#on the next chapter of pales anyways

[dubioushonour]

On the one hand it's very much perfect weather for writing (cloudy, just a little chilly, prime rainy vibes) but on the other hand the atmospheric pressure that has resulted in those vibes is fucking killing the hands in question

[littlebittyhollowbugs]

Dreamer headcanons

• Lurien is half dragonfly (son of an outsider dragonfly and nobleman of the city) and the grandchild of a higher being. He posseses great magic ability, especially in regards to sight. (Also fun fact: Dragonflies irl have great vision, and are known to have some of the best eyesight of any bug!) I will elaborate on this HC in a separate post Which will go over my dragonfly lore.

• Lurien helped the king create the worldsense spell, that he gifted the hollow knight. (A spell that allows one vision of an entire kingdom from one location.)

• Lurien and Monomon were very close before becoming dreamers having spent much time working together as advisors of the king. They often argued though, with Lurien never questioning his monarch and Monomon always advocating for trying new ideas, looking from all perspectives ect. (The pale king appreciated both very much.)

• They are also both poets, which they bonded over. And Lurien had definitely at one point painted a fog canyon art piece, that he gifted to her.

• Monomon is the oldest of the dreamers, technically, She is actually already over a hundred years old, before becoming a dreamer.

• She was once a regular (at least more regular) type of bug, and was later turned into a jellyfish.

• She always had an amazing mind and used her scientific skill to help the kingdom progress. She impressed the king so greatly that he granted her immortality (I will elaborate on this in a sec) And entrusted her to keep all the kingdoms records.

• Then of course with this new immortality, and new position, she became more ambitious. She created the jellyfish and fog canyon, Wanting to prove that she could be like the higher beings and create her own people/followers. (Typical god complex mad scientist behavior.)

• The king had her punished by taking away her true form. and turning her into a jellyfish creature. (Which she eventually grew used to and even happily accepted.)

• Of course as long as she stayed loyal to the king, the jellyfish did. And she remained loyal to the end.

• She was one of his foremost trusted advisors, and besides the white lady, the most involved in his plan to seal the infection.

• About the immortality thing- that was granted to her through her mask. The king had heard of the mask maker of Deepnest and his power. He made a deal with the then ruler of Deepnest (this is before Herrahs time) to have a mask created for Monomon.

• Skip forward a hundred years or so, the king is amidst his plan to seal the infection. He needs dreamers and at this point Monomon and Lurien have both volunteered. In order for the plan to work they need their masks and he goes to deepnest again to make a deal for two more masks to be made. This is how Herrah becomes aware of the dreamer plan, and her deal with him is made not long after.

I hesitate to elaborate on Herrahs backstory, only because Silksong might do just that. (I hope it does!) Anyway this all may be disproven but here we go~

• Herrah married the old sire of Deepnest who was a weaver (higher minded being) And this caused much controversy in Deepnest. She was not a weaver, not a royal, not even of noble birth.

• She did have her loyal followers of course, but many of her people, did not have much faith in her.

• The sire died unexpectedly in battle against the mantis tribe and Herrah was put in a worse position. Now Deepnest depended solely on her. (And to make matters more difficult she had not yet birthed an heir.)

• The pale king soon discovered how unprepared Herrah was to be queen, and was quick to make an alliance with her, after the sires passing.

• Herrah agreed to the alliance. (And trade routes and what not were established, the stag station, trams ect.)

• Herrahs people were not so much in agreement. The relations between Deepnest and Hallownest remained shaky to say the least.

• The bargain for Hornet was made both to the advantage of Herrah and the King. Herrah would have an heir, And with the new queen of Deepnest being his daughter, the king would gain more influence over the land.

• not wanting for her daughter to grow too attached to her before the sealing, Herrah sent Hornet to the hive to train when she was very young. (Herrah trained in the hive herself when she was in her youth. And trusted them to care of her daughter.)

• ooh also Deepnest culture is very family oriented specifically revolving around the children/the youth.

I feel like I have more, but this is all I can remember for now. Might add onto this later.

[ayakashibackstreet]

You know things are bad when your mum comes back after a week and she's so concerned with your physical and mental health that she starts waxing poetic about how lovely the weather is and how gorgeous of an autumn we're having, all in an attempt to get you to go outside

[kerra-and-company]

"Nothing particularly interesting, I suppose." Vezz taps his claws together, furrowing his brow as he peers up at Kerra. "Nothing much to ask. But I've been through all this myself, and I feel the question begs asking: how are you holding up?"

@ratasum (from dad mode Vezz fjkelfds)

(Dad mode Vezz hours <3)

Kerra blinks, then lets out a sigh as she pulls out a nearby chair and sits down. She offers Vezz a tired smile. "I've been worse, somehow--which I'm aware isn't the best descriptor, but you of all people might have some idea what I mean. I'd be doing much better if the world-ending events could stop for longer than a year. Give me time with my partners that I don't have to fight for. Stop targeting my children."

She puts her face in her hand for a moment, then runs that hand through her leaves. "Aurene can take care of herself. And Rhi can certainly hold their own in combat, I just...I don't know how much you know about the situation in Gyala Delve, but Rhi was involved before I was. They shouldn't have to be there, they don't have to be there, but...like parent, like child. It's a threat to people they care about. They won't walk away.

"There are limits on what I can do to keep them safe--to keep them both safe. I've never been okay with that. I never will be."

[elvirable]

Ambrosia (Act 1)

[ Astarion x f!Reader ] | ao3 link

rating: explicit | word count: 2k | status: ongoing themes/tags: vaginal sex, feelings realization, denial of feelings, light smut.. for now, and a whole lotta angst, will add more smut tho in the next chapters, soulmates, fluff, written as a glimpse into his mind during each act ———–

Astarion would never tell you, though - it was his little secret, one he hid away just for himself.

In other words: A delve into Astarion's thoughts, starting with the day he met you. *will update description at some point. ———– A/N: i wrote this as a peek into Astarion's mind throughout Act 1. plan to continue as i progress throughout the game. lmk what you think and if you like this style!

-------

Grief had a penchant for wearing different masks.

Phantom faces that slithered through shadows, white-hot wrath that clawed at the throat, an endless gnawing that swallowed one whole: all faces of a primordial monster that had existed before time itself.

Astarion knew all this. 

He had met them all – intimate with its simplest form, a cold polarizing solitude; a loyal companion for two centuries, teaching him to lick his wounds with malice. Others had taken everything from him, or they were too weak to lift a meaningful finger. It took several lifetimes to finally mend his precious pride back together. Why should he practice mercy when no one had shown him any?

And by some stroke of luck, he was free – at least for now. Opportunity had fallen before his feet; he could chase after power, clutch revenge in his pale fingers, walk amongst the sun. Red eyes clung to the light glimmering across the water and wavering leaves. A desperate urge pulsed up his spine, insisting he memorize each saturated detail before it faded away like the most ethereal dream. The exhilaration rose wildly before plummeting to the pits of his stomach.

Huh, that was odd. It had never dawned on him that grief could also bloom in the slow, golden sunlight.

Languid beams washed against his flesh and through the faint hem of his shirt. Every fiber of his skin ached, dull and shallow, at the sacred warmth that had been a stranger for so long. He felt this haunted and holy gift – the vigor of life from each ray of light running over his fair face. Reunited once again, like long-lost lovers.

It was the sound of boots thudding against dirt that pulled him back into the world, on the ravaged beachfront. 

With straight posture, a hollow smile painted itself across his lips. ==

“You have your mother’s eyes, you know.”

No, he didn’t know.

Quiet was this small voice that, for some odd reason, had grasped onto his conscience the night he died. It had sung loud in the beginning, but now it was just a whisper. Everything else had reduced to dust, long-buried beneath the cold earth. 

But if he could conjure the ghost of his mother, he couldn’t be bothered to. Astarion envisioned a sharp tsk , a scowl dripping with disgust if she could see the creature he was today: a thrall to his own hedonistic desires, wielding manipulation and seduction as an instrument. A vampire , taking solace amongst the shadows and draining the life around him.

Maybe he was the same, just calloused and rearranged by the fate spun for him. 

However, there was no need to exhume the past. It proved futile anyway; he couldn’t even recall the previous hue of his eyes, much less run his hands over his reflection. The only thing worthy of concern was survival. Memories had been shrouded by the same pivotal virtue, the one that carved the habit to become shapeless – to cater to every impulse and whim of those who could serve useful. Those who could protect him, at least for the time being.

And that was exactly what he tried with you, as his breath was inches from your slender neck and your eyes widened in hazy alarm, catching him by surprise. 

“Shit.”

You scuttered to your feet in the frantic silence, dozens of excuses fluttering to Astarion’s tongue. The fatigue of bloodthirst hindered his wit, but he raised his palms in reservation.

He had already taken note of your misleading presence – you were small, but heavens , would you put up a fight. Other companions had already turned towards you for guidance the past few days, and you were carved with a beauty that could intimidate. Though, there were cracks underneath that facade – ones with darkness in between. 

Peering into these cracks was his only outlet to earn your trust; after all, it was paramount for survival.

“I – I wasn’t going to hurt you,” exasperated breaths pushed from his throat. “I just needed, well.. blood.”

Basked in the dim firelight, your wary gaze studied him for what he really was: a vampire, a slave to sanguine hunger. He caught the stutter in your furrowed brows before they eased. Smug delight settled in his nerves when you, although with apprehension, allowed him to taste you.

Astarion eagerly obliged, immediately losing himself in the euphoria– the sweet vigor of your blood, how silky and rich. A low hum vibrated in his throat, and he barely registered when your palms pushed his broad weight off of you. Lush satisfaction that quenched his blood-thirst still coursed through him like a stimulant, but he still caught the tail-end of your groan.

“I don’t care that you’re a vampire. Just –,” you paused briefly to reel from your daze. “We’re all a team now, so I have to have some trust in you. Just ask next time.”

He felt happy, more alive – not only from the fresh blood still lingering on his tongue, but that you trusted him. Maybe not entirely, but the anchor had already been dropped; one step closer to wrapping you around his finger, even if you weren’t entirely flexible. He could feel it in your gaze, in the little quivers that rolled through you while his fangs sunk into your soft skin.

Once you had returned to sleep and his frenzied nerves quelled, he mulled over your parting words. You weren’t phased’ that he was a vampire, instead placing emphasis on trust. You were full of surprises – especially when the entire world met him with repulse.

Something that had been fossilized inside him tremored, as if it began to thaw. ==

There was a thin chill in the evening air, in the way nature prepares for a new season. And he hated you. 

Well, he didn’t hate you – frankly, he couldn’t get enough of you; that was the issue. 

You plagued his thoughts like a helpless addiction, better yet like a mirror; one he had repeatedly peered into, struggling to find the right angle and when he did – he was left staring at you.

Those careful eyes – a mocking reminder of everything he could have been. So different, so resilient, so disgustingly kind.

Since the day he laid eyes on you, he was the first to glimpse at your secret hidden in plain sight. Your habit of hiding yourself from everyone you came across, retreating behind stone-bared walls and tailoring a facade just enough to avoid drawing attention. Reserved lips were a mere confirmation you sealed away a vault of grief that you didn’t want – or need – clumsy, temporary hands to pry open. 

That discreet resolve particularly made you the sour dagger twisting between his ribs. Grief had been your companion as well, but its mark never trickled from anywhere else – not a warbled voice or frustrated bout. It was only noticeable through a fleeting glint in your eyes. Meanwhile, he had made this medley of rage and anguish his armor. It had fused to skin, and he no longer knew how to scrape it off. Astarion dedicated decades to cursing the Gods. You ignored them.

He knew he should despise you and eagerly await the day he could shatter this mirror you were – but all bitterness dissolved in your presence. You had become his wonderfully terrible affliction; withdrawals could damn near kill him if they were to happen.

Ribbons unraveled from his chest with each conversation, whether it pertained to the graveness of the journey or a simple ‘good morning’ from your lips. Strange yet blissful, he could feel himself surrendering every bitter pang for the peculiar sensation of… comfort .

Once laced with such harshness, his mind eased with familiarity. An interesting chord of harmony, he thought, the two of you. From the start of the journey until now, you shared an enriching balance. He would encourage you to be more outspoken, while you stirred him to be authentic and soft – even if you weren’t aware. 

You were stable like bedrock; never once expecting to be selfless or pious, instead only demanded transparency – at least to the extent he was willing to concede. Aside from the occasional brow-raise or retort, judgment never twisted your face. Respect was a new sensation to him, as you gave him yours.

This dynamic, this balance ; it was irresistibly and invariably warm. 

==

The rendezvous sort of just fell into habit. 

Every night he would savor the ambrosia from your neck, and one evening tension gave way to carnal desire. Whether it was a simple cathartic release or not, he didn’t care; tender moments bathed in amber firelight or the hush of the night had always left him craving more.

“You’re such a tease .”

You’d whisper those words every so often those sacred nights, and a rakish grin would slide across his face without fail. Lust gripped him, but never once weaved with routine; the way your legs parted to invite him in left Astarion with an insatiable urge to indulge in everything you were willing to give him. He could spend the entire evening with his head between your thighs, cold hands steadying your quivering legs as his tongue lured you to new heights of pleasure – giving you exactly what you needed. 

When he was with you – skin pressed together, desperate hums like honey – he began to relish in taking things slow. 

He preferred the nights where your bare body writhed beneath him and melted against his, while he eagerly coaxed wispy whines from your lips. No matter how wet and ready you were, his girth always met resistance as he parted your warm, sensitive walls. Your skin buzzed at the sensation of his cock splitting you open, like every time was the first you’ve been touched.

Desire laced every word he whispered into the curve of your neck, each encouraging and soft. His pace was slow, pushing into the depth of your core, buried deep enough to kiss your cervix with each thrust. Low, guttural grunts left his throat as your body’s natural instinct clenched around his throbbing cock. 

Despite his centuries of experience, he found himself struggling to restrain from succumbing to the all-consuming euphoria of it all: your lashes wet from your tears, precious gasps warm against his skin, the desirous ache to fuck you the way that pretty face beckoned to be fucked. 

The unbridled intimacy – which felt so real and tender was enough to send him over the edge. His veins hummed with yearning as he drank in the vision beneath him; your skin flushed, shaky whines that sung his name as he pushed you to pleasure. And when you wrapped your legs to press him deeper – he surrendered to the white-hot bliss. 

Although Astarion would never tell a soul, his most treasured moments were spent after desperate breaths calmed and the entire world stilled.

It was never long before you lulled into sleep, and your weight slacked against his broad chest. He lingered over each detail with softer eyes; the gentle curl of your lashes, a freckle he had missed the last time. Peace graced such beautiful features, ones that were usually still with resolve. There had never been another face quite like yours in the two centuries he had lurked amongst the earth.

Your chest rose and fell slowly before you would eventually fidget, still deep in slumber, to slink an arm over his waist. His gentle hand grasped the one that rested against his chest, careful not to stir you, as he ran his fingers over your silk skin. Such delicate hands, he mused, that had to grapple their way through life.

He pressed a silent kiss against the back of your palm before laying it back on his chest. 

In the silence, something washed over him – that rousing feeling that he never knew quite what to make of. 

His eyes swept once more to watch the shuffle of your face, buried now against his side. Your hazy sighs warmed his bare skin. Astarion could almost laugh, imagining your face reddening if he ever shared how affectionate you were in your sleep.

Though he would never tell you – it was his little secret, one he hid away just for himself.

[aachria]

Hats make up 80% of a pirate outfit, change my mind.

Correct anatomy is for LOSERS and people with BRAINS of which I am NOT—

Me? Drawing hair with actual shapes and texture n shit? More likely than you think. But clean shading that doesn't look like a toddler finger painted it? No chance in hell.

This piece fought me. It fought me hard. I was up until 3 working on it and still didn't finish it until like ten minutes ago, and I need you to keep in mind I started working on this when I wrote the chapter at the end of June 😭 It has changed SO FUCKING MUCH and I had to completely start over at one point but GODDAMNIT IT WAS WORTH IT. RIP the 44 hours of tracked canvas time + whatever it was for the first iteration. It's fine I didn't need a life anyway.

Remember that time I said Luffy was a different flavour every time I draw him. Anywho. Big fan of Luffy and his big weird unnerving teeth, right here.

Let's not talk about Ace's dumb looking abs instead let's talk bout how that son of a bitch should have SO MANY freckles, like all the freckles, so many freckles you start to question your sanity. And you KNOW I had to hit him with the 'woe, piercings be upon ye' beam. The way I got so sad I posed him like this so I couldn't draw the tattoo or his bracelets and Log Pose but was in too deep to turn back—

You never notice just how PAPER FUCKING PALE Ed is until you put them next to someone who knows the touch of the sun, huh... And as always I'm a sucker for the rings 😌

The fucking cowboy hat has been a long time coming and I have been WAITING with baited breath for this chapter.

Anyway I love these idiots with my entire heart sure hope nothing bad happens to them—

[wlntrsldler]

poisoned mercury | delicate

friend group shenanigans | set after pink skies | series masterlist

song: delicate by taylor swift

“good morning,” you yawned, rubbing your eyes as you exited your room. travis was taking up the entire couch, doubled over in pain. “woah, what happened to you?” 

“food poisoning,” he replied, wincing. he had a blanket draped over him, acting like he was on his deathbed. 

connor walked in with a bowl of chicken soup for his brother, rolling his eyes as he shoved travis’ feet off the couch to have somewhere to sit, “and whose fault is that?” 

clarisse was sitting next to chris on the love seat, shaking her head, “told you not to get a hot dog from the gas station.” 

“rookie mistake, babe,” chris chimed in, “whenever you tell trav not to do something, he does it. it’s in his dna.” 

“connor shares the same dna as him and he’s not like that,” you called out from the kitchen, making yourself a bowl of cereal. the dining hall was already closed for breakfast since you woke up so late, thanks to the boy who was still passed out on your bed.

you couldn’t remember the last time you slept so well. you felt bad for leaving him alone, sleep in your room but your stomach was growling and if you didn't get some food in your system soon, you were bound to catch an attitude.

“that’s because i got the brains between the two of us,” connor joked, scoffing, “i let him borrow some brain cells once in a while.” 

“fuck you guys,” travis complained, sitting up. “i’m dying here and you’re making fun of me?!” 

you walked out into the living room, pulling one of the bar stools to sit closer to the group. your eyes darted to the screen in front of you, internally cheering at the familiar scene. they were watching barbie. the five of you watched in silence, letting out little laughs at the jokes, until the door of your room opened. 

luke walked out, half-asleep, and made his way over to you. he kissed your lips, mumbling, “g’mornin, five star.” 

“mornin’, pretty boy,” you squeezed the arm he wrapped around your waist. he sent you a lazy smile, nuzzling his face in your neck before disappearing into his bedroom. you turned your attention back to the screen, shoving a spoonful of fruit loops in your mouth, “oh, i love this part!” 

when you were the only one who burst out laughing at ken’s “sublime!” you turned to look at your friends, wondering why none of them were laughing. they were staring at you with wide-eyes, jaws ajar. their eyes were bright, lips breaking out into teasing smiles. oh. oh. 

“castellan get your ass in here, now!” 

luke walked out of his room with his eyebrows furrowed, confused as to why chris was screaming his name like bloody fucking murder at 12 pm on a sunday. surely, he hadn’t done anything wrong yet– he just woke up! he put his glasses on, finally able to see the looks on everyone’s faces, including your red cheeks and sheepish smile. 

luke didn’t even realize what he did until that moment. it just felt natural for him to greet you good morning, like he always did anyway, but it’s just sweeter this time around because he’s allowed to kiss you now, at least he thinks he’s allowed to. he was a little butthurt that he woke up alone on your bed this morning so when he walked out and was only able to make out your silhouette, he didn’t think twice before placing a chaste kiss on your lips. he got a taste of what it was like to kiss you and he couldn’t help himself to do it again.

he thinks now, though, that perhaps he should’ve thought twice because there was no way your friends would let the two of you leave until you explained. luke’s face paled at the sight of his friends. were you mad at him for kissing you in front of people? if his head wasn't spinning with all the negative thoughts he was having, he would see your face and understand that you were happy your friends knew about the two of you.

clarisse clicked on the remote to pause the movie, “soooo… seems like we skipped a few chapters.” 

