” bucky explained, his hand reaching out for yours. “god, doll. figuring out whether you like me or not has got to be the hardest mission i had to deal with. so do me a favour and get me out of this misery.”

once your lungs found a bit of oxygen again, you finally spoke. “what you said.. you mean it?”

bucky nodded. “every word.”

“well, i like you too.” you tried to bite back a huge smile. “for some time now, actually. wanda will eventually tell you all about my obsession with you. i can't believe we were both worrying for the wrong things.”

“your obsession with me, huh?” he asked cockily, a teasing grin plastered on his face.

“really? i said all that and that's what caught your attention?”

“can't help it. i've been obsessed with you for a long time now as well.” his eyes crinkled at the corners, a little smile gracing his lips while his arm slipped around your waist.

your eyes peeked up at him through your lashes. “does this make it real now?”

“do you want it to be?”

“you're really asking me that?” your chest rumbled. “of course i do.”

“then let's make it real.”

bucky watched you intensely for a few seconds as if he wanted to frame this exact moment before licking his lips and leaning down. you suck a breath, eyes closing as you felt his soft lips meet yours.

you never realised how much you've grown familiar with his touch and affection since your time together as a fake couple.

except this time, none of it was fake.

should we see their time in los angeles as an undercover married couple? 👀

if you have any requests for bucky, send them my way! 💌

[kamaluhkhan]

IS IT CASUAL NOW?

pairing: vi x fem!reader word count: 14.6k summary: you and vi are both tired of complicated relationships so try the whole friends-with-benefits thing....and maybe forget the whole point of your arrangement in the first place. warning: lesbian situationships (there is so much angst and yearning), brief mention of (internalized) homophobia and struggles with addiction....but mostly cheesy domestic fluff and smut [oral (vi receiving), fingering (both receiving), thigh riding, slight bondage play, switch!vi has my heart] (18+) ! a/n: merry (belated oops) xmas girls and gays <33 i've probably spent way too much time on this but it's my BABY....kinda based on leighton and alicia's plotline in s1 of sex lives of college girls and ofc casual by chappell roan (there are many other chappell references throughout too hehe). also yes i made a mini playlist that consists of the songs that i think reflect this fic's sun, moon, and rising signs....pls enjoy and happy holidays !!!

♪: "angel baby" by troye sivan (sun); "pretty girl" by hayley kiyoko (moon); "casual" by chappell roan (rising)

“not even one week into the new academic year, violet rose atlas, captain of the varsity soccer team, has been suspended from gameplay due to recent unsportsman-like behavior, sentenced to 100 hours of community service, and banned from the local lesbian bar.” 

mel removes her eyes from the screen to raise an eyebrow at you. you just shrug and take a sip of your coffee. you glance over at the clock on the wall. 

11:09am. 

“to top it all off, she’s late,” you declare, trying your best to hide the anticipation simmering in your stomach.

“what’s your deal, anyways? you totally flirt with her whenever she’s at the bar. not even we get that good of service,” gert points out. they’re searching through a stack of cd’s and cassette tapes for something to play. 

“that was before.” 

you walk over to sit next to gert, taking it upon yourself to choose the music. you settle on jagged little pill; alanis morrissette’s lush voice is a welcomed addition to your conversation.

“our funding is at risk,” you explain. “it’s like the dean assigned her to us because she knew it would end terribly and the board would have an excuse to finally cut us loose.” 

“if they need an excuse, they’ll find one,” gert grumbles.

you shrug. “i just think violet is bad news, which is something i’d prefer we avoid..”

“the article does say that she punched maddie nolan in the face during an exhibition game against the piltover knights.”

“see? bad news. literally.”

“well, i think we lucked out,” sky gushes, though her focus remains on finishing her current project. she’s crocheting so fast that you only catch glimpses of her sparkly pink fingernails. you’re sure she’ll be done with this blanket before violet shows up. if she even bothers to show up. “the yellowjackets might’ve lost their captain, but we get to spend quality time with the hottest butch on campus.”

“whatever,” you sigh, though you don’t disagree with that description. you check the clock again — 11:11am — and settle against the worn couch. “since we have the time — mel, why don’t you read our horoscopes? i’m itching to see what the universe has in store for us today.” 

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi spent the better part of last night crying and getting wasted in her bathtub with cheap dye burning into her scalp. 

she just couldn’t stand the memory of caitlyn kiramman’s perfectly manicured nails running through her formerly pink locks as they kissed, tugging on vi’s hair to bring her closer —

enough. fucking pull yourself together. 

cait’s moved on, that much is clear, with someone more like her. someone whose last name is on buildings all around the university of piltover’s campus.

so far, no amount of bar fights or red cards or late nights in some random girl’s bed seem to mend the heart that caitlyn shattered to pieces, but vi doesn’t give up easy.

soon enough, she’ll be back on the field, leading the yellowjackets to victory at nationals; she’ll finish all her classes, graduate with honors and have a great plan for an even greater future; all while having amazing, mind-blowing sex that won’t lead to serious heartbreak.

relationships are overrated, anyways. 

the first step in this plan: spending 100 hours with a bunch of angry, bra-burning lesbians.

maybe vi will fit right in.

so, vi walks into her community service assignment with a wicked migraine and hands that look like lady macbeth plotted to murder an oil spill, but with her usual confident swagger nonetheless, as conversation echoes down the hallway.

“according to your rising, there will be a much needed spark in your romantic life. my guess is a fire sign is gonna sweep you off your feet.”

another voice chimes in, a gentle rumble. “could that be your sweet jules?” 

“i’ve never asked about her chart,” an achingly familiar voice replies. it brings back memories of dizzying lights and strong whiskey coursing through her blood, but something else, too. a sky full of stars and too-sweet alcohol on her tongue. “paula was a fire sign, though, and that blew up in my face.”

“paula was a walking red flag.”

“yeah, well, apparently red’s my favorite color.”

“maybe that was just the heartbreak you needed to bring passion back into your life. do you feel that with jules?”

“i don’t know — maybe? we haven’t had sex yet.” 

“passion isn’t just about sex, you know —”

“gert, i love you, but i cannot handle a sex therapy session right now.”

someone else giggles, bright and bubbly. “hm, i wonder what sign our pink-haired hottie is.” 

vi clears her throat to announce her arrival, leaning against the doorway.

everyone turns to look at her then, with varying degrees of shock, and vi feels like she’s just walked into an after midnight roommate vent session.

she isn’t sure what she expected the space to look like, but zaun university’s women’s centre is well-lived in, defined by a sort of organized chaos. each wall is covered in posters and collages, multicolored flags and fairy lights; there’s a shelf in the corner with assorted trinkets and books piled high, a table next to it with baskets of condoms, pads, and tampons and informational pamphlets, and a door in the opposite corner, slightly ajar. a vintage boombox placed on the coffee table plays 90s alt rock, circled by mismatched seating with patterned blankets and brightly colored pillows strewn about.

someone with dark lipstick and an eyebrow piercing is drawing on their converse; a dark brunette wearing glasses is draping a blanket over the arm of a couch; another person is scrolling on their laptop, a gold necklace glittering on their collarbones. 

vi’s attention is stuck on you, though, the origin of the aforementioned familiar voice: the very hot bartender from sappho’s, where vi happened to be kicked out of not even 72 hours prior. 

you’re wearing a vintage wonder woman t-shirt tucked into faded blue jeans with a carabiner clipped to a belt loop. the sleeves of your shirt are rolled up, displaying your array of tattoos — vi’s already decided that her favorites are joan of arc holding her sword, a pomegranate that’s been cracked open, and lyrics from bikini kill’s ‘rebel girl’ (which admittedly, vi had to look up when she first saw). it’s everything vi’s booze-soaked brain had apparently memorized after many nights of staring at you across the bar counter, licking up whatever honeyed flirtations you’d spill from your lips. vi always noticed your hands, too: the many rings you’ve stacked on your fingers, the lavender sprig sprouting from your middle finger and venus symbol etched onto your wrist, the nails that are always clipped short and painted black. 

one of those nails is tapping anxiously on your coffee mug, which has a picture of hayley kiyoko as lesbian jesus.

“pink-haired hottie, reporting for duty. though, i might need a new nickname.” vi grins; you roll your eyes. “i’m an aries, by the way.”

“good to know.” the brunette winks not-so-subtly in your direction before walking towards vi and extending a hand, gold bangles clinking together at the motion. “i’m sky, she/her. we had electromagnetic theory together last spring. it’s lovely to officially meet you.”

vi makes a big show of leaning down and kissing sky’s hand.

“nice to meet you, too, sweetheart.”

“such a gentleman,” sky giggles and leads vi to the patchwork couch. she curls up like a cat, and vi follows suit — the couch is cloud soft, and vi tries not to sink into the cushions. “i’m our supplies and communications coordinator.” she turns away from vi to look around the room. “okay, that’s my intro. who’s next?”

the person with an eyebrow piercing nods at vi, a sort of effortless greeting. “gert, they/them.” they snap the sharpie shut after writing ‘the future is intersectional’ on the tip of their toe. “i curate and design our newsletter, the black rose. i’m also in a band —”

“the sirens of zaun. yeah, i recognize you. you’ve played a few gigs at sappho’s.” 

vi looks at you pointedly, and you take this as your cue to disappear behind the door, which appears to lead into some sort of office.

gert seems pleased, though. “then you might also recognize our lead singer….”

the person with the gold necklace, who vi does, in fact, vaguely recognize but can’t quite name, closes their laptop and waves at vi. “i’m mel. pronouns: she/her. i mostly deal with the finances around here. and, from what i understand, you’re already well acquainted with our fearless leader —”

mel is cut off by the sound of her phone alarm. 

