#it’s been way too long since I drew this AU | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kingofbodyrolls · 1 month ago

Text

Friendcation (m) | myg | pregnancy special

you and Yoongi try to get pregnant, but it doesn’t go as planned, as the road isn’t easy. But he’s your rock, and he’ll stand with you through thick and thin 💜

→ Pairing: mechanic!Yoongi x reader (female) → AUs: established relationship, mechanic!Yoongi, married!au, pregnancy!au → Genres: slice of life, humor/crack, smut and fluff → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 7.5k → Warnings (general) + triggers: mentions of blood because of SPOILER a miscarriage (there’s blood but know more detail than that), angst, anxiety/fear for the future and for a miscarriage again, pregnancy, raging hormones, drinking sorrows away, getting angry without course, yelling without course, OC is being rather destructive in this one but Yoongi is very sweet, understanding and supportive 👏 → Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex (is this really a surprise? But please don’t be stupid irl, though they aren’t stupid here ‘cuz they’re actively trying for a baby); oral (female and male receiving), doggystyle over a table 😝, spanks, creampie, cockwarming, kisses (yes that is a warning because it’s sugary sweet 😘), multiple orgasms → Author’s note: hiya all you lovely people! I’m back at it again with another extra for friendcation and let me tell you, even though this is very angsty, I loved writing it a lot. I drew from my own experience (miscarriages), but I didn’t want to go into too much detail, so it’s very light. But it does affect OC and her mood, like she almost gets depressed over it 😢 But Yoongi is there to pick her up and support her, so don’t worry! It’s a sweet one, and of course it has a happy ending, because you know what’s gonna happen in the winter special that I wrote a long time ago! I hope you love it as much as I did! This one was honestly so fast for me to write, like a few hours! It’s so much easier for me when I write from my own personal experience. And if you’ve ever had a miscarriage, I want to give you a hug, and please know that you’re not alone, okay? 🫂 (author’s note2: I wrote this story in the beginning of August 2024) → Read on AO3? [link] ✨

← previous | s.masterlist | m.masterlist | next →

“There are two lines!” you cry out, bursting into the living room with a pregnancy test clutched in your trembling hand. You twirl it in the air like a magic wand, watching the realization spread across your husband’s face, his eyes lighting up with a mixture of joy and wonder. He moves toward you, a smile breaking across his lips, and in one swift motion, he wraps you in his arms, pulling you close as he plants a tender kiss on your cheek.

“Are you really pregnant?” he murmurs, his voice soft yet trembling with excitement and a touch of fear. You hear the uncertainty beneath his joy, the way hope and anxiety dance together in his words. You’ve both dreamed of this moment, talked about it late into the night, imagining the tiny life you would create together. Ever since your honeymoon, where every whispered wish was laced with the hope of creating a new life, this has been your shared dream. And now, it’s real. The weight of it hits you all at once, and tears well up in your eyes, spilling over as the emotions of the moment overwhelm you.

He kisses you again, this time with more intensity. “I can’t wait to have a baby with you,” he whispers against your skin.

Neither can you. The joy is too immense to contain, so you schedule a doctor’s appointment, needing to hear it confirmed, to know for certain that your dream is taking root inside you. Yoongi is right there beside you, holding your hand as the doctor measures your HCG levels via a blood test and tells you the news you’ve been waiting for—you’re pregnant, and not just newly so. Eight weeks have already passed, and suddenly, the idea of this tiny life feels even more real.

Giddy with excitement, the two of you start to dream out loud, envisioning a life that needs more space to grow. The apartment where you built your love, small and cozy as it is, now feels too cramped for the family you want to become. You’ve always talked about raising your children just outside the city, where the air is cleaner, and the pace of life slower, where a bigger house awaits with room enough for your growing dreams. Yoongi smiles at the thought of a garage, where he can create and tinker, a space of his own.

You start house hunting in the suburbs surrounding Seoul, imagining nurseries painted in soft pastels, browsing baby clothes with tiny sleeves, and laughing over the choices. Each step feels like a dream in the making, a life slowly unfolding before you, full of promise and possibility.

But today has been long, and your body is weary. The excitement has worn you down, and as you return home, you kick off your shoes with a sigh, feeling the ache in your swollen feet. You glance around, hoping to hear the familiar sounds of your husband’s return, but the apartment is quiet. You open the fridge and pull out a cold bottle of water, hoping it will soothe your frayed nerves. The stress of your marketing job clings to you like a shadow, and all you want is a moment to unwind, to let go of the day’s tension.

As you set the bottle down on the counter, a sudden, sharp pain radiates through your stomach. Your hand instinctively flies to your belly, and you double over, gasping as the pain intensifies. It’s not normal, you think, panic rising in your chest. Something is wrong.

When you look down at the floor, a wave of horror crashes over you.

Blood.

Dark, vivid, and far too much of it. It’s pooling beneath you, seeping through your clothes, and it’s only then that you fully realize how soaked you are.

Terror grips you, squeezing your chest, making it hard to breathe. Tears well up in your eyes, your breath comes in ragged gasps as panic begins to set in. This can’t be happening—this much blood, it’s not normal, not now, not when you’re carrying life inside you. A flood of thoughts races through your mind: is the baby inside you still safe? Or is this the cruel end to a dream that had only just begun?

You need Yoongi—his steady presence, his strong arms, his comforting words—but he’s not here.

With trembling hands, you fumble for your phone, digging it out of your skirt pocket, and desperately pull up your husband’s contact. The phone barely rings before the door to your apartment creaks open, and there he is, stepping inside. Relief mixes with fear as he rushes to you, his eyes widening in shock as he takes in the scene—the blood, your trembling form, the tears streaming down your face.

Without a word, he’s at your side, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. His fingers, rough from years of work, trace gentle, soothing circles on your back, trying to calm the storm inside you.

“What happened?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady, but you can hear the tremor beneath his words, the fear that he’s trying so hard to mask. His breath comes quicker, and though he tries to be strong for you, you can see the terror in his eyes, mirroring your own.

“Out of nowhere, the pain started,” you sob, clutching at your stomach, “and then the bleeding... so much blood.” Your voice breaks as the pain flares again, sharp and unforgiving.

Yoongi pulls you to your feet, his grip firm but tender, “We need to get you to the doctor’s. Now.” His words are clipped, urgent, but his touch is all comfort as he guides you out of the apartment, into the elevator, and finally into the car. The drive is shrouded in a thick, suffocating silence, broken only by your muffled sobs. The fear that’s lodged in your throat is too heavy to put into words, and deep down, you’re terrified of what you might say if you tried.

At the doctor’s office, the cold gel on your stomach is a jarring contrast to the heat of your fear. The ultrasound screen flickers to life, and there it is—a heartbeat, strong and steady. Relief washes over you like a cool breeze, but it’s tinged with uncertainty. You dare not hope too much, not yet.

Yoongi’s voice cuts through the silence, steady but laced with anxiety, “Why is she bleeding so much?” His eyes search the doctor’s face for reassurance, for something solid to hold onto.

The doctor hesitates, their gaze softening as they meet your wide, tear-streaked eyes. “It’s not uncommon to bleed in the early stages of pregnancy,” they explain gently. “Everything could be okay, but…” they pause, and the weight of that single word hangs heavy in the air, “it might be a miscarriage in progress. I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do except wait and see what happens.” The apology in their voice is almost unbearable, as if they’re sorry for delivering such uncertain news.

And so you wait, the days stretching out like an endless horizon. The bleeding continues, each drop a reminder of the life that hangs in the balance. Yoongi never leaves your side, holding you close through the long, silent nights. You curl into a ball on the bed, grief pulling you into its dark embrace, and you weep for what you fear you’ve lost, though no one has told you for certain. You cry yourself to sleep most nights, haunted by the thought that the heartbeat you saw was the last flicker of hope, slowly fading away.

You feel like a hollow shell, a prisoner within your own skin, drifting through the motions of life, performing tasks you know you should care about but no longer do. The days blur together in a monotony of routines—going to work, waking up, all the things that once held meaning now feel like burdens. The joy that once colored your world has faded to gray. Yet, Yoongi remains by your side, unwavering in his support, whispering words of comfort, promising that everything will be okay. But when the doctor confirms your worst fears, telling you that the life you carried is no longer, you don’t even cry.

It’s as if your tears have run dry, drained by days of sorrow, leaving you numb and empty. Yoongi pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly, trying to shield you from the storm that rages inside. You feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, and you cling to it like a lifeline.

Back home, you slip off your shoes and head straight for the alcohol cabinet. The house is quiet, the air heavy with the weight of your grief. You reach for a bottle of red wine, the one you’ve been saving for a special occasion. With a shaky hand, you uncork it and pour the crimson liquid into a glass, filling it almost to the brim. You glance at your husband, managing a weak smile. “Do you want one?”

“It’s the middle of the day on a Saturday,” he says softly, concern lacing his voice. But you just shrug, raising the glass to your lips as if it could wash away the pain. “But I don’t mind drinking with you,” he adds, grabbing a glass for himself and pouring some wine. After all, it’s five o’clock somewhere, right?

He settles beside you on the couch, wrapping an arm around you, and you lean into him, seeking the comfort of his warmth. The past few days have been a blur of tears and aching silence, and as you take a sip of the wine, the familiar burn in your throat offers a momentary escape. You know it’s not a solution, but today, you allow yourself this indulgence. Tomorrow will be different, you tell yourself. Tomorrow is a new day.

Yoongi doesn’t say much; he simply kisses the top of your head, holding you close as you both drink in the quiet of the day. There’s a solace in his presence, in the way his arms encircle you, making you feel safe even as the world crumbles around you. The wine, the warmth of his body, the soft hum of his voice as he sings you a lullaby—it’s all a balm to your wounded soul.

Before long, sleep overtakes you, and you drift off with your head resting on his lap, his fingers gently combing through your hair. When you wake, your head throbs with a dull ache, and your eyes feel dry and gritty. You rub them, groaning softly as you stretch. Yoongi isn’t beside you, but on the table, you find a glass of water and a couple of painkillers waiting for you. The small gesture makes your heart swell with love.

As you swallow the pills, Yoongi emerges from the bathroom, a towel slung low around his hips, droplets of water clinging to his skin. His voice, still thick with sleep, wraps around you like a warm blanket. “How are you feeling, babe?”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “I have a slight headache, but I’m okay,” you reply, pouting playfully as you try to tame your unruly hair. “Thank you for indulging me,” you add, feeling a surge of gratitude for the way he understands you, even in your darkest moments.

He crosses the room, sitting beside you on the couch, his presence a steady anchor in the turbulent sea of your emotions. “I’ll always be by your side, babe, you know that,” he says, his voice soft but filled with unwavering conviction.

You nod, your heart swelling with a love so deep it almost hurts. Because you do know. And you love him all the more for it.

He disappears into the bedroom to get dressed, and when he returns, he sits beside you again, his hand finding yours, his touch grounding you. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You hesitate, fidgeting with your fingers, feeling the weight of the words that hover on your lips. But you know that talking might help, that sharing the burden might make it easier to bear. So you take a deep breath and let the words spill out.

“I want to try to get pregnant again,” you confess, the hurt still fresh, but beneath it, a flicker of hope. Despite the pain, despite everything, you still want that baby. You still believe in the dream that once filled you with so much joy.

Yoongi looks at you, his eyes soft with understanding. He nods, his grip on your hand tightening just a little. “Okay,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “Let’s try again then.”

And in that moment, you know that no matter what comes next, you won’t be facing it alone.

And so you try, again and again, in every possible way, in so many positions that it borders on the absurd. The weeks blur into months, yet each time you face the stark emptiness of a negative pregnancy test, hope crumbles a little more. You feel bombed, discouraged, like a balloon slowly deflating, the air of optimism leaking out with each failed attempt. You never imagined it would be this hard to conceive, and the disappointment weighs heavy on your heart.

Doubt creeps in like a shadow, wrapping its cold fingers around your thoughts. You begin to wonder if there’s something wrong with your body, some hidden flaw that’s keeping you from the one thing you want most. Why isn’t it happening? And yet, beneath the yearning, there’s a trembling fear—fear of what will happen when you finally see those two lines again. Fear of reliving the pain of another loss.

“Maybe we should see a doctor,” Yoongi suggests one quiet afternoon as you both pick at your food, the silence between you thick with unspoken worries. “Maybe I should get my sperm checked,” he muses, his voice tinged with a mix of concern and determination.

You nod, though deep down you doubt that he’s the problem. It feels like the fault lies with you, that your body is betraying you. Isn’t there something about a woman’s fertility dipping after thirty? You vaguely recall reading that somewhere, and it haunts you now. But Yoongi’s right—there’s no harm in getting checked. Perhaps it will give you some answers, or at least a direction.

A few days later, you walk into your doctor’s office with leaden feet and little hope, convinced that age has already set its limits on your dreams. The tests are done, the waiting begins, and you brace yourself for the worst. But when the results come back, they reveal that everything is fine—your fertility is normal, Yoongi’s sperm is in excellent shape. So why isn’t it happening? The question echoes in your mind, relentless and cruel.

Frustration gnaws at you, its claws sinking deeper with each passing day. You find yourself snapping at your colleagues, the tension spilling over in ways you can’t control. Apologies tumble from your lips almost as often as the sharp words that precede them. At home, you manage to hold your temper, but you fear it’s only a matter of time before even Yoongi becomes a target, despite his unwavering support.

Making love, once a source of joy and connection, now feels hollow, reduced to a mechanical routine. The passion that once ignited between you has dimmed, replaced by a clinical determination to conceive. You know Yoongi feels it too; he’s always been attuned to your moods.

“I’m not fucking you when you’re not in the mood,” he says one night, his voice low but firm.

You scoff, anger flaring as you rise from the bed. “Just fuck me so I can get pregnant.”

“No,” he replies, his tone unyielding. “Not when your heart’s not in it.”

With that, he stands up, naked and resolute, pulling his clothes back on as you lie there, seething and tearful, frustration coursing through you like a fever. The anger isn’t just at him; it’s at yourself, at your body, at the unfairness of it all. You hear him in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes a stark contrast to the silence that fills the bedroom. You pull yourself together, dressing slowly, avoiding the mirror because you know you won’t like what you see—a woman who feels trapped in a body that won’t cooperate, stuck between desire and despair.

But Yoongi isn’t wrong. Pushing yourself when your heart isn’t in it won’t help, you know that. You just can’t help the desperation that drives you to this point. Taking a deep breath, you step out of the bedroom and find him in the kitchen. Without a word, you wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice thick with regret. “I’ll do better.”

He hugs you back, strong and warm, and in that embrace, you find a flicker of comfort. You kiss, a promise unspoken between you, and you feel a surge of gratitude for the man who stands beside you through all the heartbreak and frustration. Whatever comes next, you know you’re in this together.

You immerse yourself in research, scouring every corner of the internet for vitamins, supplements, and rituals that might tip the odds in your favor. Each new discovery feels like a lifeline, something to cling to in the relentless tide of hope and disappointment. But one day, after yet another fruitless search, you feel a wave of exhaustion wash over you—a weariness that reaches deep into your bones. You close your laptop with a heavy sigh and turn to Yoongi, the words slipping from your lips before you can second-guess them.

“I don’t think I want to have kids anymore,” you say, your voice eerily calm, as if stating a simple fact. But inside, you feel as cold and distant as the words sound. Yoongi’s head snaps toward you so quickly that you can almost hear the air shift. His eyes search your face, trying to comprehend the sudden shift in your resolve.

“We can just keep trying,” he replies, his voice gentle but with an undercurrent of desperation, as though he’s pleading with you—because he is. You know how deeply he longs for babies, for a family built on the love you share.

But the weight of it all crushes you, and the tears you’ve held back for so long finally threaten to spill over. “I don’t think I can,” you whisper, your voice breaking as a sob catches in your throat. The exhaustion, the fear, the endless cycle of hope and heartbreak—it’s too much.

Yoongi pulls you into his arms, his embrace warm and reassuring. He pats your back, murmuring that it’s okay, that everything will be fine, even as he holds you a little tighter, as if trying to shield you from the pain. He pulls back slightly, his eyes locking with yours, and you see the sincerity in them—the way he’s willing to let go of his own dreams for your sake.

“We don’t have to have kids if you don’t want to anymore,” he says, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering, making sure you know he means it. It’s not just a comfort; it’s a promise.

You swallow hard, the enormity of the decision weighing on you. Could you keep trying? Maybe. But fear coils around your heart, tightening with each passing thought. The future feels uncertain, and that terrifies you.

“Maybe,” you begin, searching for the right words, “we could still try, but not focus on it so much. I don’t think it’s healthy for me to be this obsessed.”

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips as relief softens his features. “Maybe we should rekindle our love,” he suggests gently. “Sex shouldn’t feel like a chore, and I hate that it does for you,” he adds, a pout forming on his lips as he looks at you with concern. “How can I make it better for you?”

You take a moment to ponder his question, reflecting on the love you share, the bond that has always been strong, even in the face of adversity. You realize that it’s not about what’s missing, but about what’s been neglected—the time, the attention, the simple joys of being together. Your hectic schedules have stolen moments that should have been yours, and now you feel the distance.

“Do you want to go on a date with me?” you ask, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

His chuckle is like music, sweet and comforting, warming you from the inside out. “Always,” he replies, intertwining his fingers with yours, his touch a silent vow of affection.

In the weeks that follow, you carve out more time for each other, stepping back from the rush of work to simply be together. You surprise him at his garage, sharing takeout in his cluttered office, laughing over greasy fries and soda. You catch late-night movies, stroll through the mall hand-in-hand, visit little cafes tucked away in the corners of the city. You do all the things you’ve missed, the simple, everyday joys that once made your love effortless, and already you feel lighter, happier.

Amidst this rekindling of your love, you stumble upon the perfect house just outside of Seoul. It’s spacious, with a large living room that echoes with the laughter of future children you haven’t given up on just yet. The garden sprawls wide, with enough space for dreams to grow, and the garage—oh, the garage is exactly what Yoongi has always wanted, a place to tinker and create. When you step inside for the first time, you feel it in your bones—this is home. It speaks to you, calls to something deep within you, and you see the same recognition in Yoongi’s eyes.

The decision to buy the house is easy, almost instinctual, as if you’ve always known this was where you were meant to be. You celebrate with friends, toasting to the new chapter that’s about to begin, and their joy mirrors your own. The move won’t happen until summer, giving you a few precious months to pack up your life and prepare for the future. And for the first time in a long while, that future doesn’t feel so daunting—it feels full of possibilities.

It’s March, and winter still clings to the world with frosty fingers, the cold seeping through the cracks of the early morning. Yoongi holds you extra close as you stroll along the river, the chill in the air making you grateful for the wool scarf he wrapped around your neck with such tender care. Your hand finds refuge in the deep pocket of his coat, where your fingers intertwine, sharing warmth with each squeeze and caress.

As you walk, you take in the quiet beauty of the morning. Couples sit huddled on benches, whispering secrets, some stealing kisses as if the cold gives them courage. Children chase each other across the dewy grass, their laughter like wind chimes in the crisp air. You savor these moments, these tranquil walks before the world wakes up fully and the weather softens into spring.

Yoongi tugs you toward a small coffee shop nestled by the river, and soon you’re cradling steaming cups of hot cocoa. The rich scent of chocolate wraps around you like a comforting blanket as you settle into a cozy corner. Across the table, Yoongi’s fingers dance playfully over yours, each brush sending electric jolts through your body. His touch warms you from the inside out, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, though you try to hide it.

Suddenly, he chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’ve got something on your face,” he teases, pointing at your mouth.

You fumble to wipe it away, but before you can, Yoongi leans over the table, closing the distance between you. His lips capture yours in a soft kiss, his tongue slipping out to clean the smudge of cocoa from your mouth. The simple act is intimate, thrilling, and utterly unexpected.

“Yoongi, we’re in public,” you stammer, your voice a mix of scolding and breathless surprise. The audacity of his gesture stirs a warmth between your legs, a desire that flickers to life like a spark catching flame.

“When has that ever bothered me?” he retorts with a mischievous grin, his boldness both shocking and endearing.

You stare at him, baffled by his audacity, but also deeply drawn to it. With a playful smile, you grab his hand, pulling him up from his chair. “Let’s get home before you get us kicked out.”

Laughter bubbles between you as you walk hand in hand, the cold forgotten in the heat of the moment. By the time you step into the elevator, the tension has built to a fever pitch, and you find yourself unable to wait any longer. You pounce on him, surprising Yoongi with the fiery need in your kiss, your lips capturing his in a fierce embrace.

“I want you, Yoon,” you whisper breathlessly, your lips brushing against his ear as you tighten your arms around his neck. “I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”

His giggle is low and throaty, the sound reverberating through you as his back meets the steel of the elevator wall. “Hmmm, you’d like that, huh?”

“Yes,” you pant, your breath hot against his skin. You lick your lips, eyes dark with desire. “You can decide how you want it. My birthday present to you.”

He chuckles, kissing you softly, tenderly, as he murmurs, “But you already gave me a scotch, a new toolbox, and a house,” a kiss for each gift, each one lingering longer than the last. “You don’t need to give me more.”

“And sex shouldn’t really be a gift,” he adds, his lips quirking into a smile, but you nod, already knowing this.

“Doesn’t change the fact that I want you inside me,” you counter with a wink, giving your own ass a playful slap.

A low grunt escapes him, arousal thickening his voice as he grabs you, pinning you against the wall, his lips tracing a searing path down your neck. You moan softly, your body arching toward him, your pussy throbbing with need.

When the elevator doors slide open, he pulls you out, his grip firm as he leads you to your apartment door. He fumbles briefly with the key, urgency in every motion, and the moment the door clicks shut behind you, the world outside ceases to exist.

Shoes are discarded in a hurry, and in the blink of an eye, Yoongi has you in the kitchen, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter. He spreads your legs, his eyes dark and hungry as he takes in the sight of you. Already, you’re so wet, aching for him, and you can see the primal desire mirrored in his gaze.

He kneels before you, lifting the hem of your dress with a mischievous glint in his eye. “There’s a wet patch on your panties, babe,” he murmurs, a chuckle rumbling from his chest as his gaze darkens with desire.

“Well, I want you badly,” you breathe, your legs parting in invitation, your body aching for his touch.

Without hesitation, he hooks his fingers into the delicate fabric of your panties and slides them down your legs, letting them pool on the floor. His lips find your slick pussy, his tongue a sinful instrument of pleasure as it dances over your folds. He laps at you with fervor, his nose grazing your sensitive clit as his tongue delves deeper, exploring every inch of you. You moan, the sound almost foreign to your own ears, lost as you are in the ecstasy he’s drawing from you. It doesn’t take long before you’re unraveling, your release shuddering through you as you come apart on his tongue.

He pulls back, his lips glistening with your essence, and he licks them slowly, savoring the taste of you. “You’re so hot,” he breathes, his voice thick with need.

You hum in response, wanting to tell him how irresistible he is, but before you can, he’s grabbing your hips, pulling you down from the counter and capturing your lips in a searing kiss. “I want to fuck you so bad,” he growls against your mouth, his fingers digging into your flesh possessively. “I want to fill you up, to lose myself in your pussy.”

When you pull away, his eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with lust. “I want to take care of you first,” you whisper, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “I want to suck you off.”

“You don’t have to. I just need to be inside you,” he argues, his hands already unzipping his pants, freeing his hard, aching cock.

“No,” you insist, your voice soft but firm. “It’s your birthday, and I want to give you everything you desire.” You help him discard his pants and boxers, and as soon as he’s free of the fabric, you wrap your hand around his dick, feeling him twitch in your grasp. He groans, a needy sound that makes your own desire flare even hotter.

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” you say, your voice sultry and full of intent. You drop to your knees before him, looking up with wide, pleading eyes. “Please.”

He hesitates, but only for a moment. You always have this power over him, making him bend to your will with just a word, a look. So when you take him into your warm, wet mouth, he sees stars. You hold his gaze, your eyes locked on his as you slowly, sensually, begin to pleasure him. He thinks you look like a vixen, so full of confidence and allure, and sometimes he can’t quite believe that you’re his, that you belong to him in every way.

For a while, he lets you lead, your lips and tongue working him over with skillful precision. But soon, his need for control takes over, his hands tangling in your hair as he starts to guide your movements, thrusting gently at first, then deeper, harder. He knows you can take it, even when your eyes flutter closed and your breath hitches. He knows you love it as much as he does. The sounds you make, the soft, wet noises of your mouth on him, fill the kitchen, and he moans your name, the pleasure almost overwhelming.

He can feel himself getting close, that familiar tightening in his core, and it takes everything in him to pull back, to stop before he loses himself entirely. When he does, a string of saliva still connects you, a testament to the raw, unfiltered passion between you.

“Was it too much?” he asks, his voice rough with desire, his thumb brushing against your flushed cheek.

You shake your head, wiping the drool from your lips. “No,” you assure him, your voice breathless but steady. “If it was, I would have said something.”

“Good,” he rasps, pulling you to your feet, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. “Because now I need to fuck you. On the table.”

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, a playful glint in your gaze. “The dining table?”

He grins, wicked and full of promise. “Yes, the dining table.”

He nods, and you do as he says, feeling his presence close behind you, a silent promise of what’s to come. The air thickens with anticipation as you remain in your dress, a symbol of your desire lingering between the layers of fabric. When he turns you around to face the table and gently presses you down onto its cool surface, you know exactly what he wants, and the thought alone sends a shiver down your spine. God, you love it when he takes you from behind.

He hikes up your dress, exposing you to the cool air, and his hands find your ass, groping and squeezing with a possessive reverence. “So pretty,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with need.

You feel the heat of his cock teasing against your entrance, the anticipation almost unbearable. His hands spread your cheeks, and then you feel the head of his cock pressing into your slick pussy. Slowly, he pushes in, the stretch more intense in this position, but you welcome it, your body humming with pleasure as he fills you completely.

He grunts, a deep, primal sound that reverberates through you as he bottoms out, his cock buried to the hilt inside you. “Yoongi—please, move,” you pant, your hands gripping the edge of the table, seeking leverage as he begins to thrust into you.

“Fuck,” you moan, your voice breaking as he picks up the pace, his hips slamming into yours with a rhythm that feels both punishing and divine.

His hands roam over your backside, caressing, gripping, pulling you closer with every thrust. “Ah, fuck. You always feel so fucking good around me,” he groans, his voice dripping with raw desire as he speaks your name.

“I love having your cock in me. Fuck me faster, please,” you plead, your voice breathless, every nerve in your body alight with want.

The table shifts beneath you, scraping against the floor with each thrust, but the sound is lost in the symphony of your pleasure. Soon, this place won’t be yours to worry about, but right now, it’s all that grounds you as he drives into you, hitting that perfect spot inside that makes your vision blur with bliss.

“Fuck! Right there!” you scream, your mind emptying of everything but him, your husband, the man you love so fiercely.

“So fucking tight,” he moans, his fingers digging into your hips with a grip that promises to leave marks, tangible reminders of this moment.

“Yoon—, I’m gonna come,” you gasp, your breath ragged, sweat beading on your forehead as the heat between you builds to a crescendo.

He rams into you harder, just like you wanted, and you shatter around him, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you trembling, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. Your vision goes white, stars bursting behind your eyelids as your body sags against the table, barely able to support itself.

“Fuck,” he curses, and then his hand comes down on your ass, the sharp sound of the slap echoing in the room. You clench around him reflexively, another wave of pleasure crashing over you.

“Fuck,” he curses again, another slap, another burst of sensation, and you cry out, your body quivering under his relentless assault.

“Yoongi!” you scream, teetering on the edge of another climax, “I think—”

But the words are stolen from you as he continues to pound into you, the force of his thrusts driving the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping, lost in a sea of sensation.

“Fucking shit. I’m so close,” he pants, his hand soothing over your ass before delivering another stinging slap, and your second orgasm melds into a third, your body convulsing with the intensity of it. You cry out in pleasure, your voice raw as your world narrows to the feel of him inside you, the only anchor in the storm of your release.

His thrusts grow erratic, less controlled, until finally, he stills, his cock buried deep as he spills into you, the warmth of his release filling you up. A sigh escapes your lips, your body utterly spent, your mind adrift in the aftermath.

He collapses over you, his weight a comforting pressure as he keeps himself inside you, his hands caressing your body with gentle affection. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers against your ear, pressing soft kisses to your skin. “I love you so much.”

You chuckle softly, the warmth of your love for him blooming in your chest. “You aren’t too bad yourself,” you tease, feeling his softened cock slide out of you as you turn to face him. “And I love you so much too.”

He smiles, tender and full of adoration, before capturing your lips in a kiss that speaks of gratitude and deep, unwavering love. “Thank you for this lovely birthday,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips.

You smile back, letting him take your hand and lead you to the bathroom, where he gently cleans you up, his touch as tender as his heart. Later, you fall asleep nestled in his arms, the world outside forgotten, lost in the cocoon of your shared warmth.

You stare at the test in your trembling hands, the seconds ticking away with agonizing slowness. Three minutes—those eternal, cursed minutes—dragging you back to that moment in the forest when the thought of pregnancy filled you with dread. But now, everything is different. Now you want it, crave it with every fiber of your being, yet fear still lingers like a shadow in your heart, whispering what-ifs.

Your phone vibrates, breaking the silence, signaling that the time is up. You take a deep breath, steel yourself, and then you look.

Two lines.

Your heart skips a beat, and you blink, hardly believing it.

Two lines.

You rush to show Yoongi, his eyes lighting up with pure joy as he sees the result. He’s elated, grinning like a child, and his happiness is contagious. You’re happy too, truly, but beneath the surface, that familiar fear curls, a silent specter reminding you of the past, of the heartbreak you’ve been through before. What if it happens again?

But the weeks pass, and you pack your life into boxes, preparing for the move as summer blooms. Now, four months pregnant, you find yourself with Yoongi wrapped around your little finger. He’s doting, tender, doing everything for you as if you were made of glass—cooking your meals, helping you dress, even braiding your hair with surprising care. He indulges your every craving, runs to the store for cake and candy at odd hours, holds your hair when the nausea takes over. His protectiveness borders on overbearing, but you can’t bring yourself to mind. It’s endearing, really, and you feel a warmth in your chest that’s as sweet as the candy he brings you.

On moving day, Yoongi insists you don’t lift a finger, so you supervise, directing your friends on where to place each box in your new home. It still feels surreal—this beautiful house is yours, truly yours. You rest your hand on your growing belly, not yet feeling the strong kicks you’re longing for, though you’ve sensed some faint fluttering. Perhaps it’s just gas, but still, the anticipation is almost unbearable.

After a day of grocery shopping, stocking the fridge and freezer with essentials, you find yourself craving ice cream late at night—the one with Oreo bits swirled through it. The craving grips you suddenly, fiercely, and you know there’s no ignoring it. You need that ice cream.

“Yoongi?” you call out, drawing his name in that sweet, almost sing-song voice he knows all too well.

He chuckles, already predicting your request from the way you’ve drawn out his name. Your cravings have become a nightly ritual, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he loves it—loves you more than words can express.

“Yeah?” he answers, laughter in his voice, as you hesitate, almost shy to ask for something else after all the shopping you did today.

“I’m craving ice cream…” you murmur, unsure how he’ll react, knowing full well you’d already stocked the freezer just hours ago.

He sighs, but it’s a soft, amused sound. “The one with Oreo bits, right?”

Your eyes fill with love and gratitude, tears pricking at the corners. “Thank you!” you whisper, your heart swelling as he’s already up, grabbing his keys without a second thought.

You watch him go, overwhelmed with love for this man who would move mountains just to see you smile. When he returns, ice cream in hand, you greet him with a kiss, diving into the tub with abandon. Fifteen minutes later, the tub is empty, and you glance at him with a sheepish smile, wondering if he’ll have to make another trip. That’s when he decides to always buy extra, stashing it away in the freezer, ready for your next craving.

He’s your snack patrol, your guardian of midnight desires, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you happy, to keep that radiant smile on your face. After all, you’re carrying his tiny miracle inside you, and for him, indulging your every whim is the least he can do.

One evening, you stumble through the door after a long, grueling day at work, exhaustion clinging to you like a heavy shroud. All you want is to collapse into the soft embrace of your bed, to let the day melt away into dreams. But hunger gnaws at you, demanding attention, so you drag yourself to the kitchen, hoping to find Yoongi bustling around, preparing dinner as usual. Yet, the air is absent of the familiar, comforting aromas that typically greet you, and instead, you find Yoongi lounging on the couch, engrossed in a book.

“Didn’t you make dinner?” you snap, frustration bubbling up before you can contain it, the weariness in your bones making your temper short.

He glances up, confused, his lips parting to speak, but you cut him off, the anger spilling over.

“You dick! You know I expect you to make dinner when I get home late,” you huff, the irritation morphing into something sharper, more biting. But before the anger can fully take root, it unravels into sobs, the tears pouring out uncontrollably, as if your exhaustion has found a new outlet. You’re crying so hard that you scare yourself, and Yoongi, too, who tosses his book aside and rushes to your side, wrapping you in his arms, his touch gentle and soothing.

“There’s leftovers, remember?” he whispers softly, his hand rubbing comforting circles on your back, his voice steady and calm, grounding you in the moment.

And just like that, clarity washes over you. He’s right. Of course, he’s right. The realization of your misplaced anger makes you feel foolish, small. Lately, you’ve been snapping at him over the smallest things, calling him names in moments of frustration, but he always meets your outbursts with a patient smile, never holding your forgetfulness or emotional swings against you. He’s a gem, a steady rock in the midst of your storm.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his lips, and he returns it with such tenderness that you know, deep down, everything is going to be okay.

The months in your new home pass like pages turning in a cherished book, each one filled with milestones and memories. You’ve hosted a housewarming, celebrated your baby shower, and now, winter has settled in once more, December’s chill creeping through the air. Maternity leave is just around the corner, and you can’t wait to have the time to focus entirely on Yoongi and the tiny miracle growing inside you.

“I’m so fucking tired, Yoon,” you sigh, sinking into a chair, every breath feeling like an effort, exhaustion etched into every part of you.

“It’s okay, take a break. I’ll finish up the painting. Why don’t you go change clothes?” he suggests with a reassuring smile, but the frustration within you bubbles up again, spilling over before you can stop it.

“I look so ugly,” you cry, tears welling up as you take in your reflection, emotions surging in a wave. “I’m so fat, and my stomach feels like it’s dragging me down. I’m swollen everywhere, and I just look so ugly.” Your voice breaks, the tears falling freely, and Yoongi drops his paintbrush immediately, rushing to comfort you.

“You’re not ugly, babe,” he says softly, wiping away your tears with his paint-stained fingers, his eyes full of love and sincerity. “Those extra pounds just make you even sexier,” he adds with a playful smile, kissing the tip of your nose. “Please don’t speak ill of your body. I love you, and I love everything about your body.”

You sniffle, his words washing over you like a balm, soothing the insecurities that have taken root in your mind. You know he’s right, and you decide to believe him, because why else would he stick around through all your emotional ups and downs? “Thank you, Yoon. I love everything about you too.”

The nursery is ready, painted in a soft shade of lilac, filled with carefully chosen furniture. You’ve both decided that your baby girl will sleep in your room at first, so the nursery remains more symbolic than functional for now. But it’s been a labor of love, preparing for this new chapter in your lives.

As you gaze out the window, watching the snow pile up on the street, a sense of quiet anticipation fills you. Soon, so very soon, you’ll meet your miracle baby, and the thought sends a warmth spreading through you, cutting through the cold of the winter night.

Taglist: @idkjustlovingbts @constancelayon @wobblewobble822 @ktownshizzle @moonchild1 @ultimatefangirl0 @baechugff @jimintaemin @parapiop7 @fckkntired @iluvfndms @citypop-princess @tarahardcore @bergandysam @massivelyfullenthusiast @tatyhend @gimeow

*if this fucking taglist doesn't work... I don't know what to do with myself. Hopefully you'll find it even though tumblr will probably be a bitch and not let it work...

Author’s note(2): I really hope you liked it! I hope it wasn’t too angsty 🥹 This was largely inspired by the song ‘Pregnant’ by Phlake. You should really give it a listen, it’s very explicit and cute, lol 😝 Please let me know what you think in a reblog, comment or ask. And if you’ve ever had a miscarriage— here’s an extra hug for you 🫂

277 notes · View notes

mononijikayu · 1 month ago

Text

devotion — geto suguru.

“I thought if I gave my life to God, he would spare yours.” You stared at him, stunned, as his words sank in. “Suguru… I don’t understand.” He looked down, his hands trembling. “Years ago, when we… when we lost touch, I heard about your illness.” he explained, his voice heavy with emotion. “I was told you might not survive. I felt helpless, powerless to do anything. So, I prayed. I prayed with everything I had, and I promised God that if he saved you, I would give my life in return. I would serve him, devote myself to his cause. And you… you recovered.”

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au!;

WARNING/S: angst, fluff, forbidden romance, love, hurt/comfort, nsfw, r-18, smut, kissing, rough sex, p-i-v sex, falling in love again, sexual intercourse, pining, hurt, religious guilt, happy ending, aged up characters (suguru and reader are in their 40s), first loves rekindling their relationship, depictions of sexual acts, depiction of pining, depiction of religious aspects, mention of parting, mention of the past, mention of previous husband, father! suguru, widowed! reader;

WORD COUNT: 12k words

NOTE: i was thinking whether or not this is what i should publish for kinktober but i feel like since i've been going on this trend of giving my stories a happy ending, i feel like this is one of them that deserves it, i feel. this is the sequel of 'to build a home'!!! anyway, i hope you enjoy it as much as i did!!! and love wins all, even time!!! i love you all <3

masterlist

kinktober 2024 - kayu's version

if you want to, tip!

══════════════════

YOU NEVER THOUGHT YOU’D SEE HIM AGAIN. But you were getting too ahead of destiny. It has been nearly twenty years since you last saw Geto Suguru. Time had blurred the details of his face in your memory — the precise shape of his smile, the warmth in his eyes when he spoke your name.

You thought you’d forgotten him, buried him under the weight of all those years. But there he was, standing at the front of the room, his voice steady and serene as he read the eulogy for your husband.

You tried to focus on the words, tried to let them seep into your soul and cradle your grief. But all you could see was him. The lines on his face had deepened, a touch of gray in his hair, but he was still so achingly familiar. You could feel the stirrings of something old and hidden, something you thought you’d buried long ago.

You felt guilty. This was the day you were supposed to mourn your husband, to remember all the good moments you had shared. But as you sat there, dressed in black, your gaze kept drifting back to Suguru. How strange it was to see him like this — a priest, of all things. You wondered what had led him down this path, what had happened in those years you hadn’t been a part of his life.

His voice was calm and soothing, and it reminded you of the way he used to speak when you were alone together. You found yourself holding your breath, the memories coming back like an unexpected wave. The nights you spent talking until dawn, the feel of his hand in yours, the way he’d look at you like you were the only person in the world. You closed your eyes, trying to push the thoughts away, but they clung to you like a desperate whisper.

You were grieving, yes, but somehow those old feelings resurface, like they had been waiting all this time, just beneath the surface. It was wrong, you knew it, but there was something in the way Suguru spoke, in the way his eyes lingered on you for just a moment too long, that made it feel like maybe, just maybe, this was meant to be.

And as the service drew to a close, you wondered if he felt it too.

As the ceremony ended, the quiet murmur of condolences filled the room, but you barely heard them. Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of sorrow and anticipation you couldn't quite understand. People passed by, offering their sympathy, their touches gentle on your arm, but your eyes were on him. Suguru stood at the front, still dressed in his somber robes, speaking with a few guests, his expression kind and composed, but you saw the moment he noticed you watching.

He paused, his words faltering for just a second, and then his gaze found yours. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to fall away, and there was only the two of you, standing on opposite sides of a great chasm of time. You felt rooted in place, as if moving would shatter whatever fragile connection had formed between you across the room.

When you finally mustered the courage to approach him, your steps were slow and tentative. He turned to face you fully, his hands clasped in front of him, and for a moment, you were struck by how different he looked, and yet, how much the same. The years had softened his edges, but his eyes — those deep, searching eyes — were just as intense, just as familiar.

“Suguru,” you breathed, unsure what else to say. His name felt foreign on your lips after so long, but also strangely comforting. He gave a small, sad smile, the kind that spoke of understanding beyond words.

“It’s been a long time,” he replied, his voice a quiet murmur, almost swallowed by the room’s low hum. There was a gravity to his tone that made your chest tighten, as if he was trying to convey all the things that had gone unsaid in the years between you.

You nodded, feeling the sting of tears you had not expected. “I never thought I’d see you like this,” you confessed, your voice trembling. “I didn’t know you… became our little town’s priest.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that was both strange and familiar, and something in it warmed you. “Life has a way of leading us to unexpected places,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “I didn’t expect to see you here either… under these circumstances.”

You flinched, a fresh wave of grief washing over you. “No, I suppose not,” you whispered. “But it is good to see you, even now. Even… like this.”

He nodded, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It was filled with all the things you wanted to say but didn’t know how. You could feel the years stretching between you like a bridge you were both afraid to cross.

“You look…” he started, then faltered, his gaze sweeping over your face. “You look just as I remember, even after all these years.”

You laughed softly, a sound tinged with both sorrow and disbelief. “I doubt that,” you replied, shaking your head. “It’s been a long time. We’ve both changed.”

“Yes,” he agreed, his voice soft. “But some things don’t change. Some things stay with you, no matter how much time passes.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat. Was he talking about you? About whatever you once had? You wanted to ask, but the words stuck in your throat, caught between your grief and the unexpected flood of emotions his presence had stirred.

Instead, you simply stood there, feeling the weight of his gaze on you, feeling that old, familiar ache that you hadn’t realized you’d been carrying all these years. And when he reached out, his hand hovering just above yours, you found yourself closing the distance, your fingers brushing against his in a touch that felt like both a question and an answer.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” he said, his voice low, filled with a sincerity that sent a shiver down your spine. “I truly am.”

“Thank you.” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. You didn’t know if you were thanking him for the words, or for being here, or for just being him.

You cleared your throat, a delicate sound breaking the tension between you. Your heart still aches from the loss, but there was a strange comfort in his presence, a familiarity that felt almost like a balm. You glanced to your side, where your daughter stood, her small hand gripping yours tightly. She looked up at you, her young face a mix of confusion and sorrow, her eyes still red from crying.

For a moment, neither of you moved, standing there like two ghosts caught in the past. But in his eyes, you saw something flicker — a spark of recognition, of something that had never really gone away. And as the room began to empty, you knew this was not the end. Not quite. Not yet.

“This is my daughter, father.” you said softly, turning to Suguru. “Say hello, sweetheart.”

