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parfaitblogs · 12 hours

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fresh out the slammer ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid comes home from prison, and needs to fulfil everything he has missed about you.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: smut & comfort (18+ mdni) tags: post prison!reid. soft dom!spencer. teeth might rot i was cringing during some of this. established relationship. the briefest of breast play because what do i hate? the word nipple! fingering. p in v. no protection is mentioned but imagine what you will. casual nudity afterwards. spencer's got bruises from prison. i lowkey forgot about his thigh wound until the very end. word count: 5.7k a/n: there's a completely different version of me in a world where i didn't write this. i hope she's doing well. i feel like i've been reborn. this is stupidly long LOL my apologies. pleaseee tell me if you liked this! or if you didn't! i love feedback! here's my monthly smut fic see you all in october!

Three months wasn't a long time, in the grand scheme of things. A quarter of a year usually went by too quickly for anybody's liking, the year sprinting through seasons until all twelve months were complete, and you were repeating it all over again. Usually. Three months without Spencer Reid, however, went by achingly slowly. And you hadn't originally considered just how agonising they could be.

Each day was another painful mirror of the last, waking up and going to bed with the same sense of dread in your stomach, oftentimes swallowing you whole and leaving you unable to do just about anything at all.

Living life without Spencer Reid was hard.

You saw him — of course you did. Despite his original efforts to keep you off the approved visitors list, Penelope Garcia had seen one glimpse of your heart shattered expression upon being told, and marched her way to the prison to slap sense into him. You weren't sure if that was metaphoric or not.

However, seeing him once every other week and living with him were two very different situations. You hadn't realised just how much you had depended on him always being there when you woke up in the morning until you were waking up to cold bed sheets and a pillow clutched petulantly to your chest in hopes of recreating the warmth only Spencer could provide.

And then he was free.

From prison, that is. You hadn't heard it all — information about his time in prison had been kept from you in an attempt to protect your own peace of mind. But you knew from at least the bruises he was always sporting no matter when you went to visit him, that something awful had happened to him in there, and his own brain would keep him imprisoned for as long as it wished.

But he was free.

And he was here, and you were staring up at his face littered with unkempt facial hair and a head of untreated curls, and regardless of everything horrific he had endured brewing behind his eyes, he was staring at you with the same softness he had before any of this happened.

Despite the beginning of a protest when you wrapped your arms around his torso, you hugged him, and he hugged you, and even the faintest smell of grime and blood couldn't stop you from gripping onto him with so much force you thought your knuckles would break.

"You're real," you whispered into his chest, muffled by it, and it shook beneath your face as he laughed, quietly. Beautifully.

"I am," he answered, and you could feel him crushing his own facial features into the top of your head, no doubt inhaling your shampoo. "You're real."

"Yes," you confirmed with a nod.

Maybe hours passed, perhaps only minutes. Whichever it was, you were still reluctant to pull away from him until he did, your face stained with tear streaks you don't remember shedding, his own eyes glassy as your gazes met.

"You don't want to talk about it, do you?" you asked him, walking backwards as you led him out of the doorway you two had been finding solace in, and further into the apartment space you were ecstatic to share together again.

"Not particularly," he answered, strides catching up to you and encasing your waist between his hands, tugging your body closer to his own. "Is that okay?"

"As long as you promise not to keep it in," you replied, teeth chewing into your lower lip in a contemplative habit.

"I have counselling at work," he said, and you nodded, your facial features softening only a little — you knew him well enough to know he wouldn't enjoy said counselling sessions. Breath tickled your lips as he leaned in a little closer, inciting heat onto your cheeks. "Any other questions?"

"No," you replied, your own lips twitching in amusement. "That's it. Why?"

"Because I haven't kissed you in three months," he murmured, "and I want to."

"Maybe," you said with a hum, and he said your name chidingly, eliciting a laugh from you. "Yeah. Okay."

To be honest, you had spent a few too many nights allowing your thoughts to wander and end up dreaming about what it would be like to kiss him again. Whether or not either of you would have the patience to be gentle and kind to one another. In those nights, you had decided you would be. Your heart cracking every time you thought of Spencer alone in a concrete cell that it left you with a gaping hole in your chest. All you really wanted was to hold him and remind him how adored he was.

Right now, you learned you wouldn't be.

There was a tenderness in the way his hands found your cheeks to cup, and there was a softness in his fingertips against your skin. Yet, everything he kissed with was anything but. Feverish and quick, swallowing you whole and inspiring a spark in your chest that resulted in you kissing back just as hungry.

Just when you thought there was nothing left to trigger within him, a squeak left your lips as the result of him tugging you impossibly closer, and he was beginning to walk you backwards, even further into the apartment, his kiss growing all consuming.

"Spencer," you said, breathlessly, jerking your head back, staring at him, waiting for him to realise you weren't returning your lips to his, and his eyes opened.

"What?" he asked, almost irritatedly. When he watched the slight flicker of hurt flash on your face at the tone, his own expression became gentler. "I'm sorry. Is something wrong?"

Immediately, you shook your head. "No. I just wanted to check how far you wanted to go," your hands travelled up to his hair, fingers scratching gently against his scalp. "I know there's a lot going on up here."

"Actually, right now it's just you," he said, tilting a head to the side to lean into one of your palms. "It's mostly you all the time. But right now you're consuming it."

"I make such an impact on your life," you quipped.

"I know you're teasing, but you do," he replied, fingers tracing up and down either side of your jawline, eyes searching each small detail on your face he had no doubt already memorised. "I survived in there for you."

"Oh."

Probably not the most eloquent response for the things he had just confessed, but truly your brain had scrambled within an instant, and you weren't sure what to say.

"Sorry," he said, hands stilling on your face. "To answer your question, I don't know. I really missed you."

"I know," you said when a gaping silence followed his words. "We don't have to."

"I think I want to."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "You can't think, Spence. You've gotta know."

"I've definitely said that to you before," he chided, thinking for a moment, before, "yes. I did. First time we had sex."

"Sue me for repeating important sexual advice to you, Spencer Reid," you huffed. He laughed.

"No, I mean, I do. Want to," he finally replied. "I'm really scared of hurting you."

"Do you want to hurt me?"

"No."

"Then you won't," you reassured him, despite knowing whatever doubt he had in himself would not be resolved just like that, and it'll probably eat at his mind for a long while. "And even if you do, I won't be upset with you." When his face scrunched and his expression mirrored judgement, you stammered to clarify. "Not in a kinky way. Don't look at me like that, Spencer. Stop it. I just meant I'll understand. And I won't be mad."

"Didn't take you to be into masochism," he mumbled, and you groaned at his selective hearing, dropping your forehead to his shoulder, that shook with his laughter. "Kidding, honey. I know what you mean."

"Not funny."

"It was a little," he countered, a hand reaching up to entangle within your hair to pull your head back, gently, so he could look at you again.

"Hi," you said when your eyes locked once more.

"Hello," he answered, his lips pulling into a smile. "I'd like to kiss you again."

"You've used up your kiss for the day, actually," you replied, sweetly beaming up at him.

"Quiet," he shot back, leaning forwards and allowing his lips to brush hesitantly against yours, eyes searching your own with an added hint of desperation. "Please?"

You pretended to think for a moment too long, because he was already mumbling something that sounded a little like 'brat', and pressed his mouth to yours once more.

You couldn't complain.

It was the same intensity as earlier, and yet there was something in it that differentiated the homesickness of the kiss from then, and the desperation now. Large hands — that you would probably allow to encase you whole — pathetically held your face lightly, hips knocking with yours as he walked you backwards and up against the back of the couch.

"Spence," you whimpered embarrassingly, hands clawing at the sleeves of his suit jacket, trialling and failing at tugging it off his body.

"I got you, sweet girl," he mumbled against your lips, not breaking the kiss for even a second as he helped you, shrugging the jacket off and allowing it to fall to the floor — something he will certainly chastise himself for later.