“more like we finally got to the next chapter,” travis snorted, earning a smack on the back of his head from connor. the older stoll hissed, “don’t act like y’all weren’t tired of their pining.” 

chris rolled his eyes, eyes darting between you and luke. he was trying to fight the smile threatening to show on his features, “so care to enlighten us, guys?”

"luke?"

luke's head snapped to the sound of your voice, pulling him out of his head. you had an arm outstretched, beckoning him over to where you stood. it made luke feel giddy inside as he trotted over to you, finding comfort in standing behind you and placing his chin on top of your head. he swung an arm around you, hoping that you wouldn't see the thumbs-up he sent to the boys.

"yeaaaaahhhh castellan's got the girl!"

"oh my god," you whispered, turning around to bury your head in luke's chest. you were blushing furiously at the cheers from your friends. you think you might've even heard travis complaining about losing a bet to connor. clarisse and chris were babbling about how double dates would be fun, though clar mentioned that luke and chris would end up third and fourth-wheeling the two of you more than anything. "our friends are crazy."

the arm he had wrapped around you pulled you in tighter. you felt the rumbling of his chest, "they are."

"you guys are so fucking cute," clarisse said, a hand over her heart. "y/n, he finally made a move!"

you turned back around to face clarisse and the group, "actually i made the move!"

luke scoffed, "you did not. i kissed you."

"i asked you to come in last night."

"yeah i believe, y/n," connor piped in, shrugging. "luke was not gonna make a move."

clarisse gasped, placing a hand on chris' bicep, "we should compare notes."

your eyes widened, "do not compare notes."

"wait, what do you mean notes?" luke asked quizzically. "was five star talking about me?"

"clarisse i will never forgive you if you tell him anything."

"i'm not gonna tell him directly," she hummed, lacing her fingers with chris', "but if i told my boyfriend who happens to be his best friend and he tells luke, then, technically, i haven't done anything wrong."

"y/n, i assure you, you should not be embarrassed," travis said, snickering. it was luke's turn to panic. "whatever you said to clarisse about lover boy here, i'm sure it can't be any worse than what he's said about you to us over the last two months."

chris cleared his throat, putting on his best luke impression, "five star is so pretty. i don't think i've ever seen anyone so beautiful."

"five star is so funny. i can listen to her talk about anything for hours." this was travis.

"oh, luke where were you today? we haven't seen you all day," connor said in his regular voice before deepening his voice a tad bit to match luke's, "oh, i was hanging out with five star and we accidentally fell asleep by the lake."

"not to mention the dozens of songs he wrote about you," chris teased, "thanks for inspiring the second album, but bro was like alexander hamilton writing those songs."

luke whined, tugging on his hood to cover his face, "guys, stoppp."

"oh my god, y/n, you should see his tweets."

"do not show her my tweets!"

you burst out in laughter, getting up from your seat. you wrapped your arms around luke and he took the opportunity to hide his face in the crook of your neck. you could feel the heat on his cheeks against your skin. you played with the hair on the nape of his neck, "all right, guys, enough."

"can we go back to your room?" luke whispered in your ear, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

"mhm," you couldn't deny him of anything if you tried, "come on, pretty boy."

you couldn't help but laugh and throw up the middle finger to your friends as they called out jokes and kissing noises as you and luke went off. it was funny, really, how they all knew there was something between you and luke before the two of you did. it was nice to know that your friends were supportive, regardless of how annoying they would be now that you and luke were together.

luke collapsed on his side of your bed, unable to wipe the dopey smile on his face. you sat on his lap, leaning over to press kisses on his cheeks, "just so we're clear, i wanna see the tweets. and hear the songs."

"well you can't ask me that while you're sitting on top of me because i'll fold."

you giggled, kissing his lips passionately. his hands gripped your waist as he sat up, getting in a more comfortable position, "that's the point, castellan."

luke pinched your side, chuckling when you squealed, "you're evil."

"uh huh," you mumbled, "you know we're never gonna catch a break with our friends now right?"

"honestly, i haven't caught a break from the boys since i met you," he admitted, "but at least i get to kiss you now, so it's really a win."

you couldn't agree more.

[house-of-lovin]

legally binded - 9

Jenna Ortega x F!Reader

masterlist | series mast. | prev. part | next part

Chapter 9 : Grand Prix and Grand Gestures

Summary: After getting caught in some hot waters with the press, you are forced into an unexpected agreement with America's sweetheart, Jenna Ortega to save your career.

Warnings/Tags: famous!reader, actress!reader, mentions of substances, intoxication, mature language, real people. (do not read if any of these make you uncomfortable)

(this is all fiction!)

Note: sorry for the long wait for this new chapter, just enjoying my summer yk! anyways, thanks for your guys' continued support and patience! much love!!

Word Count: 5.6k+

When Jenna stepped out of her room at precisely 4:45 AM, with the early morning sun yet to rise, the last thing she expected to find was the shared kitchen to be a mess. 

Courtesy of you, of course. ‘Cause who else?

“What the hell are you doing to our kitchen?” Jenna croaked out, running a hand against the plastered wall as a guide as she tiredly rubbed her sleep-filled eyes with the other. When the blurring in her vision goes away, they settle on you looking… wired, like you’d had three cups of espresso already. 

“Good morning!” You whispered, admiring her messy bedhead with a large toothy smile. “I’m making you breakfast.”

“Why?” She asked, voice hoarse. You rolled your eyes as you passed her a steaming mug of coffee without a word causing her to flick a brow up, opting to take a sip instead of questioning it. 

“I’m making you breakfast so you don’t go to work hungry, again.” You explained matter-of-factly, turning your back to check on the stove. The younger actress couldn’t stave off her surprise that you’ve noticed her skipping the most important meal of the day. “Now I’m not the best cook. But, I learned a thing or two about making a mean avocado toast, and since you’re vegetarian… it’s really the only thing I can make you.”

Jenna didn’t expect her heart to be racing so early in the morning. Since your talk, the two of you have been more at ease around the other; falling back into that natural banter, every once in a while. But she can’t lie… the friends' agreement has been difficult to follow through with, especially since you’ve started with gestures such as this. 

The younger actress finds she’s started to… allow herself to enjoy these domestic moments with you, knowing that now, feelings are very much reciprocated — just, without a label yet. 

Placing the steaming mug down on the kitchen island, she chose not to comment on how her coffee was made exactly how she liked it. “I appreciate the gesture, Y/N. I hope you didn’t wake up early just to make me breakfast.”

You turned off the stove, took the pan off the burner, and rolled your eyes. “Get off your high horse, I was already up.” Turning around with the pan still in your hand. 

“You were already up or you didn’t go to sleep?” She countered, expression flat.

You smiled sheepishly, “Jet lag is kicking my ass.”

Jenna snorted and watched as you plated the perfectly-browned toast on a dish and spread some avocados on top; garnishing it with the utmost (adorable) concentration on your face before sliding the plate across the island with a small but proud grin. 

“Consider it compliments of the chef,” you send her a playful wink, glancing down. Jenna follows your line of sight, reading the printed words on the apron. 

Kiss the Chef.

She tried to fight the smile creeping on her face but it proved futile when she felt the familiar warmth enveloping her pale morning cheeks. 

“You’re not as smooth as you think you are…” Was the best response the younger actress could trust herself to utter. “When did you even buy that?”

You laughed, picking up your own cup of coffee. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Jenna ignored you, electing to take a bite of the toast. She almost felt bad for eating something that you put so much effort towards. But when she takes a bite, she finds herself letting out a muffled moan, making you flush red at the sound. “Holy shit, what did you put in this?”

Plastering a smile, you teased, “it’s a secret.”

“You’re annoying…” Jenna covered her mouth, as she ate. 

“Finish eating or you’ll be late.” You reminded, taking off the apron. The time zone change still messed with your internal body clock, meaning at times, you’d still be up when Jenna awoke for a day of work.

You noted the times she got up and at which of those mornings she managed to eat. After the third day of her waking up late, you decided that the next day you’d be kind and make her a healthy breakfast, knowing it’s often difficult to find time to eat during a busy day of filming. 

“Wait…” Jenna called out before you could leave the kitchen. “What are you doing today?”

You racked your brain; thinking for a moment. “I gotta start packing for Monaco, I leave this Wednesday.”

Jenna remembered you telling her that you’ve been invited to the F1 Grand Prix. She doesn’t really understand the race, but she found your childlike glee over a bunch of cars… endearing. It’s slightly childish that she feels a bit upset by you leaving so suddenly, but these last few weeks have felt blissful ever since your confession. She finds herself wanting to stay in this bubble the two of you have created for as long as she can. “Oh, right…”

“Why, what’s up?”

“Nothing… just wondering ‘cause my family’s actually flying in this weekend,” Jenna admitted, gauging your reaction, noting the way you stood straighter on your feet.

“They are?” 

Jenna hummed. “Yeah, they’re here for a week. They were gonna stay at a hotel but if you’re going to Monaco then…”

You blinked, unsure if you should ask why she didn’t tell you her family was flying in sooner. “Oh yeah, no problem. Listen, it’s your apartment.” 

Jenna rolled her eyes, correcting you, “It’s our apartment. You’re living here too.”

Chuckling, you averted your eyes. “Well, in that case. Mi casa es su casa.”

“Your Spanish needs a bit of work...” But Jenna can’t fight her smile.

“Rude,” laughing, you added, “it’s probably best to skip town though— your family’s probably still mad at me.”

Jenna immediately rounds the counter to stand in front of you, shaking her head in denial. “They’re not mad, Y/N. I already told you.”

You shoot her a grimaced smile, “I know, I’m just joking, but I’m still scared of your sisters… Also, your mom may or may not have texted me about that paparazzi pic of you smoking cigarettes.”

Her brows raised, as her jaw dropped, “she did?”

You hummed in response.

“Fuck…” She grumbled, causing you to laugh. “What did she say?”

“Nothing you haven’t already heard from her Instagram stories…” You smirked, enjoying her annoyed scowl. 

“Shut up.”

“Hey, it’ll be alright.” You placed a hand on her shoulder, lightly rubbing it. Ignoring the way she straightened her posture at your touch. “A scolding is probably the most you’ll get out of her.”

“I’m 20 years old, I can do whatever I want.” Dropping your hand, you laughed again.

“You may think you’re grown but she’s always going to be your mom. She’s just looking out for you. Not to mention, she’s a nurse, what'd you expect?” You jest but she rolled her eyes, staring up at you with a slight pout in her frown causing your heart to stop dead in its tracks; desperately trying to stare at her lips for too long. 

Maybe it was the confession, or the ‘clearing the air’ that you two have done. But every touch and look from Jenna feels weighted — in a pleasant way, this time.

She sighed heavily, leaning her hip on the kitchen island. “I know… it’s just embarrassing.”

“At least you know she cares.” You chuckled, patting her shoulder reassuringly before walking off to the living room. 

She ignored the possible meaning behind your words. Although she’d love to dive into the story of your mom and hear it from your account, maybe having that conversation at five o’clock in the morning isn’t the best idea.

“Come on, finish up and go shower. You’re gonna be late.” You called out behind you before plopping on the couch.

“You better wash those dishes…”

“Ugh, later.” You groaned. “I need a nap.”

—

Jenna (2:35 PM): hope you’re having a great time in Monaco 🖤

“Get off your phone…” Tom said before snatching the device right from your hand. 

“Dude…”

“You’re in Monaco with the best cars and drivers in the entire world and you’re glued to your phone – what’re you looking at anyway.” the Brit commented, reading the text before you could stop him. “Aw… how cute, she sent a heart.”

“Shut up. You literally made us late ‘cause you spent all night talking to Z.” Attempting to grab your phone back was futile when he held it out of reach, tossing it to Link who was enjoying this interaction judging by the large grin smacked on his face. 

“She’s my girlfriend.” Tom defended but it fell on deaf ears as soon as you saw Link begin to scroll through your past messages with Jenna.

“Link… give it back, I need to respond!” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll text her back.” Link winked before typing a response. You immediately leapt out of your seat, plucking your phone out of his grasp but it was too late, he’d already sent the message.

“Thinking about you? Really?” You deadpanned despite the warmth coursing fervently through your cheeks. “You’re such an ass…”

“You’re just mad that I finally said what you were really thinking.” He called out as you walked away, fingers slightly trembling as you hit the call button. You wait a few (agonizingly long) seconds, listening to the line ring.

“Hey…” 

“Oh, hey,” there was some shuffling on the other line, “I was just about to text you back.” 

“About that… sorry about that text, Link was being an asshole and took my phone.” You muttered sheepishly; trembling fingers picking at your trousers to counter the nerves that suddenly overcame you.

“Oh? So you weren’t thinking about me?” Her tone is light and teasing. You paint a mental image of her bright, wide smile that usually accompanied her playful taunts; it sent a flurry of butterflies swarming around in your belly.

You pass it off as a stomach ache from your breakfast this morning.

“Come on…” You trail off, not wanting to admit it.

“Wow, I see how it is…”

“Jenna…” You sighed, dropping your fiddling fingers. “Of course, I was thinking about you.”

The line is silent as Jenna doesn’t respond and suddenly you feel embarrassed at your school-girl-like confession. Though it’s technically only been two days since you left London for Monaco, you’d be lying straight through your teeth if you were to deny the fact that you’ve been thinking about the younger actress since the moment you stepped out of the shared apartment.

“I’ve been thinking about you too.” Jenna replied in a small voice. Her admittance causes your heart to stop momentarily but what you couldn’t stop, however, was the satisfied smile creeping on your lips.

Was it pathetic that all Jenna had to do was say a simple, cliché sentence to you and you were practically a puddle on the floor? Maybe, but you couldn’t care less about that right now.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…” 

“Glad we’re on the same page then…” You uttered, glancing around, hoping no one could see your Cheshire grin. Immediately catching Tom and Link at the other end of the balcony making kissing faces at you. You stick up the not-so-nice finger at them before turning your back on the two men, ignoring their blatant and obnoxious laughter, “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything when I called.”

Jenna was supposed to be on set working today, you’d hate to interrupt a busy day’s work…. That’s a lie, this phone call was totally worth it.

“Oh no, you didn’t. I’m actually at the apartment.”

“I thought you’d still be on set?”

“Um, about that…” She trails off in a sheepish tone.

“Jen? What’s wrong?” You asked, panic evident.

“I might’ve—uh—injured myself at work today.” She admitted.

“What?! Are you okay? How? Do you need me to come ba—“

“Y/N… breathe.” She interjects your nervous questioning but it merely goes over your head. Your nerves sky-rocketing the longer she doesn’t answer your questions.

“Are you okay?” You repeated what you really needed to know first.

“I’m fine, I promise,” she chuckled, “just a sprained ankle. I twisted it during rehearsal. It’s not a big deal but they sent me home early to rest.”

“Are you icing it? Keeping it elevated? You know what, send me a picture I wanna see if the swelling is bad.” 

Jenna’s laughter doubles. “I’m okay. I promise. Yes, I'm icing it and yes I’m keeping it elevated. You don't have to play doctor. I’ll even send you a picture, just relax.”

“I’m just worried.”

“I know you are.” She said, almost like she was endeared. “But like I said, it’s just a sprained ankle. They gave me crutches, so I’m good.”

“Crutches?! Do I need to come back home?”

Jenna ignored how her heart swooped at the word: home.

“No,” she laughed, “enjoy your time with the boys and your cars. You looked good on that racetrack, you sure being an actress is your calling?”

You rolled your eyes at her choice of timing for a joke, “You know I’ll leave them in a heartbeat. Just say the word and I’ll be on the first flight back.”

On the other end of the line, Jenna is torn between swooning and mentally cursing you for being so sweet. She bit her lip to subdue the smile creeping in, “that’s very sweet, Y/N, but I promise. I’ll be okay, my family’s flying in on Sunday anyway. I’ll be fine until then.”

You sighed unsurely, “Are you sure?” That’s still a few days where she’d have to be alone until someone could help her around the house.

“Yes! Now go, enjoy Monaco. Maybe I’ll even turn on the racing channel or whatever and get a glimpse of you.”

“You did not just say the racing channel…”

“Go!” She laughed and this time, you relent at her assured tone. 

“Fine… but if anything else happens, call me, please?”

“You’ll be the first one to know, I promise.”

“Okay…” You take a deep breath hoping to calm your nerves. If Jenna says she’s okay, then you have no reason to go against her wishes. “I’ll text you?”

“Mhmm. Bye, be safe.”

“Bye…” You hang up, dropping the phone from your ear, anxiously tapping it against your other hand as you contemplate your options.

“That was a long call,” Link swung his arm over your shoulder, leaning into your side. “You already miss your girl? It’s only been a day.”

“Quit it. She’s not my girl.” You back-hand him squarely on the stomach causing him to heave out a rough, pained puff. The satisfaction of seeing your best friend in pain was a dull noise in the background of your restless thoughts. “She injured herself on set, I was just making sure she’s okay.”

You chewed on your lip nervously, ignoring Link’s probing eyes as he scanned your faraway look.

“Is it serious?”

“No, just a sprained ankle.”

Link continued to observe you; seeing straight through you. An amused smile painted itself squarely on his lips. “... you’re gonna leave, aren’t you?” 

—

“What the— I told you to stay. What are you doing here?”

“And I told you to send me a picture of your sprain.”

Jenna frowned, closely watching as you slipped the duffle bag off your shoulders; landing on the hardwood with a loud thud. 

“Get back on the couch. You shouldn’t be walking.” You ordered, briefly scanning her head-to-toe and letting out a concealed sigh of relief that her ankle didn’t seem too bad. 

“I’m injured, not crippled.” She replied unamused. You meet her eyes, mimicking her expression until the brunette realized you’re not backing down. “Fine…”

“Let me help you.” You stepped forward, taking a closer look at her injury. Her left ankle was covered in a compression wrap as she hobbled around with a single crutch. 

“I’m fine.”

“Jenna, let me help.” You said in a serious tone, not backing down.

She rolled her eyes, slowly turning around with her crutch to walk back to the living room, hoping you missed her rosy cheeks. She ignored the intense thudding in her chest as you walked together. The thought of you leaving a trip that obviously meant a lot to you, sent the younger actress’ heart into a frenzy. 

“What are you doing here?” The younger actress asked again once she was comfortably seated on the sofa.

You took a seat beside her, “I was worried.”

“I told you I was fine, you’re acting like I’m on my deathbed.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed the pillow behind you and placed it between you and Jenna. Scooting back to gesture for her to rest the injured ankle on the pillow. “I wouldn’t have enjoyed the race knowing that you’re back in London with an injury… so, I left.”

Jenna stayed silent, not trusting herself to say what she was really feeling. So she opted to stare as you examined her wrapped ankle, seemingly satisfied that her injury wasn’t as bad as you had thought.

“I’m just trying to be a good friend… and roommate.” You joked, grabbing the discarded remote off the coffee table. Ignoring the way your skin burned the longer she stared at you unspeaking.

Jenna snorted at your words, grabbing the pillow behind her and playfully lunging it at you. You caught the feeble attempt. “Right, roommate.”

You laughed at the tone that accompanied her words, “how did you hurt yourself anyway?”

If Jenna’s cheeks turned any rosier, she’d be the human embodiment of a tomato. It was embarrassing, really and she blames Aliyah for sending that video. 

She might’ve been too distracted watching a clip of you and Tom walking along the racetrack, waving to the crowd. As luck would have it, she was supposed to be rehearsing for a scene, walking over to her next marking. However, one misstep over a wire sent her ankle twisting in an abnormal way. “I wasn’t paying attention to the marking on the floor and I tripped over a loose wire.”

Jenna was definitely not going to tell you the truth. You’d never let her hear the end of it.

You sent her a questioning look, “I don’t know whether to laugh or feel bad.”

“Is it too late for you to go back to Monaco?” She joked, straight-faced.

“I’m kidding, of course, I feel bad.“ You settled back into a comfortable position.

“How did you get back so fast?” She inquired.

“It’s only a two-hour flight.”

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Jenna noted that you were on the phone merely two and a half hours ago. “You got through security that fast?”

You blush red.