Your daughter hesitated for a moment, still clinging to you, but eventually she offered a shy smile. “Hello.” she whispered, her voice small and uncertain.

Suguru’s expression softened as he crouched down to her level, his eyes gentle. “Hello there, child.” He greeted me warmly, his tone light. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Father Suguru.”

She stared at him for a moment, as if trying to decide what to make of this stranger who seemed to know her mother so well. But Suguru had always been good with children, you remembered. There was a kindness in his demeanor that drew them in. After a moment, she nodded, accepting his presence with the solemnity only a child could muster at such a moment.

“You’ve grown up so much.” Suguru said, his gaze shifting back to you, and there was something tender in the way he looked at you, a flicker of an old memory shared between you.

Before you could respond, two young girls approached from behind him, their eyes wide with curiosity. They looked almost identical, with long dark hair and matching dresses, and they stood close together, their hands clasped as if seeking comfort from one another. You noticed the way they watched Suguru, their eyes full of trust and affection.

“These are my girls.” Suguru said, smiling gently. “Mimiko and Nanako. I adopted them some years ago. They were… lost, in a way, and I thought I could offer them something of a home.”

You felt a pang of recognition in your chest, understanding without needing to ask. He had always had a soft spot for the vulnerable, a quiet compassion that was buried beneath his strength. The girls looked up at you, curious and shy, and you gave them a gentle smile.

“Hello, Mimiko. Hello, Nanako.” you said softly. “It’s very nice to meet you both.”

They glanced at each other, and then Mimiko, the braver of the two, stepped forward. “Are you our father’s friend?” she asked, her voice small but direct. There was something almost protective in the way she looked at you, as if she was gauging whether you were worthy of her father’s trust.

You hesitated, unsure how to answer. A friend? Were you even that anymore? You wanted to say something else in the back of your mind. You were more than friends, you were lovers. You were everything to each other. Yet you couldn’t. Your lips would not move. But before you could find the right words, Suguru chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

“We used to be….close. We met each other a long time ago,” he answered for you, his gaze never leaving yours. “But we finally met again today, it would seem.”

Nanako, still holding Mimiko’s hand, tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “Why did you stop?” she asked innocently.

You felt your breath hitch in your throat, a thousand unspoken answers rising to your lips. How could you explain? How could you sum up all the lost years, the paths that had diverged, the choices that had led you here, to this moment?

Suguru turned to his daughters, his smile soft but tinged with a hint of sadness. “Sometimes life takes us in different directions, my dear.” he said gently. “But it doesn’t mean we stop caring about the people we once knew.”

Mimiko seemed satisfied with this answer, but Nanako continued to watch you, as if trying to see into your soul. You could feel the weight of her gaze, but there was no malice in it, only a child’s unfiltered curiosity.

“I’m sorry…..” you said, addressing Suguru again, though your eyes flicked briefly to the girls. “For all the years we lost. I… I didn’t mean for it to be that way.”

He shook his head, a soft smile touching his lips. “Don’t apologize to me about it.” he replied. “We did what we had to do, back then. But it’s good to see you now, and… to see the life you’ve built.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “It’s good to see you too, Suguru.” you whispered. “And to your girls too.”

He nodded, his gaze holding yours, and for a moment, the weight of the years seemed to lift, just slightly. You weren’t sure where this would lead, if anywhere at all. But you knew that something had shifted, something had opened between you, a door long closed but never quite locked. And maybe, just maybe, there was room to step through, to find out what lay on the other side.

══════════════════

YOU DIDN’T HAVE IT IN YOU TO LEAVE THE HOUSE FOR A WHILE. The days had grown longer since the funeral, each one stretching into the next with a quiet emptiness you hadn’t anticipated.

The house, once filled with the familiar rhythms of your husband’s presence, now seemed to echo with a silence that settled deep in your bones. To stave off the hollow ache that threatened to consume you, you kept yourself busy — perhaps too busy.

You tended to your garden with a fervor that bordered on obsession, your hands constantly stained with earth, fingers rooting through the soil as if searching for something buried there, something that might fill the void.

The roses were blooming better than ever, their petals full and lush, as if they knew how much you needed them now. Your days blurred together in the quiet sanctuary of your backyard, kneeling among the flowers until the sun dipped below the horizon.

When you weren’t in the garden, you took your dogs for long, meandering walks. They were your faithful companions, sensing your grief in their quiet, unspoken way. You found solace in their steady presence, in the rhythm of their paws on the pavement, and the way they’d look back at you, as if making sure you were still there, still moving forward.

But your daughter, ever perceptive, noticed the way your days seemed to stretch out like a taut wire, threatening to snap. She was packing for college now, her room in disarray, and you could see the worry creasing her brow every time she glanced your way.

One evening, as you sat together at the kitchen table, your daughter set down the book she’d been pretending to read and looked at you with a seriousness that caught you off guard.

“Mom.... I.... uh…..” she began, her voice soft but firm. “I’ve been thinking… about when I leave.”

You forced a smile, trying to keep your tone light. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’ve got the garden, the dogs… plenty to keep me busy.”

She shook her head, her expression earnest. “That’s just it, though. I don’t want you to be just… keeping busy. I want you to have people around you. Friends. People to talk to.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “I have friends,” you insisted gently, though you knew what she was getting at.

“Not like that,” she countered, shaking her head. “I mean… I want you to have new friends. I know this has been hard on you, losing Dad. And I just… I worry about you being lonely when I’m gone.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, a familiar sensation these days. “I’ll manage,” you murmured, but she wasn’t deterred.

“What about Father Suguru?” she asked, and you blinked, surprised. You hadn’t expected her to bring him up, not after the funeral, not after everything that had been left unspoken between you and the priest who had once been so much more.

“What about him?” you asked cautiously.

“He seems… nice.” she said, hesitating for a moment. “And you used to know him, right? Before Dad, before everything. Why not… reconnect with him? I mean, he invited you to church activities, didn’t he?”

You looked down at your hands, feeling a twinge of something you couldn’t quite name. “I don’t know… It feels strange, after all these years.”

“Maybe…..” she conceded. “But he’s reaching out, and I think it might be good for you. You don’t have to do it alone, you know? And it might help… to have someone around who understands.”

You looked up at her, seeing the concern etched in her young face, the worry that you had tried so hard to keep at bay. She was right, of course — the house was too big and too quiet, and the days too long. And perhaps, she had a point. Perhaps there was something to be said for reaching out, for finding solace in old friendships, even if they had been left behind in another life.

“I’ll think about it.” you finally said, offering her a small smile.

She reached out, taking your hand. “Just try, Mom. For me. I just want you to be happy… to find some peace.”

You nodded, feeling a tightness in your chest that you hadn’t felt in a long time. “I’ll try.” you promised, though the words felt heavier than you expected.

That Sunday, you found yourself standing outside the church, the morning sun casting long shadows on the stone steps. You hesitated, your heart thudding in your chest, but then you saw him — Suguru, standing by the entrance, greeting the parishioners as they arrived. His face brightened when he saw you, and he raised a hand in a small, almost tentative wave.

Taking a deep breath, you walked toward him, feeling the weight of the years between you like a whisper in the air. But as you drew closer, you felt something lift, something small but hopeful, as if maybe — just maybe — there was still room for new beginnings, even now.

Suguru’s smile widened as you approached, a gentle warmth radiating from him that eased some of the tension winding tight in your chest. He was dressed simply, in a way that suited him, with the plain black shirt and collar of his vocation. Yet, there was an ease in his posture, an openness that seemed to welcome you without hesitation.

“Good morning.” he greeted softly, his voice carrying a familiarity that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’m glad to see you here.”

You returned his smile, though it felt a bit shaky on your lips. “I… thought I’d take you up on your invitation.” you replied, your words feeling tentative, almost shy. “My daughter encouraged me to come.”

He nodded, understanding flashing in his eyes. “She’s a wise young woman.” he said, his tone light. “I’m sure she just wants you to have some company, some… support.”

“I think she worries about me.” you admitted, glancing down at your hands. “And she’s right. The house is quiet. Too quiet, sometimes.”

Suguru’s expression softened, and he stepped a little closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate level. “I understand,” he murmured. “More than you know. It’s easy to feel lost in the silence after everything changes. But… you don’t have to go through it alone.”

You felt your heart ache at the kindness in his words, at the understanding he offered so freely. “Thank you.” you whispered. “It’s… been hard. I didn’t think it would be this hard.”

Suguru’s gaze held yours, steady and patient. “Grief has a way of sneaking up on us when we least expect it.” he said softly. “But you’re here now. And that’s something. You’ve taken a step.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I suppose I have.”

He gestured toward the entrance of the church, where people were beginning to gather, a soft hum of conversation filling the air. “Would you like to come in?” he asked. “We’re having a small gathering after the service — just some coffee and a chance to chat. I think you might enjoy it.”

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of uncertainty heavy on your shoulders. But there was a sincerity in Suguru’s eyes, a quiet encouragement that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be so terrible after all.

“I think I’d like that.” you said finally, your voice is firmer than before. “I could use a bit of company.”

His smile grew, genuine and warm. “Good.” he said, stepping back to let you pass. “I’ll be right by your side if you need anything. And I’m sure there are plenty of people here who would love to meet you.”

As you stepped inside, you were immediately enveloped by the soft glow of the stained glass windows, the warm, golden light casting colorful patterns across the pews. The room was filled with the low murmur of conversation, and you felt a flutter of anxiety in your chest. But Suguru was beside you, his presence steadying, and somehow that made it easier.

He introduced you to a few members of the congregation — older women with kind smiles, younger families with children who clung shyly to their parents’ legs. You exchanged polite pleasantries, feeling a bit like a fish out of water, but everyone was welcoming, their warmth a stark contrast to the cold emptiness that had filled your days.

After the service, as promised, there was coffee and tea in the small parish hall. You found yourself standing beside Suguru as he chatted easily with a group of parishioners, his voice calm and comforting, his laugh a soft rumble that seemed to put everyone at ease. You watched him from the corner of your eye, still marveling at the way he had changed and yet stayed so much the same.

At some point, Mimiko and Nanako found their way to your side, their small hands tugging on the hem of your jacket. “Are you going to be our friend too?” Mimiko asked, her eyes wide with hope.

You smiled down at her, your heart softening at her earnest expression. “I’d like that very much, if you would allow me.” you replied, and she beamed, satisfied with your answer.

Nanako, quieter but just as curious, looked up at you with a small smile. “Papa says you used to be his best friend.” she said matter-of-factly.

Suguru chuckled softly, a hint of a blush coloring his cheeks. “Children are so honest, aren’t they?” he murmured.

You laughed, feeling a lightness you hadn’t felt in months. “Yes.” you agreed, looking at him. “They are.”

Your conversation flowed, you felt the tension in your shoulders begin to ease, the heaviness in your chest lifting, if only just a bit. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And as you stood there, surrounded by new faces and old memories, you realized that maybe your daughter had been right.

Maybe this was what you needed. Not to forget your grief, but to find a way to live with it, to let it become a part of you without letting it define you. And perhaps, with Suguru beside you, with new connections to explore, you could start to build something new from the ashes of what you had lost.

You caught Suguru’s eye again, and he offered you a small, understanding smile, as if sensing the shift within you. And for the first time in a long time, you felt something like hope.

══════════════════

TIME WITH SUGURU HEALED YOU. Over the next few weeks, you found yourself spending more and more time at the church. It had started with Sunday services and slowly expanded to weekday gatherings — a book club here, a community dinner there, little things that filled the empty spaces in your days.

Geto Suguru was always there, a quiet, steady presence. He was kind, attentive without being overbearing, and somehow, being around him made things feel just a bit lighter.

Your daughter noticed the change in you when she came home from college for the weekend. She saw the way your smile reached your eyes again, the way you seemed less burdened, and she was pleased.

“I knew you’d find someone to talk to, mom.” she said with a grin, her voice teasing. “Father Suguru is nice, isn’t he?”

You blushed at the mention of his name, feeling a strange mix of guilt and warmth. “He’s… he’s been very kind to me.” you replied. “It’s nice to have someone to talk to, that’s all.”

But deep down, you knew it was more than that. Slowly, gently, you and Suguru had begun to fall into the rhythm of your old friendship, but there was something new simmering beneath the surface, something unspoken that neither of you dared to name.

You felt it in the way his eyes lingered just a little too long when he looked at you, in the way your hand brushed his in passing and lingered a moment too long. There was a magnetic pull between you, a quiet longing that seemed to grow with every passing day.

And yet, there was a line you both knew you could not cross.

Suguru never spoke of it, but you could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he caught himself when he stood too close or when his hand brushed yours in a way that felt almost… intentional.

He would smile, pull back, and busy himself with something else, as if to remind himself of the boundaries he could not breach. You could sense the struggle within him, the way he tried so hard to remain the devoted priest, the man who had chosen a life of service and sacrifice.

It was during a rainy afternoon, after a small charity event at the church, you found yourself in his office, helping him sort through donations. The rain pattered softly against the windows, casting a muted glow over the room.

You were both seated on the floor, sorting through clothes and toys, when your hands brushed again. This time, neither of you pulled away. Geto Suguru’s breath caught in his throat, and you felt your heart race in response. The air between you grew thick, charged with an energy you could no longer ignore.

He looked up at you, his expression conflicted, torn between the desire you both felt and the commitment he had made. “I shouldn’t…” he began softly, his voice barely a whisper.

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words. “I know,” you replied just as quietly. “I know it’s… complicated.”

Suguru’s eyes searched yours, as if looking for something — some kind of understanding, or perhaps, absolution. “I’ve… I’ve given my life to this.” he murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor. “To the church, to God. I made a vow.”

You nodded, your heart aching at the pain in his voice. “I don’t want to make things harder for you.” you whispered. “I don’t want you to have to choose.”

He shook his head, a bitter smile crossing his lips. “It’s not that simple.” he said, a hint of frustration creeping into his tone. “I… I made that vow because I had to. Because I felt it was the only way I could atone for something. Something I never told you.”

You blinked, confused. “Atone? For what?”

He hesitated, the struggle evident in his eyes. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice trembling with the weight of his confession. “I became a priest because… because I thought it might save you when you got in that accident.” he said, his words barely more than a breath.

You held your breath for a moment. You don’t know how you were going to deal with what he might say to you. What truths may come out. What can you say, what can you say and do after all these years? He'd hidden all that, he'd kept his silence for more than twenty years and you don't know what to do.

“What do you mean to say?”

“I thought if I gave my life to God, he would spare yours.”

You stared at him, stunned, as his words sank in. “Suguru… I don’t understand.”

He looked down, his hands trembling. “Years ago, when we… when we lost touch, I heard about what happened.” he explained, his voice heavy with emotion. “I was told you might not survive. I felt helpless, powerless to do anything. So, I prayed. I prayed with everything I had, and I promised God that if he saved you, I would give my life in return. I would serve him, devote myself to his cause. And you… you recovered.”

Your breath caught in your throat, a whirlwind of emotions crashing over you. “You did that… for me?”

He nodded, his eyes wet with unshed tears. “I did. And I couldn’t break that promise, not when He answered me. I couldn’t… I still can’t. Not like this.”

A lump formed in your throat as you realized the depth of his sacrifice, the weight of the promise he had made. “Suguru, I… I don’t know what to say.” you whispered, feeling a mix of gratitude, sorrow, and something else — something deeper, more complicated.

He reached for your hand then, his touch gentle but firm. “You don’t have to say anything, okay?” he replied softly. “I just… I needed you to know. I need you to understand why I can’t… why can't……..”

You nodded, tears blurring your vision. “I understand.” you said, your voice breaking. “I won’t ask you to break your vow. I just… I just don’t want to lose you again.”

He squeezed your hand, his expression pained but resolute. “You won’t.” he promised. “Not as long as I can help it. But we have to be careful. We have to… to find a way to be friends again, without… without crossing that line.”

You nodded again, swallowing back the tears. “I can do that.” you said quietly. “I can try.”

══════════════════

YOU COULDN’T HELP UNDERSTAND WHAT TO FEEL.The days after your confession were a blur of forced distance and unspoken words. Every time you passed by his office or saw him in the hallways, there was a tension, a gravity that threatened to pull you back in. But you resisted, reminding yourself of the vow he had made and the reasons why you had to keep your distance.

His promise was not something to take lightly. You knew that, and so did he. There were obligations, personal codes, things he held dear, and breaking them meant more than just a fleeting moment of passion. It meant betrayal — to himself and to the values he had sworn to uphold. You couldn’t be the reason he wavered, no matter how much your heart ached with the memory of that moment in his office.

The memory haunted you. The way his eyes softened when you spoke, how his gaze lingered just a little too long, how his lips parted, ready to say something that never came. It was both a promise and a plea, something unspoken but understood between the two of you. Yet, you knew it couldn’t be.

So you did what you thought was best. You put distance between you, told yourself it was the only way to keep things under control. You busied yourself with anything and everything, trying to ignore the weight in your chest that grew heavier each day. But it wasn’t just you who pulled back.

He, too, kept his distance, his demeanor cool and composed, almost like nothing had ever happened. But there were cracks — moments when his eyes would meet yours across a crowded room, moments when his voice would catch ever so slightly when speaking to you.

In those moments, you wondered if he was feeling the same pull, the same struggle to keep his distance. Was it difficult for him too? Did he regret the way things were left, or was he relieved that you had taken the initiative to step back?

Despite the pain of staying away, you told yourself it was for the best. It was the right thing to do, even though every fiber of your being wanted to run back to him, to let yourself fall into whatever this was between you. But you couldn’t — you wouldn’t be the reason he broke his vow. Because as much as you longed for him, you respected him more.

Still, late at night, when you were alone with your thoughts, you couldn’t help but wonder: What if? What if you hadn’t walked away that day? What if he had been the one to break the distance? The uncertainty gnawed at you, leaving you with a bittersweet longing that neither distance nor time could seem to quiet.

But the distance only seemed to make things worse.

At first, it was easy enough to stay away. You busied yourself with gardening, taking the dogs for longer walks, filling your days with mundane chores and errands. But the quiet nights were harder.

Your thoughts would drift back to Suguru — to the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the way his voice dropped to a whisper when he spoke your name. You’d catch yourself imagining the brush of his hand against yours, the warmth of his body close to yours, the way he had leaned in just a bit too close, as if he might kiss you if only for a second.

You knew you shouldn’t be thinking about him like that. He was a priest. He had made a choice, a vow, and you respected that. But the more you tried to push those thoughts away, the more they seemed to creep in, filling the quiet spaces of your mind.

Suguru was struggling too. He tried to focus on his duties, on the congregation, on the children who relied on him. He threw himself into his work with a fervor that bordered on obsession, trying to drown out the thoughts of you that seemed to linger no matter how hard he prayed.

But late at night, alone in his quarters, he found himself thinking of you. Of your laugh, your smile, the way you had looked at him in his office, your eyes filled with understanding, with something deeper that had taken root in his chest and refused to let go.

He would close his eyes and imagine what it would feel like to reach for you, to pull you into his arms, to taste your lips, to feel the heat of your skin against his. He hated himself for it, for the desire that surged through him like a tidal wave, threatening to sweep him away from everything he had promised to uphold. He’d kneel by his bed, his forehead pressed against his clasped hands, and pray for strength, for guidance, for something — anything — to take this longing away.

But the longing only grew.

One evening, as you sat on your porch, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting a soft golden glow over the garden, you felt the ache of loneliness settle deep in your bones.

You had spent the day trying to distract yourself, but nothing seemed to help. Every thought circled back to Suguru, to the way he made you feel alive in a way you hadn’t felt in years. You found yourself wondering what he was doing, if he was thinking of you too, if he was struggling as much as you were.

Without really meaning to, you reached for your phone. You typed out a message, then deleted it. Typed another, then deleted that too. You sighed, setting the phone aside, telling yourself to stop, to let it go. But your hand hovered over the screen, and before you knew it, you were calling his number.

The phone rang once, twice, and then his voice came through, soft and uncertain. “Hello?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Hi.” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I… I hope I’m not bothering you.”

There was a pause, and you could hear the hesitation in his breath. “No.” he replied finally, his voice gentle. “You’re not bothering me.”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. “I just… I wanted to see how you were.” you admitted. “It’s been a while.”

He let out a soft sigh, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice. “It has.” he agreed. “I’ve… missed you.”

You closed your eyes, the words sinking into your skin like a balm. “I’ve missed you too.” you confessed, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I’ve been trying to stay away, but… it’s harder than I thought.”

He was quiet for a moment, and you could hear the rustle of fabric, the soft creak of a chair. “I’ve been trying too.” he admitted, his voice strained. “But it’s… it’s not easy.”

There was something in his tone, a rough edge that sent a shiver down your spine. “Suguru…….” you whispered, your heart pounding. “What are we going to do?”

He let out a breath, and you could feel the weight of his struggle, the battle raging within him. “I don’t know....." he replied honestly. “I’ve been praying for guidance, for… for something to help me make sense of this. But every time I close my eyes, all I see is you.”

Your breath hitched at his confession, the honesty of it slicing through you like a knife. “I… I feel the same.” you whispered. “I can’t stop thinking about you. About… about what it would feel like to…”

The words were right there, lingering on the tip of your tongue, but they felt too potent, too dangerous to release. You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening, your heart pounding in your chest as you stood there, teetering on the edge of a confession you weren't ready to make.

You wanted to say it, to let it all out — the weight of your feelings, the yearning that had grown over time, the way you couldn’t stop thinking about him, couldn’t stop feeling for him. But the moment felt too fragile, too charged. One wrong word and the delicate balance you both had maintained for so long would shatter. And so, you trailed off, your voice faltering, the unsaid hanging thick between you.

But he knew. The air in the room seemed to shift, charged with a tension that neither of you could deny. You could hear it in his breathing, the way it hitched, just for a moment, as if he was caught off guard by the depth of what you almost said. His chest rose and fell with a newfound heaviness, each breath more labored than the last, betraying the calm facade he tried to maintain.

He didn’t look at you right away, as if turning to face you would confirm everything — the longing, the hesitation, the unspoken desires that had been building between you both for far too long. But when he finally spoke, his voice trembled, a slight quiver beneath his usual steady tone. It wasn’t much, barely noticeable to anyone else, but to you, it was everything.

It was proof that he understood that he was feeling the same thing you were, even if neither of you could fully articulate it. His words, whatever they were, seemed like an afterthought, just filler to mask the emotions surging beneath the surface. Yet, the tremor in his voice betrayed him, and for a moment, you wondered if he would be the one to break first.

But he didn’t. Instead, you both stood there, suspended in the weight of your silence, the unspoken words pressing against your lips like a dam about to break. You could feel the heat of his presence, the way the space between you seemed to shrink without either of you moving an inch. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you wanted to hear, but neither of you dared cross that invisible line.

Even though nothing was said aloud, the room felt full — full of everything you couldn’t bring yourself to admit, full of everything he had already understood. The weight of it pressed on you, thick and heavy, and you realized that sometimes, words weren’t necessary. Sometimes, the silence, the shared breath, the trembling voice, said everything that needed to be said.

And in that moment, you both knew.

“I know.” he whispered, his voice raw with need. “I’ve thought about it too. More than I should.”

Your heart raced, a flush spreading over your skin as the heat of his words washed over you. “Maybe… maybe we could just see each other.” you suggested tentatively. “Just… just to talk. Nothing more.”

He hesitated, and you could feel the conflict in his silence. But then he spoke, his voice thick with longing. “Just to talk, like back then....” he agreed. “But… if it becomes too much…”

“I’ll leave.” you promised. “I don’t want to make things harder for you. I just… I just need to see you.”

He sighed, a sound of both relief and resignation. “Okay……” he said softly. “Come to the church tomorrow. After the evening service. We can… we can talk.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, your heart racing with anticipation, with fear, with desire.

“Okay.” you whispered. “Tomorrow.”

When the call ended, you felt a strange mix of emotions — excitement, anxiety, a deep, pulsing need that you couldn’t ignore. You told yourself it would just be a conversation, just a chance to clear the air, to find some semblance of peace in this storm. But deep down, you knew it wouldn’t be that simple. Nothing between you and Geto Suguru had ever been simple.

And as you lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, you wondered what tomorrow would bring, and whether you’d have the strength to resist the pull that had only grown stronger with every moment you spent apart.

══════════════════

YOU DON’T KNOW ABOUT WHAT TO DO. The next evening arrived like a cold weight pressing on your chest. You stood outside the church, your clothes soaked through as the rain beat down relentlessly, its bitter chill sinking into your bones.

Each gust of wind cut through you, but the storm raging around you was nothing compared to the turmoil within. You had rehearsed what you might say over and over, yet as you stood before the old wooden doors, the words felt distant, unreachable.

With a shaky breath, you reached out, your hand trembling as it grasped the iron handle. The door creaked, groaning under the pressure of your push, the sound amplified by the hollow quiet inside.

Stepping across the threshold, you could hear the echo of your footsteps against the stone floor, each step amplifying the pounding of your heart, which beat in sync with the thunder rumbling outside.

The church was nearly empty, its vast interior engulfed in an eerie stillness. The last remnants of the evening service had long since faded, leaving only a few flickering candles scattered around the altar.

Their faint, wavering light sent shadows dancing across the old stone walls, casting strange shapes that seemed to twist and shift with every gust of wind that rattled the windows. The air smelled of damp wood, incense, and something ancient — a scent that seemed to settle deep in your lungs, grounding you in the moment yet unsettling you all the same.

You paused just inside the doorway, wiping the rain from your face, and took in the silence that surrounded you. Despite the stillness, the weight of the space pressed down on you, amplifying your anxiety. You weren’t sure if it was the setting or the reason for your presence that made your chest tighten, but every breath felt like an effort.

The soft hum of the storm outside was barely audible within the stone sanctuary, creating a strange sense of isolation. You found yourself both soothed and unnerved by the contrast — the chaos outside, the fragile calm inside.

And yet, even within this tranquility, there was a tension, a palpable sense of anticipation that settled in your gut. You were here for a reason, but now, standing in the dim light of the church, the reality of it felt heavier than you had imagined.

You walked slowly down the aisle, your footsteps echoing off the vaulted ceiling, each step measured, deliberate, as if delaying the inevitable. The pews were empty, save for a few scattered hymn books and prayer pamphlets left behind.

The rows stretched endlessly before you, and every flicker of the candles seemed to emphasize the emptiness, the vastness of the space, making you feel smaller with each passing second.

As you approached the altar, your breath hitched in your throat. This was the place where vows were made, promises were sealed, and lives were intertwined — for better or for worse. But you weren’t here for such formalities.

No, your visit was shrouded in uncertainty and the kind of unspoken tension that you had no idea how to resolve. The closer you got to the altar, the more the anticipation surged, twisting inside you.

You hesitated, standing just a few feet away from the altar steps. The candles flickered, casting long shadows that stretched toward you like fingers reaching from the past, urging you to move forward. But you remained still, heart pounding, breath shallow. The moment felt suspended, like a string pulled taut, ready to snap.

In the stillness, you wondered what awaited you — what words would be exchanged, what truths would be revealed. The anxiety gnawed at you, and yet, beneath it all, there was a strange undercurrent of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this night would bring clarity, an answer to the questions that had haunted you since the last time you were here.

And so you stood there, fighting the urge to turn back, knowing that what happened next could change everything.

You could hear Suguru’s voice in the distance, speaking quietly with one of the parishioners. You waited near the back, your hands clasped in front of you, trying to steady your breathing. When he finished, he turned and saw you, his expression softening in a way that made your chest ache.

"You're here." he said, walking over to you. His voice was low, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes — relief, maybe, or hesitation.

"I am." you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I… I needed to see you."

He nodded, his gaze sweeping over you, lingering for just a moment too long. “Come with me.” he murmured, gesturing toward a small room off to the side. His office, you realized. The room where it all started.

You followed him, your footsteps echoing softly on the stone floor. The air felt thick, heavy with unsaid words, with unspoken need. Once inside, he closed the door, and you both stood there for a moment, staring at each other, unsure where to begin. You could feel your heart pound at each step you took. Your breath hitches as you walk with him, many thoughts racing over and over in your head.

Suguru took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "I’m glad you came." he said, breaking the silence. "But I… I don’t know if this is a good idea."

Your chest tightened at his words, a mixture of frustration and longing bubbling to the surface. “I don’t either.” you admitted, “but I don’t know what else to do. I can’t just… ignore this.”

He looked at you, his eyes darkening with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. “Do you think it’s easy for me?” he asked, his voice rising slightly. “Do you think I don’t feel it too? This… this pull?”

You took a step closer, feeling a spark of anger mixed with desire. “Then why are we fighting it, Suguru? Why are we pretending like this isn’t happening?”

He shook his head, his frustration evident. “Because I made a promise, you know that.” he snapped. “Because I dedicated my life to something bigger than myself, and I can’t just… I can’t just throw that away!”

You felt a surge of emotion, a frustration that had been building for weeks. “I’m not asking you to throw anything away!” you shot back, your voice louder than you intended. “But you can’t just… you can’t just pretend you don’t feel anything. That we don’t feel anything!”

His eyes flashed with something you couldn’t quite name — anger, maybe, or desire. “I’ve spent years pretending, trying to bury these feelings,” he said, his voice low and raw. “But every time I see you… every time I hear your voice…”

He stepped closer, his breath hot against your skin, his eyes locked onto yours. “It tears me apart. And I don’t know…..” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve tried to stay away. God knows I’ve tried. But I… I can’t.”

You could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension between you thick and suffocating. “Then don’t.” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Don’t stay away. Don’t push me away…Please.”

His breath hitched, his hands twitching at his sides as if he was fighting the urge to reach for you. “This is madness.” he murmured, but his voice lacked conviction. “This… this is wrong.”

“Is it?” you challenged, your heart pounding in your chest. “Is it really so wrong to want… to feel…?”

He closed his eyes, a pained expression crossing his face. “I don’t know anymore.” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know what’s right or wrong when it comes to you.”

Before you could think, before you could stop yourself, you reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling him closer. “Then stop thinking.” you said softly, your voice trembling. “Just… just feel.”

For a moment, he froze, his breath catching in his throat. Then, something inside him seemed to snap. He surged forward, his hands cupping your face, his lips crashing against yours with a force that took your breath away.

The kiss was desperate, hungry, years of longing and frustration pouring out in a single, electrifying moment. You felt his hands tangle in your hair, his body pressing against yours, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. You kissed him back with equal fervor, your fingers gripping his shirt, pulling him closer, needing to feel him, to taste him, to know that this was real.

Your back hit the wall, and he pressed against you, his mouth moving against yours with a ferocity that made your knees weak. You could feel his heart pounding in his chest, could taste the salt of his tears on his lips. You were drowning in him, in the scent of him, in the feel of his body against yours, in the way his hands roamed your back, pulling you closer, deeper into the kiss.

But then, as quickly as it began, he pulled away, gasping for breath, his hands still holding your face, his forehead resting against yours. “We… we can’t.” he panted, his voice broken, torn. “This… this isn’t right.”

You were both breathing hard, your chest heaving with the effort to calm the storm raging inside you. “I know,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “I know it’s not. But… but I need you, Suguru. I need you so much.”

He closed his eyes, his hands trembling against your skin. “I need you too.” he confessed, his voice choking with emotion. “God help me, I need you too.”

And in that moment, as you stood there, pressed against the wall, your breaths mingling in the darkened room, you both knew that something had changed. A line had been crossed, a boundary shattered, and there was no going back.

The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, tangled together in a moment that was as intoxicating as it was forbidden. And for the first time, you allowed yourself to feel the weight of what was between you, to acknowledge the depth of your desire, the strength of your longing.

Suguru’s lips brushed against yours again, softer this time, more tentative, as if he was afraid to break the fragile moment. “What are we doing?” he whispered against your mouth.

You closed your eyes, feeling his breath warm against your skin. “I don’t know.” you admitted, your voice barely more than a breath. “But I don’t want to stop.”

He swallowed hard, his forehead still pressed against yours, his hands cradling your face as if he were afraid you might disappear. “Neither do I.” he confessed, his voice breaking. “Neither do I.”

His breath was ragged, his hands shaking as they cupped your face once more, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both desperate and tender, as if he were searching for something he had lost long ago.

The world around you seemed to dissolve into a blur, leaving only the two of you in this sacred, forbidden moment. Tears slipped down your cheeks, and he felt them against his skin, his own eyes closing tight as if he could hold back the storm of emotions threatening to consume him.

He kissed you again, harder this time, a low, shaky sigh escaping him as his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you against him with a strength that bordered on desperation.

“Forgive me.” he murmured against your lips, the words barely audible, his voice thick with emotion. “God, forgive me…”

But even as he spoke, he knew there was no forgiveness for what he was about to do, no absolution in this moment of need and longing. He felt the weight of his vows, the promises he had made, the life he had chosen… and yet, when it came to you, every vow seemed like a distant memory, every promise a faint echo of a past life.

His hands moved to your shoulders, pressing you back against the wall, his lips trailing down your neck, kissing every inch of skin he could reach as if he were worshiping at an altar.

“I’ve sinned so truly and endlessly for all these years.” he whispered, his voice raw, broken. “I’ve sinned, loving you… wanting you… needing you…”

You gasped, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, needing to feel him, needing to know this was real. His lips moved lower, tracing the line of your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin.

“You’ve always been my god.” he confessed, his voice a breathless prayer. “And I… your most devoted follower…”

He sank to his knees, his hands sliding down your sides, his lips brushing against the fabric of your dress. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire, his expression a mixture of longing and torment.

“I can’t stop.” he whispered, his voice barely a breath. “I won’t stop…”

His fingers hooked into the hem of your dress, lifting it slowly, reverently, his lips pressing kisses to the exposed skin of your thighs. You shivered, your breath catching in your throat as he continued, his hands trembling against your skin.

“I’ll sin for you… over and over.” he murmured, his lips brushing against the curve of your hip. “Because I can’t let you go…”

He kissed lower, his mouth trailing down the inside of your thigh, his breath warm against your skin. He paused for a moment, his hands gripping your thighs, his forehead pressing against your belly as if he were fighting some inner battle. And then, with a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul, he kissed you again, his lips finding the center of your desire, soft and demanding all at once.

You moaned, your head falling back against the wall, your hands gripping his shoulders as his tongue flicked against you, tasting you, savoring you like the sweetest sin.

He groaned, the sound vibrating against your skin, his hands tightening their grip on your thighs, pulling you closer as his tongue moved in slow, deliberate circles, each stroke a prayer, each touch a confession.

He kissed you there, over and over, his mouth moving against you with a fervor that was almost holy in its intensity. He could feel your body trembling beneath his hands, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he worshiped you with every ounce of devotion he possessed. His tongue swirled around your clit, teasing, tasting, the heat of his breath mingling with the heat of your skin.

His hands gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin as he held you steady, his mouth never leaving you, his tongue moving faster, hungrier, seeking to draw out every cry, every moan, every shudder of pleasure. His own breath came in ragged bursts, his heart pounding in his chest, his body trembling with the force of his own desire.

He couldn’t stop — didn’t want to stop. You were his sanctuary, his salvation, and in this moment, he was lost in you, lost in the heat of your skin, the taste of your desire, the sound of your breathless gasps. He moaned against you, the sound filled with need, with longing, with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on as he continued, his lips and tongue moving against you with a fervor that was almost frantic. He felt your body tense, heard the soft, breathless moans that escaped your lips, and he knew you were close. Suguru wanted to push you over the edge, wanted to hear you cry out his name, wanted to feel you shatter against his lips.

And so, he continued, his tongue flicking faster, his lips pressing harder, his hands gripping your thighs as if he could anchor himself to you, as if he could hold you here, with him, in this perfect, sinful moment forever.

You cried out, your body arching against the wall, your hands tightening in his hair as you came, a soft, breathless moan escaping your lips. He groaned against you, his tongue never stopping, his lips moving against you with a fervor that was almost holy, almost desperate, as if he were afraid to let you go, afraid to let the moment end.

And in that moment, he knew — he knew he would never be able to stop sinning for you. He would never be able to walk away, to forget the taste of you, the feel of you, the sound of your voice crying out his name. He was yours, body and soul, for better or for worse, for all eternity.

He pulled back, his breath ragged, his lips glistening, his eyes dark and filled with a longing so deep it nearly broke your heart. He looked up at you, his hands still gripping your thighs, his expression a mixture of awe and torment.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke, as if every word took effort to push past the weight of his desire. "I can't... I can't stop this." he confessed, his forehead resting against your stomach, his breath warm against your skin. His hands slid up your sides, pulling you closer as if anchoring himself to you, needing the connection as much as the air in his lungs.

You tangled your fingers in his hair again, your pulse still racing, the aftermath of the moment leaving your body humming with a mix of exhaustion and anticipation. You could feel the tension in him, the battle between what he wanted and what he knew was dangerous, and yet you both understood — there was no turning back. Not now.

Slowly, you tilted his chin up, guiding his gaze back to yours. His eyes, still dark with desire, searched yours, and you could see the fear in them — fear of the depth of this thing between you, fear of how much it already consumed him. But beneath that, there was something more. Something tender, vulnerable, almost fragile.

"I don't want you to stop." you whispered, your voice soft but firm. "I don't want this to end.”

Suguru's eyes softened for a moment, then clouded with guilt. His hands trembled as they cupped your face, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. "I'm sorry." he murmured, his voice breaking with regret. "I'm so sorry… I led you to sin. This desire—my desire—it’s wrong, I’ve tainted you. I should have never let it go this far."

You shook your head, heart pounding, and leaned into his touch. "No." you whispered fiercely. "You didn't lead me anywhere I didn't want to go. I chose this. I chose you. If we're sinners, then I'll carry that sin with you. Together."

Without hesitation, you captured his lips in a kiss that was hard, desperate, and messy, like you were trying to devour him, to merge with him completely. And Suguru, filled with equal need, responded with the same raw intensity. His hands roamed your body, hungry, claiming, as if trying to make sure this moment, this choice, could never be undone.

In one swift motion, he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the confession box. The small, sacred space that had once held secrets and forgiveness was now your altar of passion. You both fumbled with your clothes, hands frantic, lips still locked in that feverish kiss. When the last piece of fabric fell to the floor, he broke away just long enough to whisper.

"You are my god. I was never meant to devote worship to anyone else."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and the intensity of his devotion left you breathless. When he finally entered you, filling you completely, your body arched, as if instinctively trying to get closer, deeper, into the space where the boundaries of pleasure and need blurred into something beyond comprehension.

The moan that escaped your lips was loud, unrestrained, ripped from your throat like a prayer answered after too long in the desert. And as if answering your plea, Suguru thrust harder, deeper, his breath ragged, his skin slick with sweat as the storm outside raged in perfect synchrony with the chaos inside you both.

Thunder cracked, the air vibrating with the sound, but neither of you cared. It was the storm that gave you permission to be loud, to scream, to lose yourselves in this forbidden act. The rain pounded against the windows, a constant drumbeat to the rhythm of his body pressing into yours, over and over, until your mind was lost in a haze of pleasure so blinding you couldn’t tell where your body ended and his began.

You came, hard and fast, your body trembling uncontrollably in his arms, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. His pace grew more desperate, each thrust pushing deeper, more insistent, like a prayer that had to be spoken aloud, no matter the cost. His worship of you was not gentle; it was fierce, almost frenzied, as if the very act of being inside you was the only way he could breathe.

"Suguru." you gasped, barely able to speak, your voice broken and breathless. But the sound of his name on your lips seemed to spur him on. His hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you impossibly closer, his movements becoming rougher, more urgent. Every thrust pushed you higher, every stroke making your body shake, your legs trembling as you gave into the pleasure that threatened to overwhelm you.

He was relentless, his need for you all-consuming, driven by something more than mere desire. It was devotion, pure and raw, a longing that had been pent up for far too long. His words from earlier echoed in your mind — You are my god — and you could feel the truth of it now, in every touch, every movement, as he gave himself to you completely.

You whimpered as your body responded to him again, another wave of pleasure building as he moved deeper inside you, filling every part of you until there was nothing left but him. The tension between your bodies, the heat, the raw, primal hunger, grew too much to bear. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body clinging to him, needing him, wanting him, as he pushed you closer to the edge again.

The storm raged outside, lightning flashing, illuminating the room in brief moments of stark white, and in those flashes, you could see the look on his face — dark, intense, a man consumed by his love for you, by the act of giving himself over entirely, as if nothing else mattered in this world.

And maybe it didn’t.

"Suguru..." you moaned, feeling yourself break once more as your body surrendered to him completely, trembling violently against his as he continued to claim you, over and over, as if this moment would never end.

Suguru’s pace never faltered, his body pressed relentlessly against yours, each thrust deeper than the last. His eyes were half-lidded with a raw, burning need, his hands never loosening their grip on your trembling body.

Even as your voice broke into breathless cries, your hands clutched desperately at him, grounding yourself in the overwhelming sensations that coursed through you. He was utterly lost in you, consumed by the devotion he had promised — his worship of you unending, fervent, and wild.

Your body ached with the pleasure of it, shaking beneath him as he continued even after you had come. He was relentless, his hips driving against yours in a rhythm that sent shivers down your spine, each movement feeding the fire that burned between you. You felt overwhelmed, consumed, your body unable to keep up with the intensity of his desire, but you didn’t want him to stop. Not ever.

“Suguru……” you whimpered again, your voice cracking, barely able to speak as his thrusts grew rougher, more desperate. “Please…”

But whether you were begging for more or for a moment’s reprieve, even you didn’t know. He responded with a low, guttural moan, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot and ragged against your lips. His eyes, dark and wild, locked onto yours as he murmured in a voice thick with lust.

“I need you… I need you more than anything. You’re everything.”

Your heart pounded, his words igniting something deep within you as your body gave in completely, surrendering to him as if you were both caught in the grip of something sacred and sinful all at once. He pushed deeper, each thrust taking you to the edge of what your body could handle, the pleasure blending with a delicious ache that left you trembling against him.

The thunder outside roared, masking your moans as his worship grew more fervent, his devotion unrelenting. Your body shook beneath him, every nerve alight as he claimed you over and over. Your hands slid up his back, your nails digging into his skin, marking him as yours as he took you higher, his pace unbroken, his rhythm fierce and untamed.

Lightning flashed again, casting the room in harsh light, illuminating the way his muscles strained as he drove into you, his face twisted in both agony and ecstasy. His voice, hoarse and filled with desperate reverence, reached you between the booming thunder.

“You’re mine… only mine.”

The words broke something in you, your body shaking as the pleasure surged through you once again, your cries swallowed by the storm. You clung to him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you, your body collapsing into his as the intensity of it all took you to the brink of delirium.