"Bedroom," you said, in between heavy breaths and feverish kisses. A request he was more than happy to comply to, for he had nodded, and you were instantaneously tugging on one of his hands in the direction of the room, his eyes fixated on your body as he trailed behind.

"Missed you so much," he murmured as he tugged you back towards him the second he had kicked the door shut, lips finding the corner of your mouth, then your jawline, then your neck, as he kissed down you.

"So you've said," you breathed out, tilting your head to the side as he gently nipped at the skin.

"Do you get off on being mean to me?" he chided, lifting his head to look at you again, and your heart stuttered.

"No. Just that dominance act that it brings out," you murmured, attempting to keep the mood light. Successfully so, for air huffed out of his nose as his lips twitched, fingers that had dropped to your waist squeezing it gently. In unresolved doubt, you added, "I missed you too. Don't worry."

"I'm not," he replied, and the weight lifted off your shoulders. "Lie down."

"So demanding," you teased, though his tone was anything but firm.

You were met with an unimpressed look, and you merely grinned back as you climbed onto the bed, sitting cross legged atop it, staring up at him expectingly.

Instead of moving over you like you had expected, he crouched at the foot of the bed, holding his hands out on the mattress in front of you. Needing no more than the simple gesture, you untangled your legs and stretched them out in front of you, and he tugged you down towards the end of the bed, breath hitting the skin of your thighs deliciously.

"I'm supposed to be making you feel good," you argued when his fingers trailed up the sides of your legs, finding the waistband of your pyjama shorts.

"Why?" he questioned, halting his movements as he searched your face.

"Because you're the one who just got out of prison," his face scrunched at the verbal reminder. "Sorry. But... yeah. I have thought about making you come the day you got home like daily."

"Oh have you?" his eyebrows shot up, and it was then that your brain caught up to your running mouth, and your cheeks heated up.

"Nope. Forget I said anything."

"No," he pushed himself up from the floor, moving his body over yours on the bed, successfully forcing you to lie back. "Tell me those thoughts."

"Spencer," you moaned, shaking your head as you buried your face into your hands, that he was a little too quick to catch and pry away.

"I'm not going to judge you," he said, amused. "In fact, I aspire to know every single thought there is up in that pretty head of yours. Especially the ones about me. Please tell me."

"I just thought about making you come. There's nothing more exciting to it."

"Yes, but how?"

"My mouth, I guess," you mumbled, voice going impossibly quiet. "I don't know."

"You're acting like you have never given me oral," he said, catching your gaze within milliseconds of you averting it, thumb and forefinger straightening your head again.

"Nobody says oral, Spencer. Say head," your own face now scrunched up.

"Lots of people say oral," he defended.

"Yeah, old people. We are not old people."

"Fine, you're acting like you have never given me head."

Despite it being a jab at him to take the heat off of you, the phrase coming out from his lips sounded exceptionally vulgar for what it was, and it only resulted in your stomach flipping.

Finally, you regained some control over your own thoughts, and you found it in you to reply. "That's what I want to do. Because I want to make you feel good."

"You underestimate how much I gain from making you feel good," he countered, fingers lazily caressing the skin of your jaw as his eyes studied your face with an intensity that had your stomach flipping.

"It cannot be as good as an orgasm," you huffed, stubbornly so.

He nipped at your nose. "It is."

"Can we compromise?"

"So you don't want me to give you oral?" his eyebrows rose.

In every other situation, you would not be fighting him on this. In fact, he would probably have already gotten his foreplay of teasing and teetering you on the edge out of the way by now, and you'd be well and truly content. However, the forefront of your mind was still plagued by how little time Spencer had to take care of himself, and the last thing you needed him to be was at your service. Despite his protests.

"Head," you corrected. "And no."

He searched for remnants of a lie for a few beats longer, before he nodded his head, giving in. "What's your compromise, honey?"

"I don't think there's a sexy way to say to just put it in me," you said, and his lips curled up into an amused smile, followed by a huff of laughter.

"No, I don't think there is," he agreed. "I do think anything you say can be sexy, though."

You pulled a face, and you shook your head. "No. Don't say that ever again either."

"I can't compliment you, I can't give you ora—head," he rattled off. "Is there anything good I get out of this?"

"You get to fuck me?" you batted your eyelashes up at him.

"Such vulgar language," he chastised, ducking his head when a hand of yours rose to swat him.

Despite himself, his head had dropped to the crook of your neck, and he had begun placing feather like kisses along the skin that distracted you just enough to drop your hand back to the mattress beneath you.

Any other day, and you'd probably still be bickering with him until the minute he made you come. However, three months without even the faintest of touches from him left you overwhelmed with everything he did to you, and so the gentle kisses trailing down to the collar of your shirt were enough to destroy any coherent thoughts you could have.

Cautiously, and with a touch so delicate, Spencer lifted your — his — shirt up your abdomen, fingertips leaving behind the warmest of trails as they skimmed along your skin. One quiet whine from you was all it took for him to hurry his teasing along, and soon enough your shirt was discarded.

A quiet, sharp inhale of air was the other sound aside from your quickened breathing, and you felt tears sting your vision as another kiss was placed just below your now exposed collarbone.

The time without you seemed to weigh nothing in his mind as he took every inch of you in separately, lips mapping out your body like it was the first time all over again, though still knowing exactly when to pause and pay attention to for the sweetest of sounds to be ripped from your throat.

He liked to hear you.

Fingers found your waist as his lips kissed down your sternum, then back up and over until they reached your nipple. He spent time on each breast, ignoring your impatient whining as he neglected the rest of you for a few minutes too long (in your opinion).

"Spencer," you scolded, and it was all it took for him to accept you were not in the mood to wait, and for him to decide he wasn't either.

"Sorry, honey," he replied, voice impossibly soft as he returned his lips to your face, a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth as his fingers found your shorts again. "Can I take these off?"

"I think we're incredibly out of balance," you replied. And though there wasn't really anything wrong with the sentence — you had certainly said it before — he still pulled back, an unrecognisable grey clouding his eyes. "What?"

"I want to keep my shirt on," was his response, the words inciting confusion to your face.

"What? Why?"

"Do I need a reason?"

You wanted to scream that yes, he did. But did he? Wordlessly, you shook your head, but it didn't help the pang of worry in your chest.

"Unless there's something like an embarrassing tattoo, I'm not going to judge you," you decided to say instead. "Did you get an embarrassing tattoo in prison?"

"No," he shook his head, and you were comforted by the amusement in his tone. "I didn't have the best time in prison."

"I know," you replied.

"And I wasn't very liked. By the men in there."

You knew that too, to an extent. You knew the bruises on his face weren't self inflicted. "You're liked by me."

"I know, sweet girl," a heart shatteringly sad smile stretched across his face as a hand lifted to your cheek. "It just isn't very pretty. And I don't want you to worry."

Well, now you were. Regardless, you nodded your head, turning your head to the side so you could kiss the palm of the hand on your face. "I won't worry, then."

"I want to keep my shirt on. Can that please be okay with you?"

Silently, and after a debate inside your brain, you nodded your head. Gratefully, he pecked your lips once more, before his focus shifted back to you and your body.

"Shorts. Can I take them off?" he asked, again.

"Yes."

"Thank you."

His fingers collected the fabric of your shorts' waistband, and gently pulled them down your legs, cool air washing over you despite the final leftover article of clothing on your body. You shivered, and you could hear him mumbling nearly incoherent apologies as he kissed your stomach.

"These too?" he then asked, eyes flickering between your face for confirmation, and the pair of underwear you still had residing on your body. You nodded your head, and he pulled them down too.

You do not remember a time ever fearing being naked beneath Spencer Reid's gaze, and that did not change even now, as an arguably different man drank in your entire body, the love he had for you not having wavered despite the passing of time.

And you certainly did not fear the way one of his hands slid up your leg, seemingly soothingly, until it teetered on the edge of too far up the limb to be innocent, and he was intensely watching your face for every reaction you could possibly make.