As soon as the jet landed on the tarmac and the seatbelt lights turned off, you were posted by the doors; impatiently tapping your foot on the floor.

“Miss L/N, your driver is waiting just outside.” The flight attendant alerted you. You nodded, sending a tight-lipped smile.

“Thank you.”

When the doors opened and the stairs hit the pavement, you were already rushing down the steps, making eye contact with the driver.

“Miss, I can take your bags.”

“That’s alright.” You tossed them in the back seat before shutting the doors. “How fast can you get back to the apartment?”

“GPS says 45 minutes but there is heavy traffic on the highway.” 

“I’ll drive.” You held your hand out. He looked unsure before seeing that you were not playing around, swiftly handing the keys over.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You made sure to tip the man handsomely after noticing his white-knuckle grip on the grab handles as you maneuvered through said traffic.

“Uh yeah and I got lucky, no traffic. Anyways….wanna watch Breaking Bad? Unless you finished it already, in that case, we can watch something else.” You changed the subject, Jenna didn’t need to know how you drove that SUV like it was a race car and broke multiple speeding laws just to get here.

“No, Breaking Bad is good. I haven’t watched it since we were at my parents' house.”

You turn, evidently surprised that she kept your unspoken promise. Trying to hide your growing smile, you face the TV again before the staring becomes too obvious.

“Me too.”

—

“Are you sure you’re fine to go to work today? It’s only been like, a day.”

It’s Sunday morning, too early for anyone to be awake. With the sky still covered in a blanket of darkness, you tiredly lean against the wall, trying your best to string coherent words together as you reason with Jenna, who lightly limped around the large room as she gets ready for work.

“Technically, it’s been two.” She glanced at you momentarily. “I don’t want to delay production.” 

“Jenna, you're injured. They can get a stand-in or just not film your scenes today.” You argued. Having had your fair share of on-set injuries, you knew that a major film could afford to delay filming for the sake of an injury. This was merely Jenna’s workaholic tendencies making her feel that she couldn’t stop working. “They can and should accommodate for you, Jenna.”

At your gruffed tone, Jenna dropped what she was looking for, walking over to stand in front of you. “Hey…”

You glanced at your hands, ignoring her soft tone. “Look at me, please?”

Jenna grabbed your hand, drawing your attention to her. “I’ll be okay. If my ankle starts to bother me, I’ll let the director know.”

“You promise?” You asked, glancing down when she started rubbing soft lines against your skin.

“I promise.” She squeezed for good measure.

You studied her soft gaze, attentive to the assured glimmer behind them. Letting out a sigh, you pushed your worries aside. “Okay.”

She smiled at your obvious concern, dropping your hand to walk back to the living room. 

You try not to draw attention to the way your fingers twitched at the loss of contact. “By the way, my family will be here at noon. Are you good to be alone with them while I’m at work?”

“Yeah… I think I’ll be fine.” To distract yourself, you walked off to the kitchen, grabbing a mug for your morning coffee; allowing a gentle silence to envelop the room as Jenna hobbled around and gathered her things.

“Crap!” Jenna suddenly said, emerging out of her room.

“What?” You turned, slightly startled. “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot to set up the guest bedroom for them.”

“Oh.” Your shoulders dropped. “I already did it, don’t worry.”

Her brows raised, “you called the housekeeper already?”

“No. I did it myself. We don’t need him.”

Jenna seemed surprised if the raised brows were anything to go by. It was amusing truly, but you elected to stay silent, turning back to make your coffee.

“Thank you…” She finally said.

“Don’t mention it.” You shrugged, “If you want, I can pick up your family at the airport too. Heathrow is a bitch to navigate.”

Jenna didn’t respond, just staring at your back from her spot in the living room. You were unaware of her internal turmoil.

“Jen?” You turned around when you realized she didn’t reply; just staring at you with an unwavering intensity. “Jenna?”

“What?” She blinked a couple of times. “What did you say?”

“I said I can pick up your family from the airport.” You sipped on the steaming mug, a single brow flicking upright in question.

“Oh–uh, no. T-That’s alright, I’m sending a car over to pick them up.” She stuttered pathetically; grateful that the dim lights from the lamp in the corner of the room did well to hide the crimson rising over her neck. “You shouldn’t be seen at Heathrow. You might get spotted.”

“I can wear a disguise.” You thought out loud.

Jenna snorted, pushing away her inner strife. “Oh yeah? Like what, a baseball hat and sunglasses?”

“Hey, it works!” You defended. “Not everyone can just blend in with their height.”

“Was that a short joke?” Jenna arched a sharp brow.

“Nope.” You stood wide-eyed. “Oh hey, I just remembered I left something in my room. Okay. Bye. Have a good day at work.”

Jenna laughed as you scurried off to your bedroom, glad that she hasn’t lost her edge with you.

—

“I can’t believe you cancelled on the driver.” 

The younger actress said as soon as you swung the front door open. Faintly, she can hear the familiar sounds of laughter farther into the apartment. “You’re so stubborn.”

“You act like that’s a new fact.” You snicker, a pleased smile plastered on your lips. “I’d like an apology by the way. The disguise worked perfectly — just like I said it would.”

“You’re too much sometimes.” She shook her head, stepping into the hall. 

“In the best way, though. Right?” You asked, letting her in.

“If it helps you sleep better.” Jenna shrugged, chucking her work bag on the side table.

“Now look who’s being stubborn.” You replied with a knowing smile.  “Go say hi and then wash up. Natalie and I are making dinner.”

She raised her brows in surprise as you walked away. Her footsteps faltering when she walks into the living room. Gaze instantly landing on her sisters and Dad lounging on the couch, in the corner of her eyes she finds her mom who was chopping up vegetables on the kitchen island. 

“Hey, guys…” She said slowly, still taking the scene in front of her.

“Jen!” Mia sprung up from her seat and tugged her sister into a tight hug. 

One by one, Aliyah, her dad and her mom sauntered over to greet and fret over her. Sentiments of I miss you, echoing in the vast apartment.

“It’s good to see you, honey.” Her mom said with a smile. “I hope you’ve been taking care of that ankle.”

Jenna rolled her eyes at her Mom’s fretting but nodded reassuringly. “I’m okay, Mom. Y/N’s been helping me.”

“So I’ve heard.” She winked, walking away.

“Uh– you guys made yourselves comfortable…” Jenna cleared her throat as she watched how her mom swiftly walked back to the kitchen where you were leaning against the island, observing her family with a small smile.

“Y/N said to make yourselves at home. Blame her.” Aliyah said, tugging her onto the couch. “How’s filming been? How’s working with Winona Ryder, tell me everything!”

“Great uh–what’s for dinner?” Was the first question the actress asked, too distracted by watching your concentrated expression. The slight scrunch in your forehead as you closely listened to her mom’s instructions was more interesting than what her sister was asking her.

“Mom’s teaching her how to make frijoles.” Mia smirked at her sister’s doe-eyed look. 

“Oh…” Jenna replied with a vacant tone. “Sounds good.”

“Do you have any pictures in your wardrobe—“

“Why frijoles?” She added, interrupting Aliyah when she tried to spark another series of questions.

“Y/N heard it was one of your favourites, said she wanted to learn how to make it for you.” Mia replied, her tone smug.

“She did?” Jenna’s brow raised, still unable to look away from you. 

“I think we lost her,” Aliyah sighed to Mia, giving up on having her questions answered.

Jenna rolled her eyes when her sisters burst into laughter, blinking back to reality. “Shut up. What were you saying?” 

She forced herself to look away and give her undivided attention to her sisters. Pretending not to notice as you kept glancing at her from the kitchen.

—

“Wow this looks amazing, are you sure you helped, Y/N?” Aliyah teased from the dining table.

“Ha-ha, you’re hilarious.” You mocked, walking over with a bowl of guacamole, placing it at the centre of the table. “Wait ‘till you try my guac.”

“I always make the that.” Jenna trailed off, sneaking a peek at the bowl.

“I know.” You took your seat beside her. “Your mom showed me how you like to make it. I hope it’s close.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that…” She reached for a chip and dipped a large chunk into the green goodness. You watched intently for a reaction but she gave you none; continuing to chew on. 

“It’s good.” She finally says.

“That’s it?”

“What? I said it’s good.” Jenna laughed at your sullen expression; almost feeling bad. Once your bottom lip popped out in disappointment, she dropped her act, reaching for your arm and squeezing it. “I’m kidding. It’s great, it tastes exactly how I make it back home… but you know, you can’t beat the original.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “I think I’ll be the judge of that.” You repeated her words.

Before Jenna can reply with a quip, her mom walked over with the last bowl of food, disrupting your conversation. But it was all forgotten when the younger actress’ nose welcomed the familiar scent of all of her favourite dishes. She enthusiastically eyed the various dishes scattered on the table, not having had her family’s cooking in what felt like forever. Living with you wasn’t bad – actually, it’s been more than great, but you were serious when you said you lacked skills in the kitchen. That resulted in dinners mostly being take-out these days.

“Have you tried frijoles before?” Jenna asked you. 

“Uh–no.” You blushed. “I actually didn’t even know they were beans until today.”

“You’ll love it.” She grinned, reaching over to plate you a generous helping. You refused to tell her that you didn’t necessarily love beans because her excited expression overpowered any dislike you had for the legume.

—

“You’re still up?” You called out after a brief glance, the pitter-patter of light footsteps coming down the hall, alerting you of her presence.

“Mhm, I heard the clanking of dishes from my room.” She replied, leaning against the counter, watching as you dried off the dishes one by one. “What’re you doing?”

“Sorry. I’ll keep it down.” You grimaced apologetically. “I couldn’t sleep so I figured I’d unload the dishes.”

“It’s okay, I’m actually not too tired too.” She stepped forward, only an arm’s length away from you. “Can I help?”

Wordlessly, you passed her a dry cloth and a bowl from the dishwasher. For a while, silence enveloped the room. You were grateful that you and the brunette can exist in silence, sometimes. Her mere presence provided a certain level of comfort that you’re still trying to get used to.

“So…” She spoke up after a few minutes, gaining your attention. “You’re really pulling out all the stops, huh.”

You raise an amused brow at the baiting look in her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jenna would’ve believed that statement if it weren’t for the small smile at the corner of your lips telling her otherwise.

“Right… so, you just pick up all your friends’ parents from the airport and do chores, willingly.”

“I’m turning over a new leaf.” You shrugged, continuing to wipe away remnants of water from the plate. Hoping the mundane action hid your trembling fingers well.

“Oh, are you?”

“Yup.”

“So this isn’t you trying to win me over?”

“Me try to win you over? Whaaat?” You puffed out an airy scoff, “that’s ridiculous. I would never. I wholeheartedly respect your decision.” 

But the crinkle in your eyes told her that you were enjoying this way too much.

“Sure…” Jenna rolled her eyes, “even if you are just doing this out of the kindness of your own heart—“

“Which, I am.”

Jenna sends a playful glower at your interruption. 

“Just wanted to put that on record.” You added.

“Thank you.” Jenna declared, her tone soft yet serious. “You’ve been incredible these last few days.”

“Oh.” You blink, a pleased smile plastered on your face. “You’re welcome, Jen. It’s no big deal.”

“It’s a big deal to me.” The bowl and cloth in her hands were long forgotten on the counter as she closed the distance between you. “No one’s ever done any of… this, for me—thank you.”

The air feels charged as she suddenly looks at you with that doe-eyed stare. Feeling like your heart rate instantly doubles, the longer she stares at you like that.

“What? Be nice?” You said evenly, “You need to set your standards higher.”

She huffed at your antics. “I’m being serious.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” you laughed shakily, trying to gather some semblance of control over your racing pulse. “Like I said, it’s not a big deal, Jen… cause I’d do anything for you.”

She blinked, voice caught in her throat she took in the serious glint in your eyes; voice dripping with conviction 

“And this isn’t me trying to win you over. You’ll know when I do.”

The younger actress’ body feels like it’s on fire the longer she listens to your words. 

“Uh, sorry, too much?” You said apologetically when she remained unspeaking. 

But Jenna was already shaking her head, a faraway look in her eyes that you couldn’t quite decipher. 

“No…” She murmured, her sight drifting down to your lips before they flicker back up to your eyes. “Not at all.”

“Okay…” Your gaze bore intently into hers, waiting to see if she’ll make the first move. “Good.”

For a brief moment, her eyes flicker back down for a second time but then she’s blinking out of her self-induced stupor, “um–I should go to sleep. I need to be up early.” Jenna hoped her ogling on your soft lips wasn’t too obvious. 

She steps back and almost instantaneously, the tension in the room dissipates with each movement she takes. 

You nod, smiling softly despite the slight tinge of disappointment you felt; knowing that you shouldn’t rush into this with her. “Good idea, you should rest your ankle… good night, Jenna.”

Just before you turned back to grab the discarded dry cloth, Jenna takes a hesitant step—before she can lose her nerve and leaned up to plant her lips on the pad of your cheek.

Your brain felt like it short-circuited; not having felt her lips in forever as your skin burned against the delicate contact.

“Good night, Y/N.” She whispered, her soft lips grazing your cheek in a way that drove you crazy.

Before your brain could rewire itself well enough to form a response, Jenna was already turning around to retreat back to her room.

Biting your lip to contain the growing smile, you couldn’t look away from her figure until she disappeared behind the door.

Shit…

You’re in deeper than you thought.

——

if there was any mistakes… look away (i tried my best 🧍‍♀️)

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[fruitmins]

Agust Dad—Three

➭ summary: Your a producer from another company that he happened to be collaborating with on his 2nd album D-2. At the release party— one drunk action leads to another, you do the worst thing you can do in the industry and change your fate forever.

➭genre: short series, pregnancy au, idol au, angst, dad au

➭warnings: none I think, just pure angst, Yoongi’s kinda stalkerish but that’s okay

<next part>

note: I don’t wanna drag this out but I don’t wanna make the chapters to long😭 anyways my life has been crazy lately and this story gives me life so THANK YOU SM for all of the support I love you ALL. Updated the tag list for whoever asked to be on it🫶🏽

Taglist: @welcometomyworld13 @tatyhend @jiminiesunicorn @littlestarstinyseven @baechugff @thelilbutifulthings @tearykth @familiarlikemymirror3 @coree730 @prajusstuff @wobblewobble822 @choisoorin @manuosorioh @0funsite0 @whipwhoops @bergandysam @aloverga @illnevertrustmyselfagain @silentreadersthings

You thought blocking him would fix the problem. Even though you both worked in the same building, you thought blocking him would make everything go away. You thought he would get a hint and let your breathe.

You actually woke up the next morning with a sense of relief – you’re done with Yoongi. He’s finally out of your life and won't be causing more drama and heartbreak.

Or so you thought.

A loud knock on your front door brings you back to harsh reality very quickly. You weren’t expecting anyone, and it's way too early in the day to be a package or delivery. No one made any prior plans to visit you.

In fact, you hadn’t really talked to anyone since the incident besides a couple family members. But they were way to far from Seoul to suddenly drive to your house.

You stumble to your front door, rubbing your eyes as you try to adjust to the light. You have your hand on the doorknob, prepared to open it as you take a small glance through the peephole.

Oh, it’s Yoongi.

It registers in your head and you quickly do a double take, leaning down more to get a better view.

Oh, it’s YOONGI.

He’s head is down as he looks at his phone, so you can’t get the clearest look at his features but you recognize the luxurious long black hair. You recognize the nice black blazer that he always seems to have on. You recognize his freakishly pale skin and his long fingers and veiny hands.

Min Yoongi is at your doorstep at six o clock in the morning.

You quickly swing your door open, causing his head to snap up from his phone as you stare at him with wide eyes.

“What are you doing here?”

You get deja vu as you whisper yell at him, afraid you’d alert the neighbors or some crazy fan would realize that Min Yoongi is on your doorstep.

You should be asking how he got your address and number, but your mind is too much of a mess to ask the right questions.

“Why can’t I come check up on you?” Yoongi frowns, irritated by your cold welcome and you stare at him like he is an alien.

Before you can answer his insane question, he speaks up again. “Wow this house is treacherous.” He mumbles as he glancing around your porch.

You shake your head, dismissing the sudden rude remark on your house. “Yoongi are you insane? You can’t come here like this.” You say in a quiet voice again, glancing around your neighborhood but nothing has changed.

“You blocked me.” Yoongi states, his tone making it sound like it was the most obvious thing in the world but his expression was still blank.

“Well I did it because I didn’t want to talk to you.” You state harshly, making it clear how crazy he looked by somehow finding your address and showing up anyways.

He just stands there, remaining unfazed by your outbursts, his gaze never wavering. Instead of saying something back, he simply pushes a piece of paper you hadn’t notice he had, towards you.

You give him a confused look as you take the paper before glancing down to look at it. Upon closer inspection your eyes catch certain words.

Your eyes widen as you realize what the piece of paper was.

You don’t know what you’re going to say, but as you glance back up at him you attempt to move your mouth anyways. He speaks again before you can say even anything. “Take the paternity test.”

You remain silent as you stare down at the paternity test in your hands, the silence between you growing more and more intense. "If the baby isn’t mine, you can block me and I’ll leave you alone. But if it’s mine, I want to be involved..”

For the first time every, you see a hint of emotion in his eyes. His blank expression softens, revealing a hint of who he might really be. “I want to be there.”

You don't say anything, but inside your heart's beating a mile a minute and your thoughts are spinning around your mind as you try to process everything. This moment feels far too surreal, like something out of a drama that only exists in fiction.

Of course you couldn’t believe his words. After everything you spilled to him yesterday, you couldn’t just hop back into his arms. You couldn’t just trust him again. You want to tell him off for showing up at your door like this in the first place.

But still, a faint flicker of hope springs inside you. A tiny voice whispers things in your ear that maybe things will be different. Maybe you won’t be alone. Just maybe you could trust him.

"Fine, I'll take the test." As soon as the words leave your mouth, you feel a pang of regret. You can’t deny him the right to know if it’s his, even if you knew that it was already biologically. He was the only man you’d slept with for almost a year.

Without giving him much time to process your words, you close the door breathing heavily as you tired to calm your thoughts. You try to focus on other things for the time being, but despite your efforts to think positively and be strong, a nagging feeling of dread never leaves you. You feel a heavy weight sink in your stomach as you worry about the future and your baby.

You retreat to your room, shutting the door behind you. You take the paternity test out, and after a moment of hesitation, you start taking it. You take a sample of your spit and see that Yoongi has already done the same.

You try to keep your mind blank while you do it, but as soon as you start collecting the sample, your brain is flooded with thoughts of Yoongi and your time together. The night, the sex, everything.

You can’t help but wonder how the you and Yoongi would look together, holding a little baby in your arms with him next to you. You can’t help but think about things as if it was another universe were you met on simpler terms.

Your thoughts quickly spiral into a fantasy, and by the time you finish taking the test, your cheeks are red.

You know it’s stupid but you can’t help but think about what’s going to come after the test gets back to you. It’s going to be proof that the baby is his and he claims to want to be involved.

That he wants to be there.

That he’s here now.

Your mind wanders back to the conversation you had in your office. How you told him over and over that he had abandoned you. And in response, here he was saying that he was here for you.

You don’t know how long you can believe him and you don’t know if the desire to care for the baby will go away.

But one things for certain is that the test will come back positive.

And you’ll no longer escape the reality of what awaits you.

Before you know it, Yoongi shows up to your house a couple days later but this time you actually invited him.

You know that you couldn’t tell him at the company cause you could be caught and it’s not something you should tell him through text, so you invited him to your house.

The doorbell rings and your eyes go to the clock above the door.

It's early, but not that early. With your heart racing, you head to the door and slowly it open to reveal... Yoongi.

You remain frozen for a moment before speaking, your throat dry.

He looks as handsome as ever, though he seems more cautious and serious than usual. He knows why he is here, and you know why he is here.

So you push back any thoughts that aren’t necessary and any memories that don’t need to be brought back. "Hello," you say simply, not knowing what else to say.

"Hello," he greets you, eyes skimming over your stomach, which isn’t yet visible but will be soon.

“Come in..” you say in a quiet voice turning away from him and going to the couch in the living room. Your heart starts racing as you begin to feel anxious about the conversation that lies ahead.