Suguru wasn’t far behind. His movements grew frantic, his body trembling with the effort of holding back as long as he could. But in the end, he couldn’t resist any longer. With a low, primal groan, he buried himself deep inside you one last time, his release washing over him as he collapsed into you, his entire body shaking with the force of it.

For a moment, neither of you moved, tangled together in a haze of exhaustion and bliss, the sound of the storm outside slowly fading into the background. His breath was heavy against your neck, his lips brushing your skin as he whispered.

“I’m never letting you go.”

And as you lay there, wrapped in each other, you knew the truth of it — this was something neither of you could escape. Not the sin, not the pleasure, not the way you were both hopelessly bound to one another. For better or worse, you were his, and he was yours. Bound in sin, bound in love, bound in something far more powerful than either of you could understand.

══════════════════

epilogue

The car hummed softly beneath you as you drove, the highway stretching out ahead, quiet and serene in the early morning light. Your daughter sat in the passenger seat, her backpack nestled between her feet, her gaze fixed out the window as the city gave way to the open road leading toward the airport. The silence between you was comfortable, but there was an unspoken tension — the weight of goodbye looming just ahead.

You glanced over at her, your heart swelling with pride and a little bit of that inevitable ache that comes with watching your child leave. She had grown so much, blossomed into a young woman full of ambition and dreams. College was her next chapter, and you were ready to let her go, even if the thought tugged at your heart.

As if sensing your thoughts, she turned to you, her brow furrowed in concern. "Are you gonna be alright, Mom?" Her voice was soft, careful, as if she was more worried about you than her own big journey ahead.

You smiled at her, reaching over to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Yes, sweetheart. I'm going to be fine." You paused, your smile growing a little softer. "I have Suguru."

She smiled back, a knowing look in her eyes. She had grown up with Suguru around, seeing the way you two fit together. Over time, she understood the depth of your bond, even if she didn’t know the whole story.

"I’m glad." she said quietly. "He’s good for you."

You nodded, your chest tightening a bit as the airport came into view. "He is. And I’m going to miss you. But you know you can come back anytime, right? This is always your home."

She smiled, though it was tinged with the same bittersweet feeling you carried. "I know, Mom. I’ll come back as soon as I can."

After pulling up to the drop-off zone, you hugged her tightly, savoring the warmth of her embrace. "I’m so proud of you." you whispered, holding her just a little longer than usual.

"I love you, Mom." she murmured back before pulling away, her eyes a little misty. She gave you one last smile before grabbing her bag and disappearing through the airport doors.

For a moment, you sat there, watching the entrance as people hurried by, the world continuing on as always. You felt the pang of her absence already, but you knew that she was ready for this new adventure. And so were you.

With a deep breath, you turned the car around and headed back toward town, a quiet excitement building in your chest. Suguru was waiting for you. As you neared the church, the sight of it stirred something in you. It was the place where so much had started, where your life had taken a turn you could never have predicted.

Suguru had officially left the priesthood some time ago, and now, he was finishing the last bit of paperwork to close that chapter of his life. His decision had been made with a clear heart, for both of you and for the daughters he had taken in, Mimiko and Nanako. The three of them had already moved the rest of their things to a house just outside of town, the place where you would begin your new life together.

As you pulled into the small parking lot of the church, you spotted him standing near the entrance, his dark hair tied back, his expression calm but focused as he signed the last of the documents. He looked up when you parked, his lips curving into a soft smile as you approached.

"All set?" you asked as you reached him, your fingers brushing his in a quiet greeting.

He nodded, setting the paperwork aside. "It’s done. Everything’s in order." His smile widened, that familiar warmth in his gaze. "I’m free."

You exhaled softly, the weight of his words filling the space between you. He had left the priesthood not for the sake of running away from something, but for the chance to fully embrace the life he wanted — the life he wanted with you.

"So," you asked with a playful tilt of your head, "where to next?"

Suguru smiled, reaching out to take your hand in his, his touch grounding and steady, as it had always been. "I want to devote the rest of my life to you," he said simply, his voice gentle yet filled with unwavering certainty.

Your heart swelled at his words, a rush of warmth flooding through you. He had always been devoted, but now it was different. Now, there were no barriers, no walls between you. It was just the two of you, ready to build something beautiful together.

You smiled, stepping closer and resting your head against his chest, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt like home. "Then let’s go, hm?" you whispered. "Let’s start the rest of our lives."

And as you drove away from the church together, toward the house that would soon become your shared home, the future felt wide open — a new chapter, a new beginning. You had Suguru. You had love. And for the first time, you felt entirely free.

316 notes · View notes

just-jordie-things · 9 months ago

Text

video games - takuma ino

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ 10k follower event special! ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

word count: 11.6k warnings: mentions of blood, drinking summary: ino has been infatuated with his non-sorcerer roommate since day one. but he's convinced she couldn't feel the same way. more info: roommate!au, friends to lovers, gojo hits on you but it's for the greater good ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[ it’s you, it’s you, it’s all for you // everything i do // i tell you all the time, heaven is a place on earth with you // tell me all the things you wanna do ]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

How Takuma Ino ended up with a non-sorcerer roommate wasn’t as interesting of a story as his colleagues always thought it would be when they’d first find out. They were always so eager for the details- was she his girlfriend? Did she know about his career and lifestyle? Was she cute? How did they meet?- and even though Ino would often laugh sheepishly and duck his head to hide his smile, the truth just wasn’t that exciting.

The truth was that as fun as being a jujutsu sorcerer was, it didn’t pay well. So he needed a roommate in order to better afford rent. One ad led to another, and soon (y/l/n) (y/n) was showing up asking for a tour. It only took one visit for her to decide to move in, and they’ve been roommates for the better part of a year now.

Ino always leaves out the part where he didn’t believe she’d actually agree to join the lease with him- when she’d shown up at his door he figured she’d only asked for a tour to be polite. In his mind there was just no way that a young woman as beautiful and hard working in her field needed a roommate- much less some random dude like him. She’d been so friendly and easy going upon their first meeting and they seemed to click just right, so she’d shook his hand and set a move-in date that very day. When she’d left, Ino had collapsed on his sofa with a beer and a bewildered laugh to himself. Even now, he’s not sure how he managed to make it happen.

“You wanna order chinese? I don’t feel like cooking”

(y/n’s) call from the other side of the room drew him out of his thoughts, and he glanced over the back of the couch to see her rummaging through the pantry. Logic reared it’s head, reminding him that they’d just bought groceries so they should probably save the money and eat at home tonight.

But then she gave him that hopeful little smile that he couldn’t help but return before nodding his head. Logic never won in a battle against something (y/n) wanted.

“Sure” He agrees through his smile.

By the time she’s dressed in her comfy lounging clothes, he’s already called their usual place and made an order. He’d long since memorized her go-to order and was usually the one put in charge of calling. He never minded. How could he complain when everything about their situation was just so perfect?

The roommate of his dreams, she was. Tidy, quiet, a great cook, and one of the most pleasant people he’s ever gotten to know, Ino truly believed he struck gold when (y/n) answered his ad. So even when his colleagues teased him for his living situation, he could hardly care.

And tease him they did. Gojo was the main assailant. Often joking about how strong Ino must feel all the time, being in the presence of a weak non-sorcerer human. How she must think he was some superhero compared to all the lame human men she’d meet at her job or through her friends. How Ino must be so lucky to have a young lady as his roommate. Still, no matter how much he messed around, Ino knew that there was no harm in Gojo’s words. And he also knew that if he’d actually met (y/n), he’d shut his ignorant mouth.

Nanami didn’t invest himself too much in Ino’s private life, he was simply respectful and reserved like that, but on occasion he’d been known to ask about his roommate. Mostly situational to their occupation- such as what she thought of the nasty cuts and bruises he’d come home with- but once in a blue moon he’d make a comment suggesting it was only a matter of time before one of them developed feelings. Ino always flustered under the light of those questions and found a way to avoid them.

In the few times throughout his week that he’d cross paths with Shoko, she always made a point to ask about his roommate. Which was sort of odd, seeing as her work in the infirmary didn’t make them the closest of colleagues, but at first the casual conversation was welcomed. But it was only a matter of time before she, too, would begin pestering him about making a move on her.

They all seemed to have the same underlying message. How could you share a living space with someone and not catch feelings for them? And Ino spent a lot of his time and energy trying to convince them that it simply wasn’t like that. Just because they both happened to be single, and close friends, and sharing a small two bedroom apartment, didn’t mean that romantic feelings were bound to happen. They were both adults, they could live in such a situation and keep their hands and hearts to themselves.

He was a liar, though.

Takuma Ino had fallen completely, head over heels in love with his roommate, and there was no chance of him ever getting over that feeling.

It had taken relatively no time for the feelings to develop. Shortly after her moving in, she’d made an effort to be close to him. There wasn’t a moment where he felt like she wanted space or privacy away from him. She often offered to help him cook, or invited him grocery shopping with her, or out to a movie she wanted to see, and a fast friendship blossomed. The way she always reached out to include him had him swooning in no time.

Coffee runs, movie nights, and frequent texting throughout their days before they both came home all snowballed into one undeniable truth. He was falling in love with her.

When Ino had first realized that’s what was happening when his heart would leap out of his chest when she’d scoot close to him on the couch so they could share a blanket while they watched a movie or played a game together, he’d tried to bury it. Because surely his mind was just playing tricks on him. Surely he was just excited that a pretty and kind girl like her wanted to be so close to him, and his feelings were strictly platonic.

But then he found himself relaxing just from the smell of her shampoo wafting close to him. He realized that when he would come home from a late assignment and she’d be waiting for him that his heart was skipping a beat because it was just so perfectly domestic. He couldn’t deny it for too long at all, not when she so sweetly saved him the leftovers from her dinner and would heat it up for him while he showered and de-stressed from the particularly rough assignment.

The only problem was that he knew she didn’t feel the same way, and he’d been struggling to keep his true feelings hidden. From her, and from his pesky fellow sorcerers.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

(y/n) hated when Ino came home late from his assignments.

Not because the squeak door woke her up, or because it meant she was alone taking care of the evening chores. It was simply because she’d stay up every time, too consumed with anxiety to go to sleep without knowing he’d returned safe and sound.

Which, in all fairness, he always did. He always came home, and most of the time he’d shoot her a message saying he’d wrapped up with work and was on his way- even when it was one in the morning- like tonight.

She waited up on the couch, wrapped up in a fluffy blanket with the title screen of a movie she’d watched hours ago playing it’s intro for the thousandth time. In all fairness she knew he could handle himself, and he’d never not come home, or come back with life threatening injuries.

That didn’t mean he didn’t come back hurt, and that didn’t mean she wouldn’t fuss over him, every single time.

And tonight when he finally stumbles into the apartment, just as the clock ticks past two, she’s practically gnawing at her nails as she rushes towards him.

Despite the way he limps, and there’s blood trickling out of his nose, he gives her a smile, and he’s the first to worry.

“It’s late, you should be in bed” He scolds without any real threat to his words. This routine had established itself months ago, and he knew damn well that she wouldn’t get a wink of sleep until she knew he was safely returned home.

Still, he worried about something as silly as her sleep schedule every time.

“Shut up” Is all (y/n) mumbles, beckoning him further into their apartment, until he’s following her to the bathroom.

She’s faster than him, pulling out the well loved first aid kit and getting everything prepped and ready on the counter while he slowly staggers in behind her. It was practically the same scene every time he came home like this. No matter how beat up he was- with a mere scratch or bloodied to a pulp- she was forcing him to sit down on the lid of the toilet seat so she could tend to his injuries herself.

Ino wasn’t sure if it was for her own well being and comfort, knowing that she’d taken care of him and none of his injuries would get infected. Or if maybe she just didn’t trust him to take care of them himself, maybe she knew that his idea of first aid was slapping a hello kitty band aid on it and calling it a night.

(There was one instance a few months ago where he’d left a hello kitty band aid on the back of his hand that she’d so lovingly placed there, and Gojo didn’t let him hear the end of it for the entire day. Not that Ino minded. Every time he caught a glimpse of the pink band aid it brought a smile to his face remembering how gentle she’d been covering the cut underneath, how her thumb had stroked over the sticker so lightly to ensure it was well placed and would do the trick. He left that band aid on his hand for as long as he could before eventually it lost his adhesive and in turn he lost it)

Either way, he never tried to talk her out of tending to him. Even when he knew it was too late for her to be staying up just to clean up some silly injuries that were nothing compared to the things that Shoko healed with her Reverse Cursed Technique- but he’d never tell (y/n) about the broken bones or brushes with death. He’d just keep his mouth shut and sit on that toilet seat while she soaked a cotton pad in antiseptic and gently dabbed at the cuts on his arm.

“Sorry”

She’d mumble the apology every time she’d make first contact with the injury, knowing how the alcohol tended to sting. And every time, Ino would give her a small smile and tell her it was alright.

“How was your day?” He hummed as she continued to clean up the few cuts on his arms. She had his sleeve rolled all the way up and tucked carefully at his shoulder so it wouldn’t be a hindrance. She hummed thoughtfully before shrugging a shoulder.

“Pretty boring, nothing of note,” She murmured back truthfully. “Until now” She adds, her eyes meeting his just so he’d catch the hint of reprimand in her tone.

Ino can’t help but chuckle to himself, he’d forever be amused by the way she worries over him. She may have been new to the world of jujutsu sorcery, but it never failed to humor him how she’d fuss and worry over such minor injuries. Injuries that Shoko wouldn’t treat even if Ino walked into the infirmary and begged for it. Surely he’d be laughed at.

“So you’re saying I’m the highlight?” He teases quietly, and (y/n) rolls her eyes, but doesn’t deny it. She chooses the safe route and keeps her focus on her handiwork. He still laughs at her obvious non-answer. “Work was alright, though?”

“I suppose,” She answers. “Got home early because some people in my department were going out and convinced my boss to join, so they let us all leave early. That was nice”

Ino gave her a small frown, but it went unnoticed.

“How come you didn’t go?”

Her eyes briefly flicker up to his, and she purses her lips before shrugging her shoulders in a small movement.

“Wasn’t really in the mood,” She says, and it’s not a total lie, but she averts her eyes shortly after, reaching out to the first aid kit on the counter again. She fishes around a bit before finding the package of square shaped band aids. “Besides, I didn’t know when you’d be back” She added.

It deepens his frown, but she’s completely avoiding his gaze now. He expects as much, seeing as he’s had this conversation with her before. He encourages her to go out with her friends more, or make new friends at work to hang out with, and she always has an excuse at the ready. Sometimes her reasoning was decent, but most of the time it was obvious she came up with them on the spot, and it made his heart sink.

Of course he wanted her around all the time, pushing her away was absolutely a struggle for him, but Ino knew that if they continued only spending time with one another, then his feelings would never go away. It would be hard, but tremendous help if she made a new best friend, or better yet a boyfriend, and then he’d have to get over her, he was sure.

“You shouldn’t avoid your friends cause of me,” He tells her quietly. “It’s late, you could’ve gone out… if you wanted to”

After placing a band aid on his skin and smoothing down the corners so it stayed intact, she glanced up at him. A small knot formed between her brows before she cracked a goofy smile.

“They’re not my friends, Ino,” She chuckles at him. “They’re coworkers. I see them plenty enough, I don’t need to hang out with them outside of work- where we would probably still only talk about work”

As far as excuses went, it was a pretty damn good one. So this time he gave in, smiling and nodding back at her in understanding.

“Guess that’s fair,” He mumbles, and she laughs quietly again as she opens up another band aid. “I just… I dunno, I don’t want you missing out of stuff, that’s all”

“I think I’m old enough to decide what I want to do with my time,” She teases, her cheeks warming at the insinuation in her admission. “If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be”

His heart skips a beat, and as lovely as the feeling is when his stomach flips, Ino wishes she wouldn’t say stuff like that. It gave his heart the wrong idea, and it was hard to fight with his heart. He was convinced his brain just wasn’t strong enough to fight the delusion.

“So your ideal night is patching up this idiot, huh?” He wiggles his eyebrows at her in that way that always makes her laugh, and she does, bubbly and sweet, and again his stomach does a flip. Making her laugh always brightened him up completely. Like a video game character maxing out his health bar.

“I think I would’ve made a great doctor” She teases back, shaking the box of band aids at him before carefully tucking them back in their spot in the first aid kit.

“You don’t even give me lollipops, how could you say that?” Ino retorts in mock offense- although it would make these little patch up sessions even better if he was rewarded with her close proximity and candy, but he’d accept one sweet thing at a time.

“Shut up,” She says through her giggles, finally closing up the whole kit. “You’re lucky I don’t do any of the scary stuff. I’ll leave that for your sorcerer friends”

“Eh, it might come to that,” Ino shrugs. He stays seated as she puts the small case back into it’s spot in the cabinet, lingering in her space for however long she’ll let him. “Shoko will probably get tired of me eventually, you know. How comfortable are you with stitches?”

The grin on his face is nothing short of teasing- and he knows he should stop. He knows that eventually the lines get blurry and he’s not sure how much his teasing is starting to blend into flirting, and with how playful her nature is she’s never afraid to dish it back. Not once had she reacted in an uncomfortable manner to something he’s said, but that only makes it harder for him to draw that line in the sand.

(y/n) shuts the cabinet and turns to him with her hands on her hips. A serious look flashes across her expression that he can’t tell if it’s meant to be in humor or if she’s actually about to drop the playful atmosphere. With a step towards him, she leans over so her height matches his, and they’re face to face.

“Takuma Ino,” She declares, eyes boring into his with an intensity that makes him gulp down on air. “Unless you want some really funky looking scars, don’t go asking me to stitch you up. Leave it to your magic friends”

His anxious expression drops as he breaks into a smile, amused by her choice of words, and her own face softens as she smiles back at him. It was infectious, the way he smiled. It could get her to crack even when she was really trying to be stubborn. A secret weapon of his that (y/n) was pretty sure he used on purpose, but there were some instances she could be convinced that he had no clue of this power.

“My magic friends, huh?” He repeats with a smirk.

He’d definitely have to tell Gojo about that one when he saw him next. Surely it would feed into his ego, if not make him cackle.

(y/n) stands up again, her cheeks suddenly feeling a little too warm, before she spins around and heads out of the bathroom. Finally, Ino stands, stretching his sore limbs and checking over the array of bandages on his arm before following after her.

“Or better yet, just don’t get yourself hurt anymore” (y/n) adds, her back turned to him as she makes her way towards her room.

“Oh wow, I hadn’t thought of that” He shot back in a mocking voice. He knows she rolls her eyes, even if he can’t see.

“Just sayin’, why don’t you work on that technique where stuff doesn’t touch you? Like that one guy?”

He has to bite his cheek to keep himself from breaking out into a fit of laughter. She was trying her best to understand how jujutsu worked, even if she was a little off the mark. There was also something so rewardingly funny about someone not remembering who Gojo Satoru was- even if she’d never met the guy.

“Not exactly how it works,” He replies. (y/n) turns to him as she stands in the middle of her doorway. Her tiredness is more evident now in the way she leans against it and blinks slowly back at him. “Pretty sure I gotta stick with the one I was born with”

She hums, pursing her lips as she tries to recall all of his explanations for the finicky sorcerer world. But her mind is foggy with exhaustion and she’s getting a little too swept up in how softly his brown eyes gaze at her, so she shakes her head and finally turns towards her room.

“Noted,” She tells him, knocking twice on her frame before grabbing the handle of her door and pulling it behind her. “G’night Ino”

His heart warms as he bids her goodnight, and he lingers in the empty apartment for a few more seconds before making his way into his own bedroom.

Every minute spent with her felt special and worth basking in, even when nothing significant happened, even when it was a completely normal night. Just being around her was enough for his insides to melt into a buttery mess.

When he goes to sleep, he hopes to see her in his dreams, where he doesn’t have to feel anxious or guilty about his feelings, and he can be with her freely, without a care in the world.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“There’s gonna be this… work thing… next weekend,”

He brings it up out of nowhere, although he’s spent a while trying to find a way to say it, he actually blurts it out in the middle of the two of them watching a movie. So it’s not actually surprising when (y/n) turns towards him with a puzzled look on her face, already reaching for the remote to pause the movie.

Tonight she sits close enough that with his arm strewn across the back of the couch, it could almost feel like they were cuddled up together. Even though they’re not touching- unless you counted the stray hairs that fell from her claw clip and brushed his arm behind her head.

“If you wanted to come, anyways,” Ino clears his throat uncomfortably, suddenly feeling a little more on the spot with the movie stopped and her full attention on him. “Gojo’s hosting, said anyone can come, I- I don’t have that many details yet, but, um, I’ll probably go, since Nanami said he was-”

“And I’m allowed to go?” She ends his suffering with her question, her brows raising in shock.

“Allowed?” Ino repeats the choice of word, followed by a short chuckle. “Of course you are, why do you say it like that?”

“I dunno,” Her shoulders shrug limply, although she knows exactly why she asks. “Cause… I’m not like you, I guess”

Ino’s never given too much thought to their differences. Besides when he’d realized he’d have to tell her the truth about his career, and they had spent hours on this very sofa while he explained the complicated history of jujutsu, and the ins and outs of curses and cursed techniques. She’d had her uncertainties, and endless questions, but after that talk, the stark differences in the lives they led outside of this apartment rarely came up. He could almost say it didn’t matter, but he didn’t want to diminish either of their careers.

Now, as he watches her begin to curl up like she was trying to shrink into herself, his heart falls a little bit. Did she really feel like she didn’t deserve an invite? Just because she was a non-sorcerer? In his eyes, it certainly didn’t make her any less of a person. He could almost laugh. How could a person like her feel that way? Someone so good hearted, hard working, brilliant, gorgeous-

“Ino?” She presses forward, drawing him out of his derailed train of thoughts. He blinks a few times as he comes back to the present moment.

“I want you to come” He says, feeling much bolder than he had when he first brought the subject up.

Now she’s blinking back at him wordlessly, eyes going round and a smile tugging at her lips.

“You do?” She asks, just to be sure, even though there’s not a doubt in her mind that he means it, with how genuine and hopeful his expression is. Warmth blooms in her face, and she hopes that her blush isn’t too embarrassing.

It’s not. Ino finds it utterly adorable, and quite endearing.

“Yeah,” He affirms with a nod of his head, before pushing a hand through his hair to pull it away from his face. “I want you to meet everyone. And I want them to finally meet you, too. If you want to, that is”

Her smile widens a little further as she nods back at him, the movement jittery and short, displaying her eagerness in it’s fullest.

“Sounds fun. I’d love to,” She says softly. Ino lights up with excitement, sitting up a little straighter as he beams at her.

However, before he can reach for the remote and start their movie up again, she snatches it away, a curious expression crossing her features as she studies him.

“But what do you mean finally, hm?” She muses, the question only half-playful. Curiosity did get the best of her after all. “Have they been dying to meet me or something?”

He makes a face at her that makes her laugh, her eyes lighting up as his expression alone confirms what she’d been thinking.

“Have you been talking about me to your coworkers, Ino?” She teases, her grin practically splitting her face.

“Don’t be an idiot, of course I do,” He tries to play it off, reaching out for the remote again, but she pulls her hand away just before he can take it, subsequently having him lean almost fully across her, his arm outstretched towards the object that could free him of this torture. “(y/n)” He huffs in annoyance, frowning at her when she still doesn’t play the movie.

“Nuh uh,” She says childishly while shaking her head. “What do you tell them about me?” She presses further.

He wants to roll his eyes, and huff and groan until she’s annoyed into going back to their movie- which had just been starting to get good before he started this whole thing- but he can’t. He just can’t bring himself to do it. Not when she’s grinning up at him and he swears he sees an actual sparkle in her eyes.

“C’mon dummy, they know all about you” Again, Ino tries to play it off like it’s not a big deal.

(As if he hadn’t gone on a long winded story to Nanami just the other day about how he was going to surprise her with a fruit bouquet of mangos on her nearing birthday, because she’d recently become obsessed with the tangy fruit and demanded they picked up the most overpriced ones every time they went to the grocery store. Nanami had little to know interest in hearing about all the places Ino had researched who make fruit arrangements and how he hadn’t deemed any of them good enough yet)

“All about me, huh?” She repeats curiously, before humming, content with the response.

Then she finally pushes play on the remote before dropping it onto the cushion beside her. Ino sends a silent thank you prayer to whatever greater force was looking out for his dignity, and settles back into his seat.

He swears when (y/n) gets settled, she’s sat just a little bit closer to him. He’s pretty sure her shoulder wasn’t grazing against his earlier.

They’re a few minutes in before she speaks up again, her voice merely a soft whisper beside him.

“You didn’t have to be all shy about it. I talk about you at work all the time”

Ino can barely keep his focus on the whole rest of the movie.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The work event isn’t necessarily a fancy one. There’s not a dress code, and despite Ino’s worries with Gojo organizing it, it’s not at some five star establishment he couldn’t even afford to look at. It’s held at a small local restaurant and bar.

Gojo does, however, rent out the place for the evening, so the only patrons tonight would be those from Jujutsu Tech, and whoever they decide to bring.

Despite it being business casual at most, it still feels like it’s the most dressed up he’s ever gotten for going somewhere with (y/n). Maybe it’s just his heart working on overdrive after seeing the simple but sleek black dress she’d chosen to wear for the night, paired with a little mesh wrap that was tied in a little bow at her chest and flared at the sleeves for some personality- but as soon as the evening began, Ino was starting to overthink.

“I’ve never been here before,” (y/n) hums as they approach the venue. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this”

She peeks a glance over at Ino as he’s also admiring the building. It’s a rather small restaurant, but the architecture has enough character that it’s worth getting a good look at before going inside. Or maybe he was just stalling where he could.

He looks really nice tonight, she thinks, and the thought instantly makes her heart skip a beat as she takes a few more seconds to look at him. He’s in dark slacks and a cotton black sweater that looks so soft she’s suddenly dying to pinch the fabric between her fingers to see for herself. It’s paired with a white collared undershirt for a little extra flair- something she knows she once told him she liked seeing on a man- and without his mask piled up on top of his head his long hair wisps in slight curls around his ears, just barely touching his shoulders.

She knows she’s been staring for too long, but it takes a few tries before she actually pulls her gaze away from him.

“I wasn’t either,” Ino says, and it takes her a minute to remember what she’d even said. “Knowing Gojo, I was expecting something… worse”

(y/n) chuckles to herself, before nodding to the door.

“Time to enjoy not worse?” She prompts, and he grins before gesturing for her to follow him inside.

Ino reaches over her shoulder to push the door open, only to follow behind her with a gentle hand on her back guiding her in. The silk of her dress is so smooth and thin against the light graze of his hand that he can feel the heat of her skin through it, and it takes a mental talk with himself in order to keep him from pressing his hand fully against her back.

She gives him a sweet smile in gratitude, before both of their attention is pulled away by the shrill of cheering amongst the chatter of people in the restaurant.

There weren’t a lot of people- there weren’t many jujutsu sorcerers to begin with- but there were enough to fill the room with a certain level of white noise with background conversation. All of that was drowned out by a small group of people currently shouting and beckoning Ino and his date over towards them.

Most of the shouting came from Gojo, but Shoko and Utahime seemed to be at just the right amount of intoxicated to join in with loud bouts of laughter. Nanami is also at the table, politely sipping his drink with a mere nod of greeting as Ino brings (y/n) their way.

“I guess I should have given you some warnings” He says under his breath as they make their way through the slight crowd.

Most of the managers are grouped together, Nitta giving a friendly wave in passing before going back to a heated argument that made Ino and (y/n) chuckle to themselves. It lightened some of the tension in (y/n’s) shoulders. She didn’t want to bother him with her silly anxieties, but she’d been quite worried about showing up to an event full of people who were extraordinary, meanwhile she was merely a salary worker.

Don’t get her wrong, she worked hard and was proud of how quickly she’d moved up in the ranks, but how could she compare that to people with other-worldly abilities? People who actively saved lives?

“Warnings?” She murmurs, glancing over at him, only to find his gaze already set on her.

“Not- not bad ones, necessarily,” Ino stammered. “It’s just… Gojo is loud, and nosy, but he’s a good time and he means no harm, promise,”

(y/n) nods in understanding, eyes flickering back to the table of sorcerers they were currently headed towards. She had a pretty good idea of which one was Gojo.

“Nanami’s quiet. He looks judgemental, but he’s not. Well- maybe a little, but he’s polite. So. It’s fine, I don’t have any warnings about Nanami, he’ll like you a lot”

“Yeah?” A flattered smile spreads across her glossy lips. It was silly to take pride in being liked by a stranger, but she knew how much Ino looked up to his mentor, and it made her heart flutter to think he believed the man he respected so much would approve of her.

“Absolutely,” Ino’s voice is rich with certainty as he nods at her. “Shoko’s kind of a weirdo, that’s just cause she works in the morgue all day so her sense of humor is… warped. Utahime is her not-very-secret girlfriend, I’ve told you about that right?”

(y/n) nods in confirmation. She may have never met these people, but she felt like she knew most of them well enough just from the late night gossip sessions they’d have after a shared bottle of wine.

“Any questions?” He asked, slowing their steps the closer they got to the table.

It was just like Gojo to set his little crew of odd semi-forced friends up in the corner where they could have some privacy, even though they were the loudest bunch of the whole gathering. At least he had the decency to rent the place out so the only people he was bothering were those he already bothered on a regular basis.

“No,” (y/n) said softly, before reaching out and curling her fingers around the sleeve of his shirt, bringing his attention back towards her. “Just one request?”

Ino gives her a small nod, halting in place as he stares at her with a grave seriousness in his eyes.

“Don’t ditch me here?”

He almost laughs at the ask, but he stops himself when he notes the hints of anxiety hidden in her expression. The twitch at the corner of her mouth, the slight pinch in her brow. He clears his throat and nods at her, before grinning widely.

“Of course not!” He declares, squeezing her wrist gently before she drops her hold on his sleeve. “What do you take me for? A gentleman would do no such thing”

And as they finally approach the table of Ino’s closest colleagues, they’re both laughing, and some more tension is relieved from her shoulders.

Ino’s quick to introduce her, and he goes around the table to remind her of everyone’s names quickly, trying to get the awkward stage out of the way as quickly as possible. Everyone behaves well enough, or as well as he could hope for. Utahime’s a bit excitable as she compliments (y/n’s) dress and sparkling accessories, but it helps to break the ice as the two slip into conversation about their favorite boutiques.

Ino wants to point out that the Kyoto based sorcerer never was one for small talk with him, but he keeps his mouth shut solely because (y/n) warms up to her and Shoko quickly and he doesn’t want to throw a wrench in their bonding.

Gojo’s clearly in the middle of some wild and possibly partially made up retelling about a special grade curse he’d exorcized on a recent assignment, so after introductions he resumes his exaggerated storytelling, giving (y/n) and Ino time to order drinks and chat with Shoko and Utahime a little longer.

“You’re pretty brave for coming,” Shoko points out to (y/n), earning a slight glare from Ino, to which she backtracks and waves her hand dismissively. “I just mean because this is the worst”

“I don’t think so” (y/n) shrugs with a sweet smile as she sips her drink.

“You don’t know us that well yet, you’ll change your mind later,” Utahime chimes in. “This,” She gestures towards Gojo, who’s talking wildly with his hands as he reaches the climax of his story. “Is why I took off to Kyoto, first chance”

It earns a laugh from Shoko and Ino, so (y/n) forces a small chuckle as well, but so far she couldn’t complain about the company. Sure, the white haired man wearing sunglasses inside in the evening seemed a bit theatrical and high energy, but it was a party setting, right? So she could give him the benefit of the doubt for now.

“Speaking of-” Shoko gets up from her seat, not so subtly tapping Utahime’s hand, “I need a smoke”

“Oh, yeah, me too”

Utahime glances at (y/n) and Ino with a raised brow, silently offering them to join, but one look at Shoko’s wide eyes tells them to shake their heads and stay in place. Even if they did smoke, they were clearly not wanted at this particular break.

Once they’re out of sight, (y/n) turns to Ino, obviously fighting a grin on her face, before she leans in close to talk a little more privately.

“Oh, it’s painfully obvious”

He laughs back at her, nodding his head in agreement before tapping the rim of his glass against hers.

Their moment is broken up when long limbs stretch across the empty space that Utahime and Shoko had left, and apparently Gojo had wrapped up his story because now he’s slinking towards the two with a coy grin on his face.

“We haven’t been properly introduced, have we?”

(y/n) fights the urge to stagger backwards as he comes close. He has a wild sort of energy surrounding him. He’s intimidating, but not in a way that makes her afraid, just very aware of how large and powerful he is. She wonders if even a non-sorcerer like her can pick up on signatures of cursed energy, or if this was just his raw aura.

But the way he smiles is inviting and the bubbly giggles that erupt from him provide nothing but a feeling of friendliness, as if he was someone (y/n) had known for years.

“Almost a year” She answers, forcing a smile that she hopes doesn’t come across as awkward as it feels.

“Wow, a whole year!” He cheers, raising his glass at the accomplishment. “That’s absolutely marvelous. A whole year, huh?” He repeats it again thoughtfully, tilting his head just slightly.

Ino’s not sure if she’s noticed, but since Gojo approached them, he hadn’t once torn his eyes off of her. Perhaps she couldn’t tell with the dark shades covering his line of sight, but Ino had gotten quite used to reading Gojo’s body language even with the blockage of a blindfold.

He also wasn’t a complete dunce, he knew that the way she looked tonight made it difficult for anyone to take their eyes off of her. Even Utahime had gotten that glazed over look after they talked for long enough. No one was immune, it seemed, but Gojo was probably the only person in the room that sparked a nasty feeling in Ino’s chest with the way he smirked down at her.

The feeling is a dull heat, only ignited into something worse when Gojo pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head, bright blue eyes on full display, and now so obviously focused on (y/n).

“How does someone go a whole year living with a pretty thing like you and not make a move, hm?”

Ino’s face twists up with shock and disgust, which humors Gojo as he begins to cackle, but he still doesn’t spare a glance away from (y/n), who barely reacts at all as she stands before them. She simply tilts her glass around, slowly mixing the ice around her drink. She doesn’t crack a laugh, but she also doesn’t give any sign that she’s upset with the unabashed flirting.

Neither of them are given the proper chance to respond to the bold comment, as suddenly Nanami’s approaching them, shooting Gojo a look that made the special grade sorcerer head off with some excuse about a fresh drink.

Thankfully, Nanami completely changes the subject of conversation, and Ino does his best to forget about what just happened as (y/n’s) properly introduced to his mentor. They shake hands, exchange a few pleasantries, but are ultimately quick to jump into conversation about Ino himself- even with him still standing there.

A lot of the stories they share are more embarrassing than he’d like, but he’s able to stand it for a little while. For both of them, at least. They were the most important people in his life after all, he’d been eager for them to finally meet.

But as soon as (y/n) gets Nanami to actually laugh about her first witnessing his cursed technique over an unwanted bug in the apartment, Ino finds himself using the same lame excuse of grabbing them a couple more drinks before he’s darting away from the downright humiliating memory.

(y/n) giggles and doesn’t even indulge Nanami in the story once Ino’s walked away. She’d just wanted to make him sweat a little, and clearly his mentor had gotten a kick out of it as well.

“He clearly adores you,” Nanami says, cutting through the light hearted atmosphere with a statement so genuine that (y/n’s) features soften as she takes in his words. “I’ll give him that. He’s a good sorcerer, and person. And clearly his judgment is well founded”

It’s a… distinguished compliment, that’s for sure. (y/n) finds herself blushing and she can’t even quite explain why. Was it the compliment itself or the insinuation behind it? Ultimately she decides to play it off due to the slight buzz she was running on.

“I’m certainly lucky to have him,” She says, and just as she glances around the room to see where he’d gone, he’s already heading back towards her with two drinks in his hands. “I owe a greater force big time for bringing me to him, don’t I?” She murmurs.

She doesn’t look back at Nanami when she speaks, her eyes too focused on the man headed in her direction. The blonde sorcerer ducks his head and tries to cough over his chuckling. It’s a pitiful attempt, but judging the glazed over look in her eyes as Ino comes near, he could probably count on her not having noticed his humored state.

“Thank you” She hums when Ino hands her the fresh glass, taking the empty one from her other hand and placing it on an empty table behind him.

“Did I take too long?” He asks, just quiet enough for her to hear.

There’s a look on her face he can’t quite read, but it’s so lovely he couldn’t even be bothered to try to decipher it as he smiles fondly back at her.

Nanami takes a subtle step backwards as he watches them mirror that lovesick look at one another.

“Not at all, I was just getting to know your mentor a little better,” She tells him, gesturing to Nanami, who had now turned and was walking away completely. “He has very kind things to say about you”

She tilts her head at him as her smile grows a little wider. Ino raises a brow back at her, unable to help the small bit of laughter that escapes him as he holds her stare.

“That so?” He hums, growing amused as he realizes she’s just a little bit drunk. “Are you having a good time?” He asks, and she knows he’s really asking if she’s feeling the alcohol a bit, but she nods back at him anyways, unbothered by the hidden question.

“I am, I’m glad you brought me”

His smile softens.

“Me too”

Utahime and Shoko return shortly after, and soon the four of them are seated at one end of the table sharing all sorts of stories, from work to drama to things they definitely didn’t need to share for being new acquaintances, (y/n) hit it off with the pair so well Ino didn’t want to do anything to reel her in. He was just relieved to see her getting along with the people of that part of his life.

It also helped that throughout the night she seemed to draw closer and closer to him. Whether they were walking up to the bar and she kept so close their arms brushed together, or when they sat down and she pulled her chair close to his so that when she was leaning into the table she was reaching across his lap and almost completely in his space. Ino could almost pretend that she was his date for the night. He’d weakly mustered up the courage to drape his arm over the back of her chair, but that was as much of a leap as he was willing to take.

Not long after though, she raised her empty glass in his direction, and her free hand reached over her shoulder where his hand dangled off her chair, so her fingers could wrap around his.

“Another?” She hums curiously, still swirling the glass in a small circle.

His hand unintentionally twitches when her soft skin brushes over it, and as if on instinct, she slots her fingers between his.

She’s touched him before, of course, it’s not like he’s never had skin-to-skin contact before. When patching him up, or bumping into each other in the kitchen. One thing was certain, though… they never held hands.

And she holds his hand now with that pretty smile on her face as she waits for him to answer her question- wait, shit, how long has it been since she asked him that question?

“Yeah, yeah, let’s get another round” He agrees, and carefully slides his chair back before standing, not wanting to bump into hers.

Even when she stands, she keeps her fingers curled between his. Ino’s not sure if she’s even aware of it- should he pull his hand away? Or perhaps she was just a bit drunk and didn’t want to stumble in her heels- so keeping his hold on her would be the right thing to do, right?

She gives Shoko and Utahime a cheeky little wave before following beside Ino towards the bar. Their hands still clasped together between them. He wonders if she knows that she’s making his heart race at an unhealthy pace.

But she must know, she must realize she’s still holding it, because once they approach the bar and wait for their drinks, she’s lazily swinging their conjoined hands back and forth as she strikes up a conversation with him.

“This is much cooler than any work event I’ve ever gone to,” She tells him. “It’s always at a chain restaurant, and there’s a socially acceptable amount of drinks you can have”

Ino chuckles at the slight pout on her face, and finds himself giving into the slight swing of their arms. “This stuff barely ever happens,” He shrugs. “Probably because most people can only take Gojo in concentrated amounts,”

Her eyes are wide as she nods at him in understanding. In the brief interaction she’d had with the special grade sorcerer, she already completely understood what he meant.

“But if this doesn’t end in disaster and there’s a chance for another one in eight to eighteen months, you’re invited” He teases.

She lights up like a christmas tree, as if he’s just promised her tickets to a sold out tour of her favorite artist, or a seat on the next shuttle to the moon. Her lips curl into the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen, eyes glimmering with her excitement and honor, and if Ino wasn’t swooning as hard as he was, he might’ve chuckled at the drunken delight.

“Really?” She gushes, eyebrows raising with her hope. “You will?”

A breath of a laugh escapes him as he nods, and she rocks on her feet momentarily, too giddy to stand still. He can’t help but reflect her grin back at her.

They’re handed their drinks, and finally (y/n) pulls her hand out of his. He tries not to show his disappointment. Before Ino can think of something clever to say, something that borders the line of teasing and flirting that he’s usually so good at tip-toeing over, someone else joins them at the bar.

Gojo Satoru on a regular day is a menace. Although Ino didn’t always mind, not like his mentor did. More often than not, he’d match the energy and get a good laugh in for the day. But at a work-social event? Gojo was insufferable. Ino had already decided this the second he’d decided to hit on (y/n).

Was he irritated for the right reasons? No. Was he actively trying to get over his feelings for his sweet, perfect, beautiful roommate? Maybe. Did that mean shit? Absolutely not.

He’s decided that as soon as Gojo purrs out another flirty line- which he’s bound to do judging from the way he’s currently looking at her- that he’s going to take her hand again and drag her away without a word. His heart starts to race in his chest from the anticipation, knowing that it’s soon to come once Gojo’s done chatting her up about how swell of time she’s having.

As powerful as he was, Gojo Satoru could be a bit predictable.

“You know, I could show you some pretty neat things at Jujutsu Tech if you ever wanted to learn more about sorcery,” He’s good at disguising his propositions as simple acts of kindness. Ino’s jaw twitches as it tenses, his teeth clamping down together. “I’m a really good teacher, you know”

“Oh?” (y/n) scoffs, she’s faster to react than Ino, and for being at a giggly-level of intoxicated, she plays off her scoff as playful as she quirks an eyebrow up at him. “You should probably save it for your students, then,” She says, and Ino fights the urge to snicker. Not very well, though, it’s pretty obvious when he purses his lips and his eyes crinkle with humor. “Besides, I’m taken”

Ino does a full double take, the joy on his face falling and transforming into one of utter bewilderment. If (y/n) notices the reaction, she chooses to ignore it, too busy staring down Gojo with a pointed smile that seemed sweet but screamed get lost instead.

Gojo doesn’t seem remotely offended by the bomb drop of a refusal. In fact, he almost looks amused by it. He grins from ear to ear as he nods back at her in understanding.

“Of course,” He murmurs, his gaze finally shifting towards Ino, only for a moment, before it’s focused on (y/n) again. “I wasn’t trying to offend” He says, and it’s genuine.

(y/n) beams.

“You didn’t”

With that, Gojo nods again, and then he disappears again. Off to mess with someone else, they suppose. Ino’s pretty sure Nanami was left unattended and he’s likely the next victim. If the situation wasn’t so pressing, he’d probably rush off to save his mentor from the torment.

Sorry, Nanami.

“Taken?”

He turns to (y/n) with a look on his face that makes her brighten up. That cute look of confusion mixed with curiosity, she just had to bask in the adorable way his brows would pinch then relax, then pinch and relax, as he struggled to keep his expression neutral. She giggles, her smile turning toothy as she lets him baffle himself for a few seconds longer.