Achingly gently, his middle finger ran up the centre, collecting arousal you hadn't realised was there and knuckle gently bumping your clit, eliciting a quiet mewl from you. You watched him smile at the sound, dragging his finger back down, gathering more of your arousal until he was pushing the finger in.

Your eyes fluttered shut, the feeling oh so familiar, and yet seemingly foreign all at once. Too long, you decided then. Three months is too long.

Leaning back down, his lips brushed your jawline, the otherwise odd sensation of there being something — someone — inside of you balancing out with the pleasure that came from the comfort of it being him. And of course the delicate circles his thumb had begun to draw on your clit.

"Did you do this while I was in prison?" he asked you, lips moving against your skin.

"Touch myself?"

"Mhm."

"Yeah," you said, voice breathless. "Was never good, though."

"No?" he asked, curling his finger inside of you and tugging a louder moan from your throat. "Why not?"

"Just never felt as nice. Not like you."

"Oh. I'm sorry, angel," he murmured, pulling his lips away so he could look at you again. Though, your eyes were still planted shut. "I'll make up for it then, yeah?"

You feverishly nodded your head, and he laughed. Fulfilling his promise, he sped up the motions of his finger and thumb, your hands grabbing ahold of fistfuls of the sheets, in hopes that it will provide some comfort from the overwhelming feeling of Spencer touching you again.

"Can I add another finger?" he asked, and though slightly hesitant, you nodded your head.

He waited a beat longer before fulfilling your request, and there was something obscene about how easily another finger entered you. Though, Spencer thought it was pretty, and your back arching was pretty, and yes, he had missed this and he had missed you and he was biting his tongue from telling you that all over again.

"Spencer," a delicately breathy whine left your lips when the heel of his palm collided with your clit — thumb long forgotten once he had gotten distracted with thrusting fingers in and out of you.

"Hm?"

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his, the kindest smile on his face reminding you just how much he adored you, and your heart sporadically beat in your chest. When you didn't say anything else, he quickened his ministrations, eliciting more whines and moans.

"Is two orgasms too much for tonight?" he asked you, the question seemingly innocent regardless of both it's undertones, and what he was currently doing to you.

In hindsight you should've probably said yes. It most certainly would've hurried things along to something he would enjoy as much as you. However, if Spencer Reid fingering you was a religion, you were an eternally loyal follower, and you would do anything to keep him there for as long as you could.

So you shook your head, murmuring a quiet, "No. I can do two," and allowing him to fasten his fingers once more.

Fingers found and massaged that spot inside of you he had probably engrained into his brain, and he was leaning down to swallow the loud moan that followed from the feeling. Practiced motions tore the same sounds from your throat as he repeatedly brushed up against it, until your eyes were forced to squeeze shut once more, and hands that were once seeking solace in the sheets, found his wrist and wrapped around it.

"I can't move if you're going to keep my arm locked up, angel," he said when your nails dug into his wrist, lips smiling against your skin.

A few short jerks of his hand convinced you to let go of the death grip you had on him, instead returning them to the mattress.

Then he was doing that motion again, and again, and you were silently praying he would never stop. Although, if your moans were any indication to where you were at — and they were — Spencer wouldn't.

Your hips bucking told him more than he needed to know, and the absence of his body above you when he lay down on the bed next to you was long forgotten when a splayed hand on your abdomen pushed you back down into the mattress, your heart stuttering at the feeling.

Gentle whines of his name, and a repeated mantra of 'please, please, please' was the only thing your otherwise dismantled brain could come up with, and Spencer was relishing in the knowledge that he was doing this to you. And though it is something he knows he's done before, it had been far too long since and the reminder was always welcome.

"I know, sweet girl," he said against you when your eyes came open and searched his desperately, walls fluttering around his fingers indicating just how close you were.

"Please don't stop."

"I won't," he confirmed, punctuating the promise with his thumb returning to your clit. He had your best interest in mind — you knew that. He now wouldn't stop even if you begged him to.

Overwhelming seemed too insignificant of a word to describe what you felt like when you came, nerve endings all over your body sparking, instead of just the ones he was stimulating.

His thumb rubbing circles and his fingers thrusting in and out of you didn't falter until your shaking body had stilled and your strings of moans had diminished, slowly coming to a stop and leaving your body — seemingly — as fast as they had entered.

The content smile on your face was interrupted with Spencer's hand lifting to your lips, and instinctively you parted them, already knowing exactly what he was after.

His middle and ring fingers entered your mouth, and your face scrunched up despite yourself as you tasted yourself on them. He laughed at that — of course he did — and pulled them out soon after.

"You do that every time," he murmured, hair tickling your skin as he placed open mouthed kisses over your shoulder, up towards your neck.

"It tastes weird," you argued, and his teeth nipping your skin told you he disagreed. Though, he wasn't in the mood to argue, for he didn't say anything else on the matter.

"Still got it in you for one more?" he asked you, pulling his head back so he could see you once again.

"Yes."

"Good."

Your eyes watched him even as he rolled back to take his pants off, and the awkward smile he gave you provided the inkling of comfort that there was still the man from three months prior in there.

"I really missed you, you know?" This time it was you saying it, piercing the air as his hand came down between your thighs to part them. The head of his cock nudged against you, brushing delicately through your folds and eliciting a quiet whimper from your lips.

"I know," he answered, pressing kisses on your shoulder once more. "Are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah. I'm fine," you confirmed with a nod, confusion crossing your features all up until you learned why he was asking.

A broken moan, choked and caught in your throat, left you when he painstakingly slowly pushed inside of you. There's not a lot going on inside your mind when he stops, your entire body aflame and equally desperate for more, as you were for him to take a moment here.

"I love you," he breathed out, the words hurried and encouraging your heart to speed up, and your mind to melt even more.

"I love you too," you said back, voice just as quiet, gently nudging hips ushering for him to move.

"Impatient girl," he muttered, but you smiled nonetheless because he did (move).

His thrusts were slow, and gentle, but you never truly minded how much time he took with you once you two were here. Even more so now, for you were on the same page as him, and you wanted to savour every single moment of this down to the second.

A whimper left your lips, followed closely by the desperate whisper of his name, and lips that were still resting against your shoulder smiled.

"I thought about this a lot," he said to you, his hand that was holding your thighs slightly open sliding up to find your clit. "I definitely shouldn't have."

"Why?" You knew why, but the thought of hearing him answer it aloud excited you a little.

Unfortunately, he knew you better than that. "Don't play coy. You know why, honey."

"You're cruel," you huffed, and he laughed, rolling his hips to meet yours, earning another moan. "Maybe I don't."

"Use that wonderful imagination of yours, then," he answered, rubbing your clit at the same time as he moved his hips once more, effortlessly rendering you unable to respond to him again.

A teenage boy probably could've lasted longer than the both of you, but you decided to blame it all on your already sensitive nerves from a prior orgasm, and the fact that Spencer Reid had not had you like this for over 2190 hours (not that he was counting).

Whimpers escaped your throat as he kept his hips thrusting into you at an achingly slow pace, while his fingers working on your clit did anything but. It was an aching juxtaposition that left you reeling for more, and Spencer was now the one shutting his eyes so he could hold onto some semblance of composure.

"Spencer," you pleaded, and it was a quiet moan from behind you that told you he was exactly where you were.

"I know, honey," he replied, the desperation in his voice jumpstarting your heart. "Need to come, yeah?"

"Mmhm," you nodded your head quickly, breathlessly moaning. "Please."

"You're going to. Don't worry. Don't need to beg, sweet girl."

Commingled moans and obscenely wet noises filled the air, and your hips stuttered as your stomach twisted into knots.

Chanting his name like a prayer, you meet him wherever your two souls go in that moment, and it's a shuddering feeling as you come at the same time as him. For the first time in forever.

His hand drops back to your thigh and he massages the muscles there gently, willing himself to stop before he crossed the line of overstimulation — not that you think you'd complain about that.

There was an emptiness when he pulled out, but then he was kissing you again to make up for it, and you were smiling against his lips as you kissed him back. This time, without the fever.

"How're you feeling?" he asked you, quietly.