Yoongi enters your house, but the air is tense. The silence hangs so thick that you could cut it with a knife.

Eventually, he speaks up, his tone stiff.

"Did you get the results back?" he asks, his deep voice cuts through the silence.

Immediately your heartbeat goes up a notch, and you silently nod in response. “I did..” you mumble, swallowing hard as you pick up the paper off the table and slowly hand it to him, your heart thumping as you watch him closely.

A moment passes as he scans the paper in silence, taking his time and processing the implications.

Finally, he hands the paper back to you, his expression unreadable and the tension in the room as thick as ever.

There, it's all out in the open now, and there's no going back. You’ve officially connected yourself to Min Yoongi.

"So... it's true then."

Yoongi's words hang in the air, heavy.

You nod, your throat squeezed shut with anxiety and worry. Yoongi's gaze wanders across your face, his expression unreadable. His mind must be racing with thoughts of what to do next.

The silence stretches on forever before he finally speaks again. “We need to talk about this," he says calmly, and his tone is decisive.

You take a deep breath before speaking. “Well, I already told you I plan on raising it alone.” You state in a low voice, not making eye contact with him.

Yoongi exhales a shaky frustrated breath, his emotions taking the wheel once more. He takes a moment to collect himself before finding the right words. "And you think I'm just supposed to sit by and let that happen?" He challenges.

You blink, and for a moment, you can tell how serious he's being and you know you’re being stubborn but you can’t help but think of all the package Yoongi came with. His career, his fans, his schedule.

“It’ll just be easier for you and for me if you weren’t involved.” You state, with a heavy sigh. Yoongi's expression doesn't change, but his body language shifts. He crosses his arms and leans against the wall, the tension in his stance palpable.

"Easier for you, maybe. But don’t you think the baby has a right to know who its father is?” He asks and the question catches you by the throat and makes it dry.

Your stomach is filled with guilt, because you know he has a point. You go quiet at the moment, suddenly feeling guilty Yoongi had a right to be involved and the baby had the right to have a father.

And if Yoongi has asked this question, then maybe he was being serious. Maybe he actually cared about the child.

“So, how much do you want to be involved in?” You ask, glancing up at him to see that his eyes narrow momentarily before he responds, but his tone gradually softens as he sees the guilt in your eyes.

"I want to know the baby," he says, the softness in his tone taking you by surprise. "I want to be there for everything, from the first doctor's visits to the first words. I want to be part of its life."

You notice that whenever he says "the baby", his eyes flick towards your stomach as he speaks, even though there’s not visual of the baby even being there.

“What about your career? What about the media?” You question, slightly worried how his fans will react, how his company will react. It wasn’t everyday an idol got some random woman knocked up.

Yoongi relaxes a little after you concede the point, no longer challenging you. "Don't worry about that," Yoongi says quickly, his voice full of determination.

"The media's always going to make a big fuss, but I'll handle it. I'll handle everything. You shouldn’t stress about anything, especially if it’s not your problem to worry about."

His words make your heart flutter, but you're not sure if it's happiness or anxiety. It was like when he looked at the paper, his whole demeanor changed. His whole mindset changed, and you don’t know if you should be excited or worried.

"Listen," he says softly, "I never dreamed that something like this would happen, but now that it has, I want to make sure this baby has the best life possible. I’m not going to take the easy way out, that’s not what a real man does.” He states and despite his tough exterior, Yoongi is determined to be a present father for your child-to-be.

It’s silent again, millions of thoughts and emotions racing through your mind. “Well, I have a seven week appointment, if you want to come..” You mumble in a quiet voice.

“I’ll be there.”

He says, way to quickly.

[sebastianswallows]

Nobody's Darling — 1. The Road

— PAIRING: Benny Cross x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: Benny comes across a girl walking alone in the middle of nowhere and offers her a ride to the nearest town. They stop at a motel.

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 3.1k

— A/N: Hello, my dears! So yeah, I saw The Bikeriders because of Austin (and Tom Hardy) and of course I had to write something for it 😂 I've been labouring at it for the past two weeks lol This was meant to be a one-shot but it kept growing and I decided to split it into chapters. The plot is partly based on something that happened to me, namely I missed my stop and the bus drove me way out of the city before I realised what had happened 💀 Anyway, hope you enjoy it! 😘💕✨

Grey clouds floated across the sky. Fields of yellow and burnt grass rolled along like waves. A string of birds cut through the far horizon. The fading light of the sun seeped softly through the glass and warmed her cheek but she was happy to keep sleeping, caught in that special spot between awake and dreaming when her thoughts were peaceful, settled, and she could weave from them a pretty fantasy. The chill of a November evening didn’t quite make it into the bus but the windows were already fogging and the seats grew cold.

She woke up with a start when the wheels struck a hole in the ground and everything jolted.

“Where am I?” she groaned, squinting at the window. Her reflection frowned back but beyond it, she could see… nothing. She was in the middle of nowhere with only naked fields and swaying power lines around her. She checked her watch and her heart stopped.

“I should’ve been home by now. Oh no, I did not sleep through my stop,” she whispered to herself — but she did. “Wait! Driver!”

She got up and ran to the front, scrambling past all those empty seats, her jacket in one hand and purse flailing in the other. The driver gave her a bored expression as she leaned panting against the divider.

“Wait, please, I need to get off! Where are we?”

The man looked at her with all the serenity of an overworked drone in a dead-end job. He didn’t seem particularly alarmed to see her there, nor did he seem to care about her predicament.

“Halfway to the next town,” he mumbled as he started to slow down. “There’s another stop ‘bout a mile back.”

“Great…”

“Next bus comes tomorrow ‘round seven thirty.”

“Oh.”

She looked around again as if she could see something different from up here but it was all the same. The vastness of it frightened her and she half-wished she’d never woken up.

The driver pulled over at the side of the road and tilted the cap on his bald head, his teeth tight around a toothpick.

“You’ll be alright?”

“Yeah…” she said automatically. “Sure.”

He opened the door and her whole body began to tremble, the situation suddenly completely real. She gathered all her nerves and put one step in front of the other, and as soon as her feet were on the ground the bus started to move again, driving away.

The sun was dipping into a pool of pink and the birds that circled overhead were growing louder. She was alone in a darkening field with nothing in front of and behind her except for lamplight spilling yellow and pale over an empty road and dead grass all around. If she regretted getting off that bus, it was too late now.

“At least it was warm inside,” she muttered. “But I could never make it back in time for work tomorrow from the next town… Damn it.”

There was nothing left to do. She sighed to herself and started walking back. In her head, she tried to calculate how late it would be by the time she made it home but each result only scared her further.

“Best not to think about it,” she said. “Just keep walking…”

She hadn’t gone on such a hike since she was a little girl, and never far outside of town. She’d only walked through fields and meadows and the forest that stretched east. There was certainly no time for it since getting hired at the local newspaper, and she liked it that way. Her days were measured and predictable, her clothes were always clean, and nothing ever hurt her — except her back if she sat down writing for too long. She was scared now not just because she was alone and in the dark but because she’d never done a thing like this before. Her heels were unsteady on the crumbling tar and her purse felt heavy on her shoulder. Insects were singing in the grass and creatures rustled through it that she dared not think about. Were there snakes around here? Rats? She pulled her jacket tighter around herself.

After half an hour she came across the bus stop that the driver mentioned. The sign for it was half-chewed off and the wooden bench was worn and stained a sickly yellow beneath a flickering light. She considered for a moment sleeping there until the morning but then the ignominy hit her: to sleep on a dirty wooden bench under the flutter of moths and mosquitoes. To come home unwashed and stinky with her hair a mess and her stockings torn. And if any of the neighbours saw her… No. She walked past that bus stop and didn’t look back, and soon found herself surrounded by darkness again.

“You deserve it,” she muttered as she wrapped her arms around herself, her body ambling forward with none of the grace and poise she had half an hour before. “How could you fall asleep? You weren’t even that tired, and the bus ride is so noisy. You couldn’t wait another ten minutes to get home? Idiot, idiot…”

The walk back to the city was taking longer than she thought it would, and by eight o’clock she was still out there. The sky was sprinkled with stars and the wind was flitting gently through her hair and the creatures in the bushes were growing ever louder. If she weren’t so cold and terrified she might have felt exhausted. Her feet hurt and her back was bent under the weight of her purse and she hadn’t eaten since noon. But suddenly, in the distance, she saw a glint of something made of glass and metal — it was a phone booth. The joy that rushed through her wiped all her pain away and she hurried to reach it, nearly tripping. She felt halfway home as soon as she stepped inside its murky walls.

“Please work, please work, please please please.”

She picked up the receiver and held it on her shoulder as she opened the phone book and started leafing through for the nearest police station. They would be obliged to come and pick her up — that is if she could only explain where she was…

“Hello? Operator?” But no voice came from the other side. The tone was dead. “Operator?” she tried again, her voice growing shaky. “Hello? Anyone?”

As she kept tapping on the phone hook, desperate to reach someone, a bright light came peeking over the horizon from the direction she had just come from. It couldn’t have belonged to a car but whatever it was that approached her was fast and loud as all hell. She held her breath as she watched it getting bigger, brighter, closer. This was the only driver she’d seen the whole night and she was equal parts hopeful and horrified of just what it could be. After all, what kind of person would be out driving at this hour on a weekday?

She forgot about the telephone as she followed this strange light until it was close enough to blot out all the darkness. It blinded her for a moment but that thunderous rumble soon settled to a pur and it stopped on the other side of the road from her. When her eyes adjusted to the brightness she realised it was a motorcycle, thin and lean and silver.

Its rider propped himself against the ground on one long leg clad in blue jeans and reached into his pocket. He was tall and slender, his figure swathed in shadows, his motions simple but relaxed and almost elegant.

“It doesn’t work,” he said as he lit a cigarette. “Been broken for a while now.”

The flash of flame from his zippo lighter gave her a hint of his face. He was young, perhaps even younger than her, with full pink lips and a slight stubble, soft blue eyes, and a sprinkle of dirt like freckles on his face. There was a wildness to him and an air of gentleness as well, but his jacket was a dark denim and thick with patches, symbols that probably meant something to him — he must’ve belonged to some sort of “club”. She didn’t know much about bikers aside from what she read about them in the papers, but they’d always seemed to be a bunch of layabouts. Aside from drinking far too much and smoking she knew they got into trouble with the law, had fights, caused accidents, and were generally dangerous to be around.

“I’m… just trying to get to town,” she said in a wary voice.

“Well, I’m headed that way.”

She said nothing, her hand still frozen on the telephone.

“Want a ride?”

It was a tempting offer but one that made her shiver. She’d never been around a man like that, never even exchanged words with one, and everything that she expected from his kind — rudeness, lewdness, and a bad attitude — was suspiciously absent from him. He looked at her with those soft eyes, his long leg braced against the road, and waited. She should have accepted his offer, she should have just gotten on his bike and wrapped her arms around him, but… she couldn’t.

“No, thank you.”

He kept on smoking quietly and looked her up and down much as she’d done with him. She wondered what he saw… She was probably a pathetic sight and a strange kind of person to come across in such a place. When his eyes finally left her figure they strayed across the wilderness. There was nothing around them for miles, they both knew that, and other cars wouldn’t be around that road for hours.

“You know how far away you are?” he asked, rolling the cigarette between his fingers.

“I’ll be fine.”

“It’s a long walk.”

“I don’t want to…” She was about to say she didn’t want to ride all the way back with a stranger but instead said, “trouble you.”

He didn’t react at first, keeping that air of stillness about him that made her wonder what he thought. But after a few moments, he nodded and dropped the cigarette, crushed it underneath his boot, and with a leisurely motion mounted his bike once more and revved the engine up. Before she could say another word he’d already sped into the distance and left only a cloud of dust behind.

She almost felt sorry to see him go. Almost felt guilty too… She didn’t want her distrust of him to be so apparent or to cause offence, no matter what kind of a person he was. But she told herself he must’ve been a dangerous man and that she was better off alone than riding back to town with him. Well, she wouldn’t be riding back with anybody now… The telephone line was dead, just as he’d said. The wire must’ve been disconnected somewhere.

She wanted to cry. Instead, she began to walk once more, trudging through the dark.

The sky was as black as a curtain cast across a silent stage and against it lit from below the pale lights of interspersed lamps. The roaring of the bike got slowly lost in the road that lay before her and soon only her steps echoed to remind her of how alone she was. She watched the small light of the rider fade and hugged herself against the cold, holding the purse to her chest as if it could protect her. Her feet were hurting so much she worried they were bleeding and she considered taking them off until she looked down at the road and its uneven dirty tar. She closed her eyes even as she kept on walking, too tired to gaze out at the same old nothingness again.

But then she heard a roar floating on the wind and felt a tremble in her chest as if an earthquake was approaching, and when she opened her eyes again she saw that lone light making its way back to her. He seemed to ride back faster than he did as he was leaving and he reached her in no time at all. She slowed down to a stop and so did he, parking right beside her.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck in an awkward, boyish way. “Look, I’m sorry if I scared you earlier. But I can’t just leave you out here. You sure you don’t want to —”

“Alright,” she said, her voice already weak and weary. She was hungry and cold and scared that she’d never make it back to town that night. Too scared to refuse his help a second time. “Just… just get me to the edge of town. I can make my own way home from there.”

If he was surprised at how quickly she accepted now, he didn’t show it. He simply moved closer to the front of his seat and made space for her behind him.

She took a deep breath and approached him carefully as if he rode a beast, not something made of metal. It looked solid and precariously thin at once and yet he straddled it confidently. The saddle looked just big enough for two. She hopped on as best she could and tried to keep her legs together but when he looked at her over his shoulder he shook his head and laughed.

“Legs on either side,” he said. “You’ll fall off if you ride like that.”

“But, my skirt…”

He looked up and down her legs and she tried not to read too much into the way his eyes had darkened.

“Roll it up,” he said in a low and soothing voice. “Don’t worry. I won’t look.”

She held her breath as she rolled her skirt up high enough so that she could throw her other leg over the side. He waited while she settled into the position and planted her feet firmly.

“Ready? Hang on,” he said as he revved the engine up. “I’ll go real slow, alright?”

“A-alright…” she said as she placed her hands timidly around his waist.

But he didn’t go slow, at least not by her standards.

It was completely different to riding in a car, more visceral and real with no windows to protect her. She let out a little scream and clung to his body more tightly than she meant to, eyes falling shut, legs tightening around his bike. He smelled of gasoline and metal and several days’ worth of sweat cooled down by the chilly autumn night but he felt so solid in her arms, so firm and steady, even as the world flashed by. Eventually, she was brave enough to rest her cheek against his back and opened her eyes to look at the vacant countryside. It was a little frightening, as she expected, but peaceful too. As she fisted her hands in his jacket, right over his heart, she tried to peek over his shoulder but could just see the side of his face, focused and relaxed, and the white circle of the headlight. Somehow, that was enough for her. His hair tickled her forehead, feeling softer than it had any right to be, and she found herself smiling. There was something base and ancient in the way he smelled, the way he spoke, even in the way he moved. It was as if he had in him the blood-memory of an ancient Knight on armoured steed galloping alone and steadfast through the fields and woods of untamed lands.

The outskirts of town were much tamer than that, however, and before long they could see the faint lights of the outermost buildings, squalid flats, and blinking advertisements. When he started slowing down she felt herself breathe a sigh of relief. It must’ve tickled the back of his neck because he bent his head forward as if to get away — or to ask for more.

“Where are we?” she asked once the noise of the motorcycle died down.

“Marshal Avenue,” he said, easing the bike to the side of the road.

She didn’t know exactly where that was, but she guessed they were on the other side of town from where she lived. All along the street were boarded-up shops, derelict flats, and liquor stores. Across from where he parked was a building that looked to be about a hundred years old. She could hardly fathom walking home at that hour, especially through a neighbourhood like that, but it was better than being in the middle of nowhere.

“Well, thank you. For the ride.”

He lit another cigarette and dismounted the bike, rolling his broad shoulders to unwind. She got off quickly, scrambling to cover her legs in the crumpled skirt before he turned around and saw her. He gave her a look over his shoulder when he heard her fussing and slowly turned around.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you home?”

“Yeah, I… I can walk from here.”

He looked at her and stayed quiet but there was something in his eyes behind that veil of smoke that made her curious about what he had to say. He simply nodded and turned toward that old building behind him. She hugged herself and looked up and down the street, waiting for him to say anything — to ask for money, to make fun of her for thinking she could make it home, to make a pass at her…

“Well, good night,” she said.

And as soon as she started walking away he spoke to her again.

“Hey, it’s kinda late. They got rooms upstairs.”

“What?” she asked, turning on her heels a bit unsteadily.

“Owner knows me,” he shrugged, crushing the cigarette beneath his boot and immediately lighting up another. “Could get you one for cheap.”

She shifted her weight from one foot to another and looked around pretending to think… but her eyes kept coming back to him. He puffed quietly away and gazed at her with no design behind those clear blue eyes, looking just as uncertain and awkward as she felt standing in the middle of the street. She didn’t want to trust him but a part of her responded in the same way that she did when she saw a homeless puppy.

“You mean, a room of my own?”

“Yeah.”

She looked from him to the large building again.

He could probably tell that she was torn because he helpfully supplied, “They got food too. Hungry?”

She was. It had been over twelve hours since she’d eaten or had anything to drink.

“I kind of am.”

“Me too,” he said. “Come on.”

[delicrieux]

…TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS ! ⋆｡°✩

⋆⭒˚.⋆ chapter summary. spending a week taking care of fushiguro... how bad could that be?

pairing. gojo satoru x f!sorcerer reader warnings for this chapter. swearing wc. 5.2k author’s note. in this story, we use first names in text when reader feels emotionally connected to the person xoxo and that's on stylistics

ੈ ✩‧₊˚

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | twny masterlist | < back | next >

CHAPTER 10: fushiguro megumi's week-long suspension

“i can’t believe it has come to this…” you utter, squint, and try seeing past the unrelenting glare of the july sun. gojo, always nearby, kicks a pebble, looking much more like an elementary kid rather than the one you are going to pick up.

moody, blushing, shoulders slouched and head hung; he says nothing because he tried saying something five minutes ago when you repeated yourself, but a sharp look and a displeased pinch of your lips made him promptly shut up. where was this deference when he was making your life a living hell while you begged him to leave you alone? at this point, you might tell him to jump and he’d land on pluto, if only you weren’t glaring at him anymore.

you shake your head and tut, “absolutely unbelievable.”

“oh god, please, spare me,” he grumbles, shoving a hand out of his pocket only to offer it to you.

you examine it. unappealing, “sweaty.”

the way he instantly scowls at you could be adorable, if you weren’t so irked. your bingo list for the summer, or ever, really, didn’t include attending a parent-teacher conference about an unruly seven year old that’s not even yours. fushiguro megumi keeps breaking toys and beating up his classmates – detention, teacher’s notes (which gojo did not read), extra homework, and a one on one with the parent (which gojo did not attend) did not work. a public trial is all that’s left, and even this would have slipped through gojo’s fingers. the notice arrived a week ago, but gojo neglected to check his email, and he missed the whole of 5 calls before yaga-sensei was informed of his outstanding failure as fushiguro’s legal guardian.

you shake your head again, almost closing your eyes – it’s too bright and too hot, and you think you hear the sidewalk sizzling, and maybe this is one of those days you shouldn’t be outside at all, “still can’t believe it…”

you wouldn’t be doing your duty as a concerned citizen if you weren’t even attempting to guilt-trip him into oblivion. you had plans today anyway, namely melting into your mattress or heaving by the conditioner, but he has ruined them all by asking you to come along. why didn’t you just say no? maybe because he looked especially miserable.

maybe because…

*

"here, give me that," your fingers curl over his tie, straightening the knot and smoothing it out. the inside of fushiguro’s school is thankfully cool, "is this really necessary though?"

"how do i look?"

"well...good?" your answer doesn't satisfy him much because he reaches for his hair and runs a hand, as if that will do him any favors. it doesn't. you wince and adjust the strands.

"like a respectable adult?" he is still wearing his shades, a necessary evil in the afternoon sun, even within these pale walls.