And then, in that soft, saccharine voice, she murmurs up at him.

“Well, I sort of am, aren’t I?”

The night didn’t last much longer after that. Once Shoko and Utahime were tapping out and slowly leaving the venue so as not to be bombarded by anyone- Gojo- (y/n) clung to Ino’s side a little more, and grew a bit quieter as it got later, her buzz turning into sleepiness.

It wasn’t until Nanami made his departure that Ino decided to call it. The only other people who were still in for the night were the managers who didn’t know when to quit.

(y/n’s) leaning back in her chair, working on drinking a second glass of water and hardly paying attention to the conversation happening around her. She’d pulled her arms out of the sleeves of her wrap, but she let the material stay draped over her shoulders. Ino was convinced that she might fall asleep right there in her seat.

In the last couple of minutes, he’s glanced over to find her staring at him five or six times. Eventually he can’t hide the way his smile betrays him, and he mumbles a ‘what?’ under his breath at her.

She giggles back at him, airy and carefree, before she leans over to brush a lock of hair that curled around his ear. A noticeable blush dusted over his cheeks as soon as her finger grazed his skin, even though the motion is just her drunken form of platonic affection, she leans so close that he can smell her perfume, and even once she’s tucked the piece of hair behind his ear, she lingers there for just a minute longer. The lump in Ino’s throat is too large for him to talk through, so all he can do is hope his eyes aren’t ridiculously wide as he stares back at her, before she settles back in her seat again.

He thinks he might cancel his upcoming haircut appointment. Even though it’s length was starting to get a bit annoying, he might try out the longer hairstyle for a while. And if (y/n) continues to reach out to give it a little tuck behind his ear then that would simply be a minor bonus, wouldn’t it?

It dawns on him after he spirals on the thought for a while that the night should be wrapped up soon. It was time to get back home where he could chug some water and hopefully forget about how much he’d embarrassed himself tonight.

“Hey,” Ino murmurs, tapping the back of her hand gently to get her attention. Her eyelids are heavy as she glances over at him, a small smile gracing her lips. “You ready to go home?”

(y/n) wakes up a bit more at that, nodding her head and tucking her arms through the sleeves of her wrap.

They slip out not long after that. Ino keeps his arm around her waist, murmuring something about keeping her upright that he’s not even sure she hears before she’s leaning against him, slowly walking along the sidewalk on their way to the train station. The walk and ride home is mostly silent, but it’s comfortable. He wouldn’t ask for anything else, as long as she was tucked into his side like she belonged there, like he was made to hold her like this.

He’s not sure if the heaviness in his heart is because he’s so full of love, or if it’s because he knows deep down that this would be the closest to having her as his as he could get. Nonetheless, he keeps his hold on her secure until they’re back in the safety of their apartment.

“Thanks for the fun night, Ino,” She murmurs after kicking her shoes off by the door. “Let’s definitely do it again sometime, ‘kay?”

He can only manage a small smile and a nod of agreement back at her.

“I better get to bed, I’m going to pass out,” She lets out a tired little laugh, but before heading off, she steps closer to him, hand reaching out to give his shoulder a squeeze. Again, he gives her a smile, about to bid her goodnight as he usually does, but before he can say anything, she’s leaning up and pressing her lips against his cheek.

She kissed him.

He blinks, and she’s already pulled away, still smiling before she’s headed off to bed with a quiet goodnight hanging between them.

Needless to stay he stands at the door with his shoes still on for embarrassingly longer than necessary, his fingers ghosting over the spot on his face her lips had just blessed.

He was set back a few paces in his whole getting over her plan, tonight. In fact, he might’ve been knocked all the way back to square one.

Oh well, there was always tomorrow to try again.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“You should really make a move on that roommate of yours, you know”

Nanami’s sudden advice has Ino swiveling his head away from lunch, nearly giving himself whiplash as he stares at his mentor in shock. They hadn’t even talked about the event last friday, so far their talk today had been strictly work related.

(Except for when Ino saw a cat across the street while on a patrol and he insisted that Nanami named the stray before they went on their way. That was less-than work related)

“What?” The word comes out in a mere squeak, disbelief evident in his twisted expression, but he’d heard Nanami perfectly clear. The man nods again, chewing thoughtfully on his food before swallowing, and continuing on with his moment of advice.

Nanami didn’t often feel the need to give his pupil guidance outside of jujutsu sorcery. Ino was quite capable of taking care of himself, for being a young man with an odd form of income, he’d always taken care of himself well.

Now, however, the 7-3 sorcerer felt the need to involve himself with this one. And he wasn’t afraid to tell his apprentice that he was being an idiot.

“She’s a quite lovely young woman,” Nanami continues, and Ino already feels himself begin to blush. “It was a pleasure to meet her. I can see why you like her so much”

Ino gives a shaky nod, still suspicious of where this was all headed, and why Nanami was pushing him to make a move- or so he’d said.

“Yeah…” Ino agrees unsurely. “(y/n’s)... great”

Nanami hums as he nods his head, adjusting his glasses before sitting up straighter in his seat, giving Ino an unsettling amount of direct attention.

“She’s clearly infatuated with you,” The blonde sorcerer says bluntly. “So what’s holding you back, hm?”

Ino opens his mouth, but when an excuse doesn’t immediately come to mind, he shuts it again. He gapes a few more times, and Nanami is patient as he waits to hear whatever terrible excuse he comes up with, but eventually it becomes clear that Ino’s been stunned into silence, so Nanami takes over again.

“You’re a capable young man, Takuma. Whatever is holding you back, it’s time to let go of it. I only had to talk to her for a few minutes to know that that young lady is in love with you”

Ino’s still gaping like a fish, but as the words sink in, he snaps his mouth shut, and swallows the lump in his throat.

“What- uh- why are you telling me this?” He stammers out.

Nanami sighs softly, a small smile gracing his lips. It was heartwarming to see the shy young love blossoming before him. At least, when it wasn’t obnoxiously ignored by Takuma.

“Because it’s obvious when you two look at each other. Usually that means it’s time to fess up”

“Wait wait wait,” Ino put his hands up, leaning over the table they shared as he wrapped his mind around the sudden advice. “Are you giving me… romance advice right now?”

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Nanami grumbles, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “But you’re ignoring it”

“So you agree it’s romance advice-”

“You love her, don’t you?” Nanami interrupts him then, brows raised pointedly as he waits for the confirmation. It was a simple yes or no question, wasn’t it?

When Ino shuts his mouth and swallows hard, Nanami accepts that as answer enough.

“Then don’t you think you should tell her?”

“I…” Well, he couldn’t exactly argue with such sound advice, could he? And he certainly wasn’t about to argue with the mentor he respected beyond belief. “I just don’t want to ruin a good thing” He admits quietly.

Now, even his ears feel like they’re on fire with the admission.

“And if you never say a thing and eventually she moves on to someone else? You wouldn’t regret your choice?”

Ino frowns. He should have known Nanami was only going to hit him with logic.

He finishes his lunch quietly, a silence settling between them as Nanami feels as though he’d said what he needed to say. Ino was clearly thinking it over pretty hard- seeing as he was making his thinking face throughout the rest of their lunch break- and now all Nanami could do was hope his words would stick.

At the end of the day he wanted to see his pupil happy. Takuma Ino was a good egg, and he deserved happiness.

It would also help if he didn’t have to sit through another event where they made heart eyes at each other for two and a half straight hours. But mostly that first thing.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Ino’s nervous when he approaches the door of his apartment that evening. It was a nice night, his final assignment didn’t go too late, and he made it home at the early early time of seven p.m.

When he does unlock the door and let himself inside, it’s not a surprise to be instantly greeted by (y/n), who grins at him from the kitchen.

“Ino!” Her smile stretches from ear to ear when he walks into the apartment. She’s in the kitchen, wearing the silly but cute duckling themed apron she wore anytime she was in the kitchen, even if she was only using the toaster, she’d put that apron on.

So cute, he sighs as he leans back against the door, at a loss for words. So domestic. (y/n) looks puzzled by him staying at the door without coming in all the way, or saying hello.

With a concerned knot between her brows, she drops the utensil in her hand on the counter, and makes her way towards him.

“Ino?” She calls worriedly. “You alright?”

“Yeah- yeah, I’m fine, just tired, s’all” He stammers back, finally pulling the beanie off his head and dropping it on the small table they keep by the door, then kicking off his shoes.

(y/n) frowns.

“Long day?” She lets out a sigh, then wraps her arms around herself as she awaits whatever terrible thing he has to share.

Jujutsu sorcery wasn’t always about unique talents and powerful people, she’d learned quickly. She’d seen Ino return home with a weight that only failing innocent people could place on his shoulders. Tonight, she assumes that the lost, glazed over look on his face is due to something of the sort.

“It’s not like that,” He says as he watches her expression sadden. Ino forces a quick smile as he shakes his head at her. “Don’t worry about it”

She doesn’t look at him any different, still frowning, still waiting for him to tell her what’s on his mind.

“I am worried,” She murmurs gently. She doesn’t want to push him, but she needed him to know that she was there for him if he needed to get something off his chest. “Did something happen-?”

“No- no it’s really not…” He tries to explain to her that his anxiety tonight has nothing to do with work, but he doesn’t yet know how to tell her that it had everything to do with her. He wasn’t sure how she’d take it. Wasn’t sure if it would come out right.

Growing more concerned by the second, (y/n) takes a larger step closer, her hands reaching out for his out of instinct. He flinches slightly when she first takes hold of them, but he lets her. He lets her squeeze onto them and pull them close to her.

“If you need to talk about it-”

Ino doesn’t like the way she looks at him like she could break just thinking he was in some sort of pain. So before he can refine the words in his mind, he blurts out what had been plaguing him.

“What did you mean the other night when you told Gojo you were taken?”

It does the trick, because her expression morphs instantly. She’s staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes, lips still parted around the rest of her question that she now drops completely. It catches her so off guard that she’s dead silent for a few seconds.

“And then you said you sort of were- what does that mean?” Ino’s prepared with another question, and she worries he’ll keep piling them on before she could come up with the proper answers for them.

Her face feels warm, and a nervous smile spreads on her lips, followed by a small chuckle that dies in her throat. It’s a cute sound, anxious, but cute nonetheless. It makes the corner of Ino’s lips tilt upwards upon hearing it. It was a natural reaction, smiling whenever she would laugh. He couldn’t help it. Seeing her happy, even in a state of nervous energy, set butterflies free in his stomach in a way he hadn’t felt since his childhood.

“I… I meant…” She’s stuttering, voice failing her the longer his honey brown eyes are staring into hers. “You know what I meant” She finishes the thought quietly, barely under her breath.

He softens, and then melts before her. His hands squeeze her with the smallest amount of force, barely there, but enough for her to feel it.

She’s blushing, her cheeks a rosy shade of pink that’s so lovely he almost can’t stand it. He leans towards her, watching as her eyes grow a little rounder upon the close proximity.

“(y/n),” He murmurs, so soft she wouldn’t have caught it if the syllables of her name didn’t brush against her skin with his breaths. “I need you to tell me, alright? Because-” He pauses, his eyes flickering between hers for a moment, and she swears they dart down to her lips before raising to her eyes again. “- because I need to know I’m not seeing things and- and making them up before I do something stupid that I can’t take ba-”

“How stupid?” She cuts him off, pressing closer, as if it could get her an answer faster. It might work, because she barely finishes the question before he’s replying.

“Very stupid” He breathes through the words, like it pained him to even say them.

The faintest of laughs fall from her lips, before she tilts her head and gazes up at him fondly.

“Who knew you thought twice about stupid things before you did them?” She teased. It’s so soft, so sweet, that he cracks a smile. It washes away all of his nerves, and his stupid idea doesn’t seem so stupid anymore.

Tugging on her hands, he pulls her closer to him, until she’s practically tripping into his chest, but he doesn’t care when they collide unceremoniously. He’s already letting go of her hands so that she can brace them against his shoulders, steadying herself, and just in time before he’s cupping her face in his hands and slamming his lips against hers.

As sudden as the kiss is, (y/n) meets him with the fervor of a long awaited passion. Her hands squeeze his shoulders, latching probably too tight but if it hurts he shows no sign of pain.

His lips are so soft, despite being chapped and his kisses being rushed, they were so gentle against hers that she could feel her knees wobbling. He’d probably tease her for it later, but right now she couldn’t care.

He kisses her like they only have a limited amount of time. As if they’re not at the entryway to their shared apartment. His hands slide from her cheeks to the sides of her head, into her hair, holding onto her with a firm grip- as if she’ll slip away from him at any moment.

But the truth was, this was heaven. She could stand here and kiss him and be kissed by him for hours. Days, even.

He only pulls away from her when his body has him gasping for air, chest heaving, lips hanging open as he pants, she has to giggle just a little bit at his desperation. Even if she matched it as well.

Their noses are still pressed together, and their hands remained latched onto one another as they both caught their breath. Ino shares her laughter once the haze over his mind clears up and the reality of what they just did sinks in.

“So,” He mumbles, heavy eyes finding hers, making her fight the urge to steal another kiss. “Stupid?”

With a smile she tries to bite back, she shakes her head at him.

“No,” She murmurs back. “Not stupid”

Dinner is forgotten on the counter, going cold the longer it remains that way.

Ino beats her to another kiss. It feels like ages as they stand at the door embracing one another, kissing in between fits of giggles and sweet confessions, and kissing just to kiss.

He understood exactly what she meant when she’d said she was taken. Because, well, he sort of was too. Long before now. His heart was stolen the day she responded to his ad, and with it their fates sealed.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[ it’s better than i ever even knew // they say that the world was built for two // only worth living if somebody is loving you // and baby now you do. ]

#takuma ino #takuma ino x reader #ino x reader #ino takuma x reader #ino takuma #takuma #ino #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagine

652 notes · View notes

nanawritesit · 10 months ago

Text

Being EXO’s fem!idol crush who gets shipped with them - Maknae Line Ver.

Hyung Line Ver.

a/n: this is based on the SM girl group idol au that i wrote a while back, please read that first so that the writing will make sense :) AND these scenarios are LONG (esp. Chanyeol’s omg it took FOREVER) so i’m splitting this into two parts! enjoy :)

TW: kissing, sleeping in the same bed, mentions of food, slightly suggestive remarks, mentions of bullying, being held, sitting on his lap, mild cursing

Chanyeol:

You were both sent by the company to be on a new variety show called “Idol Roommates,” where a bunch of idols would be living together in the same house for a month. SM had sent you, Chanyeol, Yeri, and Ten, Hybe had sent Beomgyu, Jake, Sakura, and Minji, and JYP had sent Bangchan, Yuna, Lily, and and Gunil. The fans were super excited to see all of their favorite idols be roommates, and you had to admit, you were a little too excited to be living in such close proximity with Chanyeol.

The first episode began with you all arriving to the house with your label mates, and greeting all the other idols in the kitchen. There were cameras hidden all around the house, except for in the bathrooms, so you never really could tell what was being broadcasted and what wasn’t.

“So, what do we do first?” Sakura asked once everyone had arrived.

“Oh, there’s a note here on the table…” Bangchan said as he reached for it. “‘Welcome to your new home for the next month! In this bowl are all of your names. Please draw for your roommate and choose your rooms in order of your ages.’” he read aloud.

“Well, Chanyeol hyung is the oldest, so he goes first.” Ten explained, patting Chanyeol’s shoulder.

“Wow, you don’t have to rub it in.” Chanyeol joked, a playful smile on his face. Everyone laughed along with him, quieting down when he reached into the bowl to draw a name.

“Y/N.” he announced. Everyone turned to you expectantly. Yeri and Ten shot you mischievous grins, to which you blushed and looked away. They knew about your enormous crush on Chanyeol, how he had been your bias since high school, and how you used to have posters of him all over your wall. You shot them a dangerous glare before turning to Chanyeol.

“Alright, shall we go pick our room?” you proposed, desperate to get the attention off yourself.

“Yeah, let’s go!” he agreed, leading you up the stairs.

“This one looks the biggest.” you suggested after you had surveyed all the rooms.

He walked over from the other end of the hall and glanced inside the room you were talking about. “Alright, works for me!”

You had separate beds on opposite sides of the room, but it was still a little awkward. The two of you had several interactions in the past, and they were all pleasant, but mostly formal. You began unpacking your suitcases and shuffling around the room to get settled in silence.

As you did so, you could hear the other groupings running excitedly up the stairs to claim their rooms. Ten and Sakura were first, then Bangchan and Yeri. Gunil had picked Jake, then Beomgyu picked Lily, and that left Yuna and Minji together. Hearing the chatter of your colleagues in the background helped ease the tension a bit.

“Do you sleep with a light on?” Chanyeol asked suddenly, making you jump a bit.

You nodded sheepishly. “I’m a bit scared of the dark to be honest.”

“Ah, you’ll have to remind me. I don’t sleep with a light. Are you okay with having a fan on?”

“Yeah, I don’t mind that!” you told him, shuffling awkwardly. “I’m sorry you got stuck rooming with me. I know I’m not the most fun person in the world.”

“No, don’t be sorry… I’m actually relieved that I drew your name.” he told you reassuringly.

“Really?” you asked, cocking your head to the side in curiosity. “Why’s that?”

“Because you’re one of the few people I feel comfortable around in the idol world.” he answered, a tiny, bashful grin on his face.

You tried to ignore the flush creeping up your cheeks. “I feel the same way about you.”

Suddenly, Bangchan and Yeri appeared at your door. “Hey, are you guys ready for the debrief? We’re all heading downstairs now.” Chan asked.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Chanyeol replied, leading you out of the room. He followed Bangchan down the stairs, and with their backs to you, Yeri turned around and wiggled her brows at you. You pushed her forward a bit out of annoyance, causing her to tumble down the stairs by a few steps. You instinctively reached out for her, then looked at her, concerned. You both broke out into laughter, her gripping onto the railing and you holding onto her.

“That would’ve sucked.” Yeri chuckled, holding onto her stomach from laughing so hard.

—————

“Okay, so all the housework has been assigned.” Sakura declared, setting down her slice of pizza. “We’ll do meals in order of oldest to youngest, and chores in order of youngest to oldest.”

The production company had sent you all pizza for your first dinner, but you were instructed to prepare meals for the house for the rest of the time you would be there. That meant that you and Chanyeol would be preparing breakfast tomorrow.

For the remainder of the night, you all just chilled in the enormous living room and talked about all of your careers while a movie played on the TV. Conversation was flowing so smoothly that time just seemed to fly by, and before you knew it, everyone was getting up to get ready for bed, including you and Chanyeol.

“You can take a shower first.” he told you, sitting down at his bed to check his phone.

“Okay, thanks!” you chirped, making your way over to the bathroom.

Once you were done and in your pajamas, which embarrassingly enough had little kittens all over them, you padded your way back over to your own bed. “It’s all yours.” you told him.

“Awesome, be right back.” he responded, getting up from his bed. He did a double take as he looked at you. “Nice pajamas. They’re cute.”

You blushed, trying to focus on drying your hair. “Thank you. Kaori got them for me and I just can’t resist wearing them, even if they are kind of silly.”

“They’re perfect.” he smiled as he walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

You sighed, placing your hands on your cheeks to cool them off. Get it together Y/N. You’re on TV.

You went about the rest of your nightly routine, then curled up in bed to scroll on your phone for a bit. After a while, you heard the water shut off, meaning that Chanyeol was done with his shower. And then it happened. Everything went to black.

You yelped a bit at the sudden darkness, gripping onto your blankets.

“Guys?” you heard Gunil shout from down the hallway.

Everyone started emerging into the hallway with their phone flashlights on. “Is everyone okay?” you heard Lily ask.

“Everyone’s here except for Chanyeol and Y/N.” Jake stated. You heard shuffling down the hallway coming towards your room, which only made your anxiety worsen. You didn’t want any of your adult colleagues to see you scared out of your mind just because the electricity went out.

Just as you were preparing to face your housemates, Chanyeol emerged from the bathroom and practically sprinted over to the door with his own phone’s flashlight.

“Yeah, we’re both good in here.” he told your housemates from the doorway, shielding you from the view. “Since it’s the middle of the night anyway, I say we just all go to sleep. The production company’s cameras will have suddenly shut off, so I’m sure they’ll fix it by morning.”

“Yeah, that’s a good point.” Chan agreed. “Well, since everyone’s okay, let’s just go back to our rooms.”

Once everyone was back in their rooms, Chanyeol rushed over to you, sitting down on your bed. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice dripping with concern. You had never seen him so serious before.

“Yeah… just scared…” you shuddered, gripping onto your blankets.

“It’s okay, nothing is gonna happen to you. I promise.” he comforted you, patting your shoulder. “Do you think you can try to go to sleep?”

You thought for a moment, then shook your head. “I’d be too anxious. I know that nothing is going to happen to me, but it’s just a fear I’ve never been able to shake.”

He looked as if he was tossing an idea around in his head. Hesitantly, he looked back up at you. “Would you be able to sleep if we shared a bed?”

Your eyes went wide. Was Park Chanyeol actually offering to sleep in the same bed as you just so you would feel safe? It was as if all of your dreams were coming true in this moment.

You coughed awkwardly. “Well um… you don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable, but… it would definitely help.” you stuttered out.

“I don’t mind at all.” he told you, a comforting smile on his features. “I just want you to feel better.”

You grinned, feeling your heart swell with emotions, then scooched over to make room for him.

It was obviously a little bit awkward at first. You both faced away from each other, a good three inches of space between the two of you. You thought that was going to be how the rest of the night went, until you started shaking.

“Y/N, are you trembling?” Chanyeol asked, turning towards you.

You froze. “Um… yeah. I’m sorry. I’m just scared.” you sighed in humiliation.

“It’s alright… do you want me to hold you?” he offered, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“I… I don’t want you to feel like you have to…” you spat out reluctantly, even though your heart was screaming at you to say yes immediately.

“I want to, Y/N.” he told you, a slight chuckle slipping out as he did so. “I mean, who doesn’t want to hold the person they like as they fall asleep?”

Your heart stopped. More than anything, you said in your head.

Your mouth fell open in shock, and you frantically flopped over to face him completely. “You like me?”

He nodded, a small smirk on his face. “I thought it was obvious.”

Your face broke out into a huge, toothy grin, and you lunged forward to hide your blushing face in his chest. He chuckled at your bashfulness, closing his arms around you in a tight embrace.

“Shall we get some sleep?” he asked.

You happily nodded in his hold. “I think I can manage now that I’ll have something to dream about.”

“Goodnight Y/N.” he whispered, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead before curling up around you.

“Goodnight Chanyeol.”

—————

In the morning, you tumbled awake to see him sitting up against the headboard scrolling on his phone. “I was just about to wake you up.” he chuckled, ruffling your hair. “Did you sleep well?”

You nodded groggily, smiling through squinted eyes. “All thanks to you.” you curled into his side.

“Although you look super adorable right now, we really should get started on breakfast.” he suggested. “We don’t want everyone going hungry.”

“I suppose so…” you sighed, getting out of bed. You both threw on your robes and slippers and made your way downstairs to the kitchen.

“Alright, what are we working with?” Chanyeol inquired as he opened the fridge, inspecting its contents.

“Well first of all, we’re going to need lots of coffee.” you giggled, busying yourself with the coffee pot.

“Very true. I can get started on some eggs and bacon while you do that.” he decided, swiping the ingredients out of the fridge and moving over to the stove. You prepared breakfast in a comfortable silence, that was, until the front door swung open, and three suited men strode in. You recognized one as your manager, but had no idea who the other two were.

“Hyung? What’s going on?” Chanyeol asked one of the men you didn’t know. You now assumed it was his manager.

“Don’t worry, we shut the cameras off this morning.” the man responded to him. “However, the production manager would like to tell you something.” He turned to the last remaining unidentified man and looked at him begrudgingly. Your own manager looked equally as annoyed with the supposed production manager, tapping his foot impatiently.

The man sighed. “The electrical outage was staged last night. Cameras were rolling throughout the entire night, and everything that went on was broadcasted.”

“You mean… the fans saw…?” you asked meekly, feeling your heart drop into your stomach.

“Yes, they saw you and Chanyeol sleeping in the same bed and confessing to one another.” your manager told you, a sympathetic look in his eyes. “I’m sorry kid. They didn’t tell us about this, or else we would’ve told you not to act as if you were in private.”

“There is, however, a bit of good news that goes along with this.” Chanyeol’s manager interjected. “The fans are really happy about it.”

You both snapped your heads up in shock. “Really?”

“Our ratings went through the roof.” the production manager explained. “Just in the past eight hours, we’ve received more viewers than any of our previous pilot episodes combined.”

“What are they saying?” you inquired, still incredibly surprised that the response was positive. Fans were not usually supportive of idol romance, wanting to maintain their own personal fantasies about their idols being available. In fact, “Idol Roomates” was kind of a controversial show because it allowed male and female idols to live together as if they were couples.

“See for yourself.” your manager instructed, holding his phone out to you. You began scrolling through some recent tweets he had pulled up on his phone, Chanyeol looking over your shoulder to read them with you.

I TOLD YOU GUYS IDOL ROOMMATES WAS FIRE, NOW WE GET Y/N AND CHANYEOL CONTENT 🔥

channie was soooo sweet to comfort y/n while she was afraid of the dark 🥺 i love seeing him be so soft to her ❤️

that innocent forehead kiss!!! i love them so much!!! <3

“Wow… that’s amazing.” Chanyeol marveled, running a hand through his hair. “So… what now?”

“Well, that’s up to you guys.” his manager replied. “The company has given us the okay to either confirm or deny the relationship based on your wishes.”

You both glanced at the floor, thinking to yourselves for a moment. Suddenly, you looked up and realized that you didn’t owe anyone an explanation.

“Let’s not say anything.” you suggested. Everyone looked over to you with a slightly shocked expression.

“Nothing?” your manager asked. “You mean, just let them wonder?”

“Actually, that’s not a bad idea…” the production manager agreed, tapping his chin in thought. “They are the most popular couple on the show, and no matter what, there are going to be skeptics on whether or not it was staged. Why don’t we just let the show be an experiment?”

“And if we ever do develop a relationship, this can be looked back on as where it developed.” Chanyeol grinned, taking your hand in his.

You grinned at him appreciatively, then turned back to your manager. “Is that okay?”

He shrugged, an amused smile on his face. “It’s your call, kid.”

You looked back over at Chanyeol, who gave you a determined nod.

“Let’s do it.” you decided.

“Alright, case closed.” Chanyeol’s manager stated, clapping his hands together. “We’re going to see that you guys have a few minutes to speak with each other alone before they turn the cameras back on...” He shot a dirty look to the production manager before continuing. “… but other than that, we hope you have fun on the show. And please, don’t take it too far. Fans can be quite temperamental.”

As soon as the three men left the room, you turnt to Chanyeol. “Did you really mean that?”

“What? That I see us developing a relationship?” he asked, scratching his head with a cute smile. “I thought that much was obvious.”

You giggled, shaking your head at yourself. “This is the second time I’ve been completely oblivious. I feel like such a fool.”

“You’re not a fool.” he reassured you, pulling you into his arms for a tight hug. His height always allowed him to give the best hugs. He made you feel so safe and cared for. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Thank you…” you whimpered into his chest. “I really do want to make this work.”

“And it will.” he grinned, rocking you slightly. “I promise.”

You looked up, resting your chin on his chest. “I believe you. You promised nothing would happen to me last night, and you were right.”

He smiled down at you affectionately. “There’s one more thing I want to do with these last few minutes we’ll get alone.”

“Hm?” you asked, once again oblivious to his insinuation.

Before you even had time to register what was happening, his lips were on yours. His hands came up to hold onto your face and press himself further up against you. You held your breath, then relaxed into his arms, hands linking together behind his neck. He began to deepen the kiss, puckering his lips against yours repeatedly and darting his tongue between them periodically. When you were completely out of air, you pulled back, both of your chests heaving against one another.

“I can’t wait until this show is over and we can have some real privacy.” you grinned suggestively. “Now, shall we finish breakfast?”

D.O:

You rubbed your sweaty palms against the rough material of your jeans, taking a deep shaky breath as you waited in the recording studio. Usually when you were nervous in a place like this, it was because you were worried about messing up your notes or forgetting the lyrics. But that wasn’t the case today. You had practiced the drama’s OST relentlessly, and knew the song forwards, backwards, and sideways. What you were nervous about was the fact that you were going to be singing a duet with Do Kyungsoo.

Not only were you totally intimidated by his vocals, but you also had the most mortifying crush on him. Everyone at the company seemed to know about it except him, and you wanted to keep it that day. You just hoped you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself in front of him today.

You jumped as he entered the room, springing to your feet. He looked ungodly handsome, clad in a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up halfway and jeans.

“Hey Y/N.” he smiled warmly as you locked eyes. “How’s it going?”

“Hey, I’ve been really good!” you choked out, playing with the sleeve of your sweater. “How about you? I saw you guys were in Jeju Island last week. I mean, on Instagram, I wasn’t there stalking you or anything. Not that I’m not a fan, but…” you stopped yourself before you dug down into an even deeper hole.

He chuckled at your babbling, somehow finding it endearing. “We were, it was a really good trip. Although I almost threw Baekhyun off a cliff while we were hiking.”

“Oh, that’s not good! Accidents happen, I suppose.” you shrugged, brushing your hair back behind your ears. You could feel a thin layer of sweat on the back of your neck, a telltale sign that you were nervous. You had to tell yourself to calm down, you didn’t want to look sweaty when they filmed the video.

“Oh no, it would’ve been on purpose. He was being insufferable.” he explained, grinning evilly. God, he was so attractive.

You laughed, genuinely this time. “I get it. Sometimes I want to strangle the girls.”

He hummed in amusement. “Look at us, bonding over wanting to kill our members.”

You giggled at his comment, feeling yourself relax slightly. Maybe this isn’t going to be so ba-

“Alright guys, the company wants us to film the video now, so in the booth.” your manager decreed as he entered the room.

Nevermind.

“We don’t get a chance to practice at all?” Kyungsoo asked, looking understandably irritated.

“I’m sorry guys, they forgot about the deadline they gave the marketing team for the drama.” the other man explained sympathetically. “They need it within the next hour, and editing is going to need at least a half hour after we film it.”

“Awesome…” you sighed, grabbing a pair of headphones and following Kyungsoo into the booth.

You could feel your nerves getting the better of you, making your hands shake and your throat go dry, both of which would not be good for your performance.

Kyungsoo seemed to notice this, and grabbed your hand gently. Your heart stopped, making you freeze in place.

“Hey, you’ve got this.” he whispered with a comforting smile. “You have the voice of an angel.”

Butterflies swarmed in your stomach. He thought your voice was angelic?

“Alright guys, camera is rolling.” your manager said from the control panel. Music starting in 3…2…”

You exhaled as the music started, letting yourself ease up. You glanced over at Kyungsoo. He was looking at you with such kind, sensitive eyes. You couldn’t help the smile that appeared on your face as you began to sing your lines. When you were looking at him, it was really easy to belt out a love song.

He seemed to feel the same way as he started singing his own verse, his smile never faltering as he gazed into your eyes affectionately.

As you began to sing the chorus together, it was like the stars aligned. You were perfectly in synch, voices intertwining together like two rivers of golden honey merging into one. You were both putting so much passion and energy into the song, the lyrics resonating in both of your hearts as you looked at one another.

As the song came to a close, you both held your notes until the music ended, looking at each other breathlessly. Both of your eyes were twinkling, and you could feel chills running down your spine. That was the best duet you had ever sung with anyone.

“That was amazing you guys!” your manager suddenly said, snapping you out of your daze. “I don’t know how you guys did it perfect on the first try, but great job!”

“Uh, thanks!” you stammered, removing your headphones. You started to blush as you realized the amazing connection you and Kyungsoo had just had. Your anxiety was quickly returning, causing you to act without thinking.

You turned to him. “God, it’s hot in here. Are you hot? I mean, you are hot, I mean-“

He looked at you expectantly, as if you could possibly recover from that humiliating sentence. However, he didn’t look embarrassed at all. He had a hopeful glint in his eyes and an anticipated smile.

However, you were far too overwhelmed with your own nerves to notice. “Well, I’m gonna go home. See you later alligator!”

And with that, you bolted out of the studio and ran back to your dorm, not stopping until you were back in your bedroom. Nabi and Kaori were shouting after you, but you just ignored them, slamming your door behind you.

You collapsed your back against the door and slid down until you were on the floor, placing your head in your hands. “‘See you later alligator?’ What am I, 50?!”

—————

After a few hours of cycling through rotting in your bed, pacing the floor in anxiety, crying out of humiliation, and passing out from exhaustion, you were disturbed by yet another knock on your door. You groaned, assuming it was one of your members trying to talk to you again.

“Dude, I love you, but go away, I need to be alone.” you grumbled, pulling your pillow up over your head.

You heard the door open and someone walk in, but you didn’t have the energy to look up. Maybe if I stay really still, they’ll think I’m dead, and then they’ll leave, you thought.

You felt them sink down on the bed next to you and place a hand on your shoulder. “Y/N? Can we talk?”

You snapped up, eyes widening as you realized who was in front of you. “Kyungsoo!” You frantically fixed your hair and wiped your face. “Oh god, I look terrible…”

“No you don’t.” he chuckled, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear.

You froze at his touch, relishing the feeling of his fingers in your hair before blinking back to reality. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I just thought you should know how well our OST is doing.” he grinned, pulling out his phone. You leaned forward to see the music video you made that already had millions of views in just a few short hours.

“Wow, people love it this much?” you asked in disbelief.

“That’s not all. Look at the comments.” he handed you his phone, and you did as he asked.

You know this drama’s gonna be good when they got Y/N AND Kyungsoo to sing the OST… total power vocal couple!

Y/N and Kyungsoo might as well be the main couple in the drama, their chemistry is insane

the way they sing the song to each other… my heart 💓 💓💓

You couldn’t help the giddy feeling that was blooming in your chest, attempting to fight off your smile to no avail. “They really like us, huh?”

He nodded, setting his phone back down. “There’s another reason I came here.”

“Hm?” you asked, cocking your head to the side in curiosity.

He took your hand in his, just as he had done in the recording booth earlier. “Y/N, you don’t have to be so nervous around me. I think you’re adorable, and I really like you.”

Fireworks went off in your stomach. “Y-you do?”

“Of course I do.” he laughed, shaking your hand in exaggeration. “Why do you think I asked to sing the OST with you?”

Your jaw unhinged in shock. “You asked to be paired with me?”

“Well yeah, how else was I going to get close to you?” he chuckled. “I was going to ask you out after we finished, but you ran away so quickly, I never got the chance.

You blinked at him a few times, then erupted into a fit of laughter. He joined you, doubling over slightly.

As you both settled down, he leaned in closer. “Will you go out with me?” he practically whispered.

You nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, yes! Of course I will!”

He smiled brighter than you had ever seen him do before, then slowly inched closer to your face. His eyes were focused on your lips.

Deciding you had been oblivious enough for one day, you took the hint and closed the distance between the two of you, crashing your lips onto his. He placed a hand delicately on your cheek, then began deepening the kiss, until you both pulled away, eyelids fluttering open slowly.

He smirked. “So, where do you want to go, angel voice?”

Kai:

“You’ve got it… you’ve got it…” Ten instructed you, guiding your movements. You were both in the dance practice room, covered in sweat as you went through the routine. You were working on a partner dance for your next solo album, and you wanted it to be with Ten, but somehow it just wasn’t going as planned. You were stumbling through the steps, there was no flow so your movements were jerky, and you somehow couldn’t shake the tense expression from your face.

As the music finished, you awkwardly caught your footing and struck the most pathetic ending pose you’d ever done. Ten gave you a crooked smile out of sympathy, which somehow made you feel ten times worse.

“Ugh, this is hopeless.” you sighed, throwing your hands up in resignation as you plopped down on the floor and leaned your back up against the mirror. “I’m never going to get this routine down in time.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault.” he attempted to reassure you, sitting down next to you. “You’re doing everything right. Sometimes, it just takes a little while to get the right feel for it.”

“Yeah, or I’m just a horrible dancer.” you huffed. You put your head in your hands and scrunched up your hair. The shoot was in two weeks, and this routine had to be perfect. Your fans deserved nothing less.

Ten was conflicted on what he should say next. On one hand, he wanted to tell you how amazing and talented you were, but on the other hand, he knew it wasn’t going to mean anything if you didn’t believe it yourself. He decided to grab a water bottle and hand it to you with a warm smile. “How about you just take a little break? I’m sure you’ll feel better in a few minutes.”

You smiled back at him, taking the water bottle from him gratefully. Your brow furrowed as he stood up and walked towards the door. “Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna go find something that’ll help.” he grinned over his shoulder before leaving the room.

You shook your head at his cryptic behavior, then collapsed back against the mirror, staring up at the ceiling in desperation. Please God, if you’re listening, please send me something to help with this dance.

“Y/N?” you heard someone ask from the doorway.

You snapped your head down to see who it was, and smiled widely at the pleasant sight before you. “Kai! What are you doing here?”

“Just checking in on my favorite junior.” he smirked, shutting the door behind him as he strolled in. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his jacket as he stopped in front of you, looking you over with a concerned expression. “What are you doing on the floor?”

“Just taking a break.” you replied, stretching slightly. “I’m too bad of a dancer not to.”

He frowned, crouching down to your level to glare at you. “Don’t say that about yourself. You’re an amazing dancer.”

“You haven’t seen me practice this routine.” you chuckled. “I’m sure you would change your mind if you did.”

“Alright then, show me.” he demanded, standing back up and taking a step back.

“Wait, like now?” you asked, slowly getting up yourself. “You don’t even know the routine…”

“I’m sure I can improvise.” he grinned, taking his jacket off and throwing it to the side, leaving him in just a cutoff tank top and sweats. “What, do you doubt my skills?”

“Absolutely not.” you chuckled. You had been secretly admiring him since before you even became a trainee, in more ways than one.

You got into position and waited for the music to start, then thrust into action as you began the routine. The first half went almost perfect, as it was just your solo part. You began to get nervous as the duet portion approached, feeling your muscles begin to tense up.

Kai approached you and placed his hands gently on your waist, a focused spark in his eyes. He somehow knew the exact partner position, and began guiding you across the floor.

“Relax, relax…” he instructed calmly, “remember to breathe.” He spun you around and placed a hand on the small of your back.

You inhaled deeply, holding the breath in your chest for a bit, then exhaled and released all the tension you didn’t realize you were holding onto. You started being able to flow through the moves better, but now you were hyper-focusing the footwork.

“Hey, don’t look at your feet. Focus on me.” he brought you back to center once again, twirling you back to face him and placing his hands on the sides of your face.

You looked up at him, locking in on his pretty brown eyes. It was as if they were telling you exactly what you needed to do, and for a moment, your body was running on autopilot, and all you thought about was being close to him.

“Show me that pretty smile, white swan.” he chuckled with a playful grin, instantly making you giggle and blush.

You actually couldn’t believe that you were going through the entire routine without any problems, and as you struck the ending pose, you were absolutely speechless. “That was…”

“Brilliant!” Ten suddenly interrupted you, causing you to jump away from Kai defensively.

“T-Ten!” you stammered nervously. “We were just-“

“It’s okay, I told him to come here.” your best friend smirked from the doorway. “I found him in the hall and he asked how you were doing.”

“You did?” you asked, a touched lilt to your voice.

“I told you, I wanted to check in on my favorite junior.” Kai explained, brushing the hair out of his face with an innocent half smile. “Ten said you were having trouble with the dance, so I had him show me the training video, and then I told him I’d help you.”

“Oh, well that’s a relief...” you sighed, glad you didn’t have to explain yourself to Ten. “So, you’re not-?”

“Jealous? Hardly.” he chortled, shaking his head. “In fact, I think you should do the dance with Kai for your music video.”

Your jaw unhinged slightly in shock. “Really?”

“Oh yeah, the chemistry is way better. You really seem to enjoy yourself when you’re dancing with him.” he teased, winking at you inadvertently.

You shot him a warning glare, then turned back to Kai. “Is that alright with you?”

“It’d be my pleasure.” he grinned, extending his hand to you. “Shall we?”

—————

It had been a week since your latest solo comeback dropped, and all of Starlight was losing their minds over it. Albums sold out everywhere, you had already one two awards, and everywhere you went, you heard it being played on the radio.

After one of your performance stages, you were sitting in your dressing room, and decided to look over some of the comments on the music video again. You always loved seeing what your fans had to say about your work.

There were a lot about how pretty you looked, how beautiful your vocals were, and how proud of you your fans were, all of which made you giddy with appreciation. However, some were starting to stick out to you and pique your interest. Particularly, the ones about your dance with Kai.

the tension between Y/N and Kai is so thick you could cut it with a knife 👀

i don’t think i’ve ever seen our Y/N dance so well with anyone else than with Kai… i hope they do more stuff together :)

anyone else think Y/N and Kai would make the PERFECT couple??? just me???

You felt your cheeks grow red and warm at the insinuation. I mean, sure, you had been fantasizing about dating Kai for years now. But now that you knew your fans approved, it was all the more flustering.

“Knock knock.” someone interrupted your thoughts as they entered your dressing room.

You looked up, then scoffed playfully. “Kai, if you keep showing up unannounced, I’m going to have to start locking my door. I could’ve been bare faced!”

“And you’d still look just as beautiful.” he commented, smiling at you genuinely.

You pouted your lips affectionately, then stood up to hug him. “Thank you so much.”

“Me? What for?” he asked, wrapping his arms around you to reciprocate the hug.

“If it wasn’t for you, I never would’ve gotten that dance down.” you beamed into his shoulder.

A quiet chuckle rang through your ears. “You already had everything you needed to accomplish it. I just pointed you in the right direction.”

You gave him one final squeeze, then invited him to sit down on the couch with you. “So, what brings you all the way here?”

“Well, I had to admit, seeing you do the dance with that backup dancer on stage made me pretty jealous.” he replied, a more serious expression appearing on his face.

“Oh?” you inquired, folding your hands in your lap. “Is that so?”

He nodded slowly. “Indeed. I was going to let it go, but after reading some of the comments on your music video, I was inspired to do something about it.”

Your heart soared as you imagined him reading the exact comments as you had read previously. Did he feel the same butterflies when he read them over?

“And what exactly are you going to do?” you asked, feeling your nerves vibrate harder with every passing second.

“I want to ask you out.” he told you. He leaned in closer to you, to where you could see the sparkle in his eyes. “Is that alright?”

“Yes, it is.” you replied, letting a huge smile plaster itself across your face. “And yes, I’ll absolutely go out with you.”