"Happy," you answered, forcing your heavy eyelids open when he pulled back. "How are you feeling?"

"Also happy," he agreed, and your heart soared.

"Good."

"You need to go pee," he said, placing another kiss on your cheek, before he leaned his body away entirely.

"Help?"

Arguably, you could do it yourself. Your limbs were tired, yes, and your mind was melting, but you were coherent enough to brave it alone.

Thankfully, you didn't have to.

He carried you to the bathroom, running the bath water after you had silently begged him for it with your eyes (looking between him and the empty bath with wide eyes and a jutted lip worked wonders), and leaving you to pee.

"Are you getting in with me?" you asked him as wobbly legs akin to a fawn carried you over to the now full and steaming bathtub.

"Do you want me to?"

Hesitantly, you nodded your head, fidgeting with your fingers in front of you. "But you'd have to take your shirt off. So you don't have to."

He studied your face for a moment longer, before he nodded, and fingers expertly worked at unbuttoning down the shirt.

"I'm okay now. That's the important thing you have to remember, okay?" his words provided little comfort, but you nodded your head regardless.

You had a suspicion already of what sight you were going to be met with, but it didn't stop the guilt settling into your chest when the shirt fell to the floor anyways.

"Spence," you murmured, taking a hesitant step forwards, heart falling to your stomach.

Bruises littered the skin, some fresh and still purple, others nearly healed and yellowing. But there were so many, and it was then that you were swallowing the rest of him in with your eyes, catching the bandage on his thigh.

"What is that?" you nodded towards the covered wound, and when your eyes returned to his face again, he was staring at you with an unreadable expression.

"A lot happened," he answered, quietly, before repeating, "I'm okay now."

You nodded your head, tears stinging your vision for nothing more than your ridiculous amount of empathy. "Can you tell me about it?"

"I will," he promised. "Eventually. Just not now, okay? I haven't processed it all yet."

"Okay," you replied, and his heart shattered at the sight of a tear slipping down your face.

"Hey," he took ahold of your hand and tugged you closer to him, fingers running through your hair and resting at the base of your scalp. "I promise, honey. I'm not going to disintegrate from a few bruises."

"It isn't just a few," you answered, voice wavering. "There's so many."

"You have a heart too big for your chest," he decided to say instead, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. "Most of them don't even hurt now. Please believe me when I say I'm okay."

"I'm trying," your voice is thick with a sob caught in your throat. "I think I'm just really tired."

"Yeah," he crooned, agreeing. "Your body's released a lot of prolactin, which encourages sleep. Alongside the endorphins and dopamine that you're crashing from upon seeing this."

Wordlessly, you nodded your head, and he kissed the tip of your nose in an attempt to comfort.

"Bath, then we can sleep, and we can talk more in the morning," he listed off, and you merely nodded your head once more, sniffling and wiping your eyes.

"Okay."

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pretentious-blonde · 3 days

Text

insecurity

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: after you become closer to a certain metalhead, steve can't stop the insecurities that stem from his previous relationship. when it all becomes too much, you are left to deal with his outrage.

warnings: arguments, angst, steve is mean, panic attack (fluff ending ofc)

a/n: idk, this was supposed to be short and sweet but i got carried away!

The bell above you jingled as you entered Family Video, stopping briefly to glance around the shop for a certain brown-haired boy who had managed to capture your heart a little over six months ago. It didn’t take long to spot him, a grin plastered on his face as he stood behind the counter. With crossed arms, leaning his hip against the wooden edge, nodding along half-heartedly to whatever Robin was saying. She sat cross-legged on the desk, arms moving wildly as she spoke, her face lighting up as she noticed your presence.

“There she is! Finally, I can’t tolerate this man for much longer,” she says with a huff, kicking her feet off the counter and pointing at Steve who was clearly not as into the conversation as she was. His attention hasn’t strayed from you since you came in. “Your turn.”

“Lucky for you,” he begins, briefly glancing in Robin’s direction, pointing back towards her as you rounded the corner to emphasise his point. “She tolerates me for hours.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek as you leaned into him, whispering a hello before smirking in Robin’s direction. “I’d say it’s more than tolerating,” you add.

Steve has a smug look on his face at your comment, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer. You can feel the warmth he radiates through his jumper, his fingers finding your jaw to tilt your head up to meet his eyes.

The moment between you both was swiftly interrupted by a loud gagging noise. “Okay. I’m third-wheeling. Gross.” Robin stated as she hopped off her makeshift throne with a huff.

You roll your eyes, still trapped in Steve’s embrace, not ready to let go just yet. “You sure you’re not just jealous Rob?”

“Pssh,” she scoffs as she throws a VHS tape from one hand to the other. “Sure. If I wanted someone who can’t alphabetise for shit, then yes. I’d be all over Harrington.”

“Ouch,” Steve pipes up from your side. “Also I don’t want to hear anything from you after what you did to the returns bin. It’s chaos.”

“Organised chaos, maybe,” she replies as she points the VHS directly at Steve. “My system is far superior.”

You glance over at your boyfriend, a look of disbelief at her previous statement, he was about to interrupt but Robin quickly changed the subject. “I thought you were supposed to come by here yesterday? Or was I making that up?”

“Oh, I was. But Dustin asked me last minute if I was free,” you tell her. “He introduced to to his friend—Eddie? I think he mentioned him before. We all hung out for a bit.”

The words slip out of your mouth naturally and a small smile graces your lips as you remember the day before. What you don’t notice is the way Steve stiffens beside you. His hand, which was fitted perfectly against your shoulder, tensed slightly. Unbeknownst to you.

“Eddie?” He asks, forcing his voice to stay light and cheerful. He wouldn’t dream of dampening your bright mood. Not when you had gone out of your way to drop by and see him. Although, that fact did nothing to stop the unsettling feeling in his stomach.

You nod enthusiastically as he pays you his full attention, admiring the way your hair bounces along with your movements. It briefly distracts him from overthinking, that is, until you open your pretty mouth again. “Yeah, you know Dustin—he’s always finding new people to drag into his D&D world. Eddie’s super into it, too.”

His jaw tightens, his smile falters and he hopes to god you don’t notice, masking it with a casual nod. Eddie Munson, he thinks and cannot help the bitterness he feels. Of course, he remembers the metal head from high school, Dustin had been mentioning him more too. He never cared about popularity, the social hierarchy. Just… did his own thing. No matter what others thought of him.

Steve was all Ralph Lauren polos and Members Only jackets, tender smiles and sickly sweet kisses. Eddie was band patches and ripped jeans, unapologetic and confident. Not like Steve at all. The total opposite in fact.

He glances at you in the corner of his eye, then quickly back to the counter, the knot in his chest growing tighter. He knew, he knew, he was reading too much into it, but he just couldn’t stop himself. Especially after Nancy broke his heart. It was only when he met you that it began to heal again.

Is that what you’re into? The carefree, rebellious type? While Steve has spent his entire high school career trying to fit the mold, Eddie has smashed it. And what did he have to show for it? A washed-up ex-popular kid working at a video store? Not a lot, clearly.

“So… what did you guys get up to?” He asks, fiddling with the pen on the desk, trying to act as indifferent as possible.

“Not much. Just hung out, talked about D&D for a bit,” you reply with a shrug. “Dustin thinks he is some kind of genius when it comes to that game.”

Robin chimes into the conversation, unaware of the tension radiating from the brunette next to you. “Well, if you’re into D&D Eddie is the go-to around here,” she tells you. “It sounds like you’re his next recruit.”

Steve’s laugh is forced this time, and you notice it, a small frown appearing on your face. He curses himself internally, quickly leaning over to place a kiss on the side of your head, a reassuring gesture for the both of you. “Sounds fun,” he says softly. “Maybe next time I could tag along.”

Just so he can see what Eddie’s intentions are, see if he is testing his luck with you. He has already lost one girlfriend to another guy so it seemed like a normal thing to investigate. Nothing weird about that… right?