"that's a stretch."

he frowns, "not helping. the hell, i dressed nicely and everything,"

"not sure how a tie and an untucked shirt is 'nice' exactly, but okay,"

"you are so bossy," gojo has a small, pitiable expression on his face, and he's got it bad. he'd better; there's a ton of disgruntled parents lining the corridor of the conference room, and though this doesn't involve you in the least, they stare a little too hard as if you're the problem. you find you can't meet anyone's gaze directly.

"anyway," you squeeze his forearm, which feels nice – soft, his muscles yielding under the fabric – "keep it together,"

he doesn't, really, "this blows.”

"will you keep it together?"

"you're going in with me," his knuckles rap a rapid, anxious beat over his knee. he is seated and not happy, and you can't help noticing how big he is compared to the other men milling in the room, but most of all, how stupid and incompetent. it makes your heart patter in your chest.

"didn't agree to that. why do i have to?"

"because," he glares, "i'll tell them you're the mom."

he's lost it. your arms cross and your brow flattens. you take a few seconds to regard him before giving your answer.

"satoru, don’t they know you're, like, a step-dad?"

"i'm the dad that stepped up."

"seriously?"

"technicality."

"you pay the utility bills," you whisper back, annoyed.

"i'll tell them it's your biological child if you don't go in with me," he threatens.

the tips of his ears have turned a telltale pink, and even he notices, ducking his head and leaning further against the wall. when his leg won't stop bobbing, and he keeps the nervous tapping going, your heart sinks, "satoru," he really has you hook, line, and sinker, because you falter faced with his obvious distress. you didn't expect him to be this nervous, since he's always so carefree, "you..." he looks so very uncomfortable and unhappy in his white button up, which is a bit crumped, mind you, "oh, what the hell. fine."

"thank god."

the faculty makes an appearance, but not one person recognizes him. a brief discussion and introductions later, the room is emptied save the offended parents, the teacher, you, and gojo.

adults can be scary, but your job involves cursed spirits, and those are much scarier than a disgruntled salaryman will ever be.

what is more terrifying than a cursed spirit or a perturbed father trying to lynch gojo with his glare is a scorned mother. you try to not shrink into yourself as she points an accusing finger, as if you've committed the crime alongside fushiguro, "explain yourselves! what kind of parenting is this!?"

if you were sweating before, well, now you're really sweating. you and gojo share a quick, worried glance before the faculty intervenes to give an account of fushiguro. she must have some kind of hearing impairment because she yells, "young parents these days, treating their children so dismissively!"

it would be highly unadvisable and probably a very bad idea to mention the circumstances by which gojo is legally fushiguro's ward, or the fact that he's neither your biological son nor your son at all, and luckily, gojo is smart enough not to disclose any of that. no, what he says is so much worse, "i can assure you that we provide all the attention and care in the world for our son!"

it takes your mind a second to fully comprehend that, yes, he has, in fact, said 'we' and 'son' in the same sentence, and then his hand comes to clutch and yank you painfully over so that you're sitting half on the edge of his chair, "tell her!"

and the room falls deadly quiet for a few moments, which you use wisely to consider: first, kicking gojo right where it counts, and second, bolting for the nearest exit.

the silence is stifling, "err... yes, we take care of him."

"are you even out of college?!" the woman is flaring red with anger.

this isn't exactly your proudest moment, or his, and you can feel your legs shake, and how is it possible that gojo's arm, slung around your waist, is steady and strong, "we're not, but we're, we’re doing the best we can."

when the hell did you become so willing to dive into danger for a man? you'd never met such a troublemaker, and yet, here you are, listening to gojo tell the concerned parent in a voice far more confident than it had been just seconds ago, "you need not concern yourself, ma'am. we take care of megumi every single day and provide a nurturing, homey, and responsible environment for him. and we also love him very much. he and his sister. which we love. right, dear?"

and that’s your cue, “yes. my children. very well behaved.”

"he broke my son's nose!"

"did he deserve it?" gojo quips.

"no!"

he sighs. you eye the door longingly.

"i'll pay the medical bills."

*

the heat's less severe when you leave. a suspension.

with fushiguro safe and collected from his classes, the three of you stroll back to jujutsu technical. gojo lets him lead and you lag, half embarrassed, a third disinterested, and two thirds disheartened that you're now seriously involved with someone like gojo satoru, that this is your life. god, that whole experience was so bad, and his word vomit was the cherry on the shittiest cake you've had in a long time.

you are still, quite frankly, mortified. you know that gojo was talking out of his ass because explaining the real situation would actually make it look even worse than a case of young and stupid parents, but it somehow unnerved you greatly.

this is none of your concern. or it shouldn't be, at the very least. but it's making you consider the distant future and wrangle with the question of – do you want to get married? do you want to have children? such a line of thinking is unacceptable for many reasons, namely that you don't, and you're young, and you'd rather not die with any false hopes in place, because it's likely you'll never reach past your mid-20s and be with someone you actually would want to start a family with.

the city is hazy and humid, the people around appear sluggish. a vendor sells a bunch of sweet watermelons by the street. gojo stops to buy some slices for the three of you, and fushiguro accepts his reluctantly.

then, he marches onward, gloomy as always.

"megumiiiin," and gojo is right on his tail, wiggling his fingers in what's supposed to be an invitation, "let's hold hands."

"no."

"come on, i got you a week-long vacation," he insists.

"it's a suspension!" you hiss, chewing.

gojo glances back. shrugs, "eh."

fushiguro drags his feet, his chin tucked into the front of his uniform's collar, black bangs shifting messily and sticking over his eyes, "m'not apologizing."

"don't, you got good aim," gojo says wisely.

fushiguro offers gojo nothing else to say. the awkward and mortifying experience is, for him, nonexistent. he doesn't know what happened behind those doors, and he shouldn't to preserve his innocence.

for the remainder of the walk, he trudges forward without uttering another word, or without once turning back. the way he's sulking and putting distance between you, however, makes the unpleasant feeling linger a bit longer than it should, though there's really nothing you can do.

once he's already making his way to his temporary lodging, you call out, "ne, megumi," and his footsteps cease immediately. he turns about and stares expectantly, "do you have any plans for tomorrow?"

"...no."

gojo watches you with sharp interest as you try not to bend under the pressure of both of their gazes, "well," you try, sounding a bit shy, "in that case, would you like to go shopping with me? i could use the company."

silence. the awkwardness from the earlier meeting hangs heavy, until fushiguro seems to recover and crosses his arms, mouth set a little firmly, "i have to finish my homework."

what a horrible excuse.

"we could visit the arcade and get slushies," you say, feeling a bit more confident since he seems to be cracking.

he narrows his eyes, considering his options. then, with a very pronounced scowl, "is he going?"

gojo perks, having been slouching listlessly with a grimace, "oh! me? sure, i'll be there," he even beams, the prick, while fushiguro gives him a deadpan stare.

"oh, no no," you try to rectify quickly, "satoru isn't going," and you jab your elbow into his side, sunny smile and all, "you're busy tomorrow, remember?"

gojo frowns. then he pouts. then, he looks annoyed. but finally, he looks away and says, "yeah, right. i am. totally forgot. so busy."

"figured," fushiguro hums, shrugs a little and says, "sure."

"awesome," you grin, feeling somehow very lucky, "it's a date!"

"not a date!" gojo declares.

fushiguro stomps through the door, his entire demeanor shifting entirely from apathetic to downright irritated, muttering, "you two are weird."

and then he's gone. the door creaks shut behind his small frame.

"it's a date?" gojo parrots, giving you a look.

"oh, don't be mad. it's just fun teasing him," you smile a little sheepishly, tugging him along to the direction of your dorm room.

he matches your pace, steps becoming slower. his arm is warm around your back.

*

“you don’t offer to hang out often,” coming from fushiguro, it sounds less of an observation and more like a thinly veiled accusation. you give pause.

true to your word, you have taken him to get slushies and some light shopping after a stop at the aquarium, which he enjoyed the most because it was quiet and the room felt never-ending.

for a kid, fushiguro is too perceptive, too grumpy, too. you hadn't expected that your presence could be missed, or even desired, since it was so rare to see him when he wasn’t on college grounds. with his sister still at summer camp, he doesn’t have anywhere else to stay. the two of them living alone with semi-regular visits from gojo is already wildly weird and unsafe, and leaving him by himself in the apartment was out of the question.

maybe you should have invited him earlier. he must be so lonely.

"mm. s'always busy with jujutsu studies," you tell him a bit shamefully.

a tic twitches underneath his eye. he finishes his cherry-red drink in two long gulps before taking you up the escalator to his favorite candy store.

you hold his palm. he grips tight but releases hastily as though embarrassed the second the mom and pops duo in their late fifties make a aaaw sound at you two. you almost throw your electric blue slushie at them ��� the workup to this very moment had been nothing short of arduous. the old man and woman look absolutely infatuated.

you will have to try to sneakily hold his hand again, under the pretenses of safety or whatever, even if you’re fairly certain fushiguro would beat up a kidnapper if it ever came down to it.

he dives straight for the large jar that has the 'bullet gums' printed on the container. he holds it up, and somehow, he's more of a little kid than the angry gremlin he usually is in gojo's presence. you have to battle with yourself to not fish out your phone and snap a million pictures.

"so cute..." you mutter under your breath.

you don't think it reaches his ears until his forehead wrinkles into an offended scowl, but he doesn't say anything as he goes on picking and tossing the good ones in his basket.

"how much money do you have?" fushiguro looks at your purse suspiciously.

you’re a bit affronted – maybe he and gojo do have a lot more in common than anyone would suspect, because this child has just called you poor.

"ehh, don't worry,” maybe you should be worried for the future generation and their manners, “satoru gave me his card, so you can buy anything you want.”

fushiguro scowls. he sets down the bulging bag on the floor beside him, and looks away from you, "...i don't want anything."

you blink and peer at the selection of items. it will likely be a hefty sum, but nothing too egregious. fushiguro picked his candy with care, and you note that it’s mostly sour things.

“but it looks tasty,” you say, and you mean it, even if you prefer sugar on sugar atop liquid sugar.

“no.”

you ponder for a second what might have made him so upset so suddenly. you hum. time for some mathematics. fushiguro hates gojo, gojo is sponsoring this outing, which, maybe, somehow equals fushiguro wanting to spend time with gojo, hence, fushiguro is grumpy and probably wants to go home.

you feel like 2 + 2 = 5 since you’ve uncovered one more piece of information.

well, this is a problem. you raise an eyebrow. how does one deal with an upset seven year old? you think you’ve been doing good so far, but it’s only because fushiguro was in a good mood and somehow tolerable of your presence. suppose you'll have to play by his rules. suppose you can do that, or at the very least try.

slowly, you take the bag. then, you extend your hand to him, "we could try maxing out satoru's card – doesn't that sound fun?"

he furrows his brow and looks like he's having a bad idea. slowly, hesitantly, his tiny palm comes to land in yours, fingers slotting, and then you are both making your way to the counter.

the next spot you visit is a bookstore.

"do you like reading?" you inquire curiously.

a shrug. you assume he's shy, so you let it pass, instead picking up a few manga. they seem popular these days, and maybe you’ll actually have some free time to read it before missions swamp you and you’re off to battle curses in the muggy heat.

meanwhile, fushiguro chooses a coloring book and a plethora of new, shiny markers.

"looks cool," you say.

"yeah," he agrees, and he seems happy. you would really like to take a picture right about now, but you swipe gojo’s credit card instead. you and fushiguro share a pleased look.

when you visit the food court, it’s already buzzing.

"let's get something to eat," you suggest. he nods, "pizza?"

"yes please."

you notice him getting a bit anxious when a large group of people move in front of the two of you, and without a word, your push him closer to your body as you shield him. he stiffens, but doesn't ask you to let go, and leans his head into the comfort.

that's sweet. too sweet. you resist the urge to melt down. god, this kid is growing on you like fungus. you can't believe how happy you are to be spending time with him. that this is actually happening, and you're not imagining any of it. you almost regret not doing this sooner. you feel stupid for being scared and skipping out before.

you might even, and this you find startling, put yourself through the whole ordeal with the parent-teacher conference again. only this time, you might be the one screaming and pointing fingers. what a cute kid.

when the person in front of you finally vacates a table, you squeeze into the tight space, but not before flagging down the server.

"is it just me, or does today feel like a celebration?" you ask him in the attempt of stirring conversation.

his bored eyes wander around, perhaps not finding the occasion anything special or remarkable. but then, with a nod, he says, "i guess."

that's as much enthusiasm as he's going to allow himself to show, and that is completely fine, you decide. you don't need him to pretend for the sake of pleasing you. you're just happy to be here, and you can't wait to tell gojo all about this in great detail. he'll be so jealous.

*

yes, gojo can get any michelin star meal delivered within the hour if he’s persistent and snooty enough. he might also be able to import something from korea in the timeframe it took you to decide on what to eat if fushiguro so much as implored he wanted anything. the real problem is that fushiguro does not want to eat anything touched by gojo’s hands or credit card – the outing being the only exception, as that was done with malicious intent to scam gojo out of more money than was necessary – and you think it’s not healthy to have a growing kid survive on the instant noodles and snacks you purchase from the convenience store.

the cafeteria food is alright, but it, too, lacks the nutrition needed for strong bones and a healthy immune system. you also were unable to find the allergens or a basic ingredients list on the food served there, and the cooks you inquired were suspiciously tight-lipped about it, which only left you pondering about what exactly you have been eating for the past three years.

that, and fushiguro seems to be missing his sister lately, who, apparently, made him food, or made food alongside him, but your newfound big sister instincts send you into a frenzy even imagining this child next to a sharp knife. he is way too independent. when you think of yourself being his age, you think your childhood was much more carefree.

a homecooked meal it is. only problem is that you’re not a great cook, and whatever you made you could only serve yourself because it was just mediocre enough to teeter on the scale of enjoyment, if it could be called that.

still, you were wrestled into an apron by a pest named gojo satoru, who dons a matching one but avoids the pots and pans and stays by the television with fushiguro, as he was made aware that whatever he touches will be promptly thrown into the trash.

you chop, and stir, and haughtily avoid the counter where you were propped up to be devoured by the same man throwing his head back and cackling at some painfully unfunny late night tv show. you catch your reflection in the sharp blade of a knife and pause for a moment.

so this is my life now, huh?

as expected, neither the presentation nor the actual food is up to fushiguro’s standards. it’s evident by the way he skeptically pokes the mess on his plate with his fork. the noodles are too crisp, the broccoli – burned. you might’ve gone overboard with the seasoning, and yes, you can wrangle a curse into submission, but you cannot prepare a decent dinner.

you wait for the verdict with your hands curled into your apron, like some maid about to be scolded by a temperamental prince.

when a minute passes of just examination, you thread carefully, “ne,” fix your best smile, tilt your head to the side even – this is beyond humiliating. nothing gojo has put you through could ever amount to the small curl of queasiness on fushiguro’s mouth, “how about we order food in?”

“i’ll pay!” comes gojo’s enthusiastic agreement. he even waves the remote around, like it’ll summon something delicious on the coffee table just like that.

fushiguro, faced with this unprecedented cheerfulness, stabs his dinner and eats without a word spared.

you stare. no, this can’t be good, you might give him food poisoning, “no, really. let’s order something edible.”

fushiguro chews thoughtfully before he answers, “…it’s edible.”

“liar!” gojo accuses.

“shut up!”

well. it doesn't go too badly, and after a while, gojo puts on a nature documentary as a peace offering, while you wash the dirty dishes and keep sending worried glances to a now placid fushiguro who dutifully finished his meal and has moved on to polishing the bowl clean.

and you can't help the sudden onslaught of fondness that fills you up as the warm water from the sink hits your fingers. this is oddly nice and comforting. it reminds you of the dinners you had back home, only they never were this late and you always pouted when having to wash your plate and utensils.

"eh," you almost drop the soapy spatula; your head ticks to the entrance of the dorm kitchen, and you see shoko leaning by the doorway before the smell of cigarette smoke reaches you. her eyes jump from your apron, to gojo sprawled on the couch, to fushiguro neatly folding a small towel, "feeling a bit left out. what's going on here?"

oh no. you feel your face heat all the way to your forehead. how incriminating, how do you even begin to explain this strange and off-putting development of your relationship with gojo?

maybe you should have told her as soon as it happened, but you didn't know how.

you wanted to, though. each time you meet shoko’s gaze, you had the overwhelming urge to come clean. you can’t phantom how criminals can lie to the police with a straight face, because you’re having significant trouble. what’s worse, it always felt like shoko knew anyway, somehow; that that information breached the kawakami-gojo bubble and bled into the common knowledge pool.

shoko always seemed so suspicious, and in this case, for good reason. now, suppose you don't have to explain anything at all.

gojo points at you with this thumb, "she can't cook for shit, you know that?"

"oh, yes," shoko hums, pleased, "know it too well. i won't need to use reverse on you, will i?"

"nah," he drawls, "think i'd eat that drivel? i'm not suicidal."

"hey!" you bristle.

fushiguro frowns and glares at the tuff of white hair peaking over the back of the couch, "it wasn't so bad."

and your anger vanishes, just like that. your honor has been defended by an seven year old, and now it's just a matter of having to bear with shoko's probing look and the telltale curve in her smile.

"ah, well, if megumi vouches for you, then maybe you've improved," shoko says sagely.

gojo snorts in clear disagreement. fushiguro scrunches his brow and purses his lips.

*

there’s definitely something somewhere written about proper bedtime, but being with fushiguro has made you sentimental about your childhood, and you recalled sneaking around at night to watch tv and having too much energy to sleep, even when you were tucked into your favorite blanket with your favorite stuffed toy under your armpit and read your favorite story.

so you take him to a pastry shop at near closing time, and smile particularly sweetly at the disgruntled cashier who just finished cleaning up. you feel a bit bad, but alas – a tasty treat is a tasty treat, and what is more, everything’s on discount, so you spend a generous amount to make sure fushiguro and you have enough to snack on all the way back to jujutsu tech and then some.

you also got some for gojo, despite how brattish he can be. the only reason he didn’t follow you here is because fushiguro had forbidden it, but even now, you’re not sure if you aren’t being monitored.

fushiguro bites into his colorful fish cookie and chews. the sky is already dimming, but there’s still plenty of people out and about, enjoying their summer. he keeps close, but doesn’t reach for your hand. you hadn’t been able to achieve your initial victory at the start of the week, but maybe you still have some time.

“you’re leaving for a mission,” he says after a pleasant silence, blunt as always. you try remembering if you were this honest when you were his age. certainly, you must’ve been more tactful. when your gaze flits to fushiguro, you find him disgruntled, an expression reminiscent of gojo when he doesn’t get something he wants.

it’s starkly similar, actually. a father that stepped up…

“it’s only for a few days,” you tell him, keeping your voice light in an effort to appease him, “i’ll be back before you know it. with souvenirs, too.”

a tic creases his brow as he seems to give the offer some serious contemplation. a couple of moments pass before, with a sharp huff, he mumbles a sour, "do as you like."

you manage a patient, "look forward to the present, hm?"

he is very stubborn and says nothing but chews with a little more fervor.

"maybe you want something specific? or would surprise be best?"

you hear a short sound of exasperation at that, and a shake of his head.

"no... you can choose, nee-san."

you nearly collapse. fushiguro, no, megumi, megumi hasn't ever been so malleable before; the things this boy has been doing to your heart must be against the law. it’s too precious, and so sweet it makes the glazed cinnamon bun grasped so tightly between your fingers taste bland. how could you ever recover? is it even worth bringing it up? just how much does megumi truly care about you to call you something so tender?

you have to swallow a disgusting ball of coo for the sake of everyone, namely megumi, who seems especially irritated, “…how about a plushy? or a phone accessory? satoru said he bought you a nice new model.”

your efforts do not go unnoticed. there is a gleam in his eyes, and his cheeks flush in pleasure.

"can..." his tone lowers, quiet, almost timid, "can i choose when you're back?"

there isn't a bone in your body strong enough to decline that.

"of course," you smile, "tell me when i should come back and i will."

a pair of small fingers come to grip your sleeve, hesitantly, shyly.

"the sooner, the better," he mumbles, glaring at the sidewalk, "so... be quick."