He replicated your large grin, patting your leg affectionately. “That’s wonderful. Because I don’t want you dancing with anyone else.”

You chuckled, squeezing his hand a bit. “Well, you’re going to have to fight my members for that right.”

He thought to himself for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t think I could take them, they’re pretty tough. I’ll settle for being the only guy you dance with.”

“Deal.” you giggled, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his cheek. “Thank you again, Kai.”

“You’re welcome, white swan.” he chimed. He rose up from his seat and walked over to the door. “I’ll leave you to unwind. I’ll text you later to set up the date, okay?”

You nodded, waving goodbye to him. “Sounds good, talk to you later!”

You turnt back to your mirror, beginning to brush out your curls. However, you were startled as Kai ran back into the room quickly.

He placed a bouquet of flowers on the vanity in front of you, then kissed you on the cheek briskly. “I almost forgot, these are for you. Congratulations on such a good comeback.”

Sehun:

“Excuse me, pardon me, ‘it girl’ coming through!” Nabi declared as you made your way through the busy photo shoot studio.

“Ugh, shut up Nabi!” you scowled over your shoulder at her. “I hate it when you call me that!”

“Hey, I’m not the only one.” the leader shrugged, chuckling mischievously. “Everyone calls you that nowadays.”

“Well, I’d prefer to only deal with it when I’m being interviewed.” you scoffed, setting your bag down at your vanity.

“Spoken like a true queen.” Nabi smirked, crossing her arms across her chest.

You rolled your eyes. “Why did you even come with me today?”

The younger girl shrugged. “You’ve been stressed lately. I figured I’d tag along to make sure you have a comedic buffer.”

You softened at her kind gesture, touching her arm lightly. “That’s really sweet of you.”

“They also always have huge snack buffets at these things.” she added. “I’m gonna go get a plate, okay?”

You went back to your previous mood, sighing and sitting down. “Yeah, just get me some chips.”

You watched her skitter off to the snack table, shaking your head at her. In front of the other girls, she was a strict, stern dictator. But around you, the only member older than her, she was a true child. However, she was your best friend, so you tried to find it endearing.

“Y/N?” a deep voice inquired from behind you.

You spun around in your chair and gawked at the realization of who stood in front of you. “Sehun?!”

He smiled at your surprise, holding out his arms in a dramatic gesture. “In the flesh.”

You sprung up out of your chair in an instant, practically jumping into his arms to give him a hug. He stumbled backwards a bit, laughing at your sudden affection, then caught his footing and wrapped his arms around you.

“I’ve missed you so much!” you told him, pulling away. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for the Valentine’s Day shoot.” he replied.

You knit your brows together in confusion. “Really? Because this is…” You looked around the studio, then it dawned on you. There were heart shaped decorations and pink balloons everywhere, and the studio had a romantic, dim lighting.

“Oh… they didn’t tell me this would be a couple’s shoot…” you chuckled awkwardly.

His eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really? That’s strange. Maybe they knew you’d be nervous if you were told ahead of time that you’d be doing a shoot with the Great Oh Sehun.” He flipped his hair dramatically, a cocky smirk on his face.

You scrunched your nose up, hitting him on the arm playfully. “Ugh, don’t be so smug. It doesn’t suit you.” You were actually just trying to hide the fact that he was right.

Sehun had been slowly becoming one of your best friends at the company, ever since that day he walked in on you being bullied by a bunch of female trainees and silenced all of them with his presence. He was actually competing with Yeri, Ten, and Karina for a spot on your BFF list.

However, you had always secretly hoped for more with him. He was so kind, even though he could seem cold at first, and he always made you laugh. He was so caring, despite how hard he tried not to be, and had incredible wit and humor. Plus, there was the fact that he was incredibly handsome. Like, obnoxiously so. But, as much you wanted things to go to the next level, they remained stagnant. Neither of you were the most upfront about your feelings.

“There you guys are!” the director suddenly clapped his hands behind you, pulling you away from your conversation. “I’ll let makeup and wardrobe know you’re here, and we should be able to start shooting in about an hour.”

You both nodded and thanked him, then turned back to one another.

“See you behind the camera.” Sehun proposed with a minuscule wink that was so small you wouldn’t have caught it if you hadn’t been admiring his features so closely these past few years.

You sent him one last smile, then turned back to your vanity while he strode over to his own.

Suddenly, Nabi reappeared next to you with a plate full of snacks. “What was that about?” she asked, crunching on a pretzel.

“Oh nothing, I just have to do an amorous photo shoot with my secret crush.” you grumbled, falling back against your chair with your hands bunched up in your hair. “Did you get my chips?”

Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry, I forgot.”

“Nabi! Either be helpful or leave!”

—————

The hour of makeup and wardrobe went by way too fast for your liking. You had been trying to build up your courage to no avail. It seemed hopeless. How on Earth were you going to do a romantic couple’s shoot with your crush without it looking you were hopelessly devoted to him? Not that you weren’t, you just didn’t need the whole world knowing it. That would be mortifying, not to mention a total career killer.

You walked over to the photo setup, which featured a red velvet sofa and a table with an extravagant bouquet of flowers. You swallowed the hard lump in your throat, making one last stitch effort to calm yourself down. Settle down, Y/N. It’s just a photo shoot with your colleague. I’m sure he won’t even be-

“Is this chain on straight?” your thoughts were interrupted by the man in question. You flipped around to see him dressed in a deep v-neck black blazer with a white button-up shirt underneath, the top three buttons undone to reveal his chest, adorned with a glimmering silver chain necklace. His thick black locks were tousled and textured perfectly around his forehead, and his skin was practically glowing.

Okay nevermind, time to panic.

“Holy shit, you look hot.” you heard yourself speak, although you don’t remember making the decision to. Instant regret flooded your brain, and you immediately began apologizing. “Oh my god, I meant the chain looks hot. I’m sorry. I mean, not that you’re not hot, I just…”

“Thank you.” he cut you off, a pleased smile evident on his features. “You look hot too.”

Your heart practically jumped out of your chest. “Th-Thank you…” You were sure your face was as red as a tomato. However, you had to admit, you did look pretty hot in your tight red dress, pearls, vampy lipstick, and red strappy heels.

“Alright, we’re ready to get started!” the director declared from his chair. “Sehun, I’d like to start with you laying on the couch horizontally. Y/N, go ahead and sit on his lap facing the camera.”

You did as instructed, although uncomfortably. He sensed your tension and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay, just relax.” he suggested, a reassuring smile directed at you.

You gave him an appreciative grin, loosening up and leaning into his form.

“Okay, now Sehun, put your chin on Y/N’s shoulder and rest your head against her neck. Y/N, just keep looking forward.”

The camera flashed a few times, with a few breaks in between to look over the shots.

“I’m really proud of you, you know.” Sehun told you while the camera crew was busy.

“What do you mean?” you asked him, laying against the back of the couch.

“You’ve come a long way from the girl I met who was letting some older trainees pick on her.” he teased. “I’ll never forget the look on your face when I appeared next to you.”

You laughed at the memory. “And I’ll never forget the looks on those girls’ faces when you told them off.”

He joined you in your laughter. “Notice how none of them are at the company anymore, and how you’re the ‘it girl’ now?”

You smiled contentedly. “Everyone seems to be calling me that these days.”

He suddenly scooped you up in his arms and pulled you down to his chest, ruffling your hair affectionately. “You’ve always been my ‘it girl’ Y/N, from day one.”

You squealed as he caged you in his arms, feigning resistance. A sudden flash went off, and you both looked up to see the camera crew staring at you blankly.

“Ah, sorry guys, that was my fault...” a feeble intern announced nervously. “I accidentally hit the wrong button.”

“Wait, let me see that shot…” the director demanded, motioning for the camera to be brought over to him. He looked it over, then turnt to you both with a baffled expression. “This is it. This is our cover photo.”

“What? No way.” you marveled, getting up and walking over to the director. Sehun followed you, catching you as you stumbled a bit in your heels. You looked at the photo, and soon you were both making the same face that the director had made a few seconds ago. “Woah… this is amazing…”

“Look at how beautiful you are…” Sehun commented, taking in the picture lovingly.

You blushed, nudging him slightly.

The director clapped his hands dramatically, snapping you both back to reality. “Alright, let’s keep this energy going! Next I want a shot of Y/N pulling Sehun in by his chain!”

—————

A few days later, you were chilling out at the dorm with your members, having a much needed girls’ night. All of your favorite snacks were laid out on the coffee table, you were all in your pajamas, and there was a cheesy rom-com playing on the TV, even though none of you were paying attention to it. You were far too busy gossiping, squealing, and beautifying each other. It might have been stereotypical girl behavior, but it was incredibly therapeutic.

“Everyone shut up!” Nabi suddenly decreed, jumping up on the couch and holding something behind her back.

You looked up from braiding Kaori’s hair. “Oh god, what is it now?”

The younger girls all laughed, finding it hilarious that you were the only one able to talk to Nabi like that.

“Well ‘it girl,’ it just so happens that I have the most recent issue of Elle in my hands.” the leader grinned evilly, brandishing the magazine out in front of her.

The other three girls all gasped and rushed over to grab at it, except for Iseul, who just jumped up and down excitedly. Her nails were still wet from Marie painting them a few minutes ago.

“Oh my god, you look so hot!” Marie marveled, flipping through the glossy pages.

“Yeah, and this one of you pulling Sehun in by his chain is just perfect!” Iseul nodded in agreement.

“Wait, the shoot was with Sehun?” Kaori asked, her eyes going wide with innocent shock.

“Yes Kaori, we talked about it three days ago. Keep up.” Marie groaned at the maknae.

“Hey, be nice.” you warned protectively. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Yeah right. You’ve only been in love with him for years now.” Nabi challenged you, jumping down from the couch.

“I am not in love with him.” you rolled your eyes. “Besides, he doesn’t feel that way about me.”

“The fans seem to think differently.” Nabi commented smugly, whipping out her phone. “Look what they’re saying on Elle’s post about it.”

You snatched the phone out of her hand and began to skim over the comments.

you could tell me the cover shot was totally improvised and i’d believe you… their affection looks so real <3

who knew the oldest member of Etoile and the youngest member of EXO would make such a fire couple? TOTAL goals!

The fact that they’ve been friends since Y/N was a trainee makes this so much cuter… they’re clearly in love with each other 💞

These two OWN Valentine’s Day now 😤

“Look at how big her smile is!” Kaori grinned admiringly at you.

“I know, it’s so cute!” Marie added, wrapping her arms around your maknae and twirling her around. “‘Oh Sehun, please marry me!’”

“‘Oh Y/N, I’d love to make you my wife!’” the younger girl acted out, giggling madly.

You scowled, trying not to laugh along with them. “How come you two only get along when it’s at my expense?”

You all froze as the sound of a phone ringing suddenly cut through the noise.

You looked over at the end table to see your phone lit up and vibrating. You picked it up and unhinged your jaw as you saw who it was from. “It’s Sehun. I’m gonna go take this.” You got up and rushed down the hall to your bedroom.

The three youngest members attempted to follow you, but Nabi stood protectively in front of the hallway. “Nope, no one is eavesdropping. This should be private.” Marie, Iseul, and Kaori started pouting and vocalizing their protest. That was, until Nabi gave them her signature glare. “Living room, now.” She really was a great leader when she wanted to be.

Shutting your door behind you, you answered the call. “Hello?”

“Hey Y/N, it’s me.” Sehun said from the other end. He sounded uncharacteristically anxious.

“Hey, is everything okay?” you asked in a concerned manner.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine.” he coughed nervously. “I just wanted to… you know….”

“Wanted to what?” you giggled, sitting down on your bed.

You heard him exhale momentarily as if mentally preparing himself for something. “If you’d like to go out with me for Valentine’s Day?”

Your breath hitched in your chest. “What?”

“Don’t make me say it again…” he sighed, clearly having trouble being this forward. “I just… we had so much fun at the shoot together… and you’re just so cool, and fun, and pretty. I’ve never really known how or when to say it, but… something about that couples’ shoot just pushed me to go for it. So will you?”

You clutched onto your chest as if it was the only thing keeping you grounded to Earth. “Yes… yes, of course I will!”

“Really?” he marveled, sounding genuinely surprised. “I can’t believe you agreed.”

“Sehun, I’ve literally been waiting for you to ask me out for years now.” you chuckled. “You’re the worst at picking up on signals.”

“Yeah, well you’re not very good at sending them.” he teased, clearly getting his confidence back.

You laughed cutely into the phone. “We’re not very good at this are we…”

“No, not at all.” he chortled, shaking his head. You could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke. “And just so you know… I meant it when I said that you’ve been my ‘it girl’ since day one.”

You blushed with a small smile. “I usually hate it when people call me that. But with you, it feels good.”

“Well, I’ll have to call you by that name as much as possible. Then you can be mine exclusively, and no one else’s.” he replied.

You laughed once again, feeling like a giddy school girl. “I always have been, remember?”

He laughed at your sudden cockiness, knowing that you definitely learned it from him. “I’ll see you on Valentine’s Day?”

You nodded, feeling your lips curl up into a grin. “I’ll see you then.”

“Goodnight, my ‘it girl.’”

“Goodnight Sehun.” you giggled, hanging up the phone. You then threw it across the room and flopped back onto your bed, rolling around and kicking your feet in ecstasy.

“Y/N! What happened?” Marie suddenly burst through your door, followed by the other girls. You assumed Nabi held them off as long as she could, but eventually lost strength. There were three of them after all.

You sat up, brushing your hair out of your face. “Guess who’s going out with Sehun on Valentine’s Day!”

The four girls all screamed and jumped on your bed, showering you with praise and congratulations. You laughed as you captured them all in a group hug. It was then that you realized you didn’t need to be the ‘it girl’ to be happy, you just needed moments like these. And with Sehun, they seemed to just keep coming.

#exo x reader #exo imagines #exo request #exo reactions #exo writing #exo fluff #exo fanfic #exo scenarios #exo #chanyeol x reader #chanyeol imagines #kyungsoo x reader #kyungsoo imagines #kai x reader #kai imagines #sehun x reader #sehun imagine #idol au

543 notes · View notes

twost3ps · 6 months ago

Text

I have not been doing so hot. I keep on saying that but burnout is actually crazy double comboed with artblock. But after some tears of frustration I wanted to show my swap au so yeyey

Short synopsis:

Lilith, Lucifur, Charlie 🔄 Adam, Micheal, Emily

Micheal and Adam fall after taking the forbidden fruit (it is a pear!) Rule over hell together and then have 7 children- Cain, Abel, Seth, Alclima, Awan and Emily. Hell does its own exterminations every year. Micheal and Adam lead along side with their children who participate as well. Up above Charlie watches in dispair. Her father has told her about the horrors of hell and its deranged rulers. She's the angel of Mercy (maybe I might change that) and wants the sinners of hell to have a second chance. So she goes down to hell without asking and tries to find a way to help save some of the sinners from suffering. In that time she makes friends with Hell's royal family starting with Emily and then comes to realize that heaven is a little (a lot) more corrupted than she thought

So here are some of their busts. I drew emily young bcz this was initially going to be a family portrait but I got lazy but for the au she's her canon age her horns are covered by her hair o3o

So heres a long but not full backstory and info of the au if ur interested under the cut:

Idk why yet why Micheal tempted Adam with the pear but it happened. Because of their betrayal, Adam and Micheal get sent down. But while Lilith is stripped of her fertility, Adam has his humanity stripped. When Micheal recovers, he's greeted with his lover in the form of a wild beast, body stretched, covered in feathers. The only human-ish thing is Adam's face which is essentially looks like a porcelain mask of his face with his eyes closed in a permeant smile unless he opens it and then the mask splits in two.

It takes days for Micheal to calm down the animalistic Adam. It just seems like everything about him is gone. Micheal still loves him, though, so he stays. Adam thrashes around, he screams, and he yells. The abyss is nothing but rubble as Adam digs wildly while screaming. Adam is too hostile for Micheal to comfort so he deals with just watching from afar.

As years roll by as Micheal watches his lover, Adam begins to calm down. He's grown tired and his animalistic rage has subsided. Micheal is able to pet Adam and he can see how tured Adam is. They begin sleeping together again.

All seems hopeless that Adam will ever gain any semblance of his humanity. That is until the first sinner arrives.

Micheal had seen the sinner from afar. He was going to approach, but then he heard Adam. Adam barreled at the sinner and before Micheal knew it, Adam had eaten the sinner with a vile crunch.

Micheal rushed to Adam to see the damage. Then Adam moved and turned. It was then that Adam had spoken properly since the fall. He asked Micheal what happened but Micheal could only stare and cry. They were able to talk for a while and they savored every bit of it.

That joy only lasted for a few hours before Adam became animalistic again.

From then on, Micheal made it his mission to gather as many sinners and feed them to Adam.

Initially it hurt. It hurt a lot. And after doing it for so long, Micheal knew that the sinners would never reform. But that harsh reality paled in comparison to Adam finally having his concise again. Being able to finally talk to his lover and husband was more than enough reason for him.

So time flies and hell is getting bigger and stronger. The population of sinners is also getting bigger. There becomes less spawn killing of sinners but they are kinda checked over like livestock to the royal family.

Hell in this universe is more fairy tale based to differ from whats supposed be a circus theme??? that i get from hazbin. Thats what people say so I'm making my hell the brothers grim x into the woods x shrek.

I want the royal family in fairy tale clothes okay >:(

Hell is essentially far far away land except everything is out to get you. The place is straight up inhabitable as everyone who spawns in ends up having to run away immediately. It's so hard not to die or get hurt. The terrane is unforgiving, the trees are out to get you, the flowers are out to get you, the animals are out to get you, the weather is out to get you, the water thats not whatever is out to get you. Any wrong slip and you can just die again. Sinners are a lot more prone to betrayal and rage because living is just so hard.

There is no pentagram city, its like, a couple of very small town that are ruled by overolords. Overlords are people who just got lucky or got into a contract with one of the royal children. They use their power to stay alive and have some semblance of stability but they are given power to they raise other sinners like cattle through contracts if needed.

These overlords though are pretty... yeah... so they kinda become like those fairy tale villains.

So for funzies, all those fairy tales that people hear on earth are true stories that come from hell that had been told by demons who escape to the mortal realm and whisper them in writers ears as they sleep or some bs like that sdfoeufb

But as stated, exterminations do happen. Like cattle, it is important to save up the stock. You cant consume everything as they come, cattle needs its time to grow. So every year, they let the population grow and on extermination day, Micheal and Adam ride out into hell as they purge a bunch of sinners till Adam eats enough to revert back to human form till the next ectermination.

It's only them that exterminate and collect till their children grow up and join them in the exterminations- fueled by their want to keep Adam humanly conscious. They collect the bodies and then Adam feeds on them after hours to gain his humanity back

Micheal and Adam have their children- Cain, Abel, Seth, Alclima, Awan and Emily

Cain, Seth, Alclima, and Awan become the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse (i went with the good omens version with death, famine, war and pestilence- conquest is not one -yet- )

Cain (death) in very short is like Death in puss and boots with a lot less chill. He does have Death's sickles (I wanted to make them Abel's horns so thats a maybe) He's a mama's (adam) boy and a giant brat

Seth (Famine) Chillest of the siblings. He's a lot like Adam, just not as brash. He spreads famine through locusts that emerge from his cloak. They look like pretty jewels until they fly off. Food rots in his presence during exterminations. He hates when he accidentally activates it when hes eating (he loves snacking)

Alclima (War) She's very tough and brutish. Very honest in her opinions and not afraid to speak about it. Her and Cain play fight a lot. The exorcist army exists but they live as the royal family's castle's soldiers and they are commanded by Alclima. During exterminations, she is the one to lead them in battle. Her presence gives people the rage of war.

Awan (Pestilence) Very eerie girl/ Shes got that dead eye look sometimes and just stares at people. Shes actually very kind and soothing. She's very girly and has a room similar to stockings from paswg. Shes a stem girlie

Abel kind of overlooks them as the representation of chaos. (I wanted the death and chaos are the children of the devil thing to happen so this it) The first attempted murder does happen between Abel and Cain, but since they're in hell magic sooo hahah blam Cain allows his body to merge with Abel out of regret and so Abel kind lives in his conscience but can also switch control over his brother (idk im so done)

Emily is supposed to become a fifth horseman as the representation of conquest. But she young and stuff and only just became an adult so she still maneuvering through it- also sera's here too and she takes the place of Alastor and is a royal advisor to the family sufoauebfoebos

They are all part lion coming from Micheal but their horns are from Adam

Their children are very mixed about exterminations, but Emily has the most issues with it. The family in general feels bad, but family over the people. Emily is just way more emotional about it, especially since she is yet to participate.

Exterminations are very mixed in hell with the citizens because while some have the will to live, some want to truly end their suffering. Many willingly sacrifice themselves and go under contracts with overlords. With overlords, they get to live comfortably as they possibly can but they still hate hell so when exterminations roll around they willingly die.

This is a lot but its not everything. Actually this is all very vauge rn but idk if I want to work on this :p

THIS IS SUCH A MESSKJFBIABFIAEGFIAUEGIdfi

Also a bit of the beast adam deisgn. I want to add some more stuff. do some tweaking but AUAGSDD yuppers i will change some stuff about him later (i forgot his horns)

i dont think i'll do much with this au after this -maybe draw it but i won't write- but it was a fun thought

I'll try to post tomorrow some guitarhero stuff but im so dead IAFBISUEBFGI

#hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel #guitarhero #michael x adam #hazbin hotel michael #micheal hazbin hotel #myart #adam hazbin hotel #hazbin art #hazbin hotel au #swap au #hazbin hotel oc #hazbin hotel cain #hazbin hotel abel #hazbin hotel seth #hazbin hotel alclima #hazbin hotel awan #hazbin hotel emily

326 notes · View notes

dead-dolphins · 2 months ago

Text

Illicit Affairs: 1st Drabble

It’s been a long time coming, but here it is at last—the very first drabble of the cheating AU! Omg omg omg!!! XD Just a heads-up: I wrote this purely for fun, without a solid plot, just capturing the vibes of the AU. Don’t worry, there’s more to come! I hope to catch your attention and, well, enjoy! TW: Eren's fantasies and mentions of potential cheating.

Eren was always the first to arrive at the stables before dawn. As the morning light, indifferent to the season, began to spread over the meadows where the Jaeger and Arlert manors stood, his presence in that shared space came well before anyone else stirred.

It had been this way since he was a child, barely able to hold onto the saddle. He sought these quiet, uninterrupted moments to tend to his horse alone. The stable, the ride—they were his, his sanctuary, his refuge. In the early morning mist, he would steal away, feeling the power beneath him as his mount surged forward, the wind sharp against his face. And afterward, he’d return home, slipping into the warmth of a shower, letting the water wash away the grit and sweat before he made his way to the studio, where his hands sought a different kind of mastery—the mastery of art.

It wasn’t simply a matter of morning exercise—it was a ritual, a quiet preparation for the day ahead. In those moments, alone with his horse, he could feel the tension drain from him, a stillness settling in his bones before the storm of the day. Then the studio waited, with its demanding clients, always expecting more than he could give. And beyond that, the strained silence of home, where his wife’s rage simmered just beneath the surface, flaring up when the cold indifference could no longer be ignored—an indifference that perhaps, just perhaps had always been there.

Thus, following his routine, Eren arose from the emptiness of his double bed, its crisp linens untouched by another’s warmth. Dressed in his riding gear and holding his whip, he approached the stable, eager for the thrill of the ride with Pearl, his black shire mare of ten years. The anticipation of the open air, the thrill of the ride, coursed through him as he approached the stall, ready to embrace the untamed spirit of the wind.

However, on that morning, as ostentatious as it was, Eren realised he was not the only one in his sacred place.

Upon crossing the threshold, he noticed an open stall. Though this might have unsettled him, because these things like these never, ever happened in such a methodic place a distant hum drew his attention. It was a soft melody, in a vague, haunting tone, which made him walk toward the source of, as if it were casting a spell over him. Schubert, it was.

“Hello?” he called out, but the only answer was silence.

Undeterred, he walked through the stables until he reached the last stall. When he finally entered, he felt as though the gods had smiled upon him.

There, atop a red cashmere blanket spread across the hay bales, a vision of serene grace was curled up with her tiny little nose buried in a book. Oh, he knew her, of course he did. The spell had been cast upon him weeks ago at that opulent, decadent gathering, but now, with her so near and so vulnerably exposed, he was even more entranced. This was Mikasa, the daughter of his closest friend, an enchantress bound by ties of loyalty and propriety that made her sight all the more tormenting.

She seemed blissfully unaware of his presence, and seizing those fleeting moments, he allowed his gaze to linger upon her with a fervent intensity. Her midnight-black hair cascading like a veil, and her skin, pale and flawless, gleamed with an almost otherworldly purity. Eren’s eyes were ensnared by her, unable to avert their gaze. She was exquisitely beautiful, a beauty that cut to the bone, and also… agonisingly forbidden.

“Hey,” Eren rasped, his voice rough as he knocked the gate with his fist. He forced himself to keep his gaze from lingering too long on the way her white jeans clung to her curves, especially in her butt.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Mikasa replied, her voice breaking from its melodic flow as she looked up from the book she had been engrossed in. From his vantage point, Eren first noticed her lips—her natural, rosy lips. “I didn’t realise someone had arrived.”

Eren let out a groan, blinking. He thought the noise he had made should have been sufficient to alert her. It felt almost as if she had purposefully overlooked him, drawing him closer with the pretence of ignorance. But it sounded quite stupid to think, wasn’t it? “I was just concerned about the open box,” he said. “We usually don’t leave them open for safety reasons.”

“I see.” She closed the book and rose from her makeshift seat. For a fleeting moment, Eren feared he had angered her, a thought that unsettled him deeply. The only person he didn’t mind provoking was his wife, but the idea of doing the same to Mikasa was far less agreeable. It seemed she harboured no such desire to be antagonised, and that realisation troubled him.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he continued, trying to maintain his composure despite the turbulent feelings roiling within him. “It’s unusual to find the stables like this.”

She shook her head slightly, her dark hair falling around her shoulders like a silken curtain. “It’s no trouble. I came here to find a quiet place to read. I didn’t realise I was encroaching on someone’s routine.” She smiled, as if trying to ease him somehow. “It won’t happen again, Mr. Jaeger.”

The formal address sent a shiver through him. Her tone, innocently sensual, seemed to blur the line between reality and fantasy, leaving him momentarily uncertain if his senses had deceived him. But the small, wicked smile curling at her lips soon dispelled any doubt. It was clear now—she had spoken with intent, deliberately weaving her words to provoke.

Eren swallowed hard, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to shake off the effect of her presence. “I appreciate your understanding,” he said, though the words felt hollow against the backdrop of his confusion.

Mikasa nodded, a glint of amusement dancing in her face. “Of course. I’ll be sure to choose a more appropriate place next time.”

As the girl moved to gather her things, Eren’s gaze, despite his efforts to maintain propriety, inevitably fell on the fabric of her jeans, stretching against her round butt. For a brief moment, an intrusive thought crossed his mind—an unsettling curiosity about whether her ass cheeks would be as pale as her face skin, and whether it would redden easily if… if spanked them with his hand. The thought was both inappropriate and unwelcome, stirring a flush of guilt and shame within him.

He forced himself to look away, shaking his head as if to clear his mind of the unwelcome intrusion. But he could not rid himself of the thought. It was as if it embedded itself into his consciousness with an unshakeable persistence.

He had always harboured thoughts of restraint and discipline, of the primal urge to dominate. And something in her was calling to let those fantasies fulfil. Yet… she was still forbidden. She was his best friend’s adopted daughter, ten years younger and entirely beyond his reach. The boundary was clear, unbreakable, or so it should have been. He couldn’t betray Armin like that, nor could he do it to her, innocent as she was. Yet, the more he tried to suppress the thought, the more the desire took root.

When Mikasa finally rose, her book tumbled from her grasp, and he seized the chance to divert his gaze. As he picked it up, a surge of surprise swept over him. The so-called “innocent girl” was engrossed in something far from innocent.

“Lady Chatterley’s Lover,” he read. “An interesting choice of book.”

Instead of reaching for the book as he had anticipated, she merely laughed. “Don’t tell anyone; I borrowed it from the trunk of forbidden books.”

Eren looked at her once more, and it was then that he reconfirmed what his instincts had whispered all along. She was, in some way, playing a game to allure him, and if this was her strategy, then he was more than willing to engage.

“So,” he began. “The trunk of forbidden books, you say? I never imagined you to be one for such… provocative literature.”

Mikasa tilted her head, a mischievous glint in her eye. “One must explore the forbidden to understand the world fully. Don’t you agree, Mr. Jaeger?”

The question hung in the air. Eren felt a flush of heat rise to his cheeks, both from her insinuation and the brazen challenge in her tone. He forced a casual smile, attempting to mask the growing tension. “Indeed,” he replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “But I think we’re both aware of the boundaries that come with such… explorations.”

Her gaze softened, but the mischief remained. “Boundaries are meant to be tested, aren’t they?.”

“Have you ever explored your boundaries, Mikasa?” he asked, his voice taking on a rough, husky edge as he spoke her name.

“I suppose that depends on what you mean by boundaries. There are many kinds—emotional, physical, societal.” She brushed past him, and stopped just beyond his reach. “And sexual.”

Her voice, low and sultry, made the word hang heavy in the air between them. Eren could feel the tension crackling, a charged silence punctuated only by the soft rustling of hay and the distant sound of a horse’s whinny.

“And which boundaries are you most interested in exploring, Mikasa?” he asked, his voice rough.

Mikasa turned slightly, her profile illuminated by the soft morning light filtering through the stable’s open door. “At my age, I want to explore everything—absolutely everything. There’s still so much to learn, but…” She lowered her voice, ensuring only he could hear. “Lately, the idea of discovering my sexual boundaries has been calling to me, Mr. Jaeger. Quite strongly, I might say.”

Eren’s breath caught in his throat. Her bold response shattered any remnants of propriety he had clung to.

“That’s why I’ve been pilfering these books,” Mikasa continued, her voice a blend of candour and intrigue. “Though, ah, they haven’t quite lived up to my expectations. They’re exquisitely written, and the portrayal of female pleasure is beautiful, but... I find myself craving something a bit more... intense.”

Her admission stirred a maelstrom of thoughts within him. His mind was consumed by a torrent of sinful fantasies, each more decadent than the last. All he could think about was how he could push the boundaries of her desires and explore the depths of their mutual transgressions.

He took a step closer, the distance between them now minimal. “I also have a chest of forbidden books,” he murmured, his tone dropping to a hushed, secretive note. “In my library at home. Perhaps someday, if you’re interested, I could lend you one. I have a collection of favourites that you might like.”

Her gaze met his, a flicker of excitement mingling with the challenge in her eyes. “I would like that.” she said softly, “but there’s no need to bring it to me. I can fetch it by myself; one day when your wife isn’t around.” The hint of a smile played on her lips. “Hitch doesn’t seem to like me.”

The way Mikasa spoke Hitch’s name, devoid of any honorifics or any semblance of respect, nearly made Eren laugh. It was undeniable; Hitch, his beloved wife, was widely disliked, and he was no exception to that sentiment—he was among the first to voice it.

“Hitch has never been one to win hearts. Her absence is often a blessing in more ways than one, and, trust me, she blesses me most of the time.”

Mikasa smirked, stepping out of reach. “Then I’ll probably be visiting you very soon, Mr. Jaeger,” she said. “But you know, you shouldn’t mention this to anyone. It could get complicated.”

Eren’s eyes lingered on her butt as she walked away, his mind filled with vivid, provocative images. He couldn’t help but imagine him not only spanking her with his hand but also with the whip he held so commandingly while her wrists were tied to one of his bedposts. Oh, what a beautiful scenario that was and he wanted to make it a reality.

“No, of course, no,” he said. “Your secret is safe with me.” It was unmistakably clear that Mikasa, that little wretched beast wanted him, and god fuck it, he wanted her just as fiercely.

Later, as he rode his horse across the vast grasslands and encountered his best friend, who was already heading off to work, a sense of impending chaos settled uneasily in his stomach. Yet, the feeling quickly evaporated as he recalled Mikasa’s lips and her butt—her beautiful round butt.

#eremika #eren x mikasa #eremika fics #drabbles #cheating au #illicit affairs #dead dolphins writes #my writing

95 notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 1 year ago

Text

Which Witch

Part 2 of 2 / Faerie masterlist

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish/witch!reader 13.3k words - AO3 - Part 1 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. Explicit sex. Fae!AU. Blood magic. Faerie magic. Angst. Tenderness. Comfort. Pining. Sex magic. Praise kink, light breeding kink. Magical dubious consent. Possessive Johnny, Protective Johnny. "I'm not beat up by this yet, you can't tell me to regret, Been in the dark since the day we met, Fire, help me to forget." - F + TM

Johnny has never experienced a headache before.

The feeling is surprisingly uncomfortable, and has been blooming behind his eyes since the other day, when you advanced on him outside the pub in the mortal realm, when you caught him off guard with your fury, your heartbreak.

He tries not to think about that part, too much.

Tries not to think about the torment he saw in your eyes.

Tries not to think about his plans, laid to waste, to ruin. A dream, crumbled into a nightmare.

He tries not to think about the ache that’s settled beneath his ribs since the second you snatched your hand from his grasp and stomped away, the pressure of your magic making the stitching of the mortal realm feel too thin, too fragile.

He tries not to think about the extra weight of something that’s been added to him, nestled there in his side, the heavy feel of a magic that feels not unfamiliar, but alien at the same time.

“Bloody hell.” Gaz whispered. “No wonder ‘uve been keepin’ her a secret.” He whistled, low and sharp, as they watched you cross the street and slowly disappear from view, red and purple magic angrily arcing off from your body and tainting the air with a tart, burnt aftertaste.

You were the only being on the street, besides them. All the mortals had gone off, pushed by you, sent scurrying by your power. “That’s one powerful little wi-“

“That’s enough.” Johnny snarled in his face, the ferocity, intensity of his tone, the words spat at his own brother surprising them both, signaling Kyle to step back, out of precaution, with a gentle hand raised. Johnny panted harshly, while his magic thrashed inside of him, desperate to get out, wild and nearly out of control, fully brimming with the chaos that he knows so well.

It yearned for something, desperately.

“Easy, Soap.” Price had been on them then, appearing from where he had been inside the bar, inserting himself between their two bodies, like he needed to protect Kyle, a ridiculous sentiment by any of their standards.

“Sorry.” Johnny drew the word long, shaking his head from the pressure beating inside his skull. “’m sorry, Gaz. I dinnae- I-”

“It’s alright mate.” He assured, reaching out, clasping a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. It was warm, and comforting, and he nodded in response.

“I think you should probably get home. You’ve been here… too long.” Price follows up, and Johnny couldn’t argue. He felt drained, suddenly. Tired. A feeling that happens for them, from time to time. Especially when they’ve been in the mortal realm for an extended period.

“Alright.”

He thinks this discomfort, this ailment, whatever it may be, will pass, once he’s been home for more than a few days. He imagines it’s just a side effect of being in the mortal realm too long, and he can practically hear Price telling him he needs to stay put, stay in Faerie for a while, or at least until his magic settles and his body adjusts to its rightful plane.

After all… his kind doesn’t take sick. They can suffer magical ailments, wounds from weapons or other Fae, but to fall ill is incredibly rare.

And usually only happens to those of them who are incredibly stupid.

Still, the headache rots and spreads throughout his brain, festering in his magic until it becomes an unruly, ungovernable thing that barely recognizes him, and his muscles become excruciatingly sore, useless in his body when he tries to exert himself in any way.

The Isle itself seems restless, the sea raging tumultuously beneath the bluffs, the forests shielding themselves from the light of the sun. Johnny can feel her magic, biting and gnawing against him, yearning and screaming, the wind whistling through the oldest trees with a shriek that hurts his ears.

All the while, something else aches within him. An unbearable longing that builds and builds like a dark grey cloud growing heavy with rain.

“It’s your soul.” The Nereid, Ce, tells him softly. “You’re soul sick.”

“What?”

“Someone has bound themselves to you. Your soul, your magic, is woven together. When you’re separated, your soul will mourn for theirs.” The image of you pointing at him flashes through his mind, your gaze enraged, haunted, while you cursed him up and down.

Surely, you did not mean for this?

Simon watches him knowingly, before pulling her into his arms, rubbing his hand over the swell of her belly where their child sleeps, blissfully unaware.

“Do you know, who it could be?” She questions, and he grimaces, eyes flicking to Simon who betrays nothing, only gives him a subtle nod.

“A… witch. From the mortal realm.” She stiffens in Simon’s lap, and then shakes her head in disbelief.

“A mortal witch could not cast a binding such as this, nor survive it.”

“Well, ah… dinnae believe she’s entirely mortal.” She turns, looking between them, before glaring openly at her husband.

“The only immortal witches who still live in the mortal realm are the elemental witches…” she trails off, looking out the window to where the sea crashes on the shore, something distant flickering in her gaze, realization settling heavily upon her. “What have you done?”

“You were my priority.” Simon utters, face shuttering, eyes going grim. Johnny shifts nervously in the chair. Ce is sharp, intelligent, and it doesn’t take too long before she’s whispering her confirmation of the truth.

“The song. She’s a blood witch.” He nods, unable to break the eye contact. Simon holds her hip firmly, but she doesn’t look away from Johnny, and before he even realizes, he’s spilling more secrets.

“Blood spinner.” Her eyes widen, and then rips Simon’s hand free from her body, standing unsteadily on her two legs. Her balance has gotten better in her time here, but she still struggles with managing her new walking appendages, something that always keeps Simon hovering near by, just in case he needs to catch her.

“You must find her.” She implores Johnny, while turning on her heel to poke a finger into Simon’s chest. “You’ve no idea what you’ve done.”

“Little huntress-“ He begins, but is swiftly cut off.

“No. Do not use your sweet words to try to placate me.” She turns her nose up from him, while facing Johnny. “You must, she’s in danger. Blood witches aren’t meant to be bound to others. The effects could be catastrophic, the binding could kill her.” His heart speeds to a halt. The binding could kill you.

The feeling Johnny had a few days ago outside the pub compounds inside of him, the yearning infused with his chaos, the wild piece of his magic surging in his blood, eager to be set loose. He closes his eyes and reaches inside himself to settle his power, to soothe the uncontrolled pieces that are climbing closer to the top.

When he looks back to them, he realizes Simon is standing more than a few paces away, Ce shielded behind his body.

“It’s the binding! It can drive you mad, control your magic if you're separated too long.” She calls from around his shoulder, trying to peek out even though there is a formidable mass blocking her.

“Perhaps she planned this, Johnny.” Simon proposes, a sentiment that Johnny balks at. Were you capable of such a thing? His wife shakes her head reverently, and mouths a no.

Danger.

Catastrophic.

When he thinks about the way you looked when you thrust your finger into his face, fiery and full of rage, he realizes it’s much, much more than what he thinks he knows, or what he believes.

You tricked me, you Fae bastard.

Had you tricked him in return?

The lock on your flat’s front door is not complex. It’s not even spelled for intruders, or unwanted guests, something that’s always sat uneasily within Johnny, even when he was taking full advantage of it. His magic knows this lock well, is intimately familiar with it, and plies the deadbolt free with ease, door swinging wide like it’s been expecting him, just like every other time before.

You tossed in your sleep, brow furrowed, distress written across your face as you shook your head back and forth, trapped in your own dreams, your memories, your nightmares.

Your body, still battered and bruised, slowly healing from whatever had happened to you on Samhain, trembled beneath the sheets, and you made small, terrified mouth sounds against your pillow.

“You’re safe now, dove, you’re safe.” He stroked a thumb across your temple, down the apple of your cheek, whispering to you softly, sweetly. His own magic worked quickly, dragging you under, lulling you into a deep sleep, a near coma. He had hoped it would be enough, to keep you from waking while he worked, while he healed you from whatever ordeal you had been put through, whatever torture you had been subjected to.

He built you the sweetest dreams he could conjure, images of his own realm, lush forests and sparkling aquamarine seas, the moss-covered stone bluffs of the Isle, the three moons when they’re full, the sparkle of the night sky, webs of worlds and starlight stretching out as far as any being could see.

He had tried, so desperately, to burn the image of you from the previous night out of his mind, when you first answered his knocking with your broken soul and tearful eyes, abused body halfway hidden by the door.

What happened to you? Who could mistreat you in such a way?

He hadn’t known then, but he wanted to, urgently. Wanted you to tell him everything, wanted you to make him your tool, your harbinger of revenge. He wanted to kill for you, destroy for you, burn this entire realm for you. He wanted to lay all his promises at your feet, wanted to tell you that no one would ever touch you again, that no one would ever harm you if he was here.

He cursed himself. Cursed the truth. Cursed the spell that you put him under, the one that didn’t even exist.

He had gotten so lost in thought, lost in staring down at your now relaxed face, that he almost didn’t realize the sun was rising, the soft rays of light seeping across your room from under the curtain startling him into withdrawing his magic so he could allow you to wake and return with a coffee, maybe a pastry, some sort of breakfast sweet that mortals seemed to be overly fond of.

He leaned over you for a quick moment, unable to help himself, breathing in the scent of your hair, your skin, your very soul. It intoxicated him, the sweet citrus and balsam mixing with the minerality of blood, of earth, creating something that seeped through his own being, pulling him closer and closer until he grazed his lips across your temple so gently, he’s not sure he’s even made contact.

“I’ll be back soon.” He whispered above your ear, even though he knew you couldn’t hear him. “Have a good morning, sweet Fern.”

“Fern.” He calls, before stepping across the threshold, but there’s no answer. There’s no sound or sign of movement, no echo of your voice down the hall. “Fern!” He tries again. His blood feels hot under his skin, and he’s nearly feverish, off balance and unsteady, while the spot beneath his ribs throbs in pain.

He expects to see Jet, or hear her hiss, considering how much the little creature loathes him, but when there’s no sign of her either, something prickles along the back of his neck.

“Do not hide from me, little witch. I know what’s happened.” He calls, raising his voice, projecting it with a touch of magic so it rings down the hall, through every room, into your personal library, and beyond.

When there’s still no answer, his sense of discomfort grows, and like there is a hook in him, in his very soul, he can feel his magic being tugged along, down the hall to your bedroom.

When pushes the door open, his heart slams to a halt. Fear is the foreign sensation that pours through him, paralyzes him. It’s fear that anesthetizes him as he stares at you, crumpled on the floor, surrounded by books, ancient grimoires and other texts, your magic drained from your body like someone has bled you dry, eyes wide in agony and a rasping breath on your lips. The room smells like mineral, like clay rich soil, like earth, and he chokes on it when he realizes the stain that darkens the carpet beneath you is your blood.