“shit — it’s already 11:30. our set at campus radio starts soon.” mel gestures at gert. gert picks up the bright red guitar case behind them and secures it around their shoulder as mel packs up her leather satchel. 

“damn, i gotta get to class, too. the space-time continuum waits for no one.” sky gets up and gathers her things, too, stuffing yarn into a fruit-printed tote bag. “it was nice meeting you though.” she pats vi’s head affectionately before throwing out a loud: “see ya later, boss!”

mel and gert offer similar farewells, and you shout goodbye from the other room before the three of them are out the door. vi expects you to reappear a few moments later; when you don’t, she ventures into the office.

it’s smaller, but just as decorated as the lounge space. there’s a desk that seems to be more storage than actual use, littered with piles of books and old copies of the black rose. you’re sitting on a fluffy rainbow carpet that looks like every member of sesame street stitched together, writing something in a sticker-covered notebook. 

“so, violet —”

“vi’s fine,” she tells you. she decides to sit on the floor next to you rather than the zebra striped chaise lounge.

you nod, rip a page out of your notebook, and hand it to vi. there’s something a bit too intimate about knowing what your handwriting looks like before even knowing your name. 

“this is a run down of everything you’ll need to know, but real quick: we do feminist film fridays and trivia tuesdays on alternating weeks; our radical reads book club meets once a month, along with our slam poetry group, and we have a bunch of other events in between — workshops, art builds, discussion groups, and so on. sky keeps everything in the centre stocked, and occasionally the rest of us will pitch in when organizing a charity drive. our newsletter publishes the third wednesday of every month — gert puts it together, but we print in pairs since it could be a lot of work for one person. we have team meetings once a week to share updates, make sure we’re all on the same page, stuff like that. any questions?” 

“wow, okay. that’s a lot.”

you smile. “i’m sure you’ll be able to keep up, varsity.” 

“so….where do i fit in?” 

“that depends on you, really,” you tap your glitter gel pen on your notebook, thinking. “like, i’m assuming you’re not well versed in feminist literature.”

vi puffs out her chest. “based on what assumptions? i’m not a dumb jock.”

“yeah, i know you’ve made the dean list ever since your freshman year.” 

vi raises an eyebrow. “keeping tabs on me, wonder woman?” she teases. 

you laugh. “don’t flatter yourself. sky’s the one who mentioned it to me. so, unless you mean your very large, unpaid tab at sappho’s...”

“the bar i was kicked out of, you mean.”

“well, yeah, because you —” you take a deep breath. “not the point. anyways, we don’t have a complete schedule for book club, so you can maybe take the lead on one of our meetings. do you have a favorite author?” 

vi smiles at you sheepishly. “ah…..you got me there.”

“thought so,” you smirk and vi covers her blush. “if you’re curious, this bridge called my back is a good place to start. oh, and audre lorde is a classic and a personal favorite…..” you pause when you catch vi staring at you. she wants you to keep talking, to appreciate the way your eyes light up so enthusiastically, but you blink away, and a veil of professionalism falls back onto you. “sorry. anyways, we’re having trivia tomorrow — would you be able to help us out with that?

vi nods. “sure.”

“sweet.” you check your phone. “i’ve got a coffee date, so i should get going.”

“wait — you never told me your name, wonder woman.”

“well, it’s not diana prince,” you quip before finally introducing yourself. 

“nice to finally put a name to the face.” vi winks at you, standing up. she extends a hand to guide you up. your hand is cold against her skin, your metal rings even colder.

“i’ll see you around, varsity.” before you’re out the door, you turn back around. “oh, and vi?”

“yeah?”

“don’t be late.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

you had stepped away for a quick smoke break — a habit you knew you had to kick — but you’re so fucking drained and it’s only wednesday. 

you were up all night bickering with your girlfriend. it started with her admitting that she really doesn’t want to meet your friends, which transitioned into her asking you to not talk to anyone about her or your relationship, which prompted you to make a (maybe slightly insensitive) comment about how she’s welcome to stay in the closet but has no right to push you back in. 

needless to say, you did not get any sleep.

you’re about to walk outside, and finally get a moment of peace, when your phone rings. it’s your sibling, and the fact that they’re calling instead of texting tells you that this conversation is about to be (A) exhausting, (B) infuriating, or (C) both.

the correct answer is C.

it’s the same story over and over again: your dad drinks too much, your mom is absent. it hadn’t been this bad when you were growing up, but you suppose you’d been around to ease the damage, or at least step in and take care of your sibling as needed. 

“just — take a deep breath. you can come stay with me for the weekend, okay? it’ll be good for you to get away from the chaos for a bit….we’ll go apple picking if the weather’s nice, maybe start working on your halloween costume — whatever you wanna do.”

“you know, i’m not five anymore,” they mumble, stifling a small laugh along with some tears. “but…okay. that sounds nice.”

you smile to yourself, shoulder pressing against the door. “it’s a plan then. we’ll sort out the details later. and, don’t worry about mom and dad — i’ll take care of it. love you.” 

you hang up and exhale as you finally push the door open, happy to finally get one moment to breathe.

except, just as you’re greeted by a crisp breeze on this beautiful late september evening, you’re also greeted by the sight of vi pressing someone against the brick wall, their legs wrapped around her waist as she kisses their neck.

something ignites in your abdomen, familiar after many nights of seeing vi at the bar, charming her way into another woman’s bed. except, it’s definitely not jealousy, this time.

(okay, maybe it is; but only a bit.)

they spring apart upon hearing the door slam closed. you recognize who vi’s with — maya, a sophomore who’s frequently attended women’s centre events since last year. she’s always been friendly with the team, but never this friendly.

“oh my gosh, i am so sorry!”

“you don’t have to apologize,” you tell her sincerely. her cheeks are flushed, and she’s busy smoothing down her skirt, clearly trying to distance herself from vi, who’s leaning against the wall nonchalantly. “i just need to talk to violet, so do you mind giving us a sec?”

you wait until maya disappears inside to cross your arms and glare at vi.

“so, it’s violet now, huh?” she teases, wiping red lipstick off her smirk.

“you were supposed to be helping facilitate this workshop,” you note. 

“well, it is a queer sex ed workshop.” vi rolls her eyes. “i was giving maya a hands-on experience.”

you grit your teeth together. “and you just had to do that now? like you just had to go down on that third year during trivia last week?”

“well, see, i don’t have a ton of free time, and since i’m not allowed at the local lesbian bar….” she trails off, looking at you pointedly. “i’ve had to resort to multi-tasking.”

“multi-tasking.” you let an exhausted, bitter laugh slip from your lips. “you’ve showed up late to every single event in the past few weeks, and once you’re there, you’re either on your laptop, getting drunk, or hooking up with someone. tell me, violet, as captain of the yellowjackets — if someone on your team was acting like this, what would you do?”

vi narrows her eyes at you, like she can’t believe what you’re asking, and admits, “i’d call them out, tell them to do better.”

“right. and if they kept giving you empty promise after empty promise? you’d have to do something more drastic, even if you didn’t want to, yeah?”

no response.

shaking your head, you take out a cigarette. there’s only silence when you flick the lighter open and light it between your lips. you inhale deeply, letting the smoke enter your lungs, exhale slowly, and decide: “i’m gonna ask the dean to reassign you.”

“fine by me,” vi scoffs, but you swear that something close to disappointment flashes across her face. “clearly, this isn’t working out.”

“clearly.” you take another drag of your cigarette, and as vi walks back inside, you can’t help but try to get under her skin. you’ve had a bad week, between family drama and turbulence in your relationship with jules, and you’re just sick of people not giving a shit. “the year’s already started, so i doubt there’s something available. which means you’ll remain on academic probation until spring.”

and, okay — you do get some twisted satisfaction in how that makes vi stop in her tracks. you’re leaning against the wall, and she strides over to stand in front of you, her jaw and fists clenched.

“i’ll miss the whole tournament.”

you shrug, and blow smoke in her face. “i’ve given you plenty of chances.”

“but the team needs me —”

“you should have thought of that before you fucked up, varsity,” you snap. vi’s eyes widen; you’re usually more level-headed. “you’re cocky, irresponsible  — ”

“i lost my scholarship,” vi blurts out, prompting you to pause, the cigarette millimeters from your lips. 

you blink at her, blood still roaring in your ears.

“i…don’t know why that’s relevant.”

vi just sighs, so deeply that you feel it in your bones. you haven’t seen this side of her before — no flirtatious smile, no overconfident posture. instead, she slips to the ground, knees pressed to her chest. feeling a bit guilty for pushing her buttons, you slide down next to her. you offer her the cigarette, but she shakes her head.