You laugh and shake your head, patting his broad chest playfully. “Trust me, Steve, you don’t have to do that. D&D is certainly not your thing.”

He deflated at your statement, even though it was definitely true. He lets out a chuckle to ease the insecurity he is feeling. “Yeah, I’ll leave the nerd stuff to Dustin and Eddie,” he says, trying to play it off as nothing serious.

You see the sad look that penetrates his features, mistaking it for him just feeling left out. You grab his hand and give it a small squeeze. “Am I still alright to come over to your tomorrow? Evening sound good?” You ask, hoping he could see how much you still wanted to spend time with him, despite your new friend.

“Of course, angel,” he replies, completely melting at the soft tone of your voice, looking up at him with those gentle eyes of yours. You could probably make him do anything with that expression on your face. He can’t resist stealing another kiss from you when you look like that. You smile up at him as he reluctantly pulls away.

“Okay, great!” You wave as you make your way to the door, bell ringing as you open it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He watches you leave until you are no longer visible, the tightness in his stomach easing ever so slightly at the thought of having you all to himself tomorrow. Just him. His girl.

As soon as he turns around, Robin is smirking directly at him, arms crossed across her chest. “So, what’s the deal with Eddie?” She asks, her tone teasing. “You gonna join Hellfire now?”

Steve rolls his eyes at her, already dreading the incoming round of quips. “Hell no, I’m not touching that stuff.”

“Aw, c’mon Steve. I think you would make a great dungeon master,” she doesn’t even bother trying to hide the laugh that is bubbling in her throat. “You certainly are dramatic enough for it, you know? ‘King Steve’ and all that.”

“Yeah right,” he mutters, growing more irritated by the second. He usually had all the time in the world for her jabs, but currently? The tapes in his hands were the most interesting thing in the world to him as he tried to brush her off. “I’m retired from the whole ‘king’ thing, remember?”

She grins as she leans across the wooden counter, standing on her tiptoes to get closer to him. “True, true. But at least we know Eddie is pretty chill now, we don’t just have to take Dustin’s word for it.”

There it is, that name again—Eddie. He says nothing as he grabs more tapes off the side. Not that it served any purpose, just anything to keep his hands busy and mind preoccupied.

“I mean, I have never really spoken to him,” she continued as she paced the shop floor, stopping only to place another VHS in her ‘newly organised’ returns section. “But he’s got that whole ‘rebel without a cause’ thing going on. You know? It’s pretty admirable.”

Yeah, I know, Steve thinks sourly. That’s precisely the problem. He does know. The free spirit who never once cared about fitting in, or pleasing anyone, and now here he was—Dustin’s new best friend and the subsequent new guy in your life.

“Yeah, well,” Steve forces out another fake laugh, just as badly hidden as the first. “Good for him.”

Robin turns to face him directly, noticing the strain in his voice. “You’re not… jealous, are you?”

Her question catches him off guard, fumbling with the tape in his hand and nearly dropping it. “What? No. Why would I be jealous of Eddie Munson?”

“Alright, alright, no need to get defensive,” she holds her hands up in surrender, her eyes still trained on him. “It’s just… I don’t know. You’re acting weird?”

He didn’t respond right away, focusing on a blank point between two VHS tapes in front of him, he repeated the question in his mind. Weird? He wasn’t being weird. Was he?

Shrugging his shoulders casually, he glances at the clock, suddenly wishing for the small arms to go faster so he could see you again—just the two of you. No Eddie. No distractions. Just you and him alone. Maybe then he could stop himself from spiralling. He couldn’t get the thought out of his mind for the rest of his shift, not when he had seen this story play out once before, with him ending up on the losing side.

Laughter filled the cramped space of Eddie’s trailer. Dustin had invited you over here a few hours earlier and now here you were, doubled over on his couch, clutching at your sides as Eddie continues his ridiculous story. “And then—then he turned around and slammed right into the closet door! Swear to God, I thought he was gonna be out cold!” He finished, completely in stitches at his own tale.

Dustin was practically rolling on the floor at this point, teeth on full show as he tried to get his words out cohesively. “How did you find these people, Eddie?!” He gasped between his giggles.

You were wiping away the tears from your eyes, way past the point of caring if your makeup was smudged. As you came back to reality, you glanced over at the clock, freezing completely as you registered the time.

“Oh, shit,” you muttered, your stomach dropping. “Guys, I gotta go. Like—like right now.”

You immediately leapt up off the worn-out couch, grabbing your jacket in a hurry and shoving your feet into your shoes. You had about ten minutes to be at Steve’s front door and had completely lost track of the time. “He’s gonna kill me,” you mumbled under your breath as you reached for your bag. Even though it wasn’t true, it was more likely he would be moping around the living room, glancing at the front door every couple of minutes awaiting your arrival. Just sad that he couldn’t get to spend more time with you. Steve didn’t get angry with you. Ever.

Eddie raised an eyebrow, his form still draped across the couch. “What’s the rush princess? Hot date with Steve?”

You briefly glanced over in his direction, looking increasingly flustered. “Well, yeah,” you admitted. “I was supposed to be there, uh, now.”

Before you could bolt out the door, you heard a groan coming from across the room. “Don’t sweat it, I’ll drive you.” Eddie rose from his seat and grabbed his keys from the coffee table in front of him, twirling them around his finger. “No way I’m letting you bike all the way there.”

You blinked in surprise at his offer. “Really? Are you sure? You honestly don’t have to—“

Eddie waved his hand in your direction, ignoring your concern. “It’s no problem. Besides, I’m not gonna be responsible for you showing up at Steve’s all sweaty and out of breath. The guy would kill me,” He shot a teasing grin in your direction as he headed to the door, holding it open as both you and Dustin ducked under his arm, heading straight for his van.

The journey was easy, with Eddie being a surprisingly safe driver, music as loud as his personality. In between the heavy guitar riffs that thumped through the radio, he turned to you with a mischievous expression. “So… you and Steve, huh?”

You felt the blush rise to your cheeks at his comment, not getting a chance to respond as he continued. “I just meant you’re good together, you know? I never really saw him as the ‘settle down with a girlfriend’ type. But hey, they say love changes a person.”

You drew your gaze away from the passing trees, unable to hold the smile that had spread across your face. “Yeah, he’s—he’s really great,” you admitted softly. You could barely put into words how great he was without gushing, so that small line would have to do for now. If Eddie only saw how Steve treated you, both in public and private, all his questions would certainly be answered.

Steve may not have had the same chaotic energy as Eddie or Dustin, but that didn’t matter one bit. Steve was… solid. Reliable. He made you feel safe. Made you feel cherished.

The long-haired boy next to you shrugged, his tone still kind. “Hey, if Dustin likes him, well that’s saying something. The kid is picky when it comes to his friends.”

Dustin, now making his presence known from the back seat, spoke up. “Damn right!”

As Eddie pulled up in front of the large house, he leaned over the centre controls, giving you a playful nudge. “Don’t keep him waiting any longer. I bet he is pacing a hole in the floor.”

You playfully glare at him as you pop the door open. “He’s not that bad.”

“Sure,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “Well, tell him Dustin and I said hey.”

“Will do,” you replied as you hopped out of the van. You waved at the two of them as they began to drive away, heavy metal music blaring as they faded into the distance. Your smile from Eddie’s previous comment was still lingering on your lips as you bounded up to the front door, excitedly ringing the bell.

What you didn’t see was Steve had witnessed the entire interaction from his window—your expression as you laughed with Eddie and Dustin, how you looked so at ease and comfortable around them. You hadn’t even known them for that long. The sight twisted something ugly up inside of him, insecurities that were larger than he knew. He didn’t know how to handle them, the thought of being left behind.

The door swung open after a few moments, and there stood your Steve, leaning casually against the door frame as he looked you up and down. God, he was whipped. “Hey, there you are,” he said with that classic, easy, Steve smile, relief washing over him the second he laid eyes on you.

You took a step forward, eager to close the distance between the two of you as you wrapped your arms around his waist “Sorry I’m late.”