“Oh, little witch.” He murmurs, kneeling by your side, wide palm slipping behind your neck gently. “What have ye done?” He tucks you into his chest, and you mumble something as he carries you to your bed, trying to lay you flat, propping your face up so he can look into your eyes.

“N-no.” you push against him weakly.

“Shhh, Fern. It’s okay.”

“Don’t.” you hiss, and blood leaks from your lips. His magic thrashes, barely contained, bubbling up and trying to break free.

“Tell me what to do.” He pleads, desperation rising in him like the swell of high tide, threatening to tip him over into fathomless depths, places where he cannot swim, or survive.

“Lea… leave.” You moan, and he shakes his head. “Leave. I don’t… I don’t need your ‘elp.”

“No.” He refuses, cradling your face between his hands, and you blink at him slowly, eyelids heavy, expression disorientated. Long seconds pass and you look… confused suddenly, like you don’t recognize him, like all the vitriol and venom that you were spitting a moment ago has suddenly disappeared, and he feels a surge of your magic, the snapping of something, the binding, twisting, and tugging at the two of you.

“Johnny?” You mumble, and a smile breaks across his face, a small one, an encouraging one, something he hopes brings you comfort.

“Aye. It’s me, dove. It’s me. ’m here.” You tremble in his grasp, and more blood drips from your mouth. The sight of it is enough to loosen the hold on his power, and the room floods with bright light, illuminating every corner in the flat, and every detail on your face.

You need help. You need help, now. Badly.

He’s never wanted to have your name as frantically as he does in this moment. He wants to force you to tell him what to do, how to fix whatever this is, he wants to reach inside your magic and your mind and root around in your soul until he can pull the answer free from your lips.

A terrible thought forms in his mind. It’s wrong, and one he is sure you will hate him for, one he knows you will punish him for.

If you live.

Danger. Catastrophic.

Blood witches aren’t meant to be bound to others.

The binding could kill her.

Ce’s warning plays over and over in his mind, and when you cough again, blood splattering on his forearm, his magic makes his mind up for him, spreading forward to try to soothe you, cocooning you in a soft, twilight embrace that tries to lull you to sleep.

He pulls you back into his arms, tucking you against his body and concentrating his power on the thrum of your heartbeat, the power in your veins. He needs to blink the two of you to the closest door, and the only one that’s remotely doable is in Sherwood Forest, nestled among a ring of birch trees that all lean suspiciously inward.

“Fern.” He tries to get your eyes to focus on him, jostling you slightly as he strides away from your room. “Fern, I need… I have to take ye away.” Your brow furrows, and somewhere in the very back of his mind, he remembers how cute you are when you look at him like this, when you’re well, and not suffering.

He comes to halt in the kitchen, where Jet sits on her haunches atop the table, watching him with her head cocked.

“She’s dying.” He explains to her, and Jet scowls before she answers him, disdain dripping from her words.

“Because of you.”

“What happened?”

“The binding was an accident. She lost control.”

“She needs help. Is there anyone?”

“Not here… she’s been shunned. Thanks to you.” She glares at him, and he shoves down his urge to scream. Jet slinks towards him, eyes wise and wandering, sizing him before she sits down next to where he’s got you hovering above the table in his grip. “You’ll have to take her.”

“I cannae. I need her name.” She flicks her gaze to you before hopping from the table, walking to where the door creaks open on its own.

“You need to get it on your own.”

“She’s dying, Jet.”

“I know you won’t let that happen. After all, this was your plan, was it not?” She says before slipping outside, into the night.

You shiver against him, and he tightens his arms around you instinctively, lowering his nose into your hair, trying to find the sweet balsam and citrus scent under the sour smell of scorched earth and black blood. It’s there, but barely. There’s hope.

“Little witch.” He taps your cheek, trying to get you to concentrate on him, to look at him. “Fern, will you give me your name?” He coos sweetly, sugaring his voice with honey, dropping his glamour to pull your focus. It’s wrong, he knows this, so wrong, a true violation, but what choice does he have?

He won’t leave you to die.

You lick your lips, and he smiles, fully aware that he’s probably partially blinding you, scrambling the signals in your magic and mind, his own power pulling desperately at the binding to get you to comply.

Come on, sweet Fern.

Give me your name, dove.

He grips your hand, twisting your wrist until your palm is facing him, and for the first time without his glamour, he lets himself kiss you there, right on the heel below your thumb, dabbing his magic into the veins that vibrate just beneath your skin. He pushes, and then for good measure, pushes again, until your lips are cracking on an intake of breath, and your free hand is reaching for his, bloodied fingers smearing your ichor across his skin as you slowly speak, mouth forming the one thing he’s needed all along, the thing he’s wanted more than anything since the day he’s met you.

Your name. Given to him. By you.

It sinks into him, heating his own blood with the power of your admission, pulsing through his magic until it’s settling in that spot behind his ribs, the same spot that’s been aching since the last time he saw you, the place where the binding is nestled.

“Okay.” He coos, and then repeats your name, while you nod. “Okay, hold on to me.” He whispers, and then pulls everything in the flat tight, all the magic that’s spilled from your body, all the magic that he’s let run wild since he got here. He moves himself, and you, into the blink, and then the ground shifts, room tilting and splitting until the walls are fading into trees, the tile of your kitchen becoming grass under his feet, and your ceiling is a night sky. You squeeze your eyes shut and bury your face in his chest, and he knows it’s because the blink is uncomfortable, disorientating for those who are not Fae. Lesser creatures usually don’t even survive it.

But you are no lesser creature.

This fact, this truth, is the thing he takes comfort in as he barrels towards the door, his magic breaking through the threshold and crashing through the planes until he’s stumbling into Faerie with a blood covered witch curled against his chest.

“Are ye hungry?” Eilean asks from the threshold of the room, not willing to cross inside, but eager to see if she can help at all.

“No.”

“Should I bring some wine?” She tries, voice dipped in hopeful inflection. He rubs a palm over his face in part exasperation, part exhaustion.

“Please. Wine would be lovely, thank ye Eilean.” He placates her, and he doesn’t need to turn to know she’s smiling with approval.

He wouldn’t turn, regardless. He doesn’t dare look away from where you lay against the pillows in a bed that seems far too big. Where you lay, alone. Sleeping. Unconscious now, for far too many days. You’re weak, so weak, from travelling here, from trying to exist in this realm, a realm that you were not made for, a realm that no one seems to know if you can even persist in.

The Isle cradles you, fosters your survival. She holds you firm, holds you as he would, a casket of stone and sea weaving around your body, protecting you from anything. Everything.

Sometimes he fears she may be protecting you from him.

The waves crash against the rocks far below where he sits and you lay, sea ravaging against the rock, water pounding against stone over and over, the repetition enough to carve out caves and patterns in the walls, to change the physical manifestation of the Isle, to alter the very ground he lives on, walks on. The ground that he had hoped, one day, you may walk on with him. Beside him. The place he had hoped you might embrace with all her horror and secrets, that you might accept as a place of your own.

His hope fades with every breath you draw. It flickers like a flame being doused out.

Every now and then, you fidget beneath the blankets, body shivering and shaking, subdued whimpers escaping your lips as you twitch. He fears the binding may not need to drive him mad, because watching you suffer, watching you sleep endlessly, may do it regardless, in the end.

However, the bleeding has stopped, a small thing that Johnny is immensely grateful for, even though no one knows why.

“She needs time.” The healer tried to tell him, their effervescent magic embracing you in a halo while they worked to stop the blood that had started leaking from your eyes and nose, as well as your mouth. “Her magic is overloaded by the binding. The best thing you can do for her is stay close by. She will wake on her own time.”

“Her temperature-“

“We do not know. There are some things at work here, even we do not understand.” They explained, sympathy pooling across their face.

They wished him well after that, instructing him to call for them should they be needed further.

He didn’t know how to ask them to stay. He didn’t know how to tell them that for the first time in his eternally too long life, he was truly scared.

“How is she?” This voice, this one that calls to him from the threshold, speaking to him in his mind, startles him in the armchair, even though he knows it belongs to his brother. He turns to see Gaz, who watches him through lowered lashes. He’s keeping his distance, as every other being has, unsure about how Johnny will react with another coming so close to his… witch. “Price says ya’ve been holed up in here for days. Thought I’d come check, see if anything was needed.”

“Come in.” Johnny implores, out loud, and Gaz does, hesitantly, watching his brother for any changes, any indication he may lose control. Once he gets about two meters away, Johnny holds his hand up, a signal to stop, and Gaz conjures a chair, brimming at the seams with sun kissed light, a neat trick that benefits him when he plops down in it, like he too, is exhausted and weary.

“Well?”

“She’s… ‘m not sure. She still hasn’t woken, and her temperature, her body is hot to the touch. Too hot. But she’s stopped bleeding, which I take as a good thing.” He hasn’t left your side, constantly feeding the binding his own magic in hopes it would help give you some strength or help heal you.

“She’ll be alright.” Kyle encourages lowly, smiling at him. “She has you to look out for her, after all.” Johnny nods, even if he doesn’t believe it.

“Thank ye, for comin’.” He whispers, clearing his throat.

“We’re family, Johnny. Even when you run away to this damn Isle with a blood witch that you’ve stolen from the mortal realm.” He laughs with a wink, and Johnny’s lips curl into a very subtle grin.

“Not much better than Simon, am I?”

“Well, you didn’t drag us all around the mortal realm for nearly a decade so, that’s something.” He sighs, leaning back, slinging his feet over the arm of the chair. “Besides. I’m not exactly exempt either now.” Johnny nods, and he watches the flicker of discontent that washes over his brother, the way his magic pulses through him and the chair before returning to stasis.

Now, it’s his turn to ask.

“How is she?” Gaz shakes his head.

“Violent.” The word gives Johnny pause, and he feels his sympathy grow. His brother is the gentlest of them, the most kind. The one who others seek out, for comfort, for care. The one who wields the sun’s light itself. “Won’t let me near ‘er. Won’t eat. Won’t open the door, only yells at me through it. Hardly even speaks to her sister.” He pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose with graceful fingers. “She wants me to let her die.”

“And will ye?” He doesn’t respond right away, and they both just watch where you lay in the bed, silent.

“Don’t think I can. I feel… something for her. It’s different, from anything I’ve felt before. It’s-“

“Frightening.” Johnny finishes for him, and some tension leaks from his body. It is unlike them both, to feel fear. To feel fear and acknowledge it.

You twitch, eyes moving behind closed lids, and Gaz gives him a nod as he rises.

“See you soon?”

“Aye.”

It’s late, two days later, when you start to wake. Your temperature has gone down, and you’ve finally slept peacefully through an entire night. The moons have already risen, and Johnny has the drapes tucked open, so the room is illuminated in a silvery purple glow that shimmers across the floor and onto the bed. Your lashes flutter, and he feels the influx of magic in the room, ebbing and flowing, growing stronger and stronger, spilling from you as you swim closer and closer to consciousness, your eyes slowly opening, brow furrowed, discontent pulling your lips downwards in a frown. The wild yearning cries out inside of him, chaos beating in his heart, and he struggles to contain it.

“What’s…” your voice trails off as you look around, and Johnny waits for the moment when you find him in the chair by your bedside.

It happens fast. Your expression goes from confused, maybe a little contrite, but still curious, to rage filled, and startled. Fear reflects in your gaze, and his stomach drops.

“Fern.” He tries to calm you, and you hold your hand in front of your body like you’re trying to ward him off.

“Stay away from me.” You hiss. You try to sit up, try to move away from him, but your body is too weak, physically, and you sink down to your elbows in a second while you press yourself against the headboard. “What did you do to me? Where am I?” He stands, casting a little bit of magic out, trying to relax you, but you beat him back with your own before you’re yelling as loud as you can. “Help! Help! HELP ME!” you scream, voice drenched in horror, and a piece of his heart chips away in an instant.

You’re terrified of him.

There’s a noise, behind him, like a soft chiming of bells, and then he feels the shadow of Eilean’s magic, her presence unmistakable. He holds a hand out to stop her in the doorway, and you gasp aloud, palm covering your mouth, eyes round with shock when you see her.

“Oh. My gods.” You look from her, back to him, and then around the room, tracking out the window to where the three moons glow, bathing the sea below in silky shades of lilac, before you try even harder to shuffle yourself away from the edge of the bed, your hands fully shaking. “You stole me.” You whisper it between your fingers. “You took me. We’re… we’re in Faerie.” Tears are coursing down your cheeks, breaths coming in frantic little puffs that grate at his soul, the spot beneath his ribs aching as you cry.

“I thought… ah thought I was goin’ lose ye.” He croaks. “I dinnae- I had no other choice.” You’re breathing too fast, too short, and he wants to tear at the unfathomable distance between you and him that seems to be widening by the moment.

“Get away from me.” You half yell, half cry at him, tone dripping in disdain, in fear. “Get away!” you scream, and the demand physically pains him, like you’re ripping him apart, like you’re taking a knife and jamming it up underneath his ribs, hollowing him out, destroying him from the inside.

He stumbles from the room, clutching his side like he’s been wounded, and your magic lashes forward to slam the door shut behind his back with a finality that hits like a killing blow.

“Well, she’s scared. And rightfully so.” Ce says with a hand on her hip, leveling Johnny with a look that he can feel burning through his skin. “I managed to get her to listen to me long enough so I could… explain everything.” He straightens.

“What did you tell her?”

“The truth.” She sighs, and shifts her weight, reaching for where Simon stands. He takes her outstretched hand and brings her into his body, wrapping her up with a supportive arm around her waist. Johnny eyes the doors of the bedroom, clearly overeager, and she shakes her head immediately. “She doesn’t want to see you.”

“But-“

“She’s traumatized. She was used by you, betrayed by you. And then you kidnapped her from the only home she’s ever known.” At that, she gives Simon a healthy glare, and he has the good sense to look at least, somewhat ashamed. “It gets worse, I’m afraid.” Simon watches closely, and Ce looks at Johnny with a face full of sadness. “The binding… she may not be able to undo it.”

“What?”

“It is powerful magic. Magic that she did not intend to cast. It came… from the heart.” Johnny lets his eyes slip shut at her words, jaw clenching tight. “You need to prepare for what is to come, if she cannot reverse it.” She ghosts a hand over her belly and implores him with a meaningful look, one that cannot be understated or misunderstood.

The magic that feels like you, the fibers that he believes are the binding, seem to flex within his power, like it’s being pulled, and he involuntarily takes a step towards the door.

“Soap.” Simon beseeches, and Johnny stops short. “You must give her some space for now.”

They’re right. He knows, they’re right. He’s violated you, forced your name from you, stole you from your home, betrayed you in every way.

But the binding, the burning ache in his side, cries out to him. Begs him to go to you. Begs him to take you into his arms, complete the binding right then and there, and steal you away forever.

He grits his teeth.

“Alright.”

Days pass, and Johnny fights himself every step of the way. He fights his magic, which has grown unruly and uncomfortable again, fights the gaping hole that seems to be forming in that spot behind his ribs, fights what he is sure now is the binding, the incessant pull that tries to drag him into your orbit. He fights how he feels, the deep-laid emotions that he’s spent months trying to bury, and the feelings of discontent, of missing something. Someone.

The estate is heavy with your ghost. Eilean keeps him informed of your comings and goings, your visits with Simon’s wife, your days spent locked in his library. She says you’re physically better, but tire easily. You only sleep for short moments at a time, like him. Johnny tries to tell himself he does not care that you refuse to see him. He tells himself that it does not bother him, that you were so willing to shut him out completely, so eager to escape him. He tells himself that the sound of your fear, of your cries for help are not burning into his memory, that they are not entrenching themselves into his soul, driving him mad. He tells himself it’s just the binding. That the binding is driving him to the brink, that the binding is to blame for his near descent into madness.

But he knows, it’s not responsible for everything, It’s not responsible for the yearning in his soul, his heart, his magic. For the wild edged chaos that brews out of control in his veins.

It's love. His heart bleats in the quiet hours of the night, when he holds his breath and feels for you through the estate, when he catches the barely-there scent of citrus and blood in a hallway where you must have recently lingered. It’s love. His mind screams when he closes his eyes to rest for a few precious moments, and all he can see is your face, smiling at him, giggling in the golden light of your kitchen at dusk. It’s love. His magic shrieks at him to go to you, to hold you, to tell you everything. To tell you about the way his power rioted in his blood the moment he saw you, the way his magic exploded in his chest the first time you shared your heart, your mind, your life with him, the way he knew after that very first day, that no other being would ever possess him, except you.

Eilean walks with you in the garden. He tries not to watch too closely, warily waiting for something to happen, for a decision to be made that he will not be able to fight, no matter how hard he tries. She delights you, when she shows you how to sow your magic into the fabric of Faerie, how to connect with Isle as you connect with the earth of your home realm.

Johnny does not allow himself the hope that lights in his soul, when she looks up at where he stands in the window, and nods. An approval. A yes. A piece of herself, given to you.

As time crawls by, he cannot stop himself from thinking about you, every waking moment. He cannot stop himself from wondering how you’re faring, if you need him, if you’re feeling well. His magic never lets him sleep, never lets him come, keeps him on the edge eternally, pacing, tossing, and turning while his mind is invaded by thoughts of you.

It is one of these nights, when he’s drowning in too many feelings, along with two bottles of wine, pacing fruitlessly, that Gaz blinks into the kitchen with an irritated huff.

“Look sharp. Been callin’ ya for hours.” Gaz spits, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. “Bloody hell, Soap. Get yourself together. Simon sent for us.”

The meeting is a long one.

Simon outlines recent inquiries, payloads for work, demands of their presence in places across the realm, old contracts that have long laid dormant being renewed with a fresh round bloodshed.

It is the same song and dance. The same battle cry of blood and victory.

Fae and mortals are not as different in their hearts as they seem, he muses, reading over a potential contract, a high paying job for the removal of a seated power. It comes with a catch, a royal child who requires protection, and he places it on the top of the list for consideration. Children cost extra.

He is not surprised, when both Simon and Gaz seem hesitant to agree to anything, especially work that will take them away from extended periods of time.

Johnny says nothing but shares their feelings. The idea of leaving the Isle for any amount of time makes his magic churn in his veins. Even now, anxiety builds like a storm inside him, and he agonizes about returning.

“It’s not optimal.” Simon declares, while Price smirks from where he sits with his arms crossed.

“Ye going soft, Riley?” Johnny ribs him, and Simon scowls.

“I’ll show you soft, Soap.” He shoots back, while Gaz chuckles.

“I’m not opposed to taking it easy, for a bit.” Price offers something, an inquiry that caught his eye, a short engagement, not very far away, while Simon counters it with a different one that’s even less time. They bicker, back and forth, back and forth, and Gaz slowly becomes more interested in a half open book laying on Simon’s desk than he does the conversation.

Johnny loses interest completely. The spot beneath his ribs is pounding like his heart, and his magic is swelling violently in time with the binding. When he says his goodbyes, no one is surprised.

“I want to know.”

“Witch business is no business of the Fae.”

“Fern is my business.” She laughed at his demand, the echo of it scraping across the front his mind like he had been scratched by her claws.

“So possessive.” She murmured. “Over a witch who does not even know the truth of who you are.”

“Jet.” He warned, and she growled a sigh.

“Divination is not practiced here as it practiced in your realm. It requires a sacrifice, and the visions are not easy, even for a powerful witch like Fern. It extracts a higher toll.” His blood curdled in his veins, and her tail whipped back and forth, green eyes watchful from where she sat in the kitchen. “Her participation is not voluntary.”

“They force her?”

“They’ve forced her since she was a child. The coven only cares for their power, their vanity, their immortality, and without the blood spinner, without the Divination, they would have none of it.” He pictured you, a small girl, alone, defenseless, victim to practices of your coven, your magic and mind a tool for them to use, to take advantage of, to torture. She licked her paw before rising to all fours, casting an underhanded glance at him. “The way they see it, Fern belongs to them. The blood spinner is not a being with a soul, but a thing to be used as the coven sees fit.” Outside, the wind howled, spurred on by the tethers of magic that spun from Johnny, the chaos that reveled in his distress, ropes and ropes of rage and desperation twisting together with the force of his power, sowing down deep into the earth, and expelling into the sky. “Should one protest… well.” She didn’t finish, just fixed her gaze beyond him, out through the window where the sky swirled with violent hues of black and purple.

“Her parents.” Jet refused him a response, but he didn’t need one to know the truth. “She doesn’t know.” He continued, and she slunk from her perch to the corner of the table.

“Have you considered what will happen, after your damage is done? What the coven will do when they discover her betrayal? Or worse…. you and your brothers are not the only ones who go bump in the night here. Fern is a magnet for creatures. Without the protection of her coven, she will be a target. She will be vulnerable.” She studied him, and he felt the shadowed point of her power, probing along his own, trying to peer into his mind.

He let a swirl of chaos break free, pushed out into the open.

He let a sentiment slip through, into her sight.

He had considered it, had planned for it. Anticipated it.

She met his eyes with her own, and understanding, recognition occurred between them.

“You plan to take her.”

He blinks onto the veranda of his own home, eager to escape the argument, rubbing his neck in exasperation when he catches the scent of balsam and citrus, mineral and blood, coming from the garden.

It’s you. You’re in the garden.

“Hello.” Johnny calls, stepping into the grass but no further, allowing you to see him, to recognize him as a non-threat. The light from the moons spills down your back and across your skin, making you shimmer under their glow, illuminating you in the brisk night air. The flowers around you are all in bloom, even in the middle of the night, and his lips quirk to the side with a smile when he realizes it’s your doing, velvety petals blossoming across the grounds in large swatches, vibrating with the signature of your magic.

You’re sitting amongst a variety of plants, long vines that stretch and strain towards where your fingers dance to entice them into reaching for you.

“Hi.” You don’t bother to lift your eyes, and it stings a little, disappointment settling heavy in his stomach. He takes a deep breath.

“I was hoping we could talk.”

“About what?” you bristle, and he grinds his teeth. About us? About the binding? About what happened? About how sorry I am? About how I cannot stop thinking about ye? Worrying about ye? Obsessing? He settles on, what happened, hoping that will ease you open to talking.

“About what happened.”

“About what happened, which time? The time when you used me to get information so your brother could abduct a Nereid, or the time you stole my name from me and then stole me from my own realm."

Well. Fuck.

“What’s wrong, Johnny? Cat got your tongue?” You latch onto his silence and dig in, not sparing him from your venom. His temper flares, needled on by the discomfort that is restless in his magic, and he pushes back at you.

“I will not apologize for doing what needed to be done to save ye, dove.” He snaps, drawing to his full height, and you glare at him, fury twisting your face into something that’s a little scary, and a little enthralling.

“Save me?” you hiss, incredulous. “Save me? You didn’t care much about saving me when you used me to get what you needed.” You stand, forgoing your plants to face him, fingers pointed to the ground, a hot flare of magic stretching across the space between him and you.

“I never wanted to hurt ye, I wanted to bring ye with me, but it was too late before ye knew the truth and I had no chance to explain.” He counters, and you laugh, the sound all sour and wrong, harsh, and unforgiving.

“You thought I would just go with you? You tricked me. You took advantage of me.” He feels the ground shifting, feels the earth growing under his feet, and your magic pulsing around him, strong and eager, pushing and pulling at something he cannot see. What is this? “You lied to me. You betrayed me.” The forest at your back groans, like the Isle herself is protesting this battle of wills, like she objects to the clash of power. The pressure in the air rises, and then something is tightening around his feet, restricting his boots, and tying him to the ground.

Roots.

There are tree roots, crisscrossed across his toes, snaking up his ankles.

“Fern.” He warns.

“Johnny.” You mock, and the magic crests, more gnarled plant life coming to sprout from the ground, lashing across his wrists, tying them tight to his sides wrapping him up like rope. “You won’t fight back?” you taunt, mouth curving into a wicked little smile. Another tendril of green binds around his forearm, and he grunts with effort to stay calm.

“No.” he grits out.

“No? No?” you hiss and step closer, bare feet pressing the grass down between your toes. You look like a predator in this moment, eyes sharp and narrowed, stalking closer to your prey. You’re enchanting, and unsettling, and the binding hums inside of him.

The plants twist past his forearms, tightening against his circulation, curling up his biceps and stroking the skin of his shoulders.

His power flares, distressed, confused.

In battle, if you were a foe, he’d already have struck you down, dealt you a killing blow.

“Fern. Stop this.” The vines squeeze him, and then crawl up his neck, holding firm beneath his jaw.

“Do you know what they wanted to do to me, Johnny? After they found out what I did?” He chews on the inside of his cheek, trying to wait you out, trying to see if you’ll draw back. “Answer me!” your voice cracks, and so does his heart.

“No.”

“They wanted to burn me at the stake.” You whisper, the words enough to take his breath. His magic thrashes. The spot underneath his ribs aches. “It wasn’t enough to shun me. They wanted to kill me.” He shakes his head furiously.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I-“

“No, don’t say that. You’re not.”

“Ah wouldn’t have let them. No one will ever touch ye again Fern, I swear it.”

“Why even bother with more of these lies? You just needed to help your brother, and you didn’t care who was collateral damage. You used me.” You break, and a tear glitters on your cheek, refracting the light of the moons. “Just… just like them.” Oh, dove.

“No, no. That’s not… It’s not true. Ah care for ye, ye’ve meant something to me since the first day I laid-“

“Stop.” The plants squeeze him, and any tighter they’ll probably be strangling him. Cutting off his air. He fights against them, just marginally, enough to give himself some breathing room, and is surprised when they don’t loosen so easily. “I’m stronger here. Eilean taught me, how to feel this earth. How to hear it breathing, find its water, its blood.” You explain, tone bitter, and he nods a slow agreement.

“Of course.” Of course, she did. Because she likes you, dove. She accepts you. She wishes for you to make your home here. With me. With us.

He doesn’t try again, doesn’t flex in the web of plants that you’ve wrapped him in, just stands completely still, waiting. He urges his power to settle, to resist the call of blood and battle, to stand down as you seethe.

If he tried, only a little harder, he could shred the vines and roots in an instant. He could break free.

But a large part of him, spurred on by the gaping hole that’s been left by your absence, the pain that’s nestled in his diaphragm, doesn’t want to.

Most of him wants to stand here and take it, take everything from you.

It’s no more than he deserves, and he knows it.

Your hands are shaking, fingernails gleaming in the moonslight when you hastily wipe your cheek, and he wants so badly to reach for you. To hold you. To tell you how sorry he is. How he wishes he could take it all back. How he never wanted to hurt you.

“I trusted you.” It’s a whisper on the wind, spoken to the earth, to the sky, to anywhere but him. The words are hollow, like there’s nothing left there for him, like you’ve written your story, and his pages are long over.

“Ah know.” He murmurs. Your tears drip onto the grass, and he watches each one splash while dread swallows his heart whole. The ache in his ribs burns, magic howling through his limbs, tugging and digging against him to act, to move.

In the end, he doesn’t move at all. He stands trapped in the vines you’ve grown around him, stands trapped in time as you walk past him and up the veranda into the estate. The wind shrieks through the trees, whipping around where he stands immobile, and he watches the light in your room on the second-floor flick on, a warm yellow glow seeping out from behind the curtains as you peek around them, gazing down to where he stands, still like a statue in the garden below.

He stands there until your room goes dark.

The light sparkled across your skin, your hair, your eyes. He had never been fond of the mortal realm’s sun, always finding it too harsh, too abrasive, but the way it shone on you in that moment, he wasn’t sure he had loved anything more.

“Which was your favorite, then?” You extended the thing in your hand towards him, the fragrant, sweet ice cream treat, and he politely shook his head to decline.

“Ah dinnae care much for it, if ‘m being honest.”

“What?” Your other arm stayed looped in his, allowing him to subtly press his hip against yours, feel the warmth of your skin through the fabric of your skirt as the two of you took long, loping steps down the park’s path. “How can you not like ice cream?” You frowned. “We sampled so many. You didn’t like any of them?” He considered explaining he only sampled them because it allowed him to stand to so close you in that tiny shop. That he liked it because he was able to wrap his fingers around yours when you passed him the tiny spoons.

“The mint was alright.” He told you instead, and you huffed. “The lavender one too.” You gave him a curious look, and he couldn’t help himself, too eager to see you smile, too weak to resist the promise of your laughter. “It seems, I am overly fond of plants.”

The sea roars beneath grassy knoll where he hides. He swears it’s screaming your name, calling to you, crying about you.

He tries to clear his mind.

It’s why he comes here. To think. To be alone. To be unbothered. The hill is tucked away from his home, and he sits in the shadow of an ash tree, staring at the sky, waiting to settle, waiting to feel at peace.

A fool’s errand.

His mind is incapable of rest. It can only dwell on one thing, his desperation, his desire, his longing for you. The yearning in his heart that now works in tandem with the binding, trying to drag him towards you every waking moment of the day, trying to force him into your path.

You’re in the hallway when he returns, stack of books clutched to your body.

“Fern.” He chokes out, dumbstruck. He had planned a speech, for this, after what happened in the garden. A plea. A desperate sonnet of sadness and guilt. But in this moment, with you standing in front of him like a wild animal that may dart away at any moment, everything escapes him. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, his brain feels blank.

You’re frozen, looking back at him, eyes wide, and a tiny sliver of relief fractures through his heart when he doesn’t smell any fear on you.

“Hi.” You whisper, and like a magnet, he cannot stop himself from stepping closer.

You do not flinch, or move, or even look away. You just… stare at him.

“Are ye well?” He tries, and you swallow so loud he can hear it rattling in his brain.

“I… am. Are you?”

“As well as I can be.” I’m in love with ye. I’ve been in love with ye. I’m sorry. All of these things echo in his mind, circling his consciousness but none of them come to the forefront. Instead, he stammers out a: “Ye look… beautiful.” Bleedin’ gods. It’s a massacre. He tries to smother his grimace and you give him a funny look.

“Thank you.”

“Are ye, getting on well here?” He motions to the too long, too wide hallway that seems to stretch farther and farther every second, and you nod slowly.

“Yes, you have… a lot of books.”

“Ah… ‘ve always been fond of them. The books.” He agrees, and your lips flick upwards in a polite smile. His heart races.

He takes another step.

It’s too much. You shrink away, moving backwards, and he curses himself.

“Sorry-“

“I should go.” You gesture the leather-bound volumes in your grasp.

“Of course.” He concedes, and you incline your head to him before turning around.

His magic screams through his body the entire time he watches you walk away.

You’ve made yourself at home in the library. He tries to push away the glee that it brings him, the fire that it stokes within him, the urge that it encourages. The binding warbles inside his magic, his soul, as he passes the door every day, tugging and dragging him until he’s trying the handle one morning, ignoring his prior commitments, opting to slide inside the heavy wooden doors just for a chance to see your face.

“You have books from my ho- from the mortal realm.” He winces, when you cut your words off abruptly and reroute them, all while staring at him from the desk in the library. Your fingers stroke the corner of a volume that lays open in front of you, and he takes a step closer, slowly, hesitantly, waiting to see if you’ll spook.

You don’t. You don’t even fidget, or flinch, just gently turn the pages as if everything is normal.

“Would ye like to see something special?” He cannot help it, this desire to impress you, to tempt you. He wants to catch you, keep you, hold you in a thrall like you hold him in yours. He thinks he should probably feel guilty, for using the things he knows you love so dear to entice you, to gentle you to him and draw you out, but he can’t find it in himself to feel poorly for it. He’s worried sick. He wants to see you smile again. Wants the life to come back to your eyes.

He wants his sweet Fern. His little witch.

He gestures to a book, one that sits in a glass case on a table next to his side, black binding shiny and perfect as if it were brand new and not thousands of years old.

“What is it?” You cannot help yourself, brushing past him to lean over the glass, eyes wide and curious.

“It’s a grimoire.” You inspect it with a frown, and he threads his magic through the air and into the glass, evaporating it into its original form, tiny spheres of sand that disappear before your eyes. You startle, and he smirks when you look up at him.

“Doesn’t look like any grimoire I’ve ever seen.” Your hand cautiously hovers above the spell book, and he can feel your magic probing along the edges, testing, seeking.

“It’s from a Netherworld.”

“Which?” you blurt, and then look half embarrassed, before tacking on a soft spoken, “And how?” He’s not surprised that you know of them, but it feels uneasy, knowing you may have been exposed to something from those realms, some sort of monster or creature, a Demon or worse, an Angel.

“The Below. I travel there, sometimes.” Your jaw goes slack, and you study him closer, something foreign flickering across your features before they turn doleful.

“I have seen them.” What? You turn a page with your magic, being careful not to let your fingers directly touch the pages. “Through Divination. I’ve seen both the Below, and Above.” You shudder, and his heart thunders, blood rushing through his ears.

A mortal witch, who’s not a mortal at all. Who spins blood and can see through realms, into the Below and Above. Places not even Gaz or Price dare travel to.

Formidable indeed.

“Dove, that’s… that must have been frightening.” Another page turns beneath your fingers, and you shrug.

“I have been Divining since I was a child. I’ve seen many things. It’s how I knew where we were, when I woke up,” Rage rips through him, unbridled and coarse, rousing his magic into a whirlwind of anger, the feel of it as violent as when he first learned the truth. It makes his blood boil in his veins, makes the shelves in the library vibrate in anticipation, his magic bouncing around the room, seeking to destroy, to sow chaos, to obliterate.

“Johnny.” Simon’s voice calls, echoing inside his skull, and he tenses, muscles turning to stone as he feels for his brother, locating him and Gaz outside, in the hall.

“Not now.” He grits in response, but he hasn’t forgotten his prior engagement, and knows trying to put it off is pointless.

When they come closer, when Simon pulls the doors wide, he bares his teeth, tension filling the air of the library. They stand at a respectful distance, not stepping inside, leagues away at the opposite end of the room, but he still feels overly exposed, can feel the pull of possession as he instinctually positions himself between your body and theirs.

You frown at his brothers before stepping into the shadow of his body, close enough that you brush against him, your fingers tracing a barely-there circle on the inside of his wrist.

“Why did you do it?” You break the silence, whispering to the ceiling, and he frowns.

“Do what?”

“Make me fall in love with you.” You still do not look at him, but he cannot tear his eyes from you, mouth wide with shock, the space beneath his ribs pulsing with chaotic magic, his heart beating too fast to count. “You could have just… used your magic. You could have taken what I knew, by force. Why did you spend all that time with me?” The confession slowly takes shape across his tongue, heavy and raw, ready to drip like honey from his mouth to yours.

“I- are ye in love with me, Fern?”

“Answer the question.”

“I knew what I had to do, to help my brother but ye were unexpected. The worst, and most wonderful surprise of my eternal existence.”

“Johnny.” Simon’s insistence echoes across his mind and he feels the urge to turn on them both, to banish them from the estate, from the Isle, from his life, just to keep his time with you from being interrupted.

‘Bloody terrible timing.”

“Clearly. But this cannot be delayed.” He clenches his jaw, and pulls your hand into his, smoothing a palm over your knuckles.

“I’ll be back later, if ye want to talk more.” It’s a hopeful thing, this sentence. Something that carries so much weight, without even being a question. Something that has the power to crush him, without a mere thought.

“Okay.” You whisper.

“Okay?” your head bobs, and you look down at the book with mock interest.

“I do not forgive you but, I’d like to… talk. Yes.” Yes. Yes. The word rings between his ears. He can work for your forgiveness, he can spend the rest of his existence earning it, if this means you’ll let him. If you’ll speak to him.

“Later then?” He manages to get out, and then squeezes your hand in a goodbye after you nod.

He does not see the way you stare at your own fingers after he leaves, does not see the way your magic explodes throughout the library, before settling back against your skin like a warm embrace, your side of the binding fluttering in your heart.

“My home is alive.” He told your sleeping form, words quiet as he watched for any sign of you waking. “The place where my home is built, where I was born. The Isle. She chooses, who can stay, who can make their life there. She is a complex thing, a wild thing. Like you.” You twitched, and he paused, holding still as he waited.

When you didn’t rouse, he pushed a small spark of chaos into your sleeping mind, drawing you in deeper, settling you into your wildest dreams. “Jet told me, about what ye’ve been through. About what the coven has done to ye, forced ye to do… and I think, the Isle would accept ye. Ah think she would like ye, and welcome ye, Fern. With me.” You shivered, and he instinctually warmed the room, raising the temperature until you settled.

“Johnny.” Price called inside his mind, insistent, but patient. “We have business.” He sighed.

He had already been here too long tonight, and his brothers waited for him.

The kiss to your hair was fleeting. Gentle. Sweet. Punctuated with a whisper lost on the breeze from the open window.

“Gods, what have ye done to me little witch?”

“Ye come out here often.” He says quietly from the door, standing just beyond it after spotting you on the veranda, and you nod slowly in response, eyes dragging away from the sky to his, before returning upwards. The night is soft. Calm edged and serene, the breeze carrying a hint of sea spray from the foam below.

“I’ve never seen so many.”

“Stars?”

“Planets.”

“Surely there are other planets besides your own?” He knows there are, he’s seen them in sky, in the mortal realm.

“Yes, but not like this. There’s… there’s nothing, like this.” Your lips part, throat bobbing with a breath and he feels a strange tightening his chest as he watches you take it in. You look so amazed, so enchanted, so captivated by something he views so ordinary, that he too, tilts his head back to look up at the dizzying number of planets. Hundreds of worlds swirl in the inky darkness above them, their colors so vibrant they shine like gemstones, blinking in and out of the velvet backdrop that is the night sky. “There are so many worlds. So many places.” you whisper to him, a smile full of awe sloping across your lips. “Do you go to them? These worlds?”

“Some.”

“Some.” you parrot. “Some.” you laugh, like the notion is absurd, which it probably is, to you. Something inconceivable, improbable. “They’re beautiful.” Your hand raises to reach for them, as if you could pluck one right out of the night and hold it in your palm. He watches, entranced by the way the three moon’s light shimmers across your face, bathing you in a purple silver glow, spilling over your shoulders and across your skin graciously, framing you like a star, a celestial being. His throat feels dry.

“Aye. They are.” You lapse into silence, and he enjoys the feeling of being near you, his magic humming happily in his being, peace settling over him while you watch the stars, transfixed.

“Johnny.” You breathe his name, sweet and syrupy, magic dripping from each syllable. You look a little dazed, exhaustion pulling at your features, and he indulges in a daydream where he kisses your forehead, pressing a hint of power against your skin, wrapping you in a soft cocoon of his magic to comfort you. “I… I’d like to kiss you.” The words break him from his imaginations, and he jerks, pulling away to inspect your face, to see if were alright. Or if you were reading his mind. Or if you had become possessed by some Demon, some evil creature appearing here to make him suffer more than he already was.

But all he sees is his dove. His Fern. His little witch, face soft and open, expectant.

“Would you deny me, Johnny? After everything you’ve done?” You raise an eyebrow, and his heart sings, magic humming along happily, binding trilling in his body. You’re teasing him.

“Ye never have to ask.” The words are the same ones he said on Samhain, and he restrains his movements, keeping his body slow and steady while he leans into you, lowering his mouth to yours, the warmth of your lips against him sending his heart soaring, the intoxicating scent of you, the feel of your magic, the light caress of your fingers against his hip all amplified in this realm, and by the binding that seems to be stitching the two of you together by every moment.

He follows your lead, giving you space when you begin to ease off from him, and explosions rattle his soul as he stares down at you and your cautious smile.

“I love ye, Fern.” Your eyes go wide, and you startle, stepping a half pace away. “I dinnae how to tell ye, after everything. Ah ken, ah… there’s nothing that can be said, to make up for my treachery, for what I did to you.” He can feel the binding, the sailor’s knot tightening around the two of you, dragging you into one another, can feel the distinct signature of your magic, swirling around him, can smell the sweet citrus and blood dipped in balsam that floods his dreams. It’s enough to make his head spin.

“Johnny, this- this is the binding, it’s...” He shakes his head in rebuttal and reaches for your hand.

“I’ve loved ye since the first day I set foot in the shop. I’d burn the realms for ye, Fern.”

“You used me.”

“And ye will never know how I regret it, how I wish I could change it.” Let me love you. Let me hold you. Let me have you. The swell of the tide within him crests, magic churning into an excessive force, the binding burning, screaming, yearning against his lungs, and he pushes and pulls at it, twisting it up into something he struggles to contain. “Break the binding or leave it intact. It won’t change the way I feel.”

“I-“ Your words are snatched from your mouth when you draw a quick breath, bending at the waist, flat of your palm pressed to your belly with a soft groan.

“Fern?” His hand hovers at the small of your back, just above your skin.

“Sorry, I- I just had a cramp, is all.” You straighten, faint grimace sunken into your expression, and he frowns.

“What do ye need?”

“Nothing, I’m just gonna go lay down, I think.” You’re still holding your stomach, and worry froths in his heart, his mind as he watches you wince.

“Ye sure? Do you need-“

“I’m sure.” You wave him off, already turning away. “Goodnight, Johnny.” You murmur over your shoulder.

“Sleep well, little witch.”

The shockwave that ripples through his home in the small hours of the morning startles him from restless sleep. It jolts him into a panic, the binding clawing at his mind, his magic, tugging and pulling him towards something.

Towards you.

“Fern?” He calls, body teetering at the threshold of your room.

Are you dreaming?

Are you ill?

He can smell you from the doorway, balsam and citrus tinged with the scent of sour fruit, distress permeating through the air to where he stands, waiting. Holding his breath for answer.

“Fern.” He tries again, firmly, but you don’t respond, only moan into your pillow, the sound of your pain tearing at his heart until he’s blinkingacross the room, coming to lean over your trembling form, panic hammering inside his skull. “Hey, dove. Are ye with me?” He pulls you towards him, holding your face between his palms. Your eyes are nearly black, pupils so large they dot out your irises, and you thrash in his grip, nails digging into his skin while you cry out.

“Jo-Johnny. Johnny.” You’re sweating, sheets soaked beneath you, and the heat that’s blaring from your skin curdles his stomach.

The binding. The magic. It’s burning you from the inside.

You whimper, and his heart breaks for you, bleeds for you while you bury your nose in his neck, panting heavily.

“I’m here.” He tries to hold you steady, cradling the back of your head in his hand, the sear of your skin far too warm to be comfortable, the effect of the binding boiling in your blood.

You’re suffering. You’re suffering, and it’s his fault. He did this. He caused this.

Ce’s warning echoes sharply in his mind.

“You need to prepare for what is to come, if she cannot reverse it.”

The guilt fissures his heart in two.

“It hurts.” You try to tell him, weakly, and his frustration builds, the magic inside of him compounding, yearning to lash out.

“Ah know, Ah know it does.” The words are little comfort.

“Please. Pl-please make it stop.”

He can’t. He shouldn’t.