“i…i’m going through a shitty breakup. i’ve been lashing out, and i lost my scholarship. i haven’t asked my parents for money, because the last thing i want is for them to worry about me. so, i started picking up these odd jobs to make ends meet, and the hours are a bit crazy so between school and practice and — fuck, there’s also shit going on with my sister that i won’t even get into now, but it’s a lot — and i also need to do this because i let my team down and i need to be there for them, whatever it takes, and i’m just so fucking —”

“exhausted, yeah.” 

you can see more clearly now — the slump in her shoulders, the shadows underneath her eyes; you see her more clearly. you realize that you might have more in common with violet rose atlas than you initially thought.

“so the laptop —”

“finishing assignments.”

“the drinking?”

vi juts her chin out at your smouldering cigarette. “we all have our vices.”

“and the sex?”

her lips curl into a sheepish grin, and she shrugs. “we all need to relieve stress.”

you clear your throat, blinking away from her gaze and trying to ignore how you can feel warmth radiating from her body, so close to yours. “right.”

vi runs her hand through her tar-black hair. that should have been your first hint — nothing says lesbian breakup more than terribly dyed hair and questionable decisions. 

“look, i know i can’t do everything, but i have to, and i’m still trying to figure out how.”

“well….as far as excuses go, it’s not the worst,” you admit. “thanks for telling me. i know that couldn’t have been easy.” you take a deep breath and get to your feet. “i stand by what i said earlier, though — this isn’t working out. you just can’t tell us that you’ll be helpful and not follow through. it means a lot, to a lot of people, that there’s a space like this on campus. mel, gert, sky— they all work so hard to make that happen, and that’s something i need to protect. i’m sorry.”

“wait.” vi grabs your wrist before you can leave. “i’m sorry. really, i am. i promise to do better.”

“you’ve made that promise before,” you point out. “why should i believe this time will be different?”

“because…you’re right. i’ve been too caught up in myself, in what i need, in what my team needs. i can see that you really care about your team, though, and i should have respected that. they’re — you’re — amazing, everything that you do to make people feel safe and heard and loved. i’m sorry for taking that for granted.”

wow. okay. 

you did not expect that. you’re hoping that vi can’t feel your pulse quicken at her words, but you’re glad that she’s holding on to you, keeping you steady.

“yeah, well…flattery’s not gonna get you far.” you clear your throat. “but, you’re obviously going through a lot right now, and it can drive you crazy, feeling like you’re the one who —”

“has to keep everything together,” vi finishes, sliding to the ground once more. you follow. “seems like i’m cracking under pressure, this time. fucking everything up.”

“you’ve got a reckless streak.”

“must be the aries in me,” she laughs, softly. “apparently it’s my Ieast attractive quality. along with my stubbornness and selfishness.”

“well, i don’t think that’s the whole picture,” you assure her. vi looks at you incredulously. “i won’t lie and say that your actions aren’t….thoughtless sometimes. you’re more self-centred than selfish—”

“hey!” 

“but you obviously feel some sense of responsibility, for your team, your family, for what you think is right. hell — the reason my boss asked me to kick you out is because you started a bar fight with that frat boy who was insisting he had the right dick to set lesbians straight.”

vi scoffs. “asshole.”

“i was about to throw him out, but you beat me to the punch. literally.” you nudge your shoulder against vi’s, and she chuckles. “and, yeah, you’re stubborn, which can be annoying, but it also means that you’d never give up, that you’re willing to keep trying despite the odds, so….” 

“so….?”

vi’s looking at you with the widest, softest eyes. fuck, you never expected her to be this gentle, so much so that it you want to melt to her every need. 

“i’m hoping third time’s the charm, varsity.”

vi smiles, the most sincere one she’s probably ever given you, and the scar on her lip stretches; for all your talk about responsibility, there’s a part of you who’d risk pushing your already tenuous relationship with your girlfriend to its breaking point just so you could kiss vi, guilt-free, just once. maybe you have a bit of a reckless streak, too.

“thanks, wonder woman. you won’t regret it.”

yeah. you kind of already do.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi would never admit it, but one reason she fought to keep her community service assignment here is because she wanted to keep seeing you. 

she likes getting under your skin, seeing those pretty eyes roll whenever she strides in late for a meeting, that kissable jaw clench any time you catch her tangled up with someone else. 

it almost makes up for all those nights at sappho’s you’d spent flirting back and forth, some sort of unspoken agreement between you to never go further.

sometimes, it’s just nice to have a crush in your back pocket, to know that they’ll always be there to admire and admire you back while others come and go.

the more time you spend together, though, the more vi realizes that you’re not just a fictional character in her head, in a fantasy she pictures before bed — no, you’re tangible.

vi watches as you bring special tea for gert when their period cramps are particularly painful; she listens to you console mel after another fight with her mother and offer advice to sky when she was hoping to ask out her lab partner. vi notices how you prefer your coffee with a dash of cinnamon; and she learns that you had your first kiss with a girl in your freshman year journalism class, and that your first tattoo was done by the same person. a stick-and-poke star on your ankle.

she can hear your laugh, feel the cool metal of your rings brush against her skin accidentally when you’re squeezing past her in a crowded room, smell your perfume when you hug her goodbye. you have stories and quirks and expectations and opinions that vi subconsciously files away as she gets to know you better.

you’re not just a crush, anymore. 

you’re a friend. 

vi likes having you as a friend. really — she does!

you’re a friend who makes vi’s heart jump at the sight of your name on her phone. a friend who smirks when vi blushes after you tell her she has the prettiest cheekbones you’ve ever seen. a friend who mentions this vibrator that gave you one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had, so vi orders the same one and maybe still pictures you before bed, imagining that you’re using it at the same time. except someone else might be next to you.

yeah, vi’s pretty sure you’re dating someone, but that’s something she hasn’t gathered enough information on. 

not that it matters. she wouldn’t be interested in anything serious, anyways, after the mindfuck that was her relationship with caitlyn, and the damage she’s still having to heal from.

though, if that hadn’t happened, vi would have never gotten into a fight with maddie nolan, the second striker for the piltover knights, who taunted her during an exhibition game about how caitlyn is so much happier now that she isn’t disgracing herself with a filthy zaunite. vi would have never been banned from the first half of the tournament and chewed out by coach sevika for fucking up the yellowjackets’ chance at nationals. 

vi would have never been put on academic probation and assigned to 100 hours of community service, either.

she certainly wouldn’t have been here, now, in the women’s centre office close to midnight on a tuesday, folding the most recent issue of the black rose when you walk in.

“oh. hey, v.” you drop down on the zebra-striped couch, your tote bag falling to the ground. “i thought sky was gonna be here tonight.”

vi shakes her head, removing one earbud and letting it dangle from the cord. “she’s got this huge chem report due tomorrow, had to meet up with viktor to get it done.”

“right…” you sigh and lie back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. a few moments pass, and there’s only your steady breathing. “what are you listening to?”

your eyes are closed when vi settles in next to you. it’s a relatively tight fit, but it doesn’t seem like either of you particularly care. vi gently places an earbud in your ear.

you snort, opening your eyes. “you could have just said the cranberries.”

“i’m surprised you recognize them,” vi quips. “it’s not your usual angry girl music.”

“well, sometimes people surprise you. this is actually one of my favorite songs,” you explain. “it’s in one of my favorite movies, too.”

“you’ve got mail?”

you furrow your brows. “when harry met sally.”

vi shakes her head. “no, ‘dreams’ is definitely in you’ve got mail. but, i agree that when harry met sally is a better movie.”

“you’ve watched nora ephron movies and enjoyed them?”

“well, sometimes people surprise you,” vi teases. “i can appreciate a good love story as much as the next person.”

you let out a short, airy laugh. you tilt your head and you’re so close to vi that you’re practically exchanging the same breath. your eyes land on her lips for a millisecond, and vi starts to lean in before you sit up abruptly. 

“i could use some alcohol.” you climb over vi and go to the desk, pull out a half empty bottle of fruit-flavored soju from a drawer. you grab two mugs — the hayley kiyoko one, and another with frida kahlo. you stop short of pouring, looking to vi. she nods. 

soon enough, you’ve got your legs strewn along vi’s lap, sipping lychee infused alcohol. 

“can i ask you something?”

“anything,” vi answers, squeezing your calf.

“why’d you and caitlyn break up?” the question hangs in the air for a second before you add: “if you don’t wanna talk about it though, i understand.” 

shit. it’s definitely not vi’s favorite topic of conversation, but….

“i think she thought that i was one of the good ones, that regardless of the way i grew up or the blood that coursed through my veins, i would be her perfect little charity case. people would be like: future president kiramman definitely cares about the poor — just look at the broke angry lesbian she’s turned into her docile wife!” 

you suck in a sharp breath. “fuck that.” 

“yeah,” vi laughs sadly. “the worst part is that she wanted me to be vulnerable with her, so i was, because i thought the more i opened up, the more she’d love me, but, in the end….i was too messy. i was too much.” 

vi hates the lump that starts to build in her throat, the tears that threaten to spill. she cannot cry in front of you —

you grab her hand. your skin is cool against hers, and it eases her quickening heartbeat.

“you’re not too much, v.” your voice soothes her like honey, trickling down her throat. “it sucks, though, when they ask you to rip your heart out of your chest and get mad at you for bleeding out in front of them.”

“shit, i never thought of it so…viscerally, but that’s exactly what it feels like.”