*

“’s stupid,” gojo grumbles, making himself comfortable on your bed instead of helping you pack your suitcase, “why you needa go, anyway?”

not him, too. christ, why are they ganging up on you?

you sigh, folding a sweater. it’ll likely be too warm to wear it, but you’ll take it just in case, “cuz yaga-sensei told me to?”

“coulda said no,” he answers stubbornly. you pause to stare him down.

if not for the sunglasses, he would be giving you the same look as megumi; a bit less angry, more passive aggressive.

he presses, the smirk fading, a sharp edge to his voice, not quite biting, not yet, "wanna stay and fuck a bit instead?"

god. the word makes your spine crawl with something familiar, or rather, a mix of emotions that is indescribable and difficult to disentangle; something close to exasperated fondness, perhaps.

but you shake your head, the weak protests die out on your lips, and he rolls over, sated, like a cat that had gotten its cream, "...you sure?"

"stop trying to seduce me," you snort, ignoring the lingering glance directed at your back.

"then you'd really miss your train."

"satoru."

"right, right..."

"go be annoying somewhere else."

a heavy exhale. you don't dare to turn because you hear the mattress creak and his footsteps drawing nearer.

the warmth envelops you easily, his hold is lazy, his mouth is by your ear, hot breath sending a shiver up your nape, "mean. and here i am, all ready and eager."

but his fingers linger on the waist of your shorts, just above the material. it's a small touch. noninvasive. you can feel him holding himself back.

"...'s gonna be too cold," gojo continues, quietly. he isn't helping, his nose nudging your hair, a soft kiss pressed below your earlobe, "in bed without you. who will i cuddle now?"

oh, damn him and the things he does and says. and that honey sweet voice of his, teasing you.

but you won't fall for his tricks, "well, it won't be forever. you won't even notice i'm gone."

and he laughs. like he's telling himself not to show his irritation at you dismissing him so easily, "always notice," he mumbles, or maybe he doesn't, because he kisses your cheek one more time before he disentangles and plops down onto the mattress again, "anyway, megumi wants to escort you to the train station, so expect an entourage."

you ponder who would be more clingy: gojo or megumi.

*

it's gojo.

tags (couldn’t tag in bold!). @shokosbunny , @jotarohat , @alygator77 , @fortunatelyfurrygiver , @finnydraws , @mastermasterlist1p1 , @eolivy , @letsmyy , @staruus , @k0z3me , @damnshorty , @kaeyakaikai , @n4melesspers0n , @midnightwriter21 , @sillymercury , @byakuya61085 , @stillnotherapy , @mydearchoso , @plutoisaghoul , @byerno6 , @bqvz , @harryzcherry , @noira-l ,

[padfootagain]

Only an Almost (XVI)

Chapter 16: Fare Well

Hi! Here comes a new chapter!

Okay, time to talk…

Sorry for the angst in advance…

I hope you’ll like this chapter! Please, tell me what you think!

*************************************

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader, friends with benefits AU

Warning: No explicit smut or nsfw content, but there are sexual themes and heavy make-out sessions (it’s a friends with benefits AU, I can’t really escape it), so 18+ only!

Summary: Andrew has been in love with you for years, and yet he has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.

Word Count : 2496

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

This was a terrible idea.

Andrew hesitated one last time before knocking on your door.

This was a terrible idea. He was going to get his heart broken all over again. What was there to discuss anyway? You had met someone else, someone better than him… end of story.

He buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket while he waited for you to open the door. It was springtime, and yet the evening was particularly cold tonight. A clear sky above his head though, all inky and full of stars.

God, he shouldn’t have come…

Finally, the key turned in the lock, and the next second your door was opening. You welcomed him with a timid but earnest smile.

“Hi! Come in… do you want some tea?”

You didn’t wait for his answer, hurried to close the door behind him as if you were worried he would run away. He barely let out a ‘good evening’ that you were off to the kitchen, busying yourself with tea even if it was late already.

Still, he walked in silence in your kitchen, let you get away with the distraction. He waited in silence, unwilling to be the first to speak.

“Here you go,” you added as you handed him the grey mug he loved best. Two teabags. The same ritual you had performed for him hundreds, if not thousands of times…

“Thank you,” his voice was quiet and blank.

The atmosphere was heavy, suffocating, even. His heart was pounding, and Andrew didn’t have the strength to look at you. He shouldn’t have come. Being rejected once was painful enough, he didn’t need you to do it again…

“Thank you for coming tonight,” you said, hesitation making your voice quiet and small. “Do you want to sit down?” you added as you gestured towards the living room, but Andrew shook his head.

“No, I’d rather stand.”

Slowly, you nodded. You remained both standing there, under the pale light of your kitchen, your back to the sink and his to the counter open on the living room. He was still holding his tea, but he didn’t want to drink it. The heat sipping through the porcelain was a good distraction against his tight throat though.

“You… You want to eat something? I have some biscuits…”

“Y/N… thank you, but… I’d rather get this over with.”

You hummed, pulling on your sleeves until they covered your hands. Andrew noticed that you hadn’t made any tea for yourself.

“Right… We should… talk about what happened.”

“Did you go to the date? With Maggie?”

He finally looked up when you remained silent. You seemed taken aback by his question.

“Yeah… Yes, I did.”

“Did you sleep with her?”

“Andy!”

“What? We’re close enough for us to have sex, but I can’t know if you’ve found someone else?”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. He was getting annoyed by all this, angry even. Andrew longed for this to be over, for him to go home, get threateningly drunk, maybe smoke a joint or two to make sure he could numb the pain, and forget for a few hours that you existed.

And tomorrow he would get up, and pretend that all was fine, and he would do that again and again until he could think of you without wanting to cry…

“No, we didn’t sleep together.”

“How was the date?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes, I do.”

You heaved a sigh.

“I stayed a grand total of fifteen minutes…”

He frowned at that.

“Really?”

“It felt wrong.”

You added nothing to that statement, and Andrew didn’t know what to do with it. Wrong because your date wasn’t nice? Or wrong because you wanted someone else?

“Did you see her again?”

“No… no, and I don’t think I will.”

“Why not?”

You shifted again, clearly uncomfortable.

“Look, Andy… this isn’t why I wanted to see you…”

“Really? Why, then?”

“You… you ran off. When I told you, you simply… ran off. I… I’m sorry. I should have handled this better, I… I know that I didn’t break the news in the best way. I was scared of how you would react.”

He raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Did you ever think that I could react well to you dumping my arse?”

“I didn’t dump you…”

“Really?”

“No, because we were not together.”

Andrew clenched his jaw, put down his untouched tea on the counter behind him. He averted his gaze, crossed his arms before his chest.

“I’m sorry, Andy. I should have handled that situation better. You… you’re important to me. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause you pain.”

God, he didn’t know if he ought to cry or laugh at that.

“I know that I should have found a better way to tell you about this. But I… I hope that we can still be friends…”

“Friends?!”

He looked up again, stared at you with his mouth hanging open.

Friends?!

“No, Y/N. We’re not going to be friends.”

“But…”

“We’ve slept together. For months, we… Friends?!”

“That was our arrangement…”

“Our arrangement was a terrible idea. And it was… it was never an arrangement for me.”

“But we discussed things…”

“I shouldn’t have accepted.”

Slowly, you nodded.

It seemed to hurt you, that he showed regrets. But how could he not regret this?

He hated you for a moment, looking sad and scared like you didn’t want to lose him. And he hated you even more because he didn’t regret it. Not really. Despite all the pain he was feeling now, despite all the sleepless nights, and how desperate he was, he still didn’t regret it. He would have given anything to spend one last night with you. He would have gone through all this pain over and over again just to kiss you one more time. He would have done it all over again, just to hold you for one tiny minute…

He was bitter as he spoke. He didn’t care whether it would hurt you or not, he was too hurt himself to care about that. He needed to let it out. For once, he needed to do what was best for him, and not for you.

“Do you know what I wanted to tell you that night?”

You shook your head in silence, waiting for him to continue. You had mimicked his posture, were leaning against your sink with your arms crossed.

“I wanted to stop seeing you like this.”

Your mouth fell open in shock.

“I wanted to tell you that I… that I wanted to stop this stupid arrangement of ours. That I… That I wanted more. That I would have waited until you were ready to date again, no matter how long that would be, to be properly with you.”

His bottom lip trembled, your form was blurred with tears, but he held them back. They shone at the corners of his eyes, making the hazel turn green, but he didn’t cry.

“And you slept with me. We had sex. And then you blurted out that you didn’t give two fucks about me, and that you wanted to date someone else… after we just had sex! Do you realise how fucked up that is?!”

It was your turn to hold back your tears, averting your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, but that wasn’t good enough.

“I thought… after everything, I thought you would say yes. I thought you felt… something for me.”

“I… I do care about you, Andy, that’s not the point…”

“Do you? Is that why you thought it was respectful to have sex with me, and wait less than five minutes to reject me?!”

You didn’t say anything. He had raised his voice, although he was trying to keep it down. It made it powerful enough to make him intimidating, but shaky too, showing how vulnerable he was behind the layers of anger.

“Why did you do that? Why the fuck did you do that?!”

“Because… because I knew we had to stop this, and… I just… I know it was selfish, but I wanted to have one last night with you.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. Because it sounded like a good answer, a tempting one. You looked vulnerable, fragile even. As if this was a confession that was revealing too much of you.

But it was just a lie…

“We didn’t have one last night. We only had sex, Y/N.”

You stared at him for a while, but you refused to answer.

“You’ve only stayed once,” he reminded you. “You’ve only stayed once, and after that, it was like… like you didn’t want to remain more than twenty minutes alone with me unless we were having sex.”

“It… it was too hard to stay.”

“Too hard?”

“It was too emotional.”

His eyebrows shot up at that.

“Because having sex with me was not emotional to you? Really?”

“It’s different, and you know it.”

“No, I don’t know.”

“Acting like a couple, with domestic stuff, it’s… it’s different to fucking.”

The way you narrowed your eyes at him, the way you seemed worried now… yeah, Andrew guessed he wasn’t too good at hiding how much your words were hurting.

“Fucking… that’s all there was between us to you? That’s all I was to you?”

“That’s not what I meant...”

“That’s exactly what you meant! Christ! Are you telling me that you were just using me for sex all this time?! Why the fuck would you act like that with me if that was just about fucking, huh?! When we were… Jesus… when you…”

His voice broke, and he blinked tears away, but it wasn’t enough this time, he had to brush them off with the back of his hand.

“This is more complicated than that.”

“What’s complicated?”

“I can’t be with you, Andy. So… it was necessary to keep a certain distance, so we could still save our friendship…”

“Well, we didn’t save shit.”

“God, Andrew, I… I know that I’ve handled telling you about that stupid date badly… terribly even! But us not catching feelings was the plan all along! Don’t blame this on me!”

“So, you were just fucking me, then? All this time? There was nothing more than that?”

“Andy…”

“No! No, you answer me now! What the fuck, Y/N?! Are you really saying that I’ve been hallucinating all this time?! Because I thought… I thought you felt something… When we were lying in bed together, when we were…”

“Andy, you don’t understand.”

“No, you’re right! I don’t understand! We’ve slept together for months, several times a week, while spending our days together… we’ve been friends for years, and… and you didn’t feel anything when we were having sex? Nothing at all? Like… How could you feel nothing at all?”

“We agreed…”

“Fuck this agreement!” Andrew roared, and you visibly shook, his deep voice booming through the room. You had never heard him shout so loudly at anyone before. “Fuck your stupid rules! Fuck all this shit! How could you do this to me? How could you have sex with me and feel nothing! It felt…”

His voice broke, a tear rolled down his cheek, disappeared in his beard, caught a tiny speck of light before fading.

“It felt like it wasn’t just about pleasure. Like you were… like you… like I wasn’t just…”

He heaved a sigh, and all of a sudden he didn’t seem so tall, so intimidating. All of sudden, he was vulnerable and fragile and bent under a weight he couldn’t carry.

“God, Y/N… How could you do this to me?”

A pregnant pause stumbled across the space between your two bodies. It seemed an uncrossable chasm, a gap you couldn’t conquer anymore.

“I’m sorry, Andy… but you can’t put the blame only on me. You agreed to this. Everything was clear, we’ve discussed things…”

“But when we had sex…”

“Andy…”

“When we had sex, did you not feel anything? Something? Just… something… And what about after that? When we were holding onto each other? That morning when we had breakfast together…?”

You were blinking tears away, your arms tight around your own frame, fleeing him. Your body language was obvious, you were refusing to face the truth, or to admit it, at the very least.

“Why are you asking me this, why is it so important?”

“You truly don’t know the answer to that?”

“I don’t.”

“You fucking idiot...”

“Why would you have agreed to do this if that was not what you wanted? If you didn’t want me?”

“Didn’t want you?! Y/N… this is literally the opposite of what I’m saying!”

“I don’t understand!” you raised your voice too this time, following his lead. “We’ve discussed things! We agreed! You said you wanted me!”

“Of course, I wanted you!”

“Then why are you mad?”

“BECAUSE I WANT MORE!”

“WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY THAT?!”

“BECAUSE YOU WOULD HAVE LEFT! BECAUSE YOU DON’T…”

His voice cracked again, he let out a frustrated growl against himself and his bloody feelings that were bubbling all the way to the surface to overcome him and drown him in silence…

“WHAT… NEXT YOU’LL TELL ME YOU LOVE ME…”

“OF COURSE I DO!”

There it was, out in the open. He saw you freezing into place, eyes growing round. And he knew he had fucked up, but what was there left to destroy anyway? He couldn’t be just your friend anymore… he was losing you tonight, no matter what.

“I love you,” Andrew finally let out the words he had kept hidden for so long, they tasted sour in his mouth, and yet a weight was lifted from his chest. “I fucking love you. Of course, I love you. How could you not notice? I was always in love with you. And it was never just sex for me. It was always about making love to you. Did you… have you never made love to me? Not once? Was it just fucking? Really?”

You blinked at him. You seemed stunned in stillness, unable to move or do anything but stare at him with round eyes and parted lips. Andrew thought he knew how to understand your silence. He hated you for it. Despite all his love, while he held your blank gaze with his searching one, he hated you.

“Alright. Very well.”

He turned away, and didn’t look back as he crossed your home to the door.

“Don’t call me again, Y/N. I don’t want to hear about you ever again.” And then he was out in the street, in your driveway, into his car, driving, turning off the engines, closing the door of his car, opening his front door and stepping into his home, taking off his shoes and jacket, walking upstairs and into his bathroom and entering the shower with his clothes on. And when the cold water hit his face he finally allowed himself to let out a shout.

[exhaslo]

Hello! I really enjoy the last post you wrote involving the alternative outcome of Villain!Miguel x Hero![Reader]. I have another fun idea and it may be a little META.

Since there are a ton of Spider-Man 2099/Miguel O’Hara fics circulating around the internet…

How about a request with Spider!Fem![Reader] who secretly reads fanfics and smut fics she found from different universes in the multiverse? Let's say the [Reader] was reading fics involving her boss and the leader of the Spider Society, Miguel O’Hara since she is completely DOWN BAD for him. Then one day, she’s reading some smut involving Miguel and he catches her doing so.

He’ll probably tease her about it and things would escalate to something hot and spicy between the two Spiders.

- @club-danger-zone

*Looks around* Shall we break some cannon events? RIP SORRY FOR BEING CRINGE BUT LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOO

Warning: Minors DNI, Smut, teasing, size kink, dirty talk

------------------------------------------------------------------------

This was getting bad. You needed to learn some self control. You kept telling yourself that, but it was difficult. You had a big problem that involved your fellow Spider, the boss man, the big bad leader of the Spider Society: Miguel O'Hara.

You were head over heels for the man. He was the definition of FINE. Honestly, you never even knew that such a Spiderman existed. You, yourself, was a Spider-Woman. Like everyone else, you had your story and your life. The only thing you didn't have compared to the others was a person who loved you.

No Mary-Jane.

No Gwen Stacy.

Hell, no Peter Parker.

You were your own variant. It frustrated you. So, when Miguel brought you along to the Spider Society, you ended up simping hard for him. You had so many wet dreams about him. So many nights with whatever sex toy you had in your closet. It was getting really bad. You needed to get laid or find something to entertain you.

"Heeeeey, (Y/N), guess what I stumbled upon," Lyla appeared before you.

You had just entered one of the guest rooms that some of the Spiders used to crash for the night. You turned towards the AI, taking off your suit.

"That you found or Miguel?"

"Me! Miguel would probably shut this down if he found out," Lyla said with a grin, sending you something.

You were suspicious, but checked your mail anyway. You were very close to Miguel, in his inner circle, so you had access to Lyla. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as you saw the file before you. Lyla just appeared before with with a confident grin.

"That word doesn't have a real Spiderman. Apparently the Miguel there is in a movie. Soooooo, there are soooooo many stories involving him. You're going to enjoy the smut~"

"I-I can't," You said as you opened the first website, "You are a horrible influence. I will not read these!"

---------

"Oh my god, keep going," You whispered as you clicked on the next chapter.

Your cheeks were bright red as a wide smile engulfed your face. You were enjoying all of this smut far more than you would like to admit. Hell, it made those dreams of yours even more vivid. While it did not help with your raging crush, it did get your mind off of currently wanting to fuck your boss.

"Yes!" You squealed in joy.

"Someone is in good mood." Miguel said as he walked by, "You've been focused on your watch for the past week. What could you be reading from another universe?" He asked.

Your face paled as you quickly hid your watch. Miguel would never talk to you again if he knew. Hell, he might kick you out of the Spider Society for conflict of interest. That was the last thing you wanted.

"(Y/N)?" Miguel questioned.

Miguel could sense your nervousness. His senses were higher than everyone's. Sighing softly, Miguel motioned you to follow him to his office. He had originally approached you for another reason. He could never ask you about it though. Once the two of you were alone, Miguel looked at his watch and started to type away.

"Let's see...(Y/n)'s watch."

"W-Wait! Miguel, before you do-"

"Oh-" Miguel immediately made eye contact with you, "I didn't even know there was a world like this. Very specific."

"I-I'm sorry! I was just curious and you know...The stories were just so good-"

"His tongue swirled around your clit?" Miguel's grin widen towards your flustered cheeks, "The sheer size of his dick made you feel full?"

"M-Miguel...Y-You d-don't-" You bit your lower lip, feeling your body warm up as he read the story.

"I never knew you were into all this smut, and about me none the less. That explains why you smelled extra sweet this past week," Miguel muttered the last part, watching you, "You know (Y/N), you don't need to read these."

You glanced towards Miguel, watching him approach you. Your heart was racing as his body pressed against yours, pinning you to the wall. You could feel his hot breathe. This wasn't what you were expecting. He was teasing you for reading porn about him!

"I could have helped you instead," Miguel whispered in your ear. You stared right into his lustful eyes,

"So...I'm not in trouble?" Your voice was low as you leaned closer to him. Miguel chuckled lowly, his thumb pulling against your bottom lip,

"Do you want to be?"

"Depends on the punishment," You felt dazed as you leaned towards Miguel's lips.

"Read the story to me," Miguel whispered as he licked your lips before pulling away.

You whimpered lowly, your body craving him. Why did he have to do this to you? Miguel was just so tempting. You were folding hard. Without hesitating you pulled the story up and you started to read the story.

"His hands gently stroked down y-your waist," Your breathing shuddered as Miguel's hands started to do as you read. "H-His hips g-grind-"

"What's wrong? Can't even read me a story?" Miguel chuckled lowly as you watched you melt under him.

"H-His d-dick-" You gasped lowly as Miguel started to grind his hips against yours.

You whimpered quietly as you felt your panties get damper and damper. Miguel's face was so close to yours. Miguel brought his lips to your neck as he held your hips closer. His fingers rubbing circles around your hips.

"What about my dick?" Miguel chuckled as he felt you trembled, "Such a naughty girl, reading such things about me. All you had to do was ask,"

Miguel slowly undid the bottom of your suit, exposing your soaked and desperate cunt. He lifted you onto his desk, demanding that you kept reading. Much to his amusement, you did. Miguel resisted a groan as he took his dick out, rubbing it against your folds. Your moans were so sweet.