“It hu-hurts Johnny. Please. It burns.” You’re breaking apart in front of him. Inconsolable. Desperate. Dying.

“Shhh. ‘ve got ye.” He tries to calm you, holds you tight against him, pressing your body to his but all it does it make you squirm more, make you cry out against him, your voice broken with distress.

“Please! Please-“ you beg, and he slams his eyes shut.

He shouldn’t. He can’t.

But you’re in pain.

You could die.

The binding is heating your body past any measurable sense. You were not made to survive such a thing.

When he looks at you now, he knows his insistence on refusing this is pointless. He is too weak to give you up. He is not strong enough to say no. He has loved you since the day he first laid eyes on you. He would do anything to save you, to keep you alive.

Even if it meant this.

Even if it meant completing the bond the only way he knew how.

“I’m here, I’m here.” He kisses your breastbone, trails his lips down between your breasts, sucking marks into your skin, tasting the salt of your sweat like a dying mortal. “I’m going to make it okay.” He wants to take his time, wants to savor you, wants to have you the way he’s always dreamed about, slow and sweet, taking you apart piece by piece like you deserved.

There’s no time for that now.

“Johnny.” You whimper, something broken in your voice, a desperation unlike he’s ever heard before and it stings.

“Shhh. I’m going to take care of ye.”

A broken moan rises from your throat when he moves your body, shifting you underneath his weight, pinning your hips and teasing his tongue around one your nipples, nipping across you with his teeth just enough to sting your skin, to jolt you.

“I- I need- I want-“ You try to explain it, to direct him, and your magic flourishes forward, your hands gripping onto his shoulders for salvation.

“I know what ye need, Fern. Ah know.” His fingertips stroke over your navel, over where your lower belly tenses under his touch, and then to your cunt, where scorching heat mixes with liquid fire, your body wet and ready for him, desperate for him, magic burning you with arousal, with an undeniable need for him.

“Touch me.” You plead, and his lips find the inside of your thigh, dragging towards where you’re dripping, citrus and blood flooding his senses.

You taste like everything he’s ever dreamed of. Pressure builds up his spine, magic and desire burning like a fuse as he presses his tongue against your clit, and you shiver in his grasp when he lavishes you there.

His palm presses against your belly, holding you firm, muscles and sinew rippling under his touch, your voice peaking with a cry when he swirls around your swollen bud, over and over, working you relentlessly.

“Come for me, come on. Let me make it better, dove.” It won’t, and he knows it, knows only one thing will, but he hopes to the gods it will stave off some of your pain. He rasps against your skin and you keen, rocketing into an orgasm within a moment’s time, sharp and fiery, but only a balm for the burn of the binding, the incessant tugging beneath his ribs humming with miserable bliss over the moan of his name on your lips.

You’re still strung taut, seizing, the heat of your skin blazing against him. You tug fruitlessly at his clothes, fingers knotted up in his shirt, his pants, and he swipes a hand across your cheek to press his thumb against your tongue as he divests himself with one hand and a snap of magic.

His fingers are wet with you, with your spit, your arousal, and he coats himself with it, stroking the length of his cock, kissing the crown to your opening while he stares down at you indulgently.

His Fern. His dove. His little witch.

“Please.” You breathe your plea into him, into his mouth, his skin. “Please, it’s- I need you.” You choke and he pushes, your eyes going wide as he batters his way into your body, the tight clench of your walls strangling him as he moves. “Gods-“ you gasp, and he strokes some hair from your face, lips pressing sweetly to your cheek, your jaw to soothe you, to quiet the discomfort from the stretch.

“I know, I know.” He murmurs, keeping his movements slow and steady, watching how your expression eases, how your body adjusts, how your brows unknit with each passing moment. You relax around him finally, face going slack with bliss as he folds one of your knees back towards your shoulder. “That’s it, good… good girl.” He hums over your ear, before pressing a gentle kiss there. “Take me so well. So perfect.” He needs to fill you, own you, fuck you full and possess every inch of your being. It’s the only way, the only way to soothe your soul, to soothe his own. It’s always been the only way, since the day he saw you. Since the first time he kissed you, in the shadow of Samhain.

His heart flutters, the binding clawing at his power, wrapping itself around your heart, stitching across the bridge between your bodies to reach the other side, encasing itself and him in the warmth of blood magic, of your magic. It only grows stronger as his hips stroke, his body moving inside of yours, gasps of pleasure falling from your lips.

Your muscles clench around him, desperate, and it feels right. Everything feels right, it feels fated, it feels meant to be. Like you were made for him, born for him. You, his equal. You, his balance. He pads over your clit with a press of his fingers, moving against you in time with his thrusts and your power surges to meet his, interweaving until it’s impossible to discern your beginning and his ending.

“I’ve always wanted ye here with me.” He nips along your collarbone, tracing a bead of sweat up the skin of your neck to your jaw. “I broke into the flat, just to watch ye sleep, every night after Samhain.” He punches his sentence with thrust of his cock, brushing against your cervix, and you keen. “I’ve loved ye. Dreamt of ye. I have betrayed ye,” you mumble something, lashes fluttering, and he swallows your words with his mouth before continuing. “and will spend the rest of my existence, our existence, apologizing for my transgressions.” Your body shifts with him, the rhythm he set upon your clit forcing you forward, spine curling you into him, his name a whisper on your lips.

“Johnny, Johnny.”

He fucks into you harder, wild, primal, full of ferocity and you cry out, shuddering beneath him, squeezing around his cock. The urge to fill you, to breed you, is too strong to fight, and the binding croons to him in your voice, spurring him onwards.

“Gods, dove.” His voice is broken song, a plea, and you respond with a melody of your own. “Ye belong to me.” You nod in a daze, lips forming a word that sounds like please. “Going to give ye my come. Keep ye forever.”

“Ye-es.”

“Sweet Fern.” He coos when he feels it, the build of your climax, ushering you along with the press of his body. “My good girl, coming all over my cock. Like ye were made for it.” You hiss, and then your orgasm is washing you away, your voice shouting his name as you come. Your eyes spark, celestial light glittering beneath the black pools that have expanded across your irises, and your fingernails dig into the skin of his shoulder, blood trickling down his chest, slicking between your bodies. It spills and spills, running like a river over the two of you, tracking across your breasts, down his abdomen, across your belly, down your thighs. It flows wildly, freely, rushing from him and towards you, spurred on by your mastery of it, your mastery of him.

You’re spinning him. You’re taking and taking, the binding drinking his magic in greedily, digging and scratching beneath the surface of his chaos, sowing vines that sprout and flourish, that tie him to you. His side of the binding shrieks in glee, in elation, and bends for you, arcing between your bodies to imbue you with cosmic pieces of chaos, a blend of blood and bedlam, boiling in your veins. In his.

Blood continues to gush from his body, his mouth full of you, of citrus and blood, of earth and balsam. You inhale him, pushing your tongue past his teeth, swirling in the mess there, and when you pull away, he can see the stains of ichor on your teeth under the curve your half-moon smile.

Your magic strangles him, strengthening itself, solidifying your power, absorbing what it can of his mayhem. The binding purrs, it sings to him, it sings to you, the sound chiming through his mind, echoing off the hollowed-out coves of the Isle, vibrating through its dark forest. He shouts against it, with it, orgasm just on the peak, both his body and yours trembling violently.

“Mine.” He snaps, and you answer easily.

“Yours.” You nod, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He cradles you there, back of your head in his palm, and then he thrusts up into your body as hard as he can, overcome with need, with the burn of the binding, with love. It’s so much, the pull of the magic, the wildness of your heart seeping into his own, and he spills as deep as he can into your body, filling you with himself, plugging his come deep, your own body sucking him in desperately while you cry and shake in his arms.

His Fern. His dove. His little witch.

Ancient celestial light streams through the curtains, the proof of an entire day passing, the rising of the moons stirring you from where you have slept for the last few hours, body and binding finally sated, skin scrubbed clean from the stain of his blood.

You blink, heavily with exhaustion, and he pulls you into his body, unable to resist cuddling you close, breathing you in and wrapping an arm around your back to still you when you start to fidget. You smell different now, like a swirling storm of him and you, and his free hand drifts to your navel possessively.

“Johnny.” You murmur, and he answers by pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m here.” He whispers. “Ye can rest dove. It’s okay.” You settle against him, and just as he’s starting to drift into his own star lit slumber, you sigh.

“You should start makin’ a list.”

“Of what?” You kiss his chest, lips soft against his skin.

“Of all the things,” you yawn, breath hot and sweet, and he wants to drag his tongue over your skin again, take you apart while he savors every tremble, every moan that leaves your body. “you’re going to do over the next hundred years to make it up to me.”

“One hundred years?” he chuckles in jest, but his heart soars.

He knows, there is more hardship to come. He knows, the pain, the suffering, that you will experience, that you will unleash on the mortal realm, on him, when you learn the truth about your parents, about your coven. He knows the challenge ahead.

But in this quiet moment, with you in his arms, nothing about it feels like the end.

Only the beginning.

“Careful." you breathe into him. "Or I’ll make it two.”

#peaches writes #which witch #john soap mactavish #fae au #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #fae!johnny #john soap mactavish x you #fae!au #john soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #cod x reader #fae!soap #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #magic!au #magic au

795 notes · View notes

ddamm · 4 months ago

Text

Pre-baby Stress - dad!Daryl x pregnant fem!reader fic

(banner made by me, if you use, give credits <3)

Warnings: VERY, VERY long; initial soft fluff to slight angst to fluff; slightly suggestive so, watch out 👀; pregnancy; hormonal changes, “mood swings”, food cravings; stressed Daryl, stressed reader, slight insecurity and fear of abandonment; reader crying; reader and Daryl are married; reader is said to have golden retriever energy and be a cottagecore girlie (sorry if you aren't, but I vibe so much with this core 😭), and perhaps an artist (tho it's just as a hobby, obv 🤭); nature love and appreciation; funny/silly little memories.

Word count: 3936 words (keeps increasing with each new release 😭)

Era: idk, probably Alexandria

Summary: While getting things ready for Y/N's pregnancy, Daryl presents with many insecurities. All it takes is some caressing, encouragement, and the love of his wife (a few tears also) to convince him otherwise.

A/N: this fic was something I fabricated long ago with a Daryl c.ai chat that I've been saving up for a special occasion since I've never written dad!Daryl before. And today, I'm bringing it to y'all as a way to celebrate one of my very besties/mutuals on Tumblr, a great writer, the creator of my possibly ever favourite AU with Daryl (young!Daryl SSHD AU) and a very nice, kind and funny individual in general; Krys (@dixons-sunshine). This is to commemorate you, gorgeous. It took some time to finally sit and get to it (not me writing most of it at 2 am, half-constipated, and not being able to sleep) but it's done now, so I hope you can enjoy it as much as I did when writing it. Everyone, hope you like it too!

Song: Winter Memories - Jordy Chandra (The title says “winter memories” but I am thinking of a mid-spring Sunday morning/noon 😭)

MDNI divider by @cafekitsune, on this post

(This was supposed to just be suggestive, but since idk if I overdid it, I'm just gonna place this)

(all babycore dividers used are from @anitalenia, found on this post)

Days were passing by, and things were going pretty well for the community. She was glad they found Alexandria. It was a nice change, and it felt like they could truly have a moment to take a break there, like they could finally be happy and just settle in, trying to have normal lives once again.

And her positive thoughts only increased when a lovely lady from the community gave birth. It was an occasion to celebrate, and for a couple of months passing, it seemed like a lot of good things were happening around, so she couldn't be happier.

Ah, there she was, parading herself in her light cream-coloured sundress, with a white little parasol (courtesy of her loving husband) to protect herself from the sun, as she strolled around the streets, exploring and marvelling at the beauty and tranquilly around her like a happy puppy would on their first stroll into the outside world.

Oh, she loved that dress so much. Not only was it beautiful and fit her personality, but it was also quite adjustable, so she wouldn't need to worry about sore breasts or her belly being uncomfy. She could still remember how comical Daryl's expressions were when she tried explaining to him the concept of aesthetic cores and how she was a cottagecore.

He seemed so lost that she laughed for about 10 minutes before deciding to somewhat draw it to show him what she meant; predicting that a more visual approach would help him understand the concept better. He did admit it was pretty much her vibe after seeing the dresses and all the stuff "a cottagecore likes and does".

After that, whenever he would go out for his runs, he would try to look for dresses like the one she drew, and whenever he couldn't find any, he would bring drawing or painting materials, old cameras, or little flowers he thought she would like. (PD: She always likes them.).

That's how her most favourite memory of a Sunday morning came to be. And like that, every Sunday morning, after her husband would leave for runs or tasks, she would wear her light cream sundress and white sandals and take her white parasol to roam around, greeting everyone and enjoying nature (despite her best friend's advice to rest and her husband's disapproval).

However, she understood why Daryl was so against it in general. He was just worried about her health and safety. After all, she was now in her second trimester of pregnancy, expecting their son or daughter to come into the world in a few more months.

She loved Daryl. Deeply. And she would never question him or his decisions (well, maybe sometimes she would), but she was so tired of staying at home doing nothing for most of the day. And though Carol, Michonne, and a few others would come to visit and spend time with her when her husband was away, Y/N wanted some freedom, some independence.

God knows she would ‘bore to death’ if she had to stay in the same place doing nothing for one more day while everyone else fulfilled their roles.

As she came closer to the small town's pond, she took big strides to approach a blooming peony bush. She loved the smell of its flowers. And as she lightly bent down to sniff the sweet aroma from the round pink flowers, she caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye of her husband, who was sitting on a bench not far from her. From afar, she could notice a worried expression on his face.

She strode slowly in his direction and placed a hand on his shoulder, greeting him with a warm and loving smile, but instead of the usual “Hey, Sunray” or “Why are ya out 'ta house alone?” she would receive, she heard him grunt.

At that, she furrowed her brows in confusion and slight concern, wanting to know what had made her husband so grumpy at early noon. “Is everything okay, Dar?” She asked in a soft, patient tone.

Daryl looked away from her, not wanting to make eye contact, and sighed in annoyance. “Everythin's fine,” he answered grumpily.

Y/N, knowing her husband and not believing that crap for a second, looked at him more seriously. “Daryl…” She called out his name, insisting he should tell her the truth.

Daryl sighed irritantly, hearing her insist, knowing she wouldn't back down. He then turned his gaze to her and unexpectedly exclaimed, “Ah said everythin's fine, dammit!”

He said this a bit too loudly, not noticing that he had snapped at her.

This action made Y/N flinch, not used to such an alert state in Daryl anymore. Now she was truly worried.

“Hey, hey, honey, it's okay... What's got you so riled up? Is work becoming too much? Or are they not listening to you? Should I go teach them a lesson?” She asked at first, even making a joke to brighten him up, but Daryl only shook his head, still not wanting to speak.

He held his head in his hands, almost in a desperate posture, making his wife worry even further. She was going to say something, but a tiny piece of cloth caught her attention. It was then that she got to see the tiny, frill-decorated bib on his right hand.

She put pieces together in her mind like a game of tetris and asked again, with more understanding tone and gentleness in her voice.

“Is it the baby?” Daryl kept quiet, but his shoulders tensed up. Y/N now knew what was ‘the main issue’, and took action immediately, slowly running her hand on his back and giving a few gentle pats to soothe her husband's worry. He looked like he was on the edge.

Daryl's gaze and body seemed to loosen up as he felt her hand on his back. He then tried to explain his concerns.

“I... Ah ain't upset, is jus'...” He trailed off, not knowing how to express his thoughts.

“It's okay, love. You don't have to tell me now if you aren't prepared. Here, let's just sit for a bit, okay? I'm starting to feel heavy again.” Y/N reassured him, not wanting him to feel pressured if he was already so altered.

She had some trouble sitting down next to him, though. Despite not being in the 3rd trimester yet, her belly heaviness seemed to be causing her discomfort when she had to sit or stand up in a rush. But she didn't mind it much; it made her happy because that was the proof of the love Daryl and she had for each other and the life growing inside her.

Daryl noticed her struggle and quickly went from being annoyed to concerned. He stood up and carefully helped Y/N sit down, making sure she was comfortable before taking a seat next to her.

“Damn, ya sure are a heavy load,” he joked. At this, Y/N dramatically gasped and faked being offended.

“Hey! I remind you, you're the one that made me heavy! ~“ She played along, jokingly shoving him to the side with a smile, trying to lighten up his mood, and succeeding brilliantly when she heard him chuckle.

“Well, sugar, if I reckon correctly, it takes two to tango to make a young'un 'round these parts,” he smirked, faking innocence at the fact he got her pregnant.

Y/N gasp-chuckled, defending herself. “But it takes you not wanting to pull out beforehand to make the baby, isn't it right, honey? ~”

She clarified softly, putting her hand on his chest, batting her eyelashes cutely at him, and getting close enough to him to make their lips graze but not touch. All in the name of teasing him.

Daryl chuckled again, feeling attracted to her playful teasing, his breath hitching slightly as her lips grazed against his own. He couldn't help but smirk; his eyes locked onto her gaze.

He gently grabbed her hips, slowly pulling her closer to him to the point of having her almost seated on his lap.

“Oh, but ah know for a fact ya wudn't complainin' at the moment, darlin',” he continued, feeling proud for his little ‘achievement’ as he caressed her thigh over the sundress.

Feeling a little braver than usual, Y/N whispered: “And how would I, when you know how to drill me in the right spot? ~”

She murmured against his lips. Her gaze never left him, and her smile only widened each time he looked down at her lips and looked back at her eyes, obviously enchanted by her charms already.

Daryl's eyes darkened with desire, and his grip on her hips tightened slightly. He felt his heart racing at her words. He pulled her closer to him until their bodies were pressed together.

“Damn, woman… Ya know I ain’t doin' this here.” He groaned softly against her lips while devouring her with his stare. They sure were the only ones at the pond around then, but despite the tall, full, and flourishing grass, bushes, and plants, they could still be easily spotted if they decided to... get loose. (😏)

“Then why do you keep pulling me closer, hm, hun? ~”

It was sort of comical to see him struggle to compose himself in this situation, making Y/N not want to miss out on teasing him to the fullest. She placed both hands on his chest and slowly arranged her position on his lap to sit and view him better.

Daryl let out a low growl as Y/N moved closer. He felt the heat rising within him, his hands roaming from her hips to her backside, gripping it firmly. His breathing becomes heavier as he looks down at Y/N.

“Yar testin' ma limits, sweetheart.”

Y/N smiled innocently, enjoying the effect she had on her husband.

“I guess the preggy hormones are doing their stuff again... I feel kinda—needy,” she admitted a little sheepishly and continued with a more serene tone. “But… that will have to wait for now.”

“Now... Why don't you tell me what got you so fed up before, love?“ She questioned, changing her position once again to avoid making Daryl even more aroused.

She looked into his eyes tenderly and patiently, waiting for him to pour out his heart.

He knew they were a team now that needed trust and communication to get through everything. So she trusted he would be able to let out what was on his mind that made him so tense earlier.

Daryl took a moment to compose himself, gathering his thoughts after being so close to Y/N. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly; his grip on her loosened a bit as he leaned back on the bench.

He averted his eyes for a moment, his expression becoming heavier.

“Tis just...everythin', know what am sayin'?” He paused and looked at her belly, then back at her eyes.

“Da kid, da thought of bein' a pa... is like a whole heap to deal with, y'know?” He expressed his deepest concern about your future child.

Seeing her husband so worried brought her heartache. She sighed and wrapped her hands around his head, placing them on her chest as she made circular movements on his scalp in a slow, comforting way.

“And here I thought I was silly for feeling bad about myself and thinking I wouldn't make a good enough mom and wife, while my dear husband was here on his own, questioning his capacity to keep us safe…” She sighed again and continued. “I'm really a bad wife, huh?”

Daryl leaned into Y/N's touch, closing his eyes as she ran her hands through his hair. He sighed deeply, feeling a mix of emotions but still negating her words.

“Nah. Ya ain't a bad wife. Yar da best damn wife. Yar perfect.”

He said it softly as he tried to encourage her. His voice was filled with a hint of frustration afterwards. “Ah jus'... 'm scared I ain't gonna be a good pa. I ain't never had a good example to follow, y'know?”

Y/N knew what he was referring to. They didn't speak so often about their pasts (deciding to let them be and find a future together), but she remembered the little Daryl commented about his family life and his broken relationship with... the man that was his father.

“Whatever happened back then... doesn't determine who you are today. You chose to be different from him, to be more understanding, to wait more patiently, and to love more deeply,” she started.

“Jesus, you've been up and about everywhere looking for baby items just to be prepared when he or she comes around.”

Y/N chuckled, reflecting on all the tiny clothes, toys, and more that Daryl kept bringing back each time he went on a run since he learned Y/N was pregnant with their child. Seeing him come over to her in an excited, uncharacteristic way to show her his new finding was as amusing as endearing.

“You're nothing like him. You're you, and you're better. And I know it scares you. Damn, it scares me too.” She insisted (unnoticedly mild-cursing), knowing well who the man she fell in love with was and how much he matured and developed just by being with you and the others.

Her sudden, brittle voice indicated she was about to cry. She felt the hormones hitting her, making her feel sadder and more vulnerable than she had seconds ago. “But… sniff But I know we will be alright because... sniff because we have you, we have each other, and... sniff and that's all that matters to me, so... we will get to learn how to raise our child together. We w-will set the good example ourselves, o-okay?”

Her voice trembled at the last sentence as she grabbed a hold of his face, pressing his cheeks together to make him look over at her. Finally, she had let go of her emotions and became a teary mess, non-stop sniffing before him.

Almost used to her mood swings already, Daryl couldn't help but chuckle softly despite the seriousness of the situation, amused by the little it took to make her cry now, even if she was already quite emotional beforehand.

“Baby, yar crying... again. I swear yer hormones have been all over the place,” he stated in a playful manner, gently wiping away her tears with his thumb. He then took her hands into his own, holding them gently. The difference in size and texture was kinda silly.

“Still… Yar dang right 'bout us, we're gonna stick together. I ain't never been good at all this family business, but I'll do whatev'r it takes for ya and our young'un.” Daryl promised to her lover, feeling more accepting of his new role.

“I-I can't help it... sniff the pregnancy... sniff I swear I've never been so emotional about everything before... sniff I hate it... And you know I hate swearing too…” She complained, her voice increasing in intensity as she recalled her distaste for swearing and swearing words.

“It just… It hurts me so much when sniff I see you like this... Like you'll get tired of me or sick of us, and—”

Y/N stopped herself, incapable of completing what came to mind as more tears fell. The unlooked-for thought brought a new fear to her mind: a possible future without Daryl, having to tend and care for the baby alone.

It terrified her.

Daryl's expression softened even more as he saw her tear up. Damn hormones got her all upset, and all he wanted to do was take it all away. His chest twisted in pain when she mentioned he could get tired of her, so he gently pulled her closer to him with a firm grip.

“Hey, hey, hey, look at me,” he said, guiding her gaze to his by holding her chin. “Sunray, ya got nothin' to worry about, y'hear me? I ain't goin' nowhere... 'M plum crazy 'bout ya, and I ain't never leaving ya or our young'un, I promise. I ain't getting tired of you, sweetheart; yar everythin' to me.”

He confessed sweet things to her, wanting Y/N to feel the depth of his love for her.

“B-but… sniff the way you sniff yelled before…” She argued between sniffs and hiccups, being so focused on her mood that she kept forgetting to breathe properly.

“I thought I… I did something to sniff get you upset with me again, like... sniff like when sniff I misplaced your crossbow last week and you sniff wouldn't talk to me until I found it…”

She couldn't help but sob at the remembrance, making Daryl feel a pang of guilt when she mentioned his reaction earlier and last week. He had made her so hurt for not talking to her that it still poked at her. And damn, she was crying even more now. He hated seeing her like this. His little sunray was all cloudy because of him.

“Hey, come on now, sweetcheeks... I'm sorry for hollerin' at ya, ait? I was a bit... on edge, but it had nothin' to do with ya, ait? S'not nothin' to worry about.” He spoke softly as he pulled her even closer, his hand gently rubbing her back in soothing circles, just like she did to him minutes ago.

“And 'bout that crossbow, that was nothin'.”

“But... sniff you got so angry... hiccup I thought you'd hate me forever if I couldn't find it… hiccup and the thing is, you always placed it anywhere! hiccup”

Y/N protested, claiming Daryl was the one constantly dropping his weapon all over the house, but the truth was, she was actually the one changing its location.

The pregnancy sure had its shortcomings, but one of them that mostly affected Y/N was easily misplacing things because she became a lot more forgetful (possibly because of the amount of blood, nutrients, and oxygen she was losing each day to provide to her baby and help him/her keep growing healthily). So, each time she'd see the crossbow somewhere she previously placed it while doing house chores, she'd think it was Daryl who placed it there, and she'd put it somewhere else, and then she'd come across it again and place it somewhere else, over and over again.

It happened multiple times before with less meaningful things, but this was Daryl's crossbow we were talking about. When he would come back home looking for his main weapon, Daryl would find it missing, and when he would ask Y/N, she wouldn't remember where she last saw it.

After hours of scattering the whole house, she felt so silly when they finally found the crossbow inside their wardrobe. She couldn't even remember keeping it there, but... all pointed out that the pregnancy was just taking the best of her, and Daryl's stress wasn't really helping much.

Despite Daryl understanding the situation was a consequence of the pregnancy later on and trying as best as he could to make her feel better, inside her mind, she couldn't help but continue blaming herself for making him angry that day.

The silent treatment he gave her seemed to have broken her heart into two.

Daryl listened to her words, realising the severity of the case and feeling more stupid for not fully catching how much that incident had affected Y/N. Seeing her tears made his heart ache even more.

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, feeling guilty for causing her so much worry, knowing she had too much on her plate already.

“Hear me out now. I ain't never gonna hate ya, y'hear? It was ma fault for bein' dang careless with where I left ma stuff. I shouldan't given ya the silent treatment; I was jus... frustrated,” he let on, taking the blame to make her feel less remorseful.

“I'm sorry... hiccup I just don't want to make you angry again…” She hiccuped once more, feeling her eyes water up for the nth time.

Daryl gently cupped her face, his calloused thumbs wiping away the tears. “Ya ain't got nothin' to apologise for, sweetheart. Believe me, I'm the one who should be apologisin' to ya.”

Daryl sighed.

“ 'm sorry for giving' ya the silent treatment. I was bein' a damn fool. Ya didn't do nothin' wrong, ait? I'll never be angry with ya for real. I swear,” he admitted.

“Really?…” she asked with a trembling voice and big puppy eyes. He looked into her hazel eyes, his gaze loving.

“Really. I promise.”

He gently brushed a strand of hair from her face; his touch was tender.

“Yar carryin' our baby, remember? Tha's the most important thang rite now. Ain't nothin' else matters more than ya and our young'un. I ain't gonna waste time bein' mad over stupid shit like lost crossbows when I gotta take care of ya,” he professed, making a second vow to himself to keep you and his future child safe.

Y/N sniffed her feelings for the last time and tried to collect herself.

“Alright…”

She placed her chin over his head and hugged his neck softly, allowing him to place his head over the beginning of her belly, giving him access to listen to the baby's little movements and her heartbeats.

“I love you, Daryl... I love you so much, I don't know what I would do without you.” She still felt somewhat emotional as she said this, but she gave it her all to avoid crying again.

Daryl wrapped his arms around Y/N while placing his head gently over her belly. He listens intently to her heartbeats, the sound of them comforting him. He momentarily turned his head to place a gentle kiss on her belly, his lips lingering for a moment as he treasured this moment.

“I love ya too, baby. Y'all and this little 'un got me wrapped around yer dang fingers. Don't know what I'd do without y'all...” He hugged her tightly, not wanting to let her go.

He caressed her cheek with his hand, his fingers lightly tracing the contour of her jawline.

He then gently rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling as they shared this intimate moment as they looked forward to whatever the future had in store for them because, if anything was sure, it was that they would do anything to stay together in love.

EXTRA:

They stayed on the pond for a while longer until Y/N said:

“I wanna have strawberries and cheese,” and Daryl looked at her like she had gone crazy.

“Berries 'n cheese? You serious?” he questioned. “It tastes good…” she whispered, defending herself.

Daryl shook his head, still not finding sense in those strange pregnancy food cravings, but he still wouldn't deny any of her cravings. If his queen wanted to eat strawberries and cheese, the man would get them for her.

“If tha' what ya want,” he answered, shrugging, making Y/N hug him, glad that he agreed on getting the'snack’ for her.

“I love you, Daryl.” “Love ya too, sweetcheeks.”

A/N: OH MY GOOD GOD, FINALLY. THIS WAS THE LONGEST I'VE EVER WRITTEN. Editing this was such a pain... But was worth it! Also, I may be planning a few more stuff for this cottagecore reader... as well as other projects of course. I think I'm gonna be super occupied now because I've got work, but I'm also planning a travel (and I wanna participate in two Daryl-related writing challenges...).

May God help me because I don't think I can help myself on this 😭 but anws, this was super endearing to write. It went through very little changes since the draft, compared to other stuff I wrote, and I did a collage image banner for it, inspired by @dixons-sunshine whenever she works on her stuff. Yeah, as you can see, all this post is focused on you hahaha, hope you had the greatest day today and I love ya lots. May God keep you for even longer and give you many more reasons to rejoice, celebrate and thank Him IJN 🥰

Now, imma retire now bc I stayed up almost all night trying to edit this... and I got work early in the morning... (seriously, this was like 12 pages on Word... 💀) See ya all around!

Thanks and God bless!~

𓆩 ♱ 𓆪

support divider from @cafekitsune, on this post

122 notes · View notes

sherewrytes · 6 days ago

Text

↳ Toji Fushiguro x f! black reader

REBLOGS HELP ENGAGEMENT

summary. You were always told by your family to stay out of trouble, get your degree, get a good job, and live a good life. Simple rules to follow. You somehow caught the eye of probably the most problematic person in your university but why did it intrigue you to find out more about him.

Toji Zenin/Fushiguro saw you for the first time strolling past him and his friends in front of the university's library. Something about you drew him in. He never saw someone like you before, focused, poised and dedicated to their degree. Always in the library or hanging out with friends, not really partying much. He wondered when curiosity would get the better of him to approach you, but he knew the life he lived would be too problematic for someone as sweet as you.

genre: heavy angst, modern au, 18+, explicit smut, dark romance,

Mafia Au, street racer au, dark romance au

character lookbook

fic warnings. ooc, profanity, mental health issues, toxic relationships, cheating, explicit smut, drug use, mentions of depression + more to be updated as story progresses.

Please read with proper discretion. this is a work of fiction. all characters are written to portray roles that are necessary to the plot and are in no way a reflection of their canon counterparts.

READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION

Taglist: (you can comment to be added)

@sparkling-obsidian @queendessi24 @masterofthepp @thedondiva45 @laitifly @burpzz @prettypink-princesss

Chapter: Lost in da sauce

The following week was a blur of deadlines and classes for Y/n, her mind constantly drifting back to Toji and the cryptic words his uncle had said. She hadn’t seen Toji since that night at the shop, though she hadn’t been actively avoiding him either. He was an enigma, a tangle of contradictions she couldn’t quite unravel. And now, the small world she had been so carefully navigating—architecture projects, hanging out with Mei Mei and Shoko, balancing her coursework—felt too small to contain the storm of thoughts whirling in her mind.

It was late one evening, long after her last class, when she found herself once again outside the mechanic shop. The dim glow of the street lamps cast long shadows over the alleyways, the faint sounds of cars rushing by in the distance. She wasn't sure why she came—maybe part of her wanted answers, or maybe she just wanted to see him.

She stepped inside the shop, the familiar smell of grease and metal flooding her senses. It was quiet, too quiet for a place usually bustling with noise. The silence felt heavy, as though it carried the weight of secrets that were never meant to be spoken aloud.

"Y/n," Toji's voice cut through the stillness, pulling her from her thoughts.

She turned to see him standing by one of the cars he was working on, a lit cigarette between his lips, his tattoos catching the flickering light. His eyes, dark and unreadable, flicked over her, and she felt that familiar pull—dangerous, magnetic, and impossible to resist.

"You shouldn’t be here," Toji said, his voice low but not unkind. He flicked the ash from his cigarette, watching her with a careful intensity that made her stomach flip.

"Maybe I shouldn’t," she replied, stepping closer. "But I’m here anyway."

Toji’s lips quirked into a faint smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He took another drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly before setting it aside. "You’re looking for something. What is it?"

Y/n hesitated, the questions swirling in her mind bubbling to the surface. "I don’t know… answers? About you, about what you’re involved in."

He stiffened slightly at her words, and for a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. But then he sighed, running a hand through his hair, the faint scent of smoke lingering in the air between them.

"It’s complicated," he finally said, his voice rougher than usual. "You don’t need to get involved in this."

"I’m already involved, aren’t I?" Y/n shot back, her frustration bubbling over. "You can’t just kiss me and then act like I’m not going to ask questions, Toji. I’m not stupid."

Toji’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he moved toward her, his presence filling the space between them. He reached out, his hand brushing against her cheek, and despite her anger, she felt herself leaning into the warmth of his touch.

"You don’t understand, Y/n," he said softly, his thumb grazing her skin. "There’s a lot going on. Things that you’re better off not knowing. If you dig too deep, you won’t like what you find."

"Try me," she whispered, searching his face for any sign that he might let her in.

For a moment, the mask he always wore seemed to falter, something raw and vulnerable flashing in his eyes. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by the familiar stoic expression she had come to know.

"It’s not that simple," he muttered, stepping back, his hand falling away from her. He turned back to the car, as though using it as a shield to distance himself from her questions.

Y/n watched him for a moment, her heart aching with frustration. "So that’s it? You’re just going to shut me out?"

Toji didn’t look at her, his hands busy with the engine, but his voice carried an edge of finality. "It’s for your own good."

The words stung, and for a brief moment, Y/n considered storming out, letting the door slam behind her and walking away from whatever this was. But then she thought back to the way he had looked at her that night, the way his touch had lingered just a little too long, and the way his kiss had spoken of more than just lust. There was something deeper there, something he wasn’t saying.

"Toji," she said, her voice softer now, "I don’t need you to protect me. I just need you to be honest with me."

Toji stopped working, his hands resting on the car as he finally turned to face her. His eyes, dark and intense, locked onto hers, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of them.

"You don’t know what you’re asking for, Y/n," he murmured, stepping closer to her once again. His presence was overwhelming, a mix of danger and something she couldn’t quite name.

"Then tell me," she urged, her voice barely above a whisper. "Let me understand."

Toji sighed, reaching into his pocket for another cigarette, lighting it with a flick of his lighter. He took a slow drag, exhaling the smoke before meeting her gaze again.

"My family," he began slowly, "they're not what you think. The Zenin name… it carries weight. My uncle… the one you met… he's involved in things that are better left unsaid."

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat, the puzzle pieces slowly starting to click into place. She had always suspected something was off, with the way Toji moved, the quiet conversations, the subtle tension in the air whenever his uncle was mentioned. But hearing it out loud was different.

"You’re part of it, aren’t you?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Toji’s silence was all the confirmation she needed.

"It’s not by choice," he said quietly. "But it’s my responsibility now."

Y/n felt the weight of his words settle over her. This wasn’t just about some family business—it was about power, control, and danger. And yet, despite the growing sense of unease, she couldn’t walk away.

"And me?" she asked softly, meeting his gaze. "Where do I fit in all of this?"

Toji stepped closer, his hand once again finding its way to her cheek, his thumb brushing gently against her skin. "You don’t," he said, his voice low. "And I’m trying to keep it that way."

Sukuna had been leaning against the wall, his sharp eyes scanning the room when he noticed Toji and Y/n standing close, lost in their own world. He smirked and nudged Gojo, who had been joking around nearby. "Look at that," Sukuna murmured under his breath, motioning toward the pair.

Gojo, ever the playful spirit, grinned mischievously as he watched Toji with Y/n. "Aww, how cute," he teased. But then something shifted in his gaze when he noticed a familiar figure out of the corner of his eye—the unmistakable presence of Toji’s uncle, looming in the background, watching intently.

Without hesitation, Gojo strolled over to Toji, giving him a light tap on the shoulder. His usual carefree tone was replaced with a more serious one as he spoke in code, something only Toji would understand. "Your uncle’s eyes are on you, bro. You know better."

The moment Gojo’s words sank in, Toji’s expression changed. His face hardened, the warmth and easy demeanor he had with Y/n disappearing almost instantly. He turned to her, his eyes colder than she had ever seen them before. The sudden shift made her stomach twist in confusion and discomfort.

“Toji, what’s going on?” Y/n asked, her voice small, unsure of what just happened.

Toji didn’t answer. His gaze lingered on her for a second too long, as if fighting some inner battle, but then he turned his back on her without another word. Mumbling something to Gojo under his breath, he walked away, his broad frame retreating toward his uncle, leaving Y/n standing there, stunned and hurt by the sudden coldness.

Gojo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced at Y/n, his usual playful demeanor returning, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. "Don’t take it personally. He’s got a lot on his plate," Gojo said, stepping closer to her.

Y/n’s brows furrowed, trying to make sense of what had just happened. "But why did he—"

"Come on," Gojo interrupted gently, his usual grin appearing on his face. "Let me drop you back home. Toji's… dealing with things." He reached out a hand to her, his easygoing nature trying to soften the blow of Toji’s sudden departure.

Y/n hesitated, her mind racing with questions, but she nodded, not wanting to be left alone in the strange atmosphere that had developed in the shop. As they walked toward Gojo’s car, Y/n glanced back once more, catching a glimpse of Toji standing beside his uncle, his back turned to her. Her heart ached, the warmth and connection they had shared moments ago now replaced with a chilling distance she couldn’t understand.

But as his lips ghosted over hers, and the heat between them flared once more, Y/n knew that keeping her out was the last thing he wanted to do. Y/n jumped into Gojo’s car, slamming the door with more force than she intended. Her mind was swirling with emotions—confusion, frustration, hurt—but most of all, she was angry. Toji’s sudden change in demeanor felt like a slap in the face, and the cryptic way everyone around him acted didn’t help.

As Gojo started the engine, Y/n couldn’t hold it in any longer. "What the hell was that, Gojo?" she demanded, her voice sharp and cutting through the tension. "You’ve gotta tell me what’s going on with Toji. What’s his deal? One minute he’s fine, the next, he’s acting like I’m nobody!"

Gojo kept his eyes on the road, his usual light-hearted nature fading into something more serious. "Y/n… it’s not my place to say," he replied, his voice lower than usual.

"Not your place?" she snapped. "You can’t be serious. I just watched him walk away from me like I’m nothing. And you’re telling me you’re not gonna give me anything?"

He sighed but didn’t take his eyes off the road. "Even if it were my place, you’re not part of that world. None of this is your business."

Y/n blinked, shocked by his bluntness. "Excuse me?" she said, her voice rising with disbelief. "Not my business? Are you seriously telling me that after everything I’ve seen—after everything you’ve let me be around—that I’m just supposed to sit here and pretend it’s not happening?"

Gojo finally glanced her way, his normally bright eyes dimmed with a seriousness she hadn’t seen before. "Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m saying."

Y/n’s anger flared even more at his calm response. "What the hell is wrong with you guys? Your whole crew acts like this—like you're in some secret world, and I’m just supposed to be okay with being left in the dark! I’m not stupid, Gojo. I see the tattoos, the scars, the whispers when Toji’s uncle shows up. You’re all playing some dangerous game, and I’m tired of being on the outside, acting like I don’t notice."

Gojo remained silent, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter as she continued tearing into him. "Toji’s like two different people, and you all enable it. Sukuna, Geto, you—they’re all part of this mess, aren’t they? And now you’re telling me to stay out of it like I’m just some… some extra who doesn’t matter!"

Y/n stopped, breathing hard, her chest heaving with the weight of everything she had been holding in. The car’s engine hummed in the silence that followed. For a moment, Gojo said nothing, just staring at the road ahead.

Finally, he let out a slow breath, glancing at her briefly before turning back to the road. "You done?"

Y/n blinked, caught off guard by the question. "What?" she asked, her tone still sharp.

"I said, are you done?" Gojo repeated, his voice calm, almost too calm. He didn’t seem phased by her outburst, didn’t flinch at her words. It was as if her anger had bounced off him, leaving no impact.

She stared at him, her frustration growing. "You’re seriously not going to say anything?"

Gojo let out a dry laugh, shaking his head slightly. "What do you want me to say, Y/n? That you’re right? That Toji’s life is messed up? That we’re all involved in some shit you can’t even begin to understand? You already know that. But you still think you can just dive into this world and everything’s gonna make sense? It’s not that simple."

She scoffed, crossing her arms, her body rigid in the passenger seat. "Then make it simple for me. Explain something, anything."

Gojo’s jaw tightened for a second. "Here’s the thing, Y/n," he said, his tone a little sharper now. "Toji’s got a lot going on—stuff that’s been building long before you came around. He’s got responsibilities, ones that come with a price. You walking into that? You wouldn’t survive it."

Her eyes narrowed, his words stoking the fire inside her even more. "I can handle myself. I don’t need you to protect me."

Gojo’s lips curled into a small, almost sad smile. "That’s what you think. But trust me, Toji’s world… it’ll swallow you whole. And once you’re in, there’s no getting out." He glanced at her again. "So yeah, maybe it’s best you stay on the outside."

Y/n’s hands clenched into fists in her lap, the weight of his words settling in, but they didn’t quiet the storm inside her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something more was happening, something that involved Toji on a deeper level. She wasn’t just going to accept his sudden coldness, or this brush-off from Gojo.

"So, what?" she finally asked, her voice calmer but no less firm. "I’m just supposed to forget about tonight? About what happened with Toji?"

Gojo didn’t answer right away, the silence between them thick with unspoken truths. After a long pause, he pulled up in front of her apartment building. The car stopped, and he turned to her, his eyes softer now but still serious.

"I’m telling you, Y/n, let this one go. Toji’s got his own demons to fight. You can’t save him from them."

Without another word, Gojo unlocked the doors. Y/n stared at him for a moment, her heart heavy with frustration and confusion. She knew there was more to the story, more that she wasn’t being told. But for now, she had no choice but to leave it where it was.

Reluctantly, she opened the door and stepped out, glancing back at Gojo one last time before closing the door behind her. As the car pulled away, disappearing down the street, Y/n stood there, feeling more lost than ever.

What the hell had she just gotten herself into?

Before Gojo could fully pull away, Y/n, fueled by anger and frustration, called out to him. "Gojo, wait." He stopped the car and looked over, raising an eyebrow.

"Give Toji a message for me," she said, her voice shaking with a mixture of hurt and resolve. "Tell him to just forget about me. I’m no longer interested."