“well you’re not a creative writing major,” you quip. “i know it still hurts — trust me, i know — but your heart was never hers if she treated you that badly. you deserve more.” 

is it the alcohol messing with her brain, or does it look like you want to kiss her?

fuck. 

vi clears her throat. “why’re you asking?”

you pull your hand away, take a sip of your drink. “jules broke up with me a few days ago.”

you’re single now. good to know. 

“what happened?”

“i caught her kissing someone at a bar. a boy.” you roll your eyes. “maybe she just wasn’t ready, which is fine, but when we had it out, she told me that what we had isn’t what romance is supposed to feel or look like, which sucked. especially after being so….vulnerable with her.”

“you offered her that bleeding heart of yours, didn’t you?” 

you click your tongue, pouring some more soju into each mug. “course i did, v. and it didn’t mean anything in the end. because relationships suck.”

“i’ll drink to that.” 

you cheers, keeping eye contact. 

“and you know what?” you take a big, long gulp. “i know that relationships aren’t just about sex, but i’ve been having to get myself off for months now and sometimes, i just want someone else to —”

“take care of you?”

vi sips her drink, watching you mull over her words.

“not sure if i’d put it like that,” you decide. “i just miss that excitement. when another person wants to discover what makes you feel good, and wanting to learn how to make them feel good, too. i miss having that connection with someone.” 

“i’m guessing you didn’t have that with jules, then.” 

“ha! no. and paula…the girl i dated before….let’s just say, she didn’t give a shit whether i felt good, in any sense.” you shift in your seat; vi senses there’s a story there, but she doesn’t push. “how about future president kiramman — she take care of you?”

vi can’t help but laugh. “nah. i mostly took care of her. she sure liked it when i got down on my knees for her.”

you hum. 

“lucky her.” 

you wink at vi, and she chokes on her drink. 

i would gladly do it for you, if that’s something you want.

“is that a genuine offer? because, if you’re joking —”

shit. did vi say that out loud? 

vi’s heart is beating out of her chest, but she sits up straighter to regain some level of composure. she nods. 

no use in turning back now.

“i’m serious, wonder woman.”

you stare at her. “i really can’t have another relationship that’s just gonna crash and burn.”

“that’s not what i’m offering. i care about our - our friendship. i care about you.”

you swallow. “i care about you, too.”

“right, and when our friends need help with something….”

“we help them,” you finish. “so, you’re really just talking about casual sex. right now, on this couch?”

“yes,” vi answers. maybe a bit too quickly. “if that’s what you want, too.”

“that’s what i want,” you reply. maybe a bit too quickly, too. “but none of this one sided bullshit: you do me, i do you.”

vi takes your mug, puts it next to hers on the floor, and repositions your bodies so that she’s hovering above you, hips set between yours.

“sounds perfect to me.” 

you finally, finally kiss and it feels oddly…familiar. you taste like lychees and nicotine and cherries, burnt sweetness, and your skin is so fucking soft.

“wait.” you tug on vi’s hair and she has to bite back a moan at how fucked out you already look underneath her, all wide-eyed and desperate. “just so we’re 100% clear: just sex.”

vi nods once. “no strings attached.”

“it’ll be casual.” 

“we’re not doing the whole relationship thing.”

“promise?”

vi sticks out her pinky, grinning at you sheepishly. you roll your eyes ever so slightly, but still wrap your pinky around hers.

“promise.” 

so, you take care of each other. no strings attached.

because that’s what friends are for, right? 

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

v ⚽

are u busy rn? got out of my lab early and im bored 

wndr wmn ☆

yeah, im at work

v ⚽️

leave early. im BORED and HORNY

wndr wmn ☆

ofc you are 

v ⚽️

pls u love it 

u know #6 isn’t just my jersey number ;))

i’m implying that i will give u 6 consecutive orgasms

wndr wmn ☆

yeah i got that 

v ⚽️

so….

wndr wmn ☆

….

leaving now

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“you sure about this, v?” 

vi hums, looking up at you through hooded eyes. “isn’t it every girl’s dream to get tied up by the lasso of truth, wonder woman?”

you’re straddling her, still wearing your red and gold bodysuit underneath blue shorts that you’ve decorated with silver stars. your makeshift lasso of truth — really, just some gold rope — sparkles, tying vi’s wrists together to the headboard.

the theme of the women’s centre halloween celebration is always the same — dress up at your favorite female icon — but you’d never seen someone look as good as vi does. she dressed as trinity from the matrix, all tight, black leather and vinyl, showcasing her defined muscles as the gods intended.

now, she’s left in a sleeveless cropped top and black boyshorts, with her pants and jacket thrown somewhere on your apartment floor. 

you have a feeling she really liked your costume, too, because she practically begged you to take control tonight. 

“if it gets too much, our safeword will be —”

“sappho.” the slight whine of impatience in her voice sends a jolt right to your core.

“perfect.”

you kiss her lips, her jaw, her neck, your lipstick leaving angry red marks. you lodge your bare thigh in between vi’s legs, biting your bottom lip when you feel her already warm and wet, when you hear her whimper as you apply more pressure to where she needs you most. you reach into your nightstand for your vibrator and switch it on, teasing vi’s nipples through her shirt. 

vi moans, deep and loud. not even thirty seconds, and she’s already pulling at the restraints, the headboard creaking. 

“are you gonna be a good girl for me, violet?” you coo, inching the vibrator lower and lower, feeling her shake underneath you. “because we’ve got all night, and you better not break my bed.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“hey, so — i found these in between one of the couch cushions, thought maybe they might be yours.”

you can only spare a glance at the item mel is holding up — you’re grading freshman papers, focused on this one student’s thesis about gender fluidity in shakespeare’s twelfth night.

“oh, those are vi’s.”

“hm. and just how is it that you know what her underwear looks like?”

you stop writing mid-sentence and look up at mel who’s giving you a pointed look. 

you and vi had been the ones to clean up after feminist film friday last week, and one thing led to another….

in your defense: vi had been wearing these low cut jeans that showed off her v-line, and you could tell she didn’t have her usual sports bra on because you could see the outlines of her nipple rings through her tight, white tank top. it took everything in you to wait until people cleared out during the credits of the watermelon woman to pin her down and have her whimpering for you.

“i just…guessed.”

“right.” mel rolls her eyes. “so, you and violet are….what? fucking? dating?”

you clear your throat and take a sip of lukewarm coffee. 

“we’re keeping it casual,” is all you say.

“are you sure that’s a good idea?”

you just shrug.

“just — be careful,” mel, always the diplomatic one, eases. she walks towards you, sits on the edge of the desk, and hands you the pair of black briefs. “i know we all teased you about it before, but i don’t want to see you get hurt. i’ve seen you get your heart broken one too many times.”

“it’s fine, mel,” you assure her, grabbing the piece of fabric and shoving it at the bottom of your bag. you’re visiting their owner after this, anyways. “vi and i are just friends helping each other out.”

mel raises an eyebrow. “well, you and i have been friends for years and we’ve never gotten that close.”

“that’s different.”

“how so?”

“i appreciate your concern,” you say, avoiding the question. “but it’s fine. nice, actually.” 

“it’s your life,” mel sighs. “maybe don’t fuck on our couches anymore, though.” 

your cheeks heat up. you turn your attention back to the essay in front of you.

“noted.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi starts showing up at your place after soccer. 

she’s allowed back on the field during games now, so she appears with a winning grin, a grass-stained uniform and fresh bruises on her knees. one time, she had the remnants of a bloody nose after a header gone wrong, and you could taste copper when she pressed her lips against yours before she hopped in the shower.

you keep her go-to body wash stocked — bergamot and cedarwood scented old spice — but she always walks out of the bathroom smelling like your mango-vanilla shower gel. sometimes even your coconut shampoo. she slips on one of your oversized graphic tees, drapes a light purple towel around her shoulders to avoid staining your shirt with her cheaply dyed black hair, fading back to pink with each wash. she walks over to the fridge in her soft gray sweatpants rolled at the ankles and cracks open one of the spiced-pear red bulls as you pull ingredients out for dinner. usually something quick and simple, since it’s always a long week and neither of you have capacity for anything more.

vi chops garlic and tells you about her game; you boil water for pasta and tell her about the latest drama between students in your literature class. 

you pretend you have all the time in the world.

because you both know that vi’s got the strap packed in her gym bag, that soon one thing will lead to another and she’ll be fucking you with it until you’re both sweaty and spent and exhausted in the best way possible. 

you’ve established this routine together, agreed upon several unspoken rules: no pillow talk once it’s over; no actually falling asleep in the other’s bed; no crossing that thin sapphic line between friendship and romance. 

no breaking that promise.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

wndr wmn

wanna come over? i’m watching bend it like beckham

v ⚽️

MY FAVORITE!!

i would love 2

but lucky fell asleep on me 

we just finished devouring an xl pepperoni pizza 

wndr wmn

remind me again why your one-eyed golden retriever likes pizza so much?

v ⚽️

come on it’s cute

[v ⚽️ sent an attachment]

wndr wmn

yeah, you’re cute

v ⚽️

<3 

come over here instead?

wndr wmn

omw

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi whines, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“come on — hurry up.”

“you practically begged for this, v,” you chide. 