"M-Miguel s-started....s-started to...to e-enter-" You stuttered, trying to focus on reading, but was getting distracted. You whimpered a moan as Miguel started to push his tip inside you.

"You're sucking me in so well, you've been wanting this for how long now?" Miguel held your waist, sliding his cock deeper into you, "I could have made you feel good so much sooner. Were you that oblivious to my gestures?"

You cried softly as you focused on Miguel's thick length stretching your walls out. Your back rested against his desk, muffling moans as you squeezed against him.

"I-I guess so?" You told him. Miguel scoffed lowly before thrusting into you, "Ah~ W-Wait~"

"After making me wait so long? After masking my office with your sweet scent so many times? Amor (love), I've waited long enough and so have you."

You cried out a series of moans as Miguel started to slap himself into you. His dick making itself at home within your pussy. It felt so right. Felt so much better than you doing it yourself at home. You wrapped your legs around Miguel's waist, wanting to get closer to him.

"Who do you think gave Lyla access to those stories?" Miguel chuckled as you cam against his dick, "I grew tired of waiting and wanted to give you a little push."

"H-Hah~ Mhm~ C-Can...C-Can we do what some of those stories did then?" You begged. Miguel raised a brow as he pinched your clit, watching you squirm,

"That and more. My naughty girl needs to be punished first."

You moaned to his wishes, having him use you for his pleasure. Tears formed in the corner of your eyes, feeling your body grow hot again. With a grunt and a deep thrust, Miguel cam inside you. You shivered from the feeling, crying out his name.

"That's right. Now you're being a good girl," Miguel panted softly, soaking in the state you were in, "As much as I would love to continue, I have some reports to do. Why don't you pick your favorite story and we'll continue this tonight?"

"Mhm," You nodded towards his request, watching Miguel fix himself.

Miguel smiled before stealing a kiss from you before leaving. You nearly squealed as you fixed yourself up. Looking through all your saved stories, you felt a new fire light up inside you.

"Ohhhhh, I'm getting wrecked tonight~!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Haha, hope you enjoyed this!

[oik-tooru]

KEY CHANGE — s. koushi

CHAPTER 3 - CHANCE MEETING

a/n this chapter has a written section so please be sure to read that part !!

m.list

“i’ll meet you guys inside. my professor’s calling me.”

“you sure y/n?” keiji paused at the door. “i can stay with you.”

i shook my head and waved him off. “no keiji it’s okay, i’ll be fine! i’m right out here anyways.”

keiji gave me one last look before following kenma and kei inside the cafe, leaving me out in the warm june heat. i glanced at the caller ID and sighed, mentally preparing myself for the conversation i’ve tried to avoid for the past two weeks.

“hi prof—”

“y/n! finally you answered!” i winced slightly at the passive tone in my professor’s voice, but quickly shook it off and plastered my very best fake smile.

“yes, i’m so sorry i’ve been really busy—”

“with your exhibit piece, i hope?” i winced again.

“um…yeah it’s coming together. slowly but surely.” i ran a hand across my face, already drained. i heard the soft sound of my professor going tsk on the other line and the dread in my stomach intensified further.

“well you know the exhibition is in 3 weeks right? if i don’t receive any progress from you by then, unfortunately i’m going to have to cut you out.”

“i understand professor. i’ll have something for you by then, i promise.”

my professor sighed, his tone softening. i knew he did it to try and make me feel better but it did the exact opposite.

“you’re insanely talented, y/n. don’t waste it.” the soft click signalled that he had hung up, and i felt every muscle in my body finally relax.

leaning against the glass window, i held my head in my hands and sighed. the evening sun started beating down my back but i could hardly feel the sting due to the sickening feeling in my stomach.

i wanted to throw up. i wanted to pass out and throw up so bad—

“hey, are you alright?”

my head whipped up, startled by the unfamiliar voice. a figure stood in front of with one hand held out in the air, hanging awkwardly. my vision was still kind of blurry so it took a second for me to make out them out. slowly, their features began to clear.

tall. gray hair. pale skin. brown eyes. guitar in his hand. really pretty brown eyes—

you paused. you recognized this person.

and that’s when it hit you.

sugawara koushi. the sugawara koushi was standing in front of you, hand still awkwardly hanging the air but now with a deep blush on his face.

“hello? a-are you okay?” he asked again, taking a step forward. the small movement shook you out of your stupor and you straightened out.

“uh, yes! sorry, i didn’t see you there,” you said sheepishly.

sugawara smiled gently and you felt that warmth again, but it wasn’t from the sun this time.

“no worries. i just wanted to make sure you were okay. you looked kinda stressed.”

“no yeah, i’m fine. thank you though.”

a beat of silence passed between the two of us, and i awkwardly shifted my feet around, lost on what to say. thankfully sugawara was a much better conversationalist than i was, but his next question still caught me off guard.

“you were here last week too, right? you had asked for our autographs?”

i raised my eyebrow, shocked that he managed to remember who i was. “you..remember me?”

“yeah!” he beamed. “i mean, it’s kind of hard to forget your face.”

my face warmed up even more (if that was even possible) and i sent him a small smile, trying desperately not to show how much his comment affected me.

“i’m sugawara by the way,” he held his hand out. “but i’m pretty sure you already knew that.”

i laughed, taking his hand in my own and giving it a firm shake. “i’m y/n, and yes i very much know who you are.”

i ignored the weird feeling in my stomach the moment he pulled his hand away. if he noticed the way my fingers slightly caught on his own for a second, he didn’t mention it.

“but i do have to be honest with you,” i said. “i didn’t really know much about you or your band until a few days ago.”

sugawara looked at me, confusion written all over his face. “but i thought—”

“the autograph was actually for my best friend,” i explained sheepishly. “he was too nervous to ask on his own, so i asked for him.”

“oh really? is he here with you?”

i nodded, jutting my thumb over my shoulder. “yeah, he’s inside with my other two friends. we actually came to watch your band play. i’ve been listening to a lot of your music and i really enjoy it. i’m excited to hear your new songs too!”

at this sugawara’s smile grew even wider and he walked over to the cafe door, holding it open.

“well in that case, you and your friends should sit in the front. i wouldn’t want you to miss anything.”

taglist

@wyrcan @twiishaa @elixrr @le000xxgrd @yuminako @sy1v30n @phoenix-eclipses @guitarstringed-scars @crownj1min @yukii-1 @walllflowerrrsss @iknowleeknowlikescats @cryptictheseus @mimi3lover @yomi2k @meeeepsworld @chemiru @mfcherry @yeehawgiddyup13 @kitnootkat @cloberrii @iluvaquaphor @kunimix @juie13 @msameikanevaeh @sunflowertroupe @icantcryicantstopcrying @shinsukeee @chizunata @citrustsuki @chloiyoomi @hanachiiii @gra-eae

[simplygojo]

The Devil He Made Me - Ch. 7

Authors Note: GUYS my laptop crashed last night I am SO SORRY! But now its out and ready for y'all to read it...this chapter is lowkey like a filler episode but it was necessaryyy! Also y'all are so funny messaging me after I posted that this chapter would be up in 2hrs and then I was MIA, LMAO! Anyways, I LOVE Y'ALL <3 lemme know how you like it :)

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f/reader

Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary : After battling with multiple special grade curses, y/n spends some time in the hospital so Shoko can run some tests to get to the bottom of the burning question: what was that cursed energy? With all of these thoughts swirling around y/n's head, she decides to discuss the incident with Gojo.

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: mention of d*eath, nightmares, pain, protective satoru

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Taglist: @mawhoreagaa; @simplyyyuji; @peqch-pie; @blue-serendipity; @starrnai; @sorcerersseestars; @n1vi; @angryglitterperfection; @krak-jj; @coweringbear; @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni; @cococola-cocaine; @sdv98o; @theendx888; @dvmb4ssbiatch; if you'd like to be added to the taglist please let me know by leaving a comment :)

“We’ve made our decision,” Gakuganji said, his voice flat. “For the safety of all sorcerers, y/n is to be executed by the end of the week.”

A silence fell over the room, thick and suffocating. Yaga’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white. Utahime’s face was pale, her jaw set in anger and disbelief.

“You can’t be serious,” she whispered, shaking her head. “You’re going to kill her for something she hasn’t done? Based on hearsay from a cursed spirit? This isn’t justice—this is murder!”

Gakuganji’s gaze didn’t waver, and his words didn’t hesitate. “This is protection.”

Yaga’s voice was a low growl. “This is cowardice.”

Utahime stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor as she turned to Gakuganji, eyes blazing. “Do you really think Gojo is going to stand by and let this happen? You’re sentencing her to death, and you know damn well he won’t allow it.”

Naobito’s smirk widened. “Let him try. No one is above the rules. Not even him.”

Yaga stepped forward again, fists trembling with barely contained rage. “This isn’t over. There’s still time to change your minds.”

But Gakuganji remained unmoved. “The decision is final. The execution will proceed as ordered.”

Yaga’s shoulders sagged, a mixture of anger and helplessness washing over him. Utahime stood frozen, eyes filled with disbelief, before she turned and stormed out of the room, unable to bear it any longer.

As the doors slammed behind her, the weight of their decision settled over the room like a shroud. Yaga stayed behind for a moment, his eyes burning into Gakuganji’s, before he finally turned on his heel and left.

The clock was ticking. And now, the countdown to your execution had begun.

—

Gojo was walking down the hall, on his way to meet with the second-year students for training. He was flipping through something on his phone when Utahime turned the corner in a hurry, her face twisted with anger and urgency.

"Satoru!" she shouted, her voice sharp and breathless. "We need to talk. Now."

He raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering across his face. "Utahime, is there a spider in your equipment locker?" He teased her, not yet understanding the severity of the situation.

Her glare could cut through steel, but there was no time for banter. "They’ve ordered y/n's execution."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. His smile faltered, slipping away completely as her speech sank in. His heart did a sharp, painful pang in his chest, the kind he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

Execution. 

For a split second, he said nothing, and Utahime watched his playful facade crumble as the realization settled in. His eyes widened with fear as his emotions bubbled up inside him.

“They—what?” His voice was dangerously low now, barely concealing the anger simmering beneath. His fingers curled tightly into fists, drawing blood which dripped onto the wooden floor. “Who?”

"Gakuganji. The higher-ups. The clan leaders. They’ve decided she’s too much of a threat, and they have sentenced her to death—by the end of the week," Utahime replied, her tone desperate but harsh. "I came to tell you as soon as they decided. We have to do something, she doesn’t deserve to die…"

Gojo’s mind raced, but the burning anger inside him was sharper than anything else. "Of course, they did," he muttered, and forced a bitter laugh. "They really think they can get away with this again, don’t they?"

Utahime watched him closely, worry flickering in her eyes. "You can’t just charge in there, Gojo. You need to be smart about this."

Utahime’s words still rang in his ears—execution—but all he could see was red.

He had faced cursed spirits, fought beings that would bring terror to most, but the idea that they thought they could kill you? That they believed they could take you from him—from this world, was nothing short of absurd.

His mind was made up. He wouldn’t waste time marching down corridors—with the clap of his hands, space bent around him. 

The familiar sensation of teleportation washed over him, and in a blink, the meeting room came into sharp focus. 

—

The room was exactly as Utahime had left it earlier—Gakuganji, Naobito, and the other higher-ups still seated, discussing plans that would never come to actuality. 

They barely had a moment to react before Gojo materialized before them, his presence sucking the air out of the room.

The tension was immediate. 

All eyes snapped to him, the weight of his overwhelming power pressing down on every corner of the room. Gakuganji, seated at the head of the table, locked eyes with Gojo, his face hardening.

"Gojo," Gakuganji began, but Gojo cut him off.

"You made a decision without consulting me. You actually think you can kill her?" Gojo’s voice was ice, sharp and dangerous. His sunglasses were now his hand, and his anger-filled eyes scanned the room.

Naobito shifted in his seat, a smug smirk forming on his lips. "You’re too late. The decision is final. Even you—"

"Shut up, idiot." Gojo snapped, his voice a razor's edge. His gaze was cold and unyielding. "You think this is about rules? You think I’m going to stand by and let this happen, you people are all cowards, I’m not worried about dealing with you."

The atmosphere in the room shifted, like the calm before a storm. The pressure of Gojo’s Infinity (which he was amplifying on purpose) began to fill the space, growing heavier, suffocating, pushing down on the higher-ups until they could barely breathe.

Gakuganji, for all his pride and authority, felt it too—a bone-deep fear creeping up his spine.

"I’m not asking you to reconsider," Gojo continued, his tone terrifyingly calm. "I’m telling you. This execution order? It’s not happening. If you try to go through with it, I’ll personally make sure that none of you live through that day."

The silence that followed was deafening. Even Naobito, usually one to revel in conflict, remained quiet, his fingers tapping nervously on the armrest of his chair.

Gakuganji’s voice, however, remained steady, though there was a hint of something less certain beneath the surface.

"Gojo, you’re walking a dangerous line. You may be powerful, but even you can’t defy the entire jujutsu world! The consequences—"

"Consequences?" Gojo let out a bitter laugh. "You really don’t get it, do you?” 

His words lingered, thick with intent, and the threat was real. Everyone in the room knew it. 

Gakuganji, Naobito, all the higher-ups—they may have held their positions for years, but no one, not even them, was foolish enough to believe they could challenge Gojo and come out alive.

For a moment, Gakuganji held his ground, his gaze locked with Gojo’s. 

But Gojo didn’t flinch. His cursed energy was a crackling storm, barely contained, ready to explode at the slightest provocation. One wrong word, one defiant move, and he would obliterate them all without hesitation.

"You may be strong, Gojo," Gakuganji finally said, his voice low and measured, "but strength alone doesn’t make you invincible. Y/n is dangerous. If her power continues to grow unchecked—"

"Her power isn’t the problem here," Gojo interrupted again, stepping forward. The very air seemed to ripple around him, warping with the sheer force of his presence.

"You’re just scared of what you don’t understand. But killing her won’t solve anything. You did the same thing with Okkotsu and Itadori. How has that been working out for you, hmm?"

Naobito scoffed, but even he didn’t meet Gojo’s gaze.

"And what would you do, then? Let her walk free while her cursed energy spirals out of control? What happens when she becomes a threat to all of us? We don’t even know what she is—A special-grade curse addressed her directly, that will not go unnoticed!"

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, his expression darkening.

"I’ll deal with her. Not you. Not any of you cowards. Me." His voice dropped, lower and more menacing than before.

The room grew even quieter, the weight of Gojo’s declaration pressing down on the higher-ups like a physical force.

"And if you do not cancel, or at least defer her execution?" Gojo continued, his smile returning, but this time it was pure danger, laced with the promise of violence. "I’m siding with y/l/n."

He turned and began walking slowly towards the door. Before leaving, he paused, casting one last look over his shoulder, his voice dripping with promise.

"Consider this your only warning. Try to execute her, and there won’t be a Jujutsu world left to follow your orders."

And with that, he left the room.

—

Gojo stalked down the hallway, the echo of his footsteps drowned out by the whirlpool of thoughts crashing in his mind. 

The faint light from the overhead lamps reflected off the polished wood floors, casting faint shadows that danced across the walls, but Gojo was lost in his own thoughts, oblivious to the world around him. It was rare for him to be in this state—this quiet, this uncertain. 

For someone as powerful as him, doubt wasn’t something he entertained often. But now, that doubt gnawed at him, an insidious presence that had wormed its way into his mind.

Execution. By the end of the week.

The words rattled around in his skull like a curse of their own, echoing with a cold finality he couldn’t shake.

No matter how many times he tried to reason his way out of it, the same truth remained: they had sentenced her to death.

You.

He let out a sharp breath, his chest tightening painfully as his mind spiralled. 

Gojo was many things—arrogant, cocky, reckless—but he was not naive. He knew exactly how the higher-ups operated. He had dealt with their politics, their cowardice, their obsession with control for years—he dealt with Itadori’s execution sentence and Okkotsu’s…But this? This was different.

His usual air of ease and invincibility felt strained, replaced by a heaviness he wasn’t used to carrying. The decision of the higher-ups was gnawing at him, and for the first time in years, he felt... uncertain.

As he rounded the corner, lost in thought, a voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Satoru?"

The soft sound of his name pulled him from his thoughts, and his heart skipped a beat as his worried eyes met yours. 

The way you said ‘Satoru’ just now, gentle and familiar, struck something deep inside him. When his eyes met yours his heart fluttered again—-there you stood, your eyes bright, practically sparkling in the dimly lit hallway.

He felt a pang in his chest that caught him off guard like a dull ache he hadn’t noticed until now. But your gaze—those sparkling eyes—seemed to hold the light, a warmth he hadn’t truly appreciated before. 

‘When did I start noticing such small things about her?’ He thought to himself.

The smile he plastered on was instinctual, a façade to hide the turmoil inside. "Hey," he greeted, his voice lighter than how he felt. "What brings you here? Couldn’t stay away from me, huh?"

But you weren’t fooled, not even for a second. Your eyes narrowed, observing him with that sharp intuition you always possessed, though a soft, breathy laugh escaped your lips. "Hey…is everything okay? You looked like a dear in headlights for a second there."

Your words pierced through the casual wall he had built up, and he felt exposed under your gaze.

You could read him too well. It didn’t help that this was the first time you’d crossed paths since that moment on the bench, heightening the already charged tension between you.

He tried to brush it off, letting out a short laugh. "Wrong? Nah, everything’s fine. I’m just, you know, dealing with the usual—saving the world, being ridiculously good-looking, that sort of thing."

Another breathy laugh left your mouth. Your eyes softened as your gaze met his again, your presence grounding him in a way he didn’t expect. "Are you sure? Please don’t lie to me—there is already so much going on…"

For a moment, Gojo stood there, the words he wanted to say lodged in his throat.

His instinct was to shield you from the truth, to protect you from the weight of what was looming ahead. But looking into your eyes, he couldn’t lie to you—not about this. 

His smile faded, and for the first time, you saw the worry etched in his expression.

"The higher-ups," he started, his voice quieter now, "they’ve made a decision. One that... involves you."

Your brows furrowed in confusion, but the concern on your face grew. "What do you mean? What decision?"

Gojo exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

"They’ve ordered your execution," he said, the words heavy on his tongue. "By the end of the week."

The hallway seemed to grow colder as the gravity of his words sank in. Your eyes widened, the colour draining from your face as you felt your stomach drop. 

"Execution? But... why? I haven’t done anything—"

"I know." Gojo’s voice was firm, his gaze locking with yours again.

"This isn’t about what you’ve done. They’re scared of what you might do, what your power could become. It’s all paranoia and fear—they do this a lot—and they’re using it as an excuse to get rid of you before they even understand."

You took a shaky breath, and your hands trembled slightly. "And—um—you’re telling me this because...?"

"Because I won’t let it happen," he said, stepping closer, his voice growing sharper with intensity.

"They think they can decide people’s fates like this—this is the third time they've tried to dictate when someone’s life ends, and I’m done with it. I’ll protect you—those cowards can’t beat me."

For a moment, you just stared at him, your emotions swirling beneath the surface—fear, confusion, but also trust. 

You nodded, your voice barely a whisper. "I believe you."

Gojo felt that pang again, a deeper one now, knowing what he had to do to keep you safe. The stakes were higher than ever, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure how this would end. But as long as you were involved, he knew one thing for certain: he wouldn’t let you face this alone.

And he wouldn’t let them take your youth away.

—

The night was still, but your mind wouldn’t stop racing. You sat at the edge of your bed, the moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting pale shadows on the walls. Every thought seemed to tighten the knot in your chest. 

‘How could I stop this?’ You thought, with your execution day looming over you like a dark cloud, suffocating every plan you tried to form. Running wasn’t an option… was it? 

You clenched your fists, your knuckles white. Each idea seemed to spiral into a dead end, no matter how much you turned it over. 

Could you appeal to the higher-ups? Or should you run before the inevitable happened? Each option left you trapped—an inescapable fate drawing closer as your chest began to tighter with each failed idea.

Finally, exhaustion weighed heavy on your eyelids, pulling you into sleep. But sleep wasn’t an escape—The nightmare returned.

This time, it was different—darker, more vivid. 