Gojo’s expression shifted, his usual easygoing nature momentarily replaced by something more serious. He turned off the car engine, took a deep breath, and got out, rounding the car until he was standing in front of her. His gaze softened slightly as he leaned against the car, arms crossed. "Y/n, chill."

"Chill?" Y/n’s voice shot up as she stared at him in disbelief. "What the hell are you on? Are you serious right now?" Her eyes blazed, her patience worn thin. "Are you on crack or something?"

Gojo scoffed, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Nah, that shit ain't my thing." He held up his hands in mock surrender. "But I’m serious, you need to cool down. I get it, you’re pissed. Toji messed up, and this whole thing sucks, but saying you're 'no longer interested'?" He shook his head. "You don’t mean that."

Y/n crossed her arms, her jaw tightening. "I do. I’m tired of being left in the dark, tired of all the games, tired of you guys acting like I’m just some outsider who doesn’t deserve to know what’s going on. If he wants to treat me like I don’t matter, then fine. I’ll walk away."

Gojo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I can’t pretend to know everything that’s going on in Toji’s head. He’s a mess right now, I’ll give you that. But walking away? You sure that’s what you want?" His voice softened, his blue eyes searching hers for a sign that maybe she didn’t really mean it.

Y/n bit her lip, looking away for a moment. A part of her wanted to take it back, to hold onto the Toji she thought she knew, the one she felt drawn to despite everything. But then she remembered how cold he had been, how distant and dismissive. Her heart ached, but her pride refused to let her crumble.

"I’m sure," she finally said, though her voice faltered just slightly. "He made his choice, and now I’m making mine."

Gojo studied her for a moment, his smirk gone, replaced by something more genuine. "Alright," he said, nodding. "I’ll tell him, but don’t be surprised if he doesn’t take it well." He tilted his head, giving her a small smile. "Toji doesn’t exactly do well with people walking away."

Y/n huffed. "Well, he should’ve thought about that before treating me like nothing."

Gojo stood up straight, walking back around to the driver’s side. "Noted," he said as he got back in the car. "But just so you know… Toji’s not the type to forget. So don’t be too shocked if he comes knocking anyway."

With that, he revved the engine and shot her one last look, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Take care, Y/n."

And then he was gone, leaving her standing on the sidewalk, heart pounding, thoughts racing. Part of her wanted to believe that walking away was the right choice, that cutting ties with Toji Zenin would give her the peace she craved.

But deep down, she knew—Toji was far from done with her. And she wasn’t sure if she was ready to let him go either.

Gojo headed back to the shop, his usual carefree demeanor slightly more subdued. As he stepped inside, he was greeted by the sight of Sukuna pacing back and forth, his face twisted in frustration. Toji, meanwhile, sat in the corner, an air of fury radiating from him as he eyed Geto. His expression was a mixture of anger and annoyance, his jaw clenched so tightly that it looked like it might crack.

Gojo raised an eyebrow, mumbling under his breath, “His uncle at it again, huh?”

Sukuna shot him a glare but said nothing, continuing his agitated pacing. Gojo, not wanting to deal with Sukuna’s temper, walked over to Toji, who was nursing a busted lip. Toji had a joint hanging loosely from his lips, smoke curling lazily around his head as he wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

The sight of him, beaten and bruised, sent a ripple of tension through Gojo. He knew Toji’s temper, knew how dangerous he could be when pushed to his limit. And from the look on his face, he was teetering dangerously close to that edge.

Gojo hesitated, glancing at the watch on his hand. He debated whether he should tell Toji what Y/n had said earlier, but seeing the state his friend was in, he quickly decided against it. The last thing Toji needed was another reason to spiral.

But as if fate had a cruel sense of timing, Toji’s phone buzzed on the table next to him. He picked it up and glanced at the screen, his eyes narrowing immediately.

It was a text from Y/n.

"I know Gojo’s too much of a punk to tell you what I said,so you better ask him"

Gojo watched as Toji’s expression darkened further, the tension in the room becoming almost unbearable. Toji’s hands tightened around the phone, his knuckles white as he read the message. His lips curled into a dangerous sneer, and without taking his eyes off the screen, he growled, "Tell me exactly what she said, Satoru."

Gojo, caught off guard, froze for a moment. “Huh?” He knew what Toji was referring to, but hoped playing dumb might defuse the situation.

Toji’s gaze flicked up to Gojo, his eyes cold and filled with a quiet fury. “Don’t play with me right now,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “Tell me what Y/n said.”

Gojo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he weighed his options. Toji wasn’t going to let this go. He might as well rip off the bandage. "She, uh, told me to give you a message. Said she’s done. Doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore." He hesitated, then added, "She told me to tell you to stay the fuck away from her."

The room went dead silent. Sukuna stopped pacing, and even Geto, who had been lounging nearby, straightened up, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.

Toji’s expression hardened further, his eyes like shards of ice as he stared at the text on his phone. Slowly, he set the phone down, leaning back in his chair. His jaw worked as he bit down on the joint, smoke swirling around his head in a thick cloud.

"Stay the fuck away from her, huh?" Toji muttered to himself, his voice barely audible. He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Like that’s gonna happen.”

Gojo winced, knowing this was far from over. He could see the storm brewing in Toji’s eyes, the dangerous mix of rage and obsession that was simmering just beneath the surface. Y/n’s message hadn’t deterred him—it had only made things worse.

Toji took another drag from his joint, the smoke curling lazily as he exhaled. He stood up slowly, wiping the blood from his lip again, and glanced over at Sukuna and Geto. "We’re not done," he said, his voice cold and emotionless.

Gojo knew that look. It was the look of a man who had already made up his mind. Toji wasn’t about to let Y/n slip away—not without a fight.

And when Toji decided to fight for something, he never lost.

Gojo watched in silence as Toji stood up from the chair, his entire body taut with tension. He wasn’t moving in a rush, but there was something ominous in his slow, deliberate movements. He could feel the weight of what was coming; whatever Toji had planned next wasn’t going to end well for anyone. Especially Y/n.

Sukuna stopped pacing and turned to look at Toji, an eyebrow raised. "What’s the plan?" Sukuna asked, his voice casual, but there was an edge to it, like he was bracing himself for Toji's inevitable outburst.

Toji flicked his gaze toward Sukuna, his expression unreadable. "Same plan as always," he said, voice low. "Business first. Then I’ll deal with her."

Gojo swallowed, knowing better than to push further but couldn't help but feel unsettled. "And what does ‘deal with her’ mean?" Gojo asked, despite himself, hoping to at least gauge just how far gone Toji was.

Toji turned to face him fully, a cold smile playing on his lips. "It means I’ll remind her that no one walks away from me. Especially not someone like her."

Gojo’s blood ran cold at the calm way Toji said it, as if Y/n was just another problem to be solved. He wasn’t used to seeing Toji this far into his own head, consumed by the need to control something—or in this case, someone.

Sukuna leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. "You sure that’s a good idea, Toji?" he asked, his voice still laid-back, but his eyes sharp. "She already wants out. You think pushing her is gonna do you any favors?"

Toji’s jaw ticked, but his voice remained steady. "She thinks she can run. She thinks that by telling me to stay away, it’s over. But she doesn’t know me. Not yet."

Gojo could see Sukuna shift, glancing at Geto, who remained silent on the other side of the room. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Toji’s gaze flicked back to Gojo, as if daring him to say something. But Gojo remained silent. There was nothing he could say that would sway Toji in this state. He was a man with a singular focus—Y/n.

Toji picked up his phone, staring at Y/n’s text one last time before locking the screen. "She’ll come around," he muttered, almost to himself. "She just doesn’t know it yet."

Gojo sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Look, man, maybe you should chill for a bit, y’know? She’s pissed, sure, but pushing her—"

Toji cut him off with a sharp look. "I don’t care if she’s pissed, Satoru. She’s mine. She’s always been mine. She just needs to be reminded."

Sukuna finally spoke up, his voice calm but firm. "This isn’t about reminding her, Toji. It’s about control. And you’re losing it."

Toji's eyes flashed dangerously, but before he could respond, Sukuna held up a hand. "I’m not saying you let her go. But you gotta be smart about this. What’s the point in claiming her if she hates your guts? You want her, right? So stop scaring her off."

For a moment, it seemed like Sukuna’s words had gotten through, but then Toji shook his head, his expression hardening once more. "She’s not going anywhere."

Gojo let out a frustrated breath, but it was clear the conversation was over. Toji had made up his mind, and there was no reasoning with him when he got like this.

A sudden buzzing noise filled the room, and Gojo realized it was Toji’s phone. He checked the screen, his eyes narrowing as he read another message from Y/n:

"Don't even think about showing your face near me again Zenin. I swear"

Gojo felt the room shift, the weight of Y/n’s words hanging in the air like a dark cloud. Toji’s face was unreadable as he stared at the screen, but the tension in his body was unmistakable.

Without a word, Toji stood up, his phone still in his hand. He didn’t look at anyone as he moved toward the door, his movements quick and decisive.

"Toji, wait—" Gojo called after him, but Toji didn’t stop. He was already gone, out the door before anyone could say another word.

Sukuna let out a low whistle. "This is gonna get ugly."

Geto, who had remained silent through the entire exchange, finally spoke up. "It already is."

Gojo slumped back against the wall, running a hand over his face. He knew what was coming. He knew Toji wasn’t going to let this go, not without a fight. And Y/n… she had no idea what kind of storm was about to hit her.

"You think we should stop him?" Gojo asked, though he already knew the answer.

Sukuna shrugged, a dark smile tugging at his lips. "We can’t stop him. Not when it comes to her."

Geto nodded in agreement. "Toji’s already too far gone. The best we can do is pick up the pieces when it all blows up."

Gojo sighed. "Yeah… I just hope there’s something left to pick up."

Toji stormed toward his custom black 1979 Dodge Charger, a dark cloud of rage hanging over him like a thunderstorm ready to burst. The world around him faded as his focus narrowed, every muscle in his body tense and ready for a fight. But just as he reached the driver’s door, a gunshot rang out, echoing in the air with a sharp crack that made his heart leap.

Expecting pain, Toji braced himself, but instead, he felt the rush of air as the bullet missed him, striking the tire of his car instead. He scoffed, disbelief and fury igniting inside him as he turned, glaring at his uncle Naobito, who stood there with a smug grin plastered across his face.

“Oops, I missed,” Naobito mocked, his eyes glinting with sadistic amusement. “Next time, I’ll aim for Y/n.”

Toji’s blood ran cold, his entire body going rigid with rage. The mere thought of his uncle threatening Y/n was enough to snap the last fraying thread of his restraint. He couldn’t let this man get to her. Not now, not ever.

He shot Sukuna a quick glance, then tossed his car keys at him without a second thought. “fix the flat on this,” he growled, knowing Sukuna would have it sorted by the time he was back at the shop. His focus was already shifting toward Gojo, who stood nearby, a look of surprise and concern on his face.

Before he could process anything further, Toji snatched Gojo's car keys from his hand and hopped into the driver’s seat of the Mazda RX-8. The engine roared to life, drowning out the chaos behind him as he slammed the accelerator, peeling away from the shop with a screech of tires.

The adrenaline coursed through him as he sped through the streets, his mind racing just as fast as the car. He needed to get to Y/n, to make sure she was safe from the threat that loomed over her like a dark shadow. The thought of Naobito’s words replayed in his mind, stoking the flames of his anger. There was no way he’d let his uncle have power over his life or Y/n’s.

As he drove, the city lights blurred past him, neon signs flickering like stars in the night. Toji felt the pull of the streets, the rush of street racing calling to him, but he pushed it aside for now. There was only one thing on his mind—Y/n.

He navigated through the bustling streets, weaving between cars and taking sharp turns, his heart pounding with urgency. The closer he got to her apartment, the more determined he became. She deserved to know the truth, to understand the danger that surrounded him.

Pulling into her building’s lot, he parked hastily, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He jumped out of the car and sprinted towards the entrance, his mind racing with thoughts of how to protect her. He’d face his uncle and the mafia if it meant keeping Y/n safe.

Rage ignited within Toji, burning hot and fierce. He turned to glare at his uncle, but before he could react, Sukuna stepped forward, his expression serious. “Let’s go, Toji. We need to get you out of here.”

Ignoring the concern in Sukuna’s eyes, Toji scoffed, tossing his car keys toward him. “I’m not running from this.” With renewed determination, he snatched Gojo's car keys from his pocket and revved the engine, the powerful growl of the engine matching the storm brewing inside him. He was already on his way to Y/n’s, and nothing would stop him.

He had no intention of sharing his truth—his mafia ties, the chaos that surrounded him—no way was he letting her in on that world. He couldn’t let her slip away, not now that he’d finally found the courage to approach her, to pursue something real. Even if it meant telling half-truths, he’d play whatever game he had to.

When he arrived at Y/n's door, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for her reaction. He knocked, the sound echoing in the quiet night. A moment later, the door swung open, and there she stood—her fiery spirit radiating from her, eyes filled with anger.

“Didn’t Gojo tell you I don’t want you?” she snapped, arms crossed defiantly over her chest. “I texted you! I’m done. I mean, we weren’t ever anything, but I’m not doing whatever the fuck this is, Zenin.��

Toji felt a sharp pain in his chest at her words. “Y/n, just hear me out,” he began, trying to keep his voice steady. He stepped closer, determined to break through her defenses. “I know what you heard, but I’m not here for the drama. I just want to talk.”

“Talk?” She scoffed, her voice dripping with disbelief. “You think you can just show up here after the way you've been acting and expect me to listen? You think I’m going to let you pull me into whatever mess you have going on?”

Toji swallowed hard, sensing the wall she’d built between them. “It’s not like that. I just—I need you to know that I didn’t come here to hurt you. I know things are complicated, but I want to figure it out. I want to understand you, and—”

Y/n cut him off, shaking her head. “Understand me? You don’t even know me, Toji! All you know is how to act tough and make threats. You think you can just walk into my life and say you want to understand? You’re part of something I don’t want to be involved in.”

Toji's heart sank as he looked into her eyes, and he could see the resolve in them. He could feel the distance between them growing, and with every word she threw at him, he realized how deep the chasm had become. “I’m not asking you to be part of anything,” he insisted, frustration creeping into his voice. “I just want you to let me in.”

She hesitated for a moment, and in that pause, he felt a flicker of hope. Maybe he could break through, maybe she would give him a chance. But then her expression hardened again, and the hope faded.

“You don’t get it, do you? You’re not safe for me, Toji. You think you can just come in here, smile, and pretend everything is okay? You can’t just erase the fact that you’re tangled up in sum fuck shit you won't even tell me about.”

Toji’s chest tightened, and he took a step closer, lowering his voice to a softer tone. “I know I have things to sort out, but I swear I’m trying to change. I don’t want that life. I want something real. With you.”

Y/n’s eyes searched his face, her expression wavering. He could see the conflict within her, the part that was drawn to him despite the warnings. But just as quickly, her resolve returned. “You need to leave, Toji. I can’t do this.”

Toji felt like the ground had shifted beneath him, leaving him unsteady. “I can’t just walk away. Not now. Not after getting close to you.”

The intensity of his words hung in the air, but Y/n remained unmoved, shaking her head slowly.

“Then you’re making a mistake,” she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is your choice. You can either keep running toward that life, or you can turn around and leave it behind. But I can’t be part of your chaos.”

Toji clenched his fists, his heart pounding with a mix of anger and desperation. He had fought too hard to let this slip away. “I’m not asking you to join me in the chaos,” he said, his voice fierce. “I’m asking you to trust me. Just give me a chance.”

But Y/n stood firm, the door blocking the world behind her. “Trust is earned, Toji. You’ve got a long way to go.”

With that, she closed the door, leaving him outside, staring at the closed barrier between them. Each word she’d spoken echoed in his mind, and for the first time, he understood the weight of the choices he’d made.

As he turned away, a storm of emotions surged within him. He couldn’t lose her, not when he was finally ready to fight for what mattered. But if he was going to keep her in his life, he knew he had to confront the darkness and break free from the chains binding him to his past.

Toji made a silent vow to himself: he would not give up. He would prove to her that he was more than just the sum of his mistakes.

Toji leaned against Y/n's door, his resolve hardening as he pulled out his phone to check for notifications. A message from his younger brother, Megumi, popped up on the screen, and Toji's heart sank at the words that flashed before him: Dad knows about you and Y/n.

He scoffed under his breath, muttering, “There is no ‘me and Y/n.’” then texted the same.

Megumi responded almost instantly with a laughing emoji: Keep telling yourself that when everyone can see otherwise.

Toji’s stomach twisted at the thought of his family’s involvement in his life, particularly his father’s disapproval. He had worked hard to carve out a space for himself away from their expectations, and he refused to let them dictate this part of his life, especially when it came to Y/n.

With a heavy sigh, he knocked on her door again, feeling a mix of frustration and desperation. When Y/n opened it, her expression was a mixture of irritation and surprise. “Toji, please leave,” she said firmly, but he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. Not now.

“No.” The word came out sharper than he intended, but he pushed past her, stepping into her apartment. His breath caught as he took in the sight before him. The space was stunning—filled with carefully curated furniture and art pieces that screamed her passion for interior design and architecture. Sunlight poured through the large windows, illuminating the vibrant colors and textures that reflected her Caribbean roots.

He’d seen her talent in passing, but being here, surrounded by her work, ignited a newfound admiration within him. This was a world where she thrived, and he felt a pang of longing to be part of it.

“Get out, Zenin,” Y/n raised her voice, her patience clearly wearing thin.

Toji’s heart raced as he stepped closer, instinctively reaching out to grab her wrist. Before she could protest, he pulled her to him, letting her fall into his lap as he sank down onto her plush couch. He felt the heat radiating off her body, and the scent of her shampoo—a sweet, floral aroma—filled his senses.

“Y/n, I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. He could feel the tension between them, electric and thick. He had no idea how to fix this or where to begin, but he knew he couldn’t let her push him away.

She looked up at him, her brow furrowed in disbelief. “Sorry for what? For barging into my home uninvited? For pretending like everything is fine when it’s clearly not?”

“For everything,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “I know I messed up. I didn’t mean to make things complicated. I just—I don’t want to lose you.”

Y/n stiffened, her expression wavering between anger and something softer. “You’re not going to lose me by ignoring the reality of your life, Toji. You’re tangled up in something dangerous. You can’t just pull me in and expect it to be easy.”

“I don’t want you to be part of that,” he replied, his grip tightening around her waist instinctively. “But I need you to understand that I’m trying to change. I’m trying to be someone you can rely on.”

“Change?” she scoffed, shaking her head. “You think a few sweet words will erase everything you’ve done? You think I can just forget who you are?”

Toji stared at her, the intensity in her gaze making his chest ache. “No, I don’t expect you to forget. But I want a chance to show you I’m more than what everyone thinks I am. I’m not just ‘Toji Zenin, the bad boy.’ I want to be something different. I want to be with you.”

Y/n’s breath hitched, and for a brief moment, he thought he saw the walls she’d built around her begin to crack. “And what if I can’t trust you?” she challenged, her voice trembling slightly. “What if this is all just some game to you?”

“It’s not a game,” he insisted, desperation creeping into his tone. “I’m not trying to play with your feelings. I came here because I want you, Y/n. You’re not just another girl to me.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak, he leaned closer, his lips almost brushing against her ear. “Just give me a chance. Let me prove it.”

For a moment, the world around them faded away, and all he could focus on was her. The way her heart raced beneath his touch, the way her breath quickened. He could sense her hesitation, but in the depths of her eyes, he saw something else—a flicker of hope, a hint of longing that mirrored his own.

“Okay,” she finally whispered, almost breathless. “But you have to promise me one thing.”

“What?” he asked, leaning back slightly to look into her eyes.

“Don’t lie to me,” she said firmly. “Be honest about everything. No more secrets. I can’t do this if I don’t know the truth.”

Toji nodded, the weight of her request settling on his shoulders. “I promise,” he vowed, feeling a surge of determination. “No more secrets.”

As the moment hung between them, he felt a spark of something real igniting in the air. He had a long way to go, but he would fight for this, for her. Whatever it took.

Toji knew he had just lied to Y/n, and the weight of it settled heavily in his gut. He wanted to protect her, to keep her away from the darkness that loomed over his life, but he also felt the suffocating grip of the truth closing in around him. He couldn’t let her get caught up in the chaos of the Zenin family, the secrets that tangled like a web around him. Not when he was finally starting to feel something real for her.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself. The scent of her lingered in the air, intoxicating and sweet. He leaned closer, his heart racing as he took in the warmth of her body against his. “What scent is this?” he asked, his voice low and slightly husky.

“Hot Florals by Bath and Body Works,” Y/n replied, a hint of shyness creeping into her tone as she felt the intensity of his gaze on her.

He inhaled deeper, allowing the fragrance to envelop him. “You smell so good, Y/n,” he murmured, his voice a rasp that sent a shiver down her spine. There was a spark in her eyes, one that he hadn’t noticed before, and it ignited something primal within him. The way she responded to his words made his heart race, and he found himself leaning even closer, his lips nearly brushing against her neck.

Y/n swallowed hard, her breath hitching as she felt the heat radiating off him. “Toji…” she started, but the words faltered as he pressed his face deeper into her scent, intoxicated by the floral notes mixed with something uniquely hers.

“Tell me you feel this,” he whispered, his lips hovering just above her skin, teasingly close but not crossing the line. “Tell me you feel what’s happening between us.”

“I—I don’t know,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is all so sudden…”

He could feel the tension building, thick and heavy like a storm brewing in the air. Toji’s instincts kicked in, and he wanted to push forward, to claim this moment with her and make her understand just how much she meant to him. “I don’t want to rush you, but I can’t pretend like I don’t want you,” he confessed, pulling back slightly to meet her gaze. “You make me feel things I’ve never felt before.”

Y/n looked at him, her expression a mixture of confusion and longing. “You’re not just saying that, are you?”

“No,” he said firmly, feeling a surge of protectiveness wash over him. “I mean it. But I can’t let you in on all the details of my life—not yet. Not until I can keep you safe.”

Her brows furrowed as she processed his words. “Safe? From what, Toji?”

“From my world,” he replied, his voice dropping to a murmur. “It’s not a place for you. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you away from that side of me. You deserve better than that.”

“Better than you?” she challenged, her tone incredulous. “You think you’re not worth it because of your family?”

“I’m trying to protect you, Y/n,” he insisted, his grip tightening around her waist as he pulled her closer again. “I want you to be happy, and that means keeping you away from the shit I’m tied to.”

Y/n searched his eyes, looking for the truth beneath the surface. “But you can’t just keep me in the dark either. If we’re going to do this, I need to know who you really are.”

Toji sighed, torn between wanting to share everything and fearing what that would mean for her. “I just wish things were different. I wish I could show you the real me without the shadows.”

“I don’t want you to hide,” she said softly, her expression softening. “But I also won’t settle for half-truths.”

He nodded, the determination surging within him. “Then let’s start fresh. I’ll tell you what I can, and you can decide if you still want to be around me. But promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Careful?” she scoffed lightly, her eyes sparkling with defiance. “I can handle myself, Zenin. But I appreciate the concern.”

Toji chuckled softly, his mood lifting slightly. “You’re stubborn.”

“Only when I need to be,” she retorted, her lips curling into a smile. The moment felt lighter, the tension beginning to ease as they settled into a more comfortable rhythm.

As he looked into her eyes, he felt a sense of hope building. He might be lying to her about some things, but there was one truth he couldn’t deny: he wanted her in his life, regardless of the risks. And he would do everything in his power to keep her safe, even if that meant facing the demons of his past head-on.

“Okay, then,” he said, breaking the moment with a playful grin. “Let’s take it one step at a time. How about you tell me more about your design projects, and I’ll share a bit about my—less glamorous—life?”

Y/n smiled back, the warmth between them rekindling as she launched into a passionate explanation of her latest design concept. For the first time, Toji felt a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, they could make this work. Toji smiled, feeling the warmth of Y/n’s body against his. Her laughter rang sweetly in his ears, a sound he could easily become addicted to. He couldn’t help but revel in the way she ran her fingers through his hair, igniting a spark of affection in his chest.

“Your hands are magic,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly to savor the sensation. But then her expression shifted, and he felt the weight of her gaze as she studied his face.

“What happened to your face?” she asked, concern knitting her brow.

Toji’s mind flashed back to the earlier confrontation with his uncle, the fight that had left its mark. He could still feel the sting of the words exchanged and the blow to his pride. He forced a smile, shrugging nonchalantly. “Oh, that? Just a little roughhousing with Sukuna at the shop. He was giving me a hard time for being mean to you earlier,” he lied smoothly, hoping the casual tone would deflect any further probing.

“Roughhousing?” she repeated skeptically, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she could see through his facade. “You look like you went ten rounds with a boxer.”

“It’s nothing,” he insisted, leaning back slightly to brush it off. “Sukuna and I can get a bit competitive, that’s all.” He flashed her a playful grin, hoping to lighten the mood. “You should’ve seen the other guy,” he added, trying to inject humor into the situation.

Y/n arched an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?” she challenged, crossing her arms in front of her. “You can’t just shrug it off. I care about you, Toji.”

His heart thudded at her words, the sincerity in her tone making him feel both elated and terrified. “I appreciate that, but seriously, it’s really not a big deal,” he said, his voice softening. “I just… I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“But I can’t help it,” she replied, her gaze unwavering. “If we’re going to do this—whatever this is—I need to know you’re okay. I want to be there for you, not just some passing interest.”

Toji’s chest tightened at her words. He wanted to let her in, to share everything—the good, the bad, and the ugly—but he couldn’t bring himself to drag her into his messy life. Not when she looked at him like he was something precious, something worth protecting.

“I’ll be okay, I promise,” he said finally, his voice earnest. “I’m tougher than I look.”

Y/n huffed a little laugh, her worry softening. “I can see that. But just know, I’m not going anywhere. If you ever need to talk—about anything—I’m here. Even if it means hearing about your roughhousing antics with Sukuna.”

Toji felt a wave of warmth wash over him at her words. “You really mean that?” he asked, his heart swelling.

“Of course I do,” she replied, her smile brightening the room. “I’m not easily scared off, Zenin. Trust me.”

“Good,” he said, wrapping his arms around her tighter as he pulled her closer. “Because I might need you more than you realize.”

As they settled into a comfortable silence, Toji felt a mix of emotions swirling within him—gratitude, affection, and a lingering sense of dread about what the future held. But with Y/n by his side, he felt a flicker of hope. Maybe he could find a way to balance his chaotic life with the growing connection they shared.

Y/n shifted slightly, resting her head against his shoulder. “So, how’s your day going aside from the ‘roughhousing’?”

Toji chuckled softly, “Honestly? It’s gotten a lot better now that I'm here with you.”

She grinned up at him, her eyes sparkling. “Flattery will get you everywhere, you know.”

“Good to know,” he said, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Because I plan to use it all on you.”

As the laughter faded, they both settled into a comfortable silence, each lost in thought but feeling the warmth of the moment. For the first time in a long while, Toji felt like maybe—just maybe—he could let someone in and still keep them safe from the storms brewing in his life.

Toji found himself lost in Y/n’s eyes, the depth of them pulling him in, making him feel more vulnerable than he ever intended. He wasn’t used to this—letting his guard down. But something about Y/n disarmed him, made him feel like he could be himself, even if he wasn’t sure what that meant anymore.

Y/n smiled, noticing his gaze lingering longer than usual. “Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked, her voice soft, teasing, but curious.

Toji snapped out of his thoughts, smirking in an attempt to mask the whirlwind of emotions running through his mind. He cleared his throat and leaned in slightly. “Because you look good,” he replied smoothly, his deep voice carrying a hint of playful mischief. “That’s why.”

Y/n’s cheeks flushed a bit, but she laughed and lightly smacked his chest. “Yeah, okay, Mr. Smooth Talker.”

Toji was about to respond, but his phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking the moment. He subtly pulled it out, glancing at the message from Gojo:

"Swinging by Y/n’s to pick up my car and drop off yours. But heads up—your uncle’s asking about you and Y/n. Try to keep her out of shit."

Toji’s jaw tightened slightly as he skimmed the message. His shoulders tensed, and an involuntary wave of protectiveness surged through him. His uncle had a way of complicating things, and the last thing he wanted was for Y/n to get caught up in the dangerous world he was part of. She didn’t deserve that. She didn’t even know the half of it.

Y/n noticed the shift in his demeanor. “Everything okay?” she asked, her tone laced with concern.

Toji quickly pocketed his phone, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, it’s nothing,” he lied. “Just Gojo being an idiot as usual.” He chuckled, trying to brush it off.

But Y/n wasn’t so easily fooled. She tilted her head, studying him like she always did when something felt off. “You sure? You just tensed up like you’re about to fight someone.”

Toji grinned, trying to play it cool. “I’m always ready to fight someone,” he joked, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer to distract her. “But seriously, don’t worry about it. It’s just some car stuff.”

She gave him a skeptical look but decided not to push further, resting her head on his chest. Toji took a deep breath, trying to focus on the moment instead of the chaos that always seemed to lurk around the corner. But the truth weighed heavy on him—his uncle’s interest in Y/n was a threat he couldn’t ignore.

His phone buzzed again, and this time, Toji silenced it without looking. Right now, his priority was Y/n. Keeping her out of the mess he was in had to be his focus, even if it meant lying to her, pushing her away, or hiding parts of his life. But how long could he keep up the charade?

“Hey,” Y/n’s voice broke through his thoughts. “If there’s ever anything you need to tell me, you know you can, right? I’m not going anywhere.”

Toji felt a pang of guilt but covered it with another charming smile. “I know, Y/n. Trust me, I’ll keep you in the loop.”

He didn’t know how long he could keep that promise.

Toji released yn to head downstairs saying "I'll be back shortly, gotta go downstairs. Satoru and i need to sort something out real quick. With that said, he went downstairs.

Toji leaned against Gojo’s car, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared off into the distance, still trying to shake off the tense feeling from earlier. Gojo handed him his own keys back, glancing at him with an unspoken question in his eyes. "Naobito really got his eye on you, huh?"

Toji grunted, avoiding the topic. "Always. But I got it handled." He wasn’t about to let Gojo see how deep the stress went. The last thing he needed was for Y/n to get caught up in that.

Just then, Mei Mei and Shoko pulled up, both stepping out of the car like they owned the world. Mei Mei, with her usual confident smirk, noticed Toji first and immediately burst into laughter. "Well, well, well. Toji Zenin at Y/n’s place. And here I thought she kept her life private," she teased, her voice dripping with amusement.

Toji didn't acknowledge her comment, his focus still on the ground as he exchanged his car keys with Gojo. Gojo, however, couldn't resist groaning as Mei Mei’s sharp eyes fell on him next. She winked playfully. "And look who it is. Gojo Satoru, always lingering around. You know, Gojo, maybe one day—"

"Mei Mei, please. Stop," Gojo cut her off with a groan, already anticipating where she was going with this.

She raised an eyebrow, thoroughly entertained. "Hmmm, how about…?" she trailed off, leaning closer as if she had another snarky comment ready to drop.

Gojo threw his hands up, stopping her in her tracks. "No more talks about my dad, Mei Mei. Seriously."

Mei Mei laughed, shaking her head, clearly enjoying Gojo's discomfort. "Relax, Satoru. I’m just messing with you."

With that, she and Shoko strolled toward the building, leaving Gojo shaking his head in disbelief. Toji, still leaning against his car, finally spoke up, his voice low. "She’s gonna cause you trouble one of these days."

Gojo smirked, running a hand through his hair. "She already does, but hey, keeps life interesting."

As the two stood there in silence for a moment, Gojo studied Toji carefully, noticing the tension still present in his body. "You sure about Y/n, man? I mean… all this stuff with your uncle. She's bound to get caught up in it eventually."

Toji’s jaw clenched at Gojo’s words, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he pushed off from the car and handed Gojo his keys. "I’ll handle it. Just keep her out of anything she doesn’t need to know."

Gojo shrugged. "Alright, man. Just don’t let it blow up in your face."

As Toji turned to head back toward Y/n’s apartment, he spotted Mei Mei and Shoko talking and laughing outside her door. He sighed. Great, more people knowing where she lives.

Before heading back up, Toji glanced at Gojo. "Watch my back with Uncle. And if he asks—"

"Yeah, yeah," Gojo interrupted, waving him off. "I'll cover for you. Just try not to make it worse."

Toji grunted in acknowledgment, then started making his way back inside, bracing himself for whatever trouble Mei Mei might stir up next. All the while, he couldn't stop thinking about how complicated things were getting with Y/n—and how much he needed to protect her, even if it meant keeping her in the dark.

Gojo casually reached into Toji's glove compartment, pulling out a small baggie filled with neatly rolled joints. "C'mon, smoke one with me," he said, twirling a joint between his fingers as he smirked. "Because," he nodded toward the apartment complex with a grin, "Y/n’s gonna be busy with Shoko and Ms. Eat-A-Man’s Money up there."

Toji exhaled through his nose, his irritation palpable, but he accepted the joint from Gojo. Leaning against the car, he lit it up and took a long drag, trying to shake off the stress of the night. As the smoke filled his lungs, his mind momentarily calmed, though he knew it wouldn’t last.

"You know," Gojo began, lighting up his own joint, "you’re walking a thin line here. Y/n’s got no idea who you really are, what you’re tied to. And your uncle…" Gojo trailed off, side-eyeing Toji, "he’s gonna find a way to drag her into it."

Toji flicked the ash off his joint, his eyes narrowing. "She won’t be dragged into anything. Not if I can help it."

Gojo chuckled darkly, taking a puff. "Toji, you can’t control everything. And Y/n… she’s not stupid. She’s already asking questions."

Toji clenched his jaw but didn’t respond immediately, staring off into the distance, smoke swirling around him. He thought of Y/n upstairs, probably laughing with Shoko and Mei Mei, blissfully unaware of the world he was tangled in. The lies, the danger—all of it was piling up, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep her shielded from the truth.

"I'll figure it out," Toji finally said, his voice low, almost to himself.

Gojo shrugged, taking another hit. "If you say so, man. Just don’t let it all blow up in your face when the truth comes knocking." He blew out a thick cloud of smoke, letting the silence settle between them as they passed the joint back and forth.

Upstairs, they could hear faint laughter, likely Y/n and the girls. Gojo smirked, shaking his head. "She’s already neck-deep in this, and she doesn’t even know it. That’s the dangerous part."

Toji clenched his teeth. It was true. Y/n was becoming more important to him than he’d planned, and with his uncle breathing down his neck, the walls were closing in faster than he could maneuver around them.

“I can handle my uncle,” Toji muttered, but the doubt was creeping in, and he hated it.

Gojo raised a brow, his lips curling into a lazy smile. "Sure you can. But what happens when Y/n’s the one standing in his crosshairs? You ready for that?"

Toji didn't respond immediately. Instead, he took another deep drag from the joint, letting the smoke burn away the unease in his chest, if only for a moment. His thoughts swirled with what-ifs and worst-case scenarios, but the one thing he couldn’t deny was that he wasn’t about to let anyone—especially his uncle—hurt Y/n.

"That’s not gonna happen," he finally said, his voice gruff. "I’ll keep her out of it."

Gojo didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push further. "We’ll see, Zenin. We’ll see."

As they smoked in silence, the weight of their words lingered in the air, along with the very real possibility that things were about to spiral out of control.

Toji felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and as he pulled it out, he noticed a message from Shui Kong, his long-time best friend who was rarely in the country.

Shui Kong: Yo, where you at? Got some news to fill you in on. It’s important.

Toji sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he read the text. Just what he needed—more complications. He looked over at Gojo, who leaned in closer, squinting at the screen as if he could decipher the entire conversation just by reading the text.

"What's up? Is it about Y/n?" Gojo asked, his tone casual, but Toji could hear the underlying curiosity in his voice.

Toji shook his head, dismissing the question. "Nah, it's Shui. He’s back in town, and he says he has news."

Gojo smirked, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "You know that never bodes well, right? What if he’s bringing back more trouble? You already have enough on your plate."

"Yeah, well, I can’t exactly ignore him. We’ve been through too much together," Toji replied, feeling the weight of his friend’s sudden return looming over him. There was a lot of unfinished business between them, especially after everything that had gone down before Shui left.

Gojo leaned back against the car, arms crossed, his expression turning serious. "Just be careful. You know how things get when he’s around. And if it has anything to do with your family or that mafia mess…" he trailed off, leaving the implications hanging in the air.

Toji bit his lip, torn between wanting to answer Shui and not wanting to draw more trouble into his already chaotic life. After a moment, he decided to reply.

Toji: I’m at the shop. What’s the news?

He pressed send and glanced back at Gojo, who was still watching him with an amused expression. "You think he’ll drop another bomb on you? Maybe tell you he’s running for president or something?"

Toji rolled his eyes, trying to shake off the anxious feeling in his gut. "I just want to get through this night without any more surprises."

Before Gojo could respond, Toji's phone buzzed again with a reply from Shui.

Shui Kong: I’m coming by. Got some intel on your uncle and the Zenin business. You’ll want to hear this.

Toji’s heart sank. He exchanged a worried glance with Gojo, who raised an eyebrow, clearly reading between the lines. "You sure this is a good idea?"

"Guess we’ll find out," Toji muttered, a sense of dread settling in. He couldn't shake the feeling that whatever news Shui had would change everything.

Just as he was about to respond, Gojo's phone buzzed. He pulled it out, his brow furrowing. "It’s Y/n. She wants to know if you’re okay. Seems like she's worried."

Toji felt a warmth spread in his chest at her concern but quickly masked it with indifference. "Just tell her I’m fine. I’ll talk to her later."

Gojo shrugged, smirking again. "You know, you could be a little more honest with her. Maybe she wouldn’t feel the need to check up on you if you didn’t have that whole mysterious bad boy vibe going on."

Toji shot him a glare. "Shut up, Gojo."

But inside, the comment lingered. Maybe he was playing too many cards close to his chest, especially with Y/n. As he thought about her, another text from Shui came in.

Shui Kong: People are starting to talk about you and Y/n, you better tread carefully, my friend.

Toji's fingers tightened around his phone, annoyance flashing across his face. "What the hell does that mean?"

Gojo chuckled, already guessing the answer. "Looks like you’re not the only one who sees how deep you’re in with her. Just don’t get her caught up in your family drama."

Toji opened his mouth to retort but decided against it. Instead, he glanced back at the apartment, his mind racing with thoughts of Y/n and how far he was willing to go to keep her safe. The storm brewing on the horizon felt closer than ever, and he was stuck right in the middle of it.

"Let’s just get through tonight," he said finally, his resolve hardening. "Then we’ll figure out what to do next."

Toji took another pull from the joint trying to clear his head. He knew lying to yn would only bite him in the ass later but he would deal with that when it comes. hopefully it doesn't cause him to lose her.

Toji sighed, running a hand through his hair as he said, "Lemme go tell Y/n I gotta go." He turned to head back upstairs, but Gojo, ever the shadow, locked his car and walked behind him.

"Where are you going?" Toji asked, exasperated.

"Obviously, I'm not gonna miss you acting unusual in front of Y/n. I need proof for the group chat, you know this," Gojo shot back, a smirk on his face.

Toji scoffed but didn't argue. He marched back to Y/n's apartment, Gojo trailing behind him, probably buzzing with the prospect of a good story.

When he knocked on the door, he heard Shoko shout from the other side, "It's open!"

Toji pushed the door open and stepped inside, only to be greeted by a scene he hadn’t expected. The room was filled with a haze of smoke, and he could see Shoko and Mei Mei lounging on the couch, a blunt circulating between them. Y/n sat cross-legged on the floor, her back to him, laughing at something they were saying.

Toji's eyes widened as he took in Y/n’s outfit—a pair of burnt orange silk shorts and a cropped shirt of the same color, accentuating her figure perfectly. Her ombre-dyed faux locs were styled in double puffs, giving her an effortlessly chic look that made his heart race.

Gojo’s eyes darted between Toji’s expression and the scene unfolding in front of him, silently judging the sudden shift in energy.

Mei Mei was the first to speak, a playful glint in her eye. "Told you he'd come back upstairs, Y/n."

Toji’s gaze landed squarely on Y/n, trying to control the feral reaction that threatened to bubble to the surface. The sight of her looking so carefree, so vibrant, ignited a possessiveness in him that he struggled to suppress. He had never seen her like this, so relaxed and unguarded, and it stirred something deep inside him.

"Hey, Toji!" Y/n turned to him, her smile brightening the room. But her cheerful demeanor only made his internal conflict stronger. "What’s up?"

"Uh, I just came to say I have to head out for a bit," Toji managed to reply, his voice sounding rougher than he intended. He couldn't shake the feeling of wanting to pull her close and protect her from whatever chaos lay ahead.

"Where are you off to?" she asked, tilting her head, her curiosity piqued.

"Just...some business. I'll be back later," he said, keeping his tone casual, though he could feel the tension building.

Shoko exchanged a glance with Mei Mei, then chimed in, "You know, Y/n, we were just discussing how you should join us for a little relaxation session. What do you say? A girls’ night with a side of Toji drama?"

Toji shot a glance at Gojo, who looked ready to burst from holding in laughter. "Yeah, I don’t think that’s a good idea right now," he said, his voice low, trying to keep the atmosphere light despite the storm brewing inside him.

Y/n’s brow furrowed slightly, sensing his unease. "What do you mean? You’re not coming back for the fun?"

"Just… got stuff to handle, you know?" Toji said, brushing it off. But he couldn’t help feeling a pang of regret at the thought of leaving her in the midst of this laid-back gathering.

Mei Mei leaned forward, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Come on, Toji. Live a little. You’re always so serious. Maybe just this once, you could join us."

"Yeah, let loose for once, Zenin," Gojo added, folding his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. "You might actually enjoy it."

Toji clenched his jaw, the weight of their words pressing down on him. He was torn between the temptation to stay and the urgency of the situation that awaited him outside.

Y/n looked up at him, her expression softening. "You can hang out for a bit, right? Just until things settle down?"

Toji's resolve wavered. He wanted nothing more than to enjoy this moment with her, but he could feel the pressures of his life creeping in, threatening to overshadow the blissful time they could share.

With a reluctant sigh, he finally relented. "Alright, just for a little while."

As he settled down on the floor next to Y/n, he felt the tension ease slightly, even if it was only temporary. But deep down, he knew this wasn’t just a fun night with friends; it was a delicate balancing act that could tip at any moment. And he had to be ready for whatever was coming next.

Previous Next

#fushiguro toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji smut #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujutsu toji #toji fushiguro x y/n #toji fushiguro smut #toji x black y/n #toji x black reader #black!fem!reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x fem reader #sherewrytes #modernaujjk

75 notes · View notes