“yeah, but you’re taking too long and your hands are fucking freezing.”

“it’s the irony deficiency, babe,” you quip. “now, are you gonna be a good girl and let me finish?”

“fine,” vi grumbles. she does stop squirming, though. you hum, pleased.

you certainly didn’t miss the way her breath hitches at the nickname. vi’s right hand, freshly polished, tightens on your thigh.

you’re not sure why she called you at 1:27am for your help with this, or why she couldn’t just do it herself, but you’re sitting on her lap, painting her nails the color of pomegranate juice, a color she had chosen from the options you brought.

sure, you were about to turn in for an early night, but the moment you heard her voice through the phone, you rushed over to her place wearing nothing but your pajamas — plaid boxer shorts and a spiderman shirt that vi wore last time she was at yours, and you haven’t washed since.

you stretch time out as much as you can, meticulous in every stroke, but painting her nails doesn’t take much longer. you start to move off her lap — it’s probably time for you to leave — but vi grabs your hips, a playful smirk on her lips.

oh, right. that’s the type of relationship — friendship — you and vi agreed upon.

shit. you’re pretty sure that you’re wearing your days of the week underwear. is it a turn-off that you’ve got on a saturday pair on a thursday?

it doesn’t really matter, anyways.

instead of initiating a kiss, vi takes the bottle of polish from you, swaps it for black, and gestures for your hand. you blink at her, until you realize what she’s asking.

“oh! you don’t have to —”

“you do me, i do you.” vi grins at you. “i thought that was our arrangement.” 

you laugh, feeling warmth radiate from your chest.

it’s kind of….adorable, the furrow of her brow, the way she curses under her breath when a drop of nail polish falls onto your skin. she’s surprisingly gentle, too, one of her hands holding yours for support while the other paints. 

while she focuses on getting the polish onto your nails in even layers, you busy yourself by counting vi’s freckles. 

violet rose atlas has a constellation of freckles sparkling across her cheeks. you hope there’s enough time in the world for you to memorize every single one.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

v ⚽️

do u need more nicotine gum? 

im at cvs rn

wndr wmn

yeah that’d be great!!

v ⚽️

ok 

i’ll get u the cinnamon one

that’s the one u like right?

wndr wmn

yep!!!

v ⚽️

okay cool

im also gonna get u some of those iron supplements

wndr wmn

my hero 🙏🏽

thank you sm

v ⚽️

ofc

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“that red head was trying to get your number.”

“are you jealous, v?”

vi scoffs, sipping her cherry coke. “of course not. i’m just observant.”

you’d convinced your manager to let vi back into sappho’s. it’s nice, really, to see her back here again. 

nice, but different. 

gone are the days of staring at her from across the room, where she would be charming someone else, and only flirting with you when she came over to get another whiskey for herself and vodka something for her date. instead, she jokes around with mel, sky, and gert if they’re around, and sometimes brings her teammates in as well to play a game of pool. she usually has one drink, and then switches to something non-alcoholic. sometimes, vi doesn’t even come in for a drink; she just stops by to say hi before a team dinner or a study session.

(it’s fine — never once have you gotten an overpriced coffee from the cafe she started working at mid-october, and you probably stop by once a week between errands. that’s your excuse, anyways.)

so. things are different, but nice. 

you lean across the sticky counter. “you want me to get down on my knees for you right now to prove which girl here i’d like to go home with?”

“baby….” vi shifts on the bar stool. it’s hard to tell under the dim multicolored lights, but you’re pretty sure she’s blushing, too. 

“i think we both know you’d draw a bit too much attention to yourself. especially when i use my tongue to —”

“my car’s outside.” 

you smirk. “my break’s in 15.”

you used to spend your breaks in the alley outside sappho’s burning through a cigarette. now you find yourself knee-deep in the passenger seat, eating vi out like she’s the last thing you’ll ever taste. 

“f-fuck,” vi groans. 

“feels good, yeah?” you tease her clit with her tongue, sliding two fingers into her easily. you work fast, determined to let her finish before you run out of time.

“so fucking good. i’m gonna —”

she clenches around your fingers; you lap her up eagerly, let her writhe against your face until she’s had enough. 

you sit back on your knees once her hips still, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. you crane your neck to check the time on the dashboard, when you notice something in the footwell.

“vi! i thought i lost this.”

vi grins at you sheepishly, chest still heaving as you hold up the complete works of audre lorde, a tattered book with a well-worn spine and dog-eared pages. 

“sorry. i meant to put it back on your nightstand once i was finished.”

you open to where she’s placed a makeshift bookmark — the ticket from an underground sirens of zaun show you’d both gone to. you’ve had this copy since freshman year, the scribble of your handwriting in the margins of practically on every page.

“it’s okay,” you tell her. “you like it so far?”

“yeah.” she grabs the book from you gently, thumbing through the pages. you wonder if vi registers the curves of her own smile, tender and bashful. “honestly, i’m not usually a fan of poetry, but it’s really cool how lorde writes about desire between women in such a tangible way, you know? i really liked this one verse in ‘recreation:’ ‘touching you, i catch midnight as moon fires set in my throat.’ it’s just so - so beautiful, the idea of something so domestic and mundane being almost magical, because that’s what it’s really like when —”

you don’t even realize that you’re staring until vi looks up at you and freezes.

“sorry,” she clears her throat, closing the book and setting it aside. “did i say something wrong?”

you assure vi that she did nothing wrong. 

you exit her car, the taste of her lingering on your tongue, the feeling of her keeping your body warm on this cold november night.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

wndr wmn

hey

are you in town during break?

v⚽️

having dinner at my dads’ on friday but otherwise im here

why? u gonna miss me?? 

wndr wmn

lol

im having ppl over for friendsgiving on sunday

if you wanna join

v ⚽️

hell yeah

can i bring anything?

wndr wmn

just your pretty face

i’ll take care of the rest

turkey, cranberry, sauce, stuffing, sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie…

etc. etc.

v ⚽️

damn!!!!

full course meal

wndr wmn

yep

im basically wife material

v⚽️

pls we’re so over gender norms

but yeah

you are

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi has never been the type to wait by the phone for a girl to text, or to show up at her place after not hearing from her in a while, worried that she might have done something wrong. 

yet here she is, standing outside your door.

it’s cool, though. completely platonic behavior.

she knocks. 

there’s no answer. 

she knocks again.

nothing.

vi waits another second, leaning her shoulder against the door.

“it’s me, wonder woman,” she tries. 

hope flutters in her chest as she hears you shuffle, unchain the lock. vi stumbles as you throw the door open, but she recovers quickly to find you: smudged black eyeliner enhancing the shadows underneath your eyes, hair in disarray, clothes disheveled. 

“i’m not really in the mood for sex.”

vi can’t help but laugh, even though your comment feels like a punch to the face.

“wow. figured you would think more of me by now than just some horny teenage boy.”

“look, vi —”

vi? 

since when do you call her that?

“i’m sorry i missed the meeting today. i texted mel —”

damn, so your phone does work. 

you’ve just been ignoring her calls and texts.

“but i’m just… it’s not a good time, okay? i’ll see you around.”

ah. 

the classic generic excuse and non-committal statement combo.

you start to close the door on her before she even has a chance to get a word in.

the hits just keep coming. 

thankfully, vi’s always been a good fighter.

“wait.” vi places her palm firmly on the door before you can fully shut her out. “i’m just here to check on you.” 

your face remains unchanged.

“okay, well, you’ve checked on me.” 

“yeah, i’ve checked on you. you look like shit.”

you glare at her. “well i’m sorry i didn’t have the time to get all prettied up for you. i know that you like me better that way.”

“that’s not what i  —”  vi inhales sharply. she’s a fighter, but she doesn’t want to fight you. “mel dropped the news — about admin officially cutting our funding. i knew how that would affect you, so….” vi lifts the bag of takeout. “i brought some thai food for us to share. a pomegranate, too, because i know you like seasonal fruit. it’s been a while and honestly, i just….i just wanted to spend time with you.”

you exhale, your eyes softening. 

there. 

a hesitant smile, an invitation to come inside.

there are clothes all over your floor and dishes piled high in the sink. your desk is littered with empty boxes of cereal and cans of an energy drink that normally you’d never touch. the blanket that sky had crocheted for you — lavender and pink checkered — is unfolded on your couch, your laptop half-closed on the coffee table in front next to two stacks of printed essays — ones marked with purple pen, the others untouched. in contrast, your bed is still perfectly made. 

you take the blanket and wrap it around your shoulders, sitting at the kitchen table and curling into yourself. vi busies herself in cracking open the pomegranate, putting the seeds into the last clean bowl in your cupboard. the palms of her arm wraps are now stained a reddish-purple, but she doesn’t care.

vi manages to find two pairs of clean chopsticks for the thai food, and the two of you eat in silence. 

“so….” vi starts, watching you stab a piece of chicken before popping it into your mouth. “you wanna talk about it, or….?”

“what’s there to talk about?”

“well, for starters, maybe tell me what’s been getting you into full hibernation mode? we haven’t seen each other in, like, a week.”

“six days,” you correct, chewing a mouthful of noodles. “last tuesday, we played pool during my closing shift at sappho’s. i lost. you made me down two shots of tequila because you’re a menace and you know i hate it.” 