You were back in the forest, the same one from that night. The air was thick, suffocating, pressing down on your skin like a weight.

Soon enough you felt the pain creeping in slowly, building in the pit of your stomach until it felt like fire burning through your esophagus. You stumbled forward, struggling to breathe as the searing heat spread through your limbs. But then… you saw him.

The figure from the dream wasn’t a blur anymore. His face was clear.

He wore a long, dark robe, his black hair tied back loosely. His appearance was calm, almost serene, but there was something sinister in the way he carried himself.

His robes shifted slightly in the wind, the wide sleeves brushing against his side. A slow, sickening smile spread across his lips, the kind that sent a chill down your spine.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words were drowned out by the pounding in your head, the pain radiating through your body. It felt like your bones were cracking under the weight of his presence.

The agony became unbearable, and you screamed—high and desperate.

Your eyes flew open, and you shot upright in bed, drenched in cold sweat.

The scream had escaped your throat, ragged and raw. Your body was trembling uncontrollably, the phantom pain still lingering in your spine as if his cursed energy had left its mark.

Before you could steady your breath, there was a knock at the door, sharp and urgent.

“Y/n—are you alright?”

Gojo’s voice, usually playful, was unmistakably laced with concern. The sound cut through the haze of terror clinging to you.

You sat frozen for a moment, heart pounding in your ears, your mind still caught between the nightmare and reality. The pain, although fading, still clung to your nerves. You heard the knock again—firmer this time.

"Hello there? Y/n? I'm coming in."

"Uh—No! I'm okay!" You stammered, your voice hoarse and trembling. But it was too late. The door creaked open, and Gojo stepped into the dimly lit room, his figure casting a long shadow on the floor.

His usual air of confidence followed him in, but there was something different this time. His bright blue eyes, often filled with mischief and amusement, now gleamed with concern as he took in your state—sitting on the bed, drenched in cold sweat, body trembling from the remnants of the nightmare.

“Satoru! I could have been naked!” You shouted at him.

“I couldn’t be so lucky,” he joked, but his tone quickly changed,

“You just screamed bloody murder, I doubt you’re okay, and with this whole execution thing, I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He said softly. Without waiting for permission, he closed the door behind him and walked over to your side, his eyes scanning you with an intensity that made your chest tighten.

“I… I had one of those nightmares again. That's all,” you whispered, your gaze shifting down to your trembling hands. It felt ridiculous to admit, but the dream had shaken you to your core, and no amount of forced composure could hide that. That pain…

Gojo didn’t respond immediately. He crouched down beside the bed, bringing his face level with yours. His presence, as overwhelming as it always was, somehow brought you back to the present, pulling you out of the lingering haze of fear.

"You’re still shaking," he noted quietly, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What was it about? The same thing as before?"

You hesitated. How could you explain? You didn’t want to admit the truth—the figure, the pain, the overwhelming sense of dread that had seeped into every part of you.

You didn't want to sound weak or paranoid, especially not in front of Gojo. But then again, this was Gojo—he had a way of seeing through you no matter how much you tried to hide.

“It was… him. The same man from the forest,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “This time, I could see him. It was clearer, and the pain—God, it felt real.”

Gojo’s expression shifted slightly, something hardening behind his eyes, though his voice remained gentle. “What did he look like?”

You swallowed, the memory flashing vividly in your mind. “He was wearing a dark robe, his black hair was tied back. His eyes—they were so cold, almost… empty. He looked at me like I didn’t matter, like I was nothing.”

The weight of your words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, Gojo remained silent. He stood up slowly, his hands slipping into his pockets, as though he was trying to make sense of what you had just said.

The moonlight caught his profile, casting his expression in shadow, but the tension in his body was unmistakable.

His silence unnerved you. You weren’t used to Gojo being anything but playful and brimming with confidence. This quiet, almost contemplative version of him sent your mind spiralling further into doubt.

“Gojo?” you ventured softly, your voice fragile in the stillness.

His eyes flicked toward you, sharp and calculating, as if weighing whether to say what was on his mind. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice low and serious. “This man—he’s not just in your nightmares, is he?”

The question hit you like a punch to the gut. You hadn’t wanted to admit it—not to yourself, not to anyone. But Gojo’s words peeled back the thin layer of denial you’d been hiding behind.

“He… he feels real,” you whispered, the confession trembling on your lips. “Every time I dream about him—-the forest, it doesn’t feel like just a bad dream.”

Gojo’s jaw tightened, his gaze darkening. "And the pain?"

You nodded, unable to meet his eyes. “It feels like it's happening all over again, like he’s reaching into me, twisting something inside. I don’t know how to explain it… but it’s more than just a dream.”

Gojo took a slow, deliberate breath, then turned and sat on the edge of the bed, his proximity grounding you. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor, deep in thought.

“Do you think…” You hesitated, unsure if you even wanted to ask the question. “Do you think it’s a curse? That he left something behind?”

Gojo didn’t answer right away. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers lingering over his temple as if trying to dispel a headache. “It’s possible,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “If he’s who I think he is, then this isn’t just a nightmare. It’s a memory.”

Your breath hitched. “A memory? You think this is real? The the man—and this pain?”

Gojo finally looked at you, his expression hard, more serious than you had ever seen him. “Y/n. If he marked you in that forest, then this pain, these dreams—they’re not coincidences. He’s using them to get inside your head—-causing you to relive memories.”

The thought made your blood run cold. "But why?"

Gojo straightened up, his eyes flickering with something dangerous, something protective. “I don’t know yet. But don’t worry, nothing will happen to you any time soon.”

His words should’ve brought you some comfort, but the weight of it all pressed down harder. “What if this is beyond even you?”

Gojo’s expression softened, but there was a steely resolve in his voice as he replied, “Y/n, I know it feels overwhelming. But remember, I’m the strongest.” He leaned closer, the intensity in his gaze unwavering. “No one can touch you while I’m around. Trust me.”

Your heart raced at his declaration, the conviction in his tone wrapping around you like a shield. 

But—no matter what he said, you couldn’t shake away the overwhelming emotions you felt rising in you. Nothing you did could stop the hot tears that were pricking at the corners of your eyes. 

You looked from your lap up to his icy blue eyes, your own filled with the tears threatening to fall. 

“Satoru…I’m so scared.” You said, your voice barely above a whisper in fear of it breaking as tears began to roll down your flushed cheeks. 

For all his bravado and playful banter, seeing you in distress ignited a protective fire in his chest.

His expression softened, and for a moment, the playful facade slipped, revealing genuine concern. He leaned closer, taking in the way your eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the quiver in your lips that spoke volumes. 

In that instant, he was reminded of humanity—of how fragile life could be—how easily joy could be overshadowed by fear. It was a feeling he often masked with laughter and teasing, but now, facing you, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of it all.

His expression softened, and for a moment, the playful facade slipped, revealing genuine concern.

“Hey, hey,” he said, brushing a thumb gently beneath your eye, catching a stray tear.

“It’s okay to be scared, but you have nothing to worry about with me around…”

You swallowed hard, your heart aching at his reassurance and your skin burning under his touch.

His closeness was intoxicating, each heartbeat echoing in your ears as you focused on the way his gaze held yours, a mixture of intensity and something deeper.

Gojo's thumb lingered a moment longer, the connection between you crackling with unspoken words. There was a tension that thickened the air, a magnetic pull urging you closer despite the chaos swirling around. You could feel the warmth radiating off him, the familiar scent that grounded you yet made your pulse race.

“Trust me,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, almost husky tone that made your breath hitch. “No one is going to touch you. Not now, not ever.”

The way he leaned in just a fraction more, the heat of his breath brushing against your skin, made your heart pound louder.

“I don’t want to die.” You confessed, your voice shaking, and more tears fell from your eyes. The admission hung in the air, raw and exposed, filling the space between you.

His gaze intensified, and for a moment, you could see the concern etching deeper lines on his face.

“You won’t,” he assured you, his tone fierce yet tender. “Not on my watch.”

Gojo’s smirk returned, hinting at his playful teasing, but beneath that was an intensity that promised more. He was strong, powerful, and yet here you were, baring your fears to him, leaving you feeling vulnerable yet safe. 

You wanted to pull back, regain control, but the moment was intoxicating—everything around you fading away, leaving only the depths of his blue eyes and the promise of something more.

He leaned back, a cocky grin returning to his face. “Besides, did I mention I’m the strongest?”

Your heart fluttered at his confidence. “Yeah, I how could I forget.” You said, letting out a small laugh.

“Good! Now, wipe those tears away!” he said with a playful look plastered on his face.

“I’m going to be up for the next while, so if you need someone to sleep wiitthh you, just yell for me.” He said before walking out of your room with a small wave. 

As the door clicked shut behind Gojo, a mix of warmth and anxiety settled in your chest. You hugged your knees, feeling the weight of your fears creep back in, but his words echoed in your mind—’Trust me.’ 

Clinging to the flicker of hope he had ignited, you wiped your tears and took a deep breath, reminding yourself that you weren’t alone in this fight.

With that thought, you closed your eyes, letting the promise of his protection guide you into a restless sleep.

—

The next morning dawned heavy with an unspoken tension. You walked beside Gojo as you made your way to the rendezvous point—an abandoned shopping mall on the outskirts of the city.

The rising sun cast long shadows across the crumbling structure, its shattered windows reflecting fragments of light onto the cracked pavement.

The once-bustling space now stood eerily silent, a shell of its former life. Broken glass crunched beneath your feet, and the distant groan of metal filled the heavy air. But it wasn’t the mall's haunting emptiness that had your nerves on edge.

It was the conversation ahead.

Gojo’s usual carefree attitude seemed slightly subdued as you both walked in silence. The steady rhythm of his steps beside you was the only thing grounding you in the moment.

You could feel his presence like a buffer against the dread curling in your stomach, that unspoken tension between you two hovering just beneath the surface.

It was a quiet intimacy that neither of you acknowledged, but it was there—palpable, real.

Without a word, Gojo’s hand brushed lightly against your back as if offering reassurance—an uncharacteristically gentle gesture.

His touch lingered, warm and solid, sending a wave of comfort and something else—something deeper—through you. You didn’t pull away, and neither did he.

His fingers grazed your spine, then slipped lower to rest against the small of your back, his hand staying there, the weight of it subtle yet unmistakable.

The gesture was almost protective as if reminding you that he was there, and no matter what happened, you weren’t alone. Your heart raced, each beat echoing in your ears.

As you continued walking, Gojo slowed down beside you, his hand sliding from your back to rest lightly at your waist. The contact was brief but intentional, his fingers curling just enough to hold you close. You glanced at him, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of him.

Gojo had lifted his blindfold without a word, the black fabric slipping up to reveal his piercing blue eyes, startling against the morning light. His gaze met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to fade away. 

His expression, usually so teasing and carefree, had softened, and in the intensity of his eyes, there was something deeper—something unspoken that made your pulse quicken.

Neither of you said a word. There was no need to.

He gave a soft, almost wistful smile before letting the blindfold slip back into place, the casual mask he always wore settling back over him like a second skin.

His hand lingered at your waist for another fleeting second before he finally moved it away.

The moment passed, but the warmth of his touch stayed with you.

As you reached the central atrium, you spotted the others—Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara, joined by Maki, Panda, and Inumaki. 

Their expressions were somber, eyes scanning the area as if expecting trouble. They had sensed something was wrong when Gojo called for a private meeting at such an unusual location.

Yuji raised a hand in greeting, his usually carefree smile missing. "Hey, y/n. What’s this about, Gojo-sensei? You’ve got us all gathered like we’re about to face a special-grade curse or something."

Nobara crossed her arms, her eyes narrowed in suspicion as they flitted between you and Gojo. "Yeah, spill it already. This place gives me the creeps."

Maki remained silent but alert, her arms folded tightly over her chest. Panda and Inumaki exchanged glances, their postures tense as if bracing for bad news.

Gojo stepped forward from your side, his tone deceptively light despite the gravity of the situation.

"I won’t sugarcoat it. This isn’t a mission. It’s about her." His gaze flickered briefly back to you before scanning the group. "The higher-ups have ordered her execution."

The words hung in the air like a curse, and you felt the weight of the moment press down on you as all eyes turned your way.

Yuji’s eyes widened in shock. "Execution? What for?"

Nobara’s voice was sharp with outrage. "What the hell? Are you serious?"

Maki’s eyes narrowed as she pieced it together. "This is about that cursed energy inside her, isn’t it?"

You swallowed hard, your throat feeling tight. "I…I think so. I can feel it in me—it's like a separate entity that I can’t fully control." Your voice wavered slightly as you met their stares.

Panda’s calm voice cut through the rising tension. "So, what’s the plan? There’s no way we’re letting them go through with this."

Gojo smirked, though the usual playfulness didn’t reach his eyes.

"That’s where you all come in. We need to figure out how to get the higher-ups off her back. Either convince them she’s not a threat, or we buy enough time to find another solution."

Nobara clenched her fists, fire in her eyes. "Screw convincing them. Let’s just storm the place and tell them where they can shove their execution order."

Maki snorted and rolled her eyes. "That’ll go over well, Kugisaki."

Before anyone else could respond, a sudden, oppressive wave of cursed energy washed over the mall, freezing the air. 

The sheer force of it made your breath hitch, an ominous pressure settling over your chest like a vice. Even Gojo tensed, the usual carefree ease in his posture evaporating as he lifted his head, sensing the disturbance.

Megumi stepped forward, his demon dogs stirring, responding to the dark energy. "That’s not normal. Its presence is overwhelming."

Yuji’s reaction, however, was the most telling. His face had gone pale, and his fists clenched at his sides as he whispered, "It’s him…"

You barely heard the words, but the look on Yuji’s face—the fear in his eyes—told you everything you needed to know.

Nobara reached for her hammer, her grip tight. “Who the hell is it, Yuji?”

Yuji’s voice shook as he spoke, his eyes locked on the darkened hallway ahead. "Patchface. He’s here."

The cursed energy surrounding you wasn’t just powerful. It was dark, malicious, and suffocating. The air felt thick with malevolence, pressing against your chest as if daring you to move. 

Suddenly, your vision swam, and the world seemed to warp for a second. You blinked, your heart racing, and then—you saw him.

That grotesque figure, pale and scarred, with that same patch of disfigured flesh sewn over his face like a grotesque mask. He stepped from the shadows, his smile sickly and twisted, eyes gleaming with sadistic delight.

“Ahhhhh, perfect, perfect, just perfect!” The patchface curse’s voice was sickeningly joyful, his tone unnervingly light, like a child about to unwrap a gift. 

“I get to fight my natural enemy, Yuji Itadori, the famous Satoru Gojo…” He paused, his eyes darting to you, lingering in a way that made your skin crawl, sending a cold shiver down your spine.

“And you… the new experiment…I don’t think I can touch your soul…but oh god, I wonder how your soul feels, y/n y/l/n,” he purred, his voice dripping with twisted curiosity. “Oh, this will be so fun!”

His grin widened, and for a second, you thought you saw a flicker of something darker, something far more dangerous than his playful demeanour.

His gaze flitted between the group, but it kept landing back on you.

“Let’s see how well you break.”

[kangaracha]

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 17

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pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n today's self promo is catskin which is a felix x reader fantasy/fairy tale oneshot that i am pleased enough with that i might write a part two. anyway, here's more of the drama you're really here for.

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At 6:05 on the dot, there's a knock on your door.

He must have been up all night waiting for your text, you think as you answer it, the way that he'd made it down the stairs within five minutes of your alarm going off. You're still in your pyjamas, a hoodie thrown over the top when you'd dragged yourself out of bed to combat the early-morning cold of your apartment. 

The boys waiting outside your door are dressed similarly, at least, padding around in clothes they've chosen at random from a laundry hamper somewhere and shoes that they kick off as soon as they pass through your doorway. You're not surprised to see Chan, hair sticking up at every end like he's gotten straight out of bed for this and not bothered to even try to stick it back down again, but you are surprised to see Changbin. You don't think you've ever seen or heard a peep from Changbin at this time of the morning.

"Good morning," Chan says as you close the door, lingering within arm's reach as Changbin wanders his way further into your apartment like he's looking for something.

"Good morning," you echo, your attention divided between the two of them. "What are you doing here?"

"Well," Chan hedges, hesitating like he's not decided yet what he's going to say next. "Changbin is here to steal your cereal."

"Hyunjin ate all of mine," Changbin says, his feet carrying him one step closer to the kitchen in question.

You wave him towards it, despite warnings you've been given against ever giving him free reign over your pantry. "There's eggs in the fridge too if you want them," you offer, and your heart lifts at the way his face lights up. It's funny how such a little thing could cause such simple joy.

"Gamsamnida, noona," he says, and disappears into your kitchen. 

Chan steps into your line of vision.

"What are you doing here?" you ask when he doesn't immediately say anything, though the pit in your stomach and the sleepless night unravelling behind you say that you already know the answer.

He draws in a breath and holds it, anticipation paling his face just enough for you to notice. "I'm being honest," he says, his eyes flicking up to the kitchen door. Changbin doesn't appear - he's busy making a lot of noise with your pans in there, the slam of a cupboard door a little too obvious to be anything but deliberate. "I promised I'd be honest with you, so...I'm here."

"About the things they're saying online, or what's going to happen next?" you question; and you don't miss the way that his face falls, his brow tightening imperceptibly.

"You've seen it," he sighs, as if he'd been hoping for something different.

A grim smile twists itself around your mouth. "It's trending," you point out. "It's kind of hard to miss."

"True." He looks away, eyes casting behind him to where Changbin is being deliberately noisy in the kitchen as he hunts through your cabinets for something. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" you question. "You didn't do anything."

"They're my fans," he says and then blinks, correcting himself. "Our fans - if something I've done makes them think-"

You've seen the messages he's talking about, the back-and-forth between fans debating whether this was his idea or something that had been forced upon him by the company. Always Chan - Chan's group, Chan's members, Chan's decision. If the trending tags were anything to be believed, the general consensus was that the Chan they knew and loved would never do this to them, nor would he endorse it. It was obvious that you had forced your way into the group, and at first opportunity he would drop you right back out again; if only they screamed loudly enough in opposition, JYP would give him that choice quicker.

You didn't find that daunting at all. There wasn't a black pit opening inside your gut every time you thought about it, the urge to get back to the practice rooms and gruelling hours of work scratching at your skin. 

"You're acting like you told them to do this," you tell him wryly, and the corner of his mouth quirks upwards. Nearly a smile, despite how sardonic it feels. 

"I definitely did not," he answers, a hand pressed to his chest in honesty. "I meant what I said the other day. You're one of my people now."

Inexplicably, warmth blooms in your chest around the icy cold that has had a stranglehold around your stomach since you'd first seen...well, everything that's happening. The reminder of the conversation you'd had before all of this began is timely - it was easy to forget sometimes, around the screaming of a thousand voices that it couldn't be true, that he had chosen you, in a backwards way. That all of this was only happening now because he'd fought with the company for you. Because he'd won the fight, a feat you've never seen accomplished before, in a long career of letdowns.

Your teeth grit together at the thought of those voices online, hiding behind screens as if they know anything about what’s happened in the last three months or even the past six years. You had forgotten for a while last night, all the things that Chan had said; you’d felt like throwing something across the room, God’s Menu playing over and over through a tinny speaker until your body moved without thinking. You’ve contained most of that rage since, under the assurance that none of them know what they’re talking about, and truly, you don’t think that you’ll really care at all as the days wear on; but still-

"Someone should have told them that," you say without thinking, and then watch as Chan's brow furrows. "Sorry. I didn't mean you. It's not your fault."

"Someone will," he replies. "Once I've been to this meeting with management. Which I am probably going to be late for."

His phone appears in his hand, the screen lighting up to show him the time. "If you have to go-" you begin to say, already moving out of the way of the door.

"He's eating breakfast first," Changbin says from the kitchen door before Chan can argue with you himself. 

"Am I?" Chan asks; but his voice is mild and his feet are already turning towards Changbin, all the fight draining from his body before he has even begun.

"You think I'm going to eat all of the eggs myself?" Changbin fires right back. "I'm not a pig."

"But I thought you were a pig, Changbin," Chan says and watches in amusement as the sound of Changbin shouting indignantly fills the air of your apartment.

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