He chucked as he returned your embrace, sturdy arms enveloping you. “No worries, I’m always happy to wait.”

The statement was true. Way too true, and that fact started to scare him.

You leaned up to press your lips against his, he was soft, familiar, and for a second, it felt like everything was perfect. He held the door open for you to step inside, the scent of his earthy cologne filled your senses.

He followed you into the living room, watching you kick off your shoes, holding his arm out just in case you toppled over. He had made that mistake only once in the past, the bruise on your leg was huge. You’re clumsy nature may have been endearing, but he’ll be damned if you hurt yourself on his watch.

“You didn’t ride your bike?” He asked, subtly trying to figure out exactly why you had gotten out of the familiar van.

“I was lucky Eddie offered me a lift. I kind of lost track of time,” you said nonchalantly, kicking your shoes into the corner.

His posture stiffened for the briefest moment at your confirmation. Honestly, he had hoped that what he saw five minutes earlier was just a figment of his imagination. “Oh, cool,” he forced himself to keep his tone light. “That was nice of him.”

You didn’t notice how fake the plastered smile on his face was as you settled onto the couch, already making yourself at home as you reached for the throw blanket. “So, what’s the plan for tonight hm? Movies? Snacks? Oh, did you order pizza?” You rambled, getting more excited with each question. It put his mind at ease a little bit to see you this giddy with excitement. If he let himself believe that he was the cause, maybe he could stop worrying.

He beamed and moved to join you, resting his head against the pillows as he glanced down at your pure expression. “All of the above, sweetheart. But we are not repeating what you told me a few weeks ago that eating leftover pizza for breakfast was ‘nutritionally balanced’.”

You giggled as you unfurled the blanket, taking extra care to make sure he was fully covered. “It is balanced! Carbs, protein, maybe a vegetable if there’s a stray pepper.”

“Right,” Steve smirked as he drew out the word, trying to get on board with your reasoning. Reaching over for the remote to turn the movie on.

As the credits for the cheesy rom-com rolled across the screen, you stretched your stiff body out. You untucked yourself from his side, resulting in a frown from Steve, not quite ready to let you go yet.

“I still don’t get why we always watch these,” you speak over the ending soundtrack. “All the girl ever does is swoon over the guy, ignoring all the red flags until it’s too late.”

He rests his arm on the back of the couch, placing his chin on top of it to give you his full attention. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a happy ending.”

You roll your eyes and nudge his foot with your own. “Such a romantic.”

Steve blushes before turning away, giving you a casual shrug. “I just like them. Who knows, I could always start serenading you under your window, the whole nine yards.”

“Serenade, huh?” You chuckle, angling your head to lean against his arm. “Do you even know how to play an instrument?”

He drew his face towards you, scrunching his nose in your direction. “I can learn. Get some guitar lessons.”

Maybe you like guitar. Eddie plays the guitar.

You giggle at the mental image of Steve strumming clumsily, tongue poking out in concentration, getting frustrated with the sheet music that would be scattered around him. “Oh, I’d pay to see that.”

He runs his hand through your hair, admiring your soft features illuminated by only the TV screen. “You wouldn’t have to pay. If you wanted it, I’d do it for free.”

He meant every word. If it kept you in his life, he would practise until his fingers bled.

“Has anyone told you how much of a sap you are?” You ask, but it lacks its usual teasing.

“Yeah, but I’m your sap,” he replies, words overflowing with tenderness.

You look at him closely. Really look at him. His loving smile falters slightly under your gaze, eyes flickering downwards to hide his expression more.

Shifting towards him, you lay a hand across his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart quicken at your touch. “What’s wrong?”

Steve blinks, another smile forced, not quite reaching his eyes. God, why did you have to ask it like that? In a sweet tone, filled with concern. He thought he was good at lying. All those secret parties he held in his parent’s absence, brushing off their questions about various missing decorations that most likely had been broken. Nobody noticed when his heart was broken a few years back. When he could hardly drag himself to work. But somehow, you could pick him apart easily.

“Nothing,” he lies, trying to brush you off. “Just…thinking.”

“About what?”

He sighs, his fingers tracing an aimless pattern on your shoulder as he avoids looking at you. “Just…us, I guess. Wondering if I’m actually good at this whole ‘boyfriend’ thing or if you’re just humouring me.”

The confession made him feel exposed. He regretted saying anything at all.

You frown at his admission, “What? Why would you think that?” You can’t hide the shock from your voice. This is the same boy who kept your favourite tea stocked in his cupboard, the same boy who built your entire bookcase when you mentioned you were struggling with the instructions, the same boy who even phoned the doctor’s office for you when you were too scared to talk to the receptionist.

He ticked every box and more, your heart broke for how he felt.

“I don’t know…Sometimes I wonder if I’m gonna screw this up. Like, if I’m just temporary.” His eyes are still glued to his lap, unable to look away. If only he didn’t have this much baggage.

You furrow your brows, reaching up to cup his cheek, tilting his head so he’s forced to meet your eyes. “Steve, you’re not temporary. Okay? You’re not some placeholder to me.”

He leans into your touch, his hand covering yours for a moment. But even though he smiles softly at your words, the doubt still lingers in his eyes.

“I guess we’ll see,” he murmurs, the vulnerability heavy in his voice.

You sigh, realising this is a result of something more going on, but you still give him a gentle look. You have no problem reassuring him. You could tell him one hundred times how cherished he is without complaint. As many times as it took to make the message stick. If that’s what it took, you would gladly do it.

Steve was buzzing as soon as he got off the phone with Kieth. His presence at the video store was not required today, and he had been planning how to surprise you all morning. Acting as giddy as a high schooler. He hadn’t had the chance to see you since you last hung out at his place and he really wanted to do something sweet. Not out of the lingering insecurity he was feeling, but he wanted to see you happy. Especially when it was because of him.

He tried to go the extra mile today, waking up early and driving to the nice florist on the other side of town, just to make sure he got the freshest flowers. A little effort from him means a big smile from you—totally worth it in his book. The bouquet was huge, it sat in your usual place, in the passenger seat. He specifically chose your favourite colour as the wrapping paper, and the bow that secured it too. Smiling to himself as he pictured your reaction.

Climbing the steps to your little apartment, something you were so excited to finally be able to afford with your job, his heart beat with anticipation. He easily fished out the spare key you had given him, smiling as the tiny keychain dangled from it—a tiny VHS tape you had been so proud to find at the flea market, insisting on putting it on yourself because it ‘needed some flair’. It was a thoughtful gesture, it made him feel warm whenever he saw it.

Holding his breath to not make any noise, he unlocked your door and gently pushed it open, careful not to startle you. His eyes immediately landed on the couch—and his whole world froze.

There, sprawled out on the couch, was none other than Eddie Munson. Looking the same as he always did, completely relaxed In his worn Metalica t-shirt and scuffed trainers.

The worst part wasn’t just him. It was you. Your head resting in his lap, and Eddie was absently playing with a strand of your hair. He glanced up at Steve’s entrance and immediately put a finger to his lips, signalling Steve to stay quiet. His blood boiled at the gesture.

“Shh,” Eddie whispered, gesturing to you. “She’s asleep.”

He was glued to the spot. What the fuck is he doing here?

Eddie carefully lifted your head off his legs, swapping himself out for a pillow, taking extra care not to rouse you.

“Hey, man,” he greeted casually as he stood, stretching out his arms like this wasn’t the single most infuriating sight Steve had ever seen. “We were just hanging out, watching some trash TV. She was out like a light.”

His voice was still a whisper as he explained what happened, trying to add some humour to the situation. “Probably for the best, I mean. I can watch crappy shit all day, but even this was painful to sit through. No big deal.”

Steve’s jaw clenched. Hard. His grip on the flowers tightened until he could feel a few give way under the pressure. No big deal? You’ve got to be kidding me. He felt a surge of possessiveness course through him, igniting an anger he believed was dormant. His mind began to race, everything he had been trying to ignore had bubbled straight back up to the surface like a ticking time bomb. She is that comfortable to fall asleep on him?!