“yeah, but i drove you home and tucked you into bed with water and advil for later, so i’m also a gentleman. so, just tell me what’s been going on. we’ll figure it out, yeah?”

“it’s fine,” you grumble.

“clearly, it’s not. just tell me what you need.”

“what i need is to not be distracted,” you huff, avoiding eye contact. “i certainly don’t need you —”

“taking care of you, i know.” vi grabs your hand from across the table. she feels you stiffen on instinct, and then ease into the heat of her skin. “trust me, i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t want to be. so — humor me.”

vi squeezes your hand, hoping to reassure you. 

you sigh. “i’ve just — i’ve been spiralling trying to figure out how the centre can keep going with, like, half our required budget, trying to see if we can get some external donors and i still need to finalize the venue and equipment rentals for our last open mic….and….and my sibling called again to tell me that things haven’t been great at home, so i want to go down there this weekend to sort everything out, but my car hasn’t been starting….plus i’m behind on grading, and i told my supervisor i’d have a complete draft ready by thursday and i’m not even halfway done, and that’s the same day we’re having that art build for the climate rally on friday, and i’ve been having the worst cramps since this afternoon, and all i wanna do is pass out and sink into my duvet, but i need to keep going —”

vi squeezes your hand again, this time more firmly. “you need to slow down.” 

“i can’t.” you huff. “i have to keep everything from falling apart, and if i don’t….”

vi shifts to the chair next to yours, still holding your hand. 

“but you can’t do it all if you’re too exhausted to take care of yourself. from the looks of it, you’ve been living off of frosted flakes, red bull, and zero sleep.” 

you shrug. “if that’s what it takes.”

“if that’s what it takes, then maybe it’s not worth it.”

“don’t say that,” you tell her. “it’s all worth it. i just wish it wasn’t so…heavy.”

vi nods, because she really, truly understands. she gives you the advice she can see you giving her in another context.

“you ever think that maybe it wouldn’t feel as heavy if you…i don’t know…weren’t too stubborn to ask for help.”

“there are things that are my responsibility, violet,” you tell her, slipping your hand away. you reach for the bowl of pomegranate seeds, meticulously picking up one at a time with your chopsticks and crushing it in between your molars. “i can’t just pass those off to someone else.” 

“fine. but what about other things? like the women’s centre stuff — we’re a team, right? so we’ll figure it out together, divide the labor so you’re not doing everything. and, maybe ask your supervisor for an extension, too? and, well, i don’t really need my car this weekend, so you’re welcome to borrow it.”

you pause, narrowing your eyes at her. 

“you said…. ‘we.’”

“well, yeah. i’m part of the team, aren’t i?”

“but you’ll be finished with your hours in a week. there’s no reason for you to stay.”

“of course there is,” vi whispers, studying your face as it morphs from suspicious to something else, something gentler. 

her heart is pounding as she waits for you to say something, so vi starts to dig into the pomegranate seeds, the juice surprisingly more sweet than sour. some dribbles out from the corner of her lips, and you reach over to wipe it away with your thumb.

“i’d love for you to stay,” you hum, smiling, and vi feels her chest glow with a brightness it seems only you can bring out. “turns out you give pretty good advice.”

“so…you’ll consider it.”

you shrug again. “maybe. i am very tempted to take you up on the car thing.”

“all yours, if you want it.”

“are you sure?”

“it’s fine, wonder woman. i’ll just carpool to practice — it’s better for the environment, anyways. can’t show up to the climate rally as a hypocrite, can i?” she jokes, and you roll your eyes playfully. “and, i’ll try to fix your car while you’re away.”

“wow. you are a gentleman.”

“gentleman? baby, i’m husband material.”

you actually laugh.

“i thought we were over gender norms,” you quip. “but yeah. you are.” 

vi’s cheeks heat up at your statement. you most definitely notice her blushing because you break out into a toothy grin

“i missed you, v,” you admit. “any other words of wisdom?”

despite your tender smile, you look exhausted. vi just wants to hold you through it all, tell you it’s gonna be okay. instead, she settles for placing a gentle hand on your cheek, running her thumb over the deep shadow underneath your eye. 

“get some rest, pretty girl.”

a few hours later, you wake up alone. 

you have a vague memory of warm arms wrapped around you, a heart beating steadier than yours. your sheets smell like old spice, your apartment smells like fresh laundry. you get out of bed and notice that there are no more dishes in your sink, no more cans or containers on any surface. all the clothes you’d been meaning to wash are now carefully folded on your couch. 

there’s a bright pink sticky note on your nightstand next to the keys to vi’s car.

you talk in your sleep. something about stargazing? maybe we can go when you get back. 

drive safe. text me if you need anything.

xxx

- v

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

zaun yellowjackets vs. piltover knights. 

two minutes left in overtime. 

one goal standing in the way of their trophy. one goal to end piltover’s monopoly over the title of national champions. 

caitlyn probably told her knights to be extra aggressive — win by any means necessary — so it’s been a long game of dirty plays and intentional fouls.

vi always puts her heart into every single game, but this time —

this time, it’s personal. 

zaun’s defense works to regain possession and prevent piltover’s attack. ashe manages to intercept a pass between two knights, and is quick in dribbling the ball until mid-field. she sends it over to vi with a swift kick. vi’s quick on her feet, catching piltover’s defense by surprise, sprinting closer and closer to the goal. she makes it to the penalty box.

this could be the winning point. 

vi has it, too. she’s so fucking close, about to fake out the goalie and kick into that hard-to-defend sweet spot — until a sharp, pointy elbow collides with her ribs so abruptly, it knocks the wind out of her lungs. she stumbles forward over the ball, knees skidding onto the grass. whoever it is also steps on vi’s cleat for good measure. 

“fuck!” she looks up to see who it is.

of course. it’s maddie fucking nolan, who doesn’t spare so much as a glance as the ref doles out a red card. she nods at caitlyn as she walks off the field, no doubt following her captain’s orders.

her teammates help vi to her feet, and the ref makes sure everyone is in position for the penalty kick.

this could be the winning point. vi just has to ignore caitlyn’s icy stare from a few feet away, and the heart threatening to beat out of her chest. 

vi takes a deep breath. 

she looks to the stands. among the crowd of screaming fans, zaunites and pilties alike, is vi’s family. they’re cheering.

you’re there too, sitting next to them. 

everyone is staring at vi, waiting for the whistle, waiting for her to make the shot, but the only person she stares back at is you.

you’ve got this, v, you had whispered to her the night before. she couldn’t sleep, so she called you. vi wishes she was back there, now — tangled in flannel sheets, lucky snoring at the foot of the bed, gazing up at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to her ceiling until she finally fell asleep in your arms.

but, vi’s on the field. 

and this is the winning point. 

the whistle blows. 

she makes the shot.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“i told you i wasn’t a jinx!” powder sticks her tongue out at mylo.

she’s all sweat and dirt and adrenaline, but, fuck, if vi isn’t so, incredibly happy and proud of her team, of everything they’ve been through, everything they’ve accomplished.

it almost doesn’t feel real.

just like it doesn’t feel real, seeing you talk animatedly with her sister’s boyfriend, laughing along with her siblings, smiling as you watch her dads hug and praise her.

when it’s your turn to do the same, you practically leap into vi’s arms, gushing about how amazing she was, how proud you are of her. 

“this looks good on you,” vi hums, as you pull away from another hug. her fingers play with the bottom of the jersey, and she bites the inside of her cheek to ground herself in the moment. you, with her family. you, in her jersey. “thinking of joining the yellowjackets?”

“i think i’ll leave the soccer to you,” you tell her. “you were amazing out there. guess i should be calling you wonder woman from now on, huh?”

“wonder woman! that’s where i remember you from!” vander suddenly exclaims, stepping closer to the pair of you. silco turns around, too. “you once tried to get into the last drop with a fake id, didn’t you? under the name diana prince?”

“shit,” you laugh nervously, eyes flickering between vander and the ground as if you’re once again a teenager caught in the act. “i….probably did.”

“i kicked you out, told you to go home to themyscira.”

“yeah…i….i remember that.” you nod slowly, furrowing your brows. “except, i didn’t want to go home that night, so i lingered outside,” you continue. you turn to vi, and your face softens. “which was when you —”

“brought two glasses of cherry coke and rum,” vi finishes; she sees flashes of that night as you gaze into her eyes. “we climbed onto the roof and —”

that was her first kiss. vi never even realized until now, but —

you were her first kiss.

“i can’t believe i forgot that.”

“weird, how memory works,” you agree, tilting your head curiously, looking at vi with a newfound interest, like a ghost from your past.

“well, isn’t this a story we’ll be sharing on your wedding day!” vander chuckles, ruffling vi’s hair. 

“don’t pressure them, darling,” silco chides, but the smirk growing on his face gives him away. he’s loving this drama. “they’re barely 23 — i doubt they’ve discussed marriage.” 

“oh, we’re not —”

“yeah, we’re just —”

“friends,” you say at the same time, careful to avoid eye contact.

vi feels like she might burst into flames at the knowing look vander and silco share.