Eddie, completely oblivious to Steve’s thinly veiled fury, patted him on the shoulder. “Sorry, but I gotta be heading myself. Wayne’ll be wondering where I’ve been.” He said, giving him a small smile as if this was a totally normal situation for the two of you. “Take care, man.” With that, Eddie slipped past him, closing the door silently as he exited.

The apartment felt eerily quiet as Steve just stood there, staring at the door, trying to wrap his head around what the hell just happened. Unbelievable. He rediverted his attention back to you, still soundly asleep on the couch, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside of him. He crossed the room slowly, as if on autopilot, mind a nasty mix of anger and jealousy. You fell asleep on Eddie. Eddie, of all people. How long were you two just... sitting there like that?

He took a seat in the armchair opposite, memories of the two of you trying to squeeze onto it now bitterly replaying in his mind. The flowers were still clutched in his hand, forgotten in his flood of emotions.

He didn’t want to acknowledge what he had just walked in on. His heart beat painfully in his chest. This is how it starts, right? He thought bitterly. Starts all innocent like this. I’ve seen this before. I’ve lived this before. His mind flashed back to that goddamn Halloween party, to the nights he thought things were fine, only to realise too late that he had been left behind—again.

Steve exhaled sharply, frustration gnawing at him. It’s happening. It’s fucking happening again. He was always second best. His parents, Nancy, Dustin, you.

He glanced down at the flowers in his hand, the stems crushed from his tense grip. They were supposed to be part of a sweet surprise, a way to make you smile, but now... now they just felt like a cruel joke. With him being the punchline. As per usual.

He set them down on the coffee table and leaned backwards, his gaze locked on your peaceful sleeping form, his mind a mess. His foot tapped impatiently against the floor. He was fuming—so mad he could barely think straight.

The room was in complete silence as you began to stir awake, reaching your arms above your head lazily. You blinked a few times as you returned to reality, the soft haze of sleep still lingering. You heard your back pop and you groaned at the sensation, falling asleep on the couch had been a terrible idea.

You let out a brief yawn and look around for Eddie, but instead, your eyes land on your boyfriend. He sat across from you, arms crossed tensely, his expression neutral. He wasn’t smiling, which was odd for him. In fact, he looked angry.

“When did you get here?” Your forehead crinkled in confusion, voice still raspy with sleep as you asked. “Where did Eddie go?”

Steve shifted in the chair, leaning back and spreading his legs further apart. “Eddie left a while ago,” he snapped, his tone was sharp and clipped. “I got the day off work.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” your brain still trying to piece the information together. “You should have called.”

He scoffed as he shook his head, a lock of brown hair escaping to rest against his forehead. “Yeah, well. I wasn’t aware you had other plans.”

You sat up straighter on the couch, trying to ignore the knot forming in your stomach. His tone—he never spoke to you like that. It sounded frustrated, irritated. Like you had done something wrong. You wracked your brain trying to think of anything that would have upset him, eventually coming up short. Eddie’s presence here didn’t even pass through your mind, there is no way Steve would be that possessive. Could he?

“Steve…what’s wrong?” You asked cautiously, concern creeping into your voice. “Why are you mad?”

His brown eyes darkened, his face twisting with an expression you had never seen before. All the insecurity he had been feeling, all the unresolved emotions, came crashing to the surface in a wave of anger. It was frightening. He was frightening you.

“You wanna know what’s wrong?” He barked out a laugh, one that was filled with no humour. “I come over here, thinking I’m gonna surprise my girlfriend. But instead? I find her asleep on the town freak.”

Your heart sank. He spat the words out as if they tasted vile on his tongue. You never knew that he could be this vicious, the foul name that just spewed from his lips made your throat tighten. “Steve, that’s not—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off, his voice bitter as he continued. “You think I’m stupid? Like I don’t see what’s going on here? You and Eddie. He’s always around, and suddenly, you’re all buddy-buddy with him, falling asleep on his lap like it’s no big deal. I mean—Jesus, sweetheart—how dense do you think I am?”

“Steve, it wasn’t like that,” your voice broke as you struggled to speak. The nickname that had always been filled with such love was now venomous, you struggled to understand what was happening. Why he wasn’t listening? Why wasn’t he trusting you?

“We were just hanging out, watching TV—“

“Oh yeah? Just watching TV? Sure,” Steve spat, getting up to start pacing, the adrenaline coursing through his body was too much. His mind was racing, old memories resurfacing, ones that he would rather not think about only helped fuel his rage. He turned back to you, eyes wild with fury.

“Moved on pretty quick, huh?” He ran a hand over his face, voice dripping with resentment. “I mean, I gotta hand it to you, honey. But you could have tried a little harder before the secret spilt out eventually.”

Tears formed in your waterline as you tried your best not to let them fall. “How could you say that?” You took in a shaky breath. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Oh, don’t do that,” he pointed a finger at you. “Don’t act all innocent here. I’ve seen this shit before, okay? Little things that aren’t that little. Don’t play dumb, it’s embarrassing.”

“I’m not!” You protested, not caring about the tears that now flowed freely down your cheeks. “I love you, Steve. Please. Eddie is just a friend.”

He rolled his eyes, your pleading falling on deaf ears. “Yeah, ‘just a friend’,” he muttered hostilely. “Sure.”

His words cut deep, and you felt yourself crumble under the weight of them. You began to panic as you realised there was no way out of this. Not when he was so dead set on believing what he wanted. You could only stare back at him in disbelief, heart breaking at how trivial this argument is.

“I thought you left this high school crap behind you,” you whispered, scared and unsure of how he would react.

“Yeah, well, some things never change.” He shot back, his tongue still as fast as it had been back then. He mentioned how he was in school a few times in the past, but now you could really see it. The petty boy who would say anything in the heat of the moment. The boy who could pick the thing that would hurt the most.

The room fell into a heavy silence, staring at one another, the distance between you growing more and more with each passing second. You could barely recognise the man standing only a few feet away. You wanted to reach out to him, plead with him to just stop. Go back to being Steve. Your Steve.

“I can’t believe what you’re saying,” you managed to choke out, wiping at your eyes with the sleeves of your jumper. “You’re hurting me.”

Steve hesitated for a moment, a brief flash of guilt flickered across his face at the sight of your tears. His beautiful girl was torn apart by what he was insinuating. But he was too far gone. His misplaced anger was the only thing he could feel right now, pushing him further. “Yeah well, now you know how that feels.”

A sob wracked through your body, his statement feeling like a dagger to your chest. He made his way towards the door to leave, his gaze landed on the stack of VHS tapes by the TV. He knew he should walk away, but a petty bitterness surged through him. He could never resist getting one final jab in.

“Make sure you return those by the weekend. Late fees now apply, sweetheart.” He sneered, lips turning into a snarl.

With that, he tossed the flowers he’d brought for you onto the table, the delicate petals now scattered across it. You stared at them, your vision blurred by your tears as Steve stormed out of your apartment. He slammed the door sharply as he left, making you flinch.

As soon as he was gone, you collapsed onto the couch, finally allowing yourself to cry uncontrollably. You didn’t understand how everything had spiralled so fast. How the man who was so sweet, so kind, had turned into this.

On the other side of the door, Steve’s heart was racing, pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. He leaned against the wall for a moment and shut his eyes, trying to get his breathing under control as the rage he felt dissipated.

He wouldn’t allow himself to feel guilty, not over this. He didn’t jump to conclusions, not when the signs were so clear to him.

He stumbled down the stairs and got into his car, foot pressing down hard on the accelerator as he drove away. Each mile felt heavier than the last. He couldn’t allow himself to question what he had said, besides, it was too late to take it all back now. What he couldn’t answer was why he felt so much more empty as he pulled up to his house. Alone.

Steve pushed open the door to Family Video, the small bell above him chiming as he trudged inside. It felt like it was mocking him, only adding to his sour mood. He was fifteen minutes late, something that never went unnoticed by Robin.