“well, violet, would your friend like to join us for a celebratory dinner?” silco asks.

so that’s how you’re sitting between powder and claggor, listening to them talk your ear off about the young innovator’s competition. vi’s sitting across from you, next to ekko, who occasionally pipes in. 

you’re here, sharing the tradition of a post-game meal with vi’s family at the local pizza parlour. 

caitlyn never even wanted to meet vi’s family.

a few pizzas are ordered for the table, and you eat and laugh and sip your soda along with everyone else. you make a flower out of your paper napkin and hand it to isha, who’s on the other side of powder, and she gives you a toothy grin in return. you answer all the standard questions about your job and major and plans for the future.

“after graduation, i’m probably gonna take a break, get some work experience,” you explain. “maybe save up some money for law school a few years down the road.”

“you wanna be a lawyer, huh? you sure you wanna be friends with a felon, then?” powder asks, blowing bubbles into her soda through her straw. 

vi coughs, choking on a mushroom. 

“powder!” 

“what! she never told you?”

you shake your head, glancing over at vi who suddenly finds it hard to look you in the eye. your foot has been pressed against hers underneath the table all night; you pull it away now. she takes a big gulp of water; vi looks over at vander and silco for help, but they seem to be caught up in their own conversation.

“oh, damn! ” mylo adds, leaning over. “it’s a great story!” 

“guys, maybe don’t —”

“but it’s a great story!” mylo insists. “shows what a badass you are!”

“she didn’t do anything serious, like murder or anything,” powder clarifies. “it was really just her pissing off some enforcers —”

“rightfully so,” ekko adds. 

claggor nods. “we were just kids. they were harassing us for some bullshit, disruption of property or whatever, so vi steps in and things get heated —”

“it takes three of enforcers to get her handcuffed, but she manages to get a few nasty hits in before they send her off to stillwater —”

“she spends three days there —”

“i thought it was two —”

“no, it was three —”

“needless to say, this isn’t the first time vi has been sentenced to community service, but it seems she’s really enjoying it this time, thanks to you,” powder finishes, winking at you. 

“well that’s….quite the story,” you finally say, voice steady. 

“oh! let’s tell her about the time she stole from some enforcers that were hoarding food —”

as powder continues the story, and you listen intently, it’s hard to read your expression.

are you ashamed of being friends with her? disgusted by her family, her past? regretful that you ever let her touch you, let her into your life? 

vi’s stomach turns when your eyes collide; she’s been down this road before, and vi’s scared that she knows exactly what you’re thinking.

she pushes her chair back and disappears to the bathroom before she has to watch you walk away.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

there’s a knock on the door.

“someone’s in here,” vi says. she grips the edge of the counter so hard, her knuckles turn white. 

deep breaths. 

this isn’t the same as before.

this isn’t caitlyn, who threw vi out like a piece of trash when something better came along. 

then again, you never knew this much about vi’s past. you’re well within your right to —

there’s another knock.

“v? it’s me….i have to get going, but i wanted to check on you before i leave.”

“okay,” vi clips. she looks up at herself in the mirror; she had splashed her face with cold water to calm herself down. a drop falls from her chin. “bye.”

“are you sure you’re okay?”

“i’m fine. see you around.”

you sigh, and vi hears you settle against the doorframe. 

“violet, let me in,” you press. “please?” 

“i’m fine. you can leave.”

“okay, well, i’m not leaving until i see that gorgeous face of yours one more time,” you whisper. “i got all dolled up just for you, and all i wanna do is give you a proper goodbye….” 

well, when you put it like that….

vi grabs some paper towel to dry her face and fixes her hair before opening the door for you. you smile knowingly, enter and lock the door behind you. 

you lean against the door as vi leans against the counter, the marble digging into her lower back.

“okay, i’ll start because, frankly, i don’t have time to waste,” you state after a few moments of silence. “nothing i’ve learned about you tonight has changed how i see you. it’s just confirmed some things.”

“right. like how impulsive and violent and reckless i’ve always been,” she lists glumly, unable to look you in the eye.

“maybe you are all those things,” you pause. “but, i don’t fucking care. i mean, i do, because it’s part of you and i like who you are. i like you.”

your words do wonders to ease the tension throughout vi’s body, and she feels like she can actually take a breath.

vi’s eyes lock onto yours.

“you do?”

“i like who you are, every part of it,” you tell her. “well, i don’t like that you’ve had to fight your way through an unbelievably fucked up system ever since you were a kid, but the bottom line is that you’re the strongest, most compassionate person i know.”

vi blinks at you.

“funny, i was just thinking the same thing about you the other day.”

neither of you say anything for a minute or so, letting the sentiment linger in the small space between you. once more, you’re the one to break the ice.

“well, you know what they say about great minds….” you step closer to vi. you take her chin between your thumb and your index finger. "can you guess what i’m thinking now?" 

vi shakes her head, throat suddenly very dry.

“i’m thinking that i’ve wanted to kiss you all night.”

“what’s stopped you?”

you grin. “i didn’t want to make a fuss in front of your family, but now that we’re alone….”

vi doesn't say anything, but instead closes the gap between your lips.

you kiss her, harsh and messy, tongue and teeth, swallowing her moans as your fingers snake down the waistband of her pants. you pull vi’s bottom lip with your teeth before moving to her neck, nipping along the outline of her tattoo. you bite down harder on her skin, right at her pulse point. 

"what’s that you said earlier —” a low groan tumbles from vi’s lips when you start to suck just above her collarbones. another when your tongue soothes over the sting. “about a proper goodbye…?” she tugs your hair so that you’re looking right at her. 

it’s quite the sight — your lips swollen, chest heaving, eyes curious and lustful.

“anything you want,” you whisper, all breathless. 

vi hums. she slips a hand underneath the frayed hem of your denim skirt, and you gasp as her nails scrape against your inner thigh.

she likes that you’re here. here for her.

"get on your knees for me, sweetheart.”

she pulls down her pants along with her briefs, as you kneel before her without hesitation.

you drape one of her legs over your shoulder, giving your tongue better access to her cunt. vi grips your hair tighter, bringing you in closer, and you moan, sending vibrations up her body.

"fuck," vi hisses. you add a finger, while your tongue works her clit. 

you bring her to the edge, stay with her even as her thighs clench around your skull. she expects you to get back on your feet right away, but you stay, adding another finger and sucking her clit. she moans your name.

you pull away slightly. "one more, pretty girl," you promise. your chin glistens with vi’s release; you lick your lips as you gaze up at her through thick eyelashes. "can you do that for me?" she nods furiously, and you get back to work.

after letting her ride your tongue and fingers through another orgasm, you kiss her ankle before releasing her leg. vi pulls you up to your feet, sucks the taste of herself off your tongue.

you pull away slightly, heart racing against vi’s chest. 

vi swipes her thumb over the smudged lipstick below your lip. she studies you, admires you, like you’re a fucking work of art that belongs in a gallery, like you didn’t just fucked her through two consecutive orgasms in the bathroom at a pizza parlour while wham's "last christmas" plays through shitty speakers.

"take these off." vi tugs at your tights. you do as instructed, slipping off your underwear as well. she pulls you towards her, and lodges a leg in between yours. your bare cunt brushes against her thigh, back and forth as she guides your hips. "i can't believe you got all dressed up…. wearing my jersey, and this pretty little skirt even though it’s so cold outside. all for me?"

vi flexes her thigh muscles, pushing you down faster and harder. you whimper.

"all – all for you.”

vi feels her pussy clench, with the desperation in your voice, the stickiness of your heat against her skin, the smell of the two of you intertwining. your orgasm crashes into you, and vi holds you through it. 

you kiss her ever so sweetly before removing yourself from her grasp, smoothing down your skirt and looking around for your underwear.

"where are my...." 

you look over as vi tucks your fuschia thong into the inner pocket of her jacket.

"i'm guessing you'll buy me replacements for christmas."

vi flashes you a shit eating grin before putting on her own underwear. she then pulls up her pants, not wiping your release from her thigh. she likes the idea of walking around with you seeped into her skin. 

when vi looks over at you, you’re as fully dressed as you can be and busy checking something on your phone. she only sees a flash of your lock screen, but it’s her. a photo of her and lucky playing at the park; there’s snow, so it had to have been a few days ago. 

that doesn’t mean anything, right? people use photos of their friends for their wallpaper all the time.

“i really have to go,” you sigh. you pull a tube of lipstick from your pocket and step closer to the mirror. “hey — do you think we could switch shirts? not sure i should wear this to my next dinner.”

vi nods and you remove her jersey, revealing a matching fuschia bralette. she wonders what’s got you all coordinated — who else you’ve clearly dressed up for. 

“so, you’ve got a hot date?” vi tries to act casual as she takes off her jacket, pulls off her shirt, and waits for you to answer. you take your time, fixing yourself in the mirror.

“something like that,” you finally say with a shy smile.

later, when isha’s asleep on powder’s lap in the backseat, vi thinks about how your date might have gone, if you’re taking them home to the same bed vi has fucked you in throughout these past few months.

where do you get off, fucking vi in the bathroom during dinner while her parents are at the table, only to leave for another date, wearing vi’s shirt, too?

“hey, can i ask you something?” ekko asks from beside her, cutting off the angry monologue in her head.

vi reaches over to turn down the music.

“sure, little man. what’s up?”

“what’s the deal between you and wonder woman?”

vi clears her throat, gripping the steering wheel. “what makes you think there’s a deal?”

“oh, please, we all noticed that hickey on your neck after she visited you in the bathroom.” 

the car crawls to a stop as the light turns red, and vi adjusts the collar of her shirt.

“we’re just friends.”

“well, powder and i were just friends for ages,” ekko points out.

vi doesn’t notice that the light’s turned green until someone behind her honks. she steps on the gas, but the idiot behind her still cuts in front of her.

“asshole,” she grumbles, throwing them a middle finger for good measure. vi glances to her right at ekko, who’s scribbling something in his sketchbook despite only the streetlamps outside providing light. “so, what made you….realize that you wanted something more?”

ekko closes his book, smiling to himself. 

“honestly? it was kinda a million little things, but what it really comes down to is that she’s the only person i could spend every second of my life with, and i’d still want more time. and, in my experience….it’s better to tell someone how you feel sooner rather than later.”

“or, some people prefer to wait a few weeks,” powder mumbles, stirring awake. “nice try, mister, but no interfering. i’m not losing 20 bucks.”

“wait — you’ve bet on my love life?”

ekko smirks. “so it is love.”

vi shrugs, pretends that she doesn’t immediately picture you in your kitchen, making her banana pancakes at 2am when she hears the word love. 

“it doesn’t matter.”

because, it really doesn’t matter. 

you’re out with someone else right now. 

it’s over before it really had a chance to begin.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

cupcake 

Hey, Vi

Just wanted to say good game today

You played brilliantly

Violet

k

cupcake

No need for the attitude

I was just trying to be nice

Violet

my apologies!!!

thank you SO much for recognizing my talent captain kiramman

i feel like i’m actually worth something now!!!

cupcake

Bitterness isn’t a good colour on you, darling

Violet

im NOT your darling

cupcake

I’m aware

I saw you earlier with that girl

Are you together? 

Violet

idk

are you still with maddie?

cupcake

Actually, we broke up

I was hoping you and I could chat

Violet

what’s in it for me?

cupcake

The chance to reconnect with an old friend

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

you can excuse vi no longer attending the weekly team meeting. she finished her 100 hours around thanksgiving, so technically she didn’t need to be there anymore.

maybe you could excuse her ignoring your calls, or leaving your texts on read. it’s finals season, and she did mention picking up a few extra shifts to save up for christmas presents. 

but you simply can’t excuse vi walking into sappho’s with caitlyn fucking kiramman, ordering drinks from you like you’re absolute strangers.

“what the fuck, vi?” you seethe. 

vi glances at her date. caitlyn’s waiting for her back at a table, the glow of her phone screen illuminating her pretty face.

“what, should i have ordered something else? not every girl likes cherry coke and rum.” 

you glare at her from across the counter, but start preparing their drinks nonetheless. 

“why are you with her?” you throw some ice in a glass, the cubes clinking aggressively against the crystal. “are you back together?”

vi has the audacity to roll her eyes at you. “why’d you care?”

you catch yourself before saying something you’ll regret, something about liking her more than you definitely should considering the agreement the two of you had made. 

clearly, vi doesn’t feel the same way; it’s not worth spilling your guts to her at your place of work. 

“because we’re friends.”

“yeah, right,” vi scoffs. “you’re jealous, which you have no right to be because you’re seeing someone, too.”

you accidentally pour a double shot of vodka. you don’t really care, and mix the drink anyways.

“what the fuck are you talking about?” 

“i’m talking about the date you went on the night of my championship game.”

“what date?” you slam the glasses in front of vi, so hard that you’re lucky they didn’t break.

“oh, don’t play dumb.” vi spits your name like it’s poison. “this whole thing started because you said you didn’t want a relationship, when really you just didn’t want a relationship with me. you used me until someone better came along. you lied to me.”

her eyes are glazed over, her voice shaking ever so slightly. you’re not sure if you’re more hurt or angry by what she’s saying, but it cuts deep; you continue as though you aren’t bleeding out in front of her.

“i don’t want a relationship with anyone and certainly not with you —”

“excuse me! are we able to order something?” someone with bright green hair and a septum piercing waves their hand in front of your face.

“yeah, just give us a second —”

“look, you and your girlfriend can fight on your own time.”

“she’s not my girlfriend!” you and vi snap simultaneously. 

you glare at each other.

vi grabs the glasses from the counter, and walks away.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

it took many brainstorming sessions, many boring conversations with potential donors, and many, many tears, but you managed to secure enough funding to keep the women’s centre going for the foreseeable future.  

it was a team effort, of course, so you just want everyone to enjoy this open mic night, the last event of the semester — even though you are weighed down by the absence of a certain someone.

the gallery space on campus that you rented out is both cozy and electric, decorated with fairy lights on the walls, with pillows and blankets on the floor for people to sit and watch performances. there’s a table with drinks and snacks, a corner for people to make art if they’re inspired. 

you’re rearranging the food, watching gert perform an original song when mel slides in next to you, wearing a gorgeous white dress with gold accents. 

“do you mind running to the office? we’re out of paint.”

“really? people don’t usually use the paint.”

“well, it seems to be quite popular tonight.”

“it’s fine. we still have lots of other stuff. they can just collage or something.”

mel shakes her head. “i really think you should go get more paint.”

“maybe ask sky? i should stay here —”

“you could use a break, too,” mel cuts you off, placing a hand on your shoulder. “you’ve been nonstop all day; the rest of us can hold down the fort for a little while.”

you concede, mostly because she’s right and you don’t have the energy to argue. 

when you get to the office, you’re surprised to find the lights on. even more surprised that someone’s already there, sitting on the zebra-striped couch.

“vi?”

she jumps slightly when you say her name.

“mel texted me,” she rushes out like she’s been caught red-handed. “said she needed help with something she’d been planning.” 

you frown, until you realize why mel must have sent you here, specifically. 

you haven’t seen vi since that night at sappho’s; you’d been quite a mess after your shift, ranting to mel on the phone about how she’d been right and you should have been more careful, how you don’t know what you did that ruined whatever you and vi had, and you really don’t know what you can do to fix it.

you’re both too stubborn to reach out to the other, so it seems like mel decided to take matters into her own hands. 

“yeah, i doubt she’s coming,” you tell vi. 

“okay,” vi says, but she doesn’t move. “i, uh, i was hoping i’d run into you, though.”

“yeah?” you raise an eyebrow at vi, crossing your arms. “needed another vodka martini for your piltover princess.”

“she’s not — we’re not together.”

“oh,” you exhale. the animosity you were holding towards her evaporates, but doesn’t completely disappear. you watch her, watching you stand by the doorway. 

there are so many things you want to tell her, but you don’t even know where to start. you know that you’ve hurt her. she hurt you, too.

but, also:

you miss the cloudy blue-gray of her eyes, the scar on her upper lip. 

you miss her.

“do you wanna come sit?”

after being so far away from vi, for what feels like forever, you don’t hesitate to take her up on the offer. your knees brush together as you settle next to her on the couch, a jolt of electricity passing through your body at the contact.

“so, i admit that —”

“vi, you were right —”

both of you stop your sentences short, chuckling nervously. you each urge the other to continue, and only get caught in a similar mess:

“i fucked up,” vi blurts out.

“i lied to you,” you confess at the same time.

an awkward, unfamiliar silence hangs above you; you’re not sure what to do next. 

vi takes the leap. she tells you that mel explained everything: that you had to attend a dinner with alumni and potential donors on the same night of her championship game, but you kept it from vi since it was already a big moment for her; that you haven’t been on a real date with anyone else since september. vi apologizes for jumping to conclusions and falling back into caitlyn’s arms, shutting you out when she should have just talked to you.

you’re the girl who was her first kiss, she says. the girl who lingered in a vague memory, appeared in the fiction of her daydreams, and then suddenly became too real. 

“i like you. i really fucking like you. and if it has to be as a friend, that’s fine because i don’t want to lose you.” vi takes a shattered breath, blinking back tears. she fiddles with the ring on her index finger, anxiously bouncing her knee. you place your hand there to steady her, and she exhales. “i guess i’m just not sure….when you said you liked me that night at the restaurant….is that what you lied about?” 

vi’s practically doe-eyed, waiting for you to respond. 

you shake your head. 

“i lied when i said that i didn’t want a relationship with you,” you admit, and the hint of a smile dances across her lips. “i had this major crush on you, you know? every time you came into sappho’s….i couldn’t help it. and then you showed up here and we became friends, and then we started….well, you know the rest.”

“duh. i was there,” vi jokes, easing into her usual, playful self.  

“i can’t do the whole casual thing,” you continue, rubbing circles into her knee with your thumb. “i know we made a promise, but i just can’t, not with you. it’s like…in every other relationship i’ve been in, i was trying to run out the clock. with you, though, with us, i feel like there’s never enough time —”

vi grabs your neck and crashes her mouth onto yours before you can finish your sentence. 

you’ve kissed each other many times, in many different places, in many different ways, but never like this: like you’re both willing to break one promise if it means forging a new one.

“will you be my girlfriend, violet rose atlas?” you whisper as you pull away, lips brushing against hers.  

you start to count the freckles on her cheeks as she beams at you, pulls you into her lap.

“i thought you’d never ask.”