His eyes looked and felt drained, dark circles framing his eyes from his obvious lack of sleep. The night before had been hell. All he had done was toss and turn, replaying the argument with you over and over again in his head until he was sick of it. His chest ached from all the emotions that were still swirling inside of him. Anger, sadness, and a terrifying amount of regret that he wasn’t sure what to do with.

Robin was at the counter, tapping away at the computer when she saw him walk in. Her face lit up, clearly excited to spill something. “There you are! You won’t believe what I’m about to tell you. I saw Vicky at the movies yesterday and—“

“Rob, I’m really not in the mood today.” He interrupted her, rubbing a hand over his brows.

The girl froze, her face contorting with confusion. Usually, Steve lived for gossip like this. In fact, he almost always begged for it.

“Wait…what? You were off yesterday. Shouldn’t you be, like, all refreshed or something? What, did you party too hard without me?”

He shot her a glare, making it crystal clear that something was wrong. Of course, being ever curious, Robin was not going to let this slide.

“Oh, no. Spill it, Harrington.” She began, leaving the computer to follow his quick steps. “You come in late, looking like shit, and now you’re all moody? Did something happen yesterday?”

Steve sighed, running a hand through his messy hair he hadn’t even bothered to brush. Not willing to humour her at all today. “Robin, please—”

“Please what? I’m not gonna stop asking. C’mon, let it out. I’m all ears. I’ll even sit down for this one.” She says dramatically as she hops up onto the counter, crossing her legs, glancing at him expectantly as if she had all the time in the world.

Steve groaned loudly. “Fine, fine. You want to know what happened?” He said, exasperated. “I walked in yesterday, excited to surprise my girl, and guess what I saw? Eddie. Like, she had her head in his lap and everything. They were all over each other. It was disgusting.”

Robin scrunched her eyebrows as she processed his words. “Eddie? The Eddie Munson?” She squinted, looking even more confused. “Are we talking about the same Eddie here? The one who’s completely obsessed with Chrissy Cunningham? I mean, he’s had it bad for her for years. That Eddie?”

“What? Chrissy?” Steve frowned, pausing as her words sank in. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Robin tilted her head at him like he was an idiot. Which she would say was most of the time. “Uh, yeah? He’s been pining after her for, like, ever. He never had the guts to ask her out. Everyone knows that.”

She carried on talking as if this was common knowledge, which maybe it was. The knowledge was just not that common to Steve, apparently. “So Eddie’s into your girl now? Are you sure about that?”

He felt his stomach drop, trying to ignore the rising panic in his chest. “I mean… yeah. Pretty sure? He was, like, touching her and they were—“ He stopped halfway through his sentence, doubt now taking over.

Was that really all he saw? Surely not. He couldn’t have gotten so mad about just that, there had to be more. Only, nothing really came to mind.

Robin raises an eyebrow. “Touching her, huh? And that exactly happened? No skipping details.”

Steve scratched the back of his head as he tried to recall the events from the evening prior, his anxiety continued to grow as he spoke. “I saw him drop her off at my place the other day. She got out of his van, and they looked all… close. Then, when I went to her apartment earlier, I walk in, and there she is, asleep across his lap.”

Robin took a second to process what he was saying, speaking slowly as she tried to wrap her head around the situation. “So… you’re mad because she fell asleep with him on the couch? While watching TV? That’s what you’re telling me?”

Steve’s breath hitched in his throat, immediately getting defensive, trying to prove that he wasn’t just overreacting. “Well, yeah, but it’s the way she was with him. It was just too… cosy.”

She could not believe what she was hearing as she stared at the boy blankly. “Dude, we do that stuff all the time. Like, every movie night.”

Steve's stomach twisted. He felt sick. “Yeah, but…that’s different. This is—” He couldn’t continue. There was no solid ground for him to stand on. The knowledge of that was overwhelming. Fuck.

Robin narrowed her eyes, still determined to get to the bottom of whatever was going on. “Okay, I still don’t get it. What did you do?”

He shifted uncomfortably at her questions, his guilt was building inside of him as the true terror set in. “I, uh… I may have been a complete asshole.”

Her eyes widened at the admission. “Define ‘complete asshole.’”

Steve’s hands shook as he brought them up to his forehead, slightly damp from his growing fear. “I called Eddie the ‘town freak’—fuck—and I—“ He paused and took a breath in, the consequences of his insecurities now coming into the light. “I told her we were over basically…she asked me to stop hurting her.”

Robin’s jaw dropped, feeling outraged at the way her best friend had acted. That was not something she could ever stand beside, no matter how close they were. “You what? Steve, that's fucking insane! I can’t believe you drove her to the point of even having to say that!”

The world seemed distorted as Steve became short of breath, he had to rest a hand on the counter to keep himself steady, the tight grip becoming painful. “I don’t know! I just—it all came out. I couldn’t stop myself—shit. What—what do I do?”

Robin started at him, completely stunned and equally irked. “Steve,” she said, the stern tone felt foreign on her tongue. “This is not just ‘I messed up a little’—you blew it, dude.”

He was breathing faster now, mouth barren, limbs turning slightly numb. The panic had now set in fully. “No, no, no. Don’t say that. I can fix it, right? I always fix it. I have to fix it, Robin. Please, help me fix it!” His voice increased as he got the words out, hands trembling in front of him.

She looked at him, she was no less annoyed, but she couldn’t help but pity her friend. Especially when he looked like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown like this. He was a wreck right now and needed someone.

“Okay, fine. I’ll help you,” Steve sighed in relief, however, she wasn’t finished. “But I’m seriously not happy about any of this. If she doesn’t take you back, you have to deal with it, Steve. This is on you.”

Steve nodded frantically, hair flying everywhere as he clung to the small sliver of hope. “Anything. I’ll do anything. I can’t lose her, Robin. I just… I can’t”

She folded her arms, her face remaining stoic to show her displeasure with him. “Alright. We will think of something, and you better pray to God she hears you out. You have got a lot of sucking up to do Harrington.”

He muttered quiet a thank you, his heart not slowing down. He couldn’t afford to lose you, not over this, not because of his own self-doubt. Please, he thought to himself. Please for the love of God don’t let her leave me.

For ten long minutes, Steve had been standing outside your apartment, heart hammering in his chest as he stared at the shut door. Ten agonising minutes of him just waiting, stalling, trying to muster up the courage to raise his hand and just knock. He could have used the spare key that was burning a hole in his back pocket, but that wouldn’t be right. Not after what he did. He had to do this the right way if he had any chance of forgiveness. This wasn’t a situation that could be fixed with flowers or chocolates. He had spoken to Robin for the whole of yesterday, and they both agreed—he needed to own up to everything that transpired, to apologise, even if it was hard. Even if it was terrifying.

Because losing you? That wasn’t an option.

With a deep breath, he rapped his knuckles against the solid wood. The second he made contact with the door, his stomach flipped. He wanted to run. To turn around and bolt. But he couldn’t. Not this time. He had too much to lose—you. The sweet, kind girl who had always made him feel seen, made him feel held. How could he walk away from that without trying?

It wasn’t long before the door creaked open, the sight of you nearly knocked all the air out of his lungs. You’d been crying, that much was obvious. Your eyes were red, puffy, and filled with the hurt that he had caused. If that wasn’t enough to crush him, you were clad in one of his old hoodies—one he’d left at your place months ago. Seeing you wrapped up in something of his twisted the knife so deep that he nearly staggered back before he caught himself.

You immediately moved to shut the door, not willing to let him hurt you more, but Steve panicked. “Please, please, angel don’t,” his voice cracked as he begged to be let in, his hand pushing lightly against the door, so desperate to keep it open. Desperate to not be shut out before he could even try to say sorry. “I need to talk to you. Please.”

You paused, removing your hand and gently taking a step away from the entrance. You crossed your arms as you looked at him, still visibly upset, your voice sharp but exhausted. The tone pulled at his chest. “You’ve got five minutes Steve. Then I want you out of here.”

He nodded eagerly, grateful for a chance, no matter how slim. “Of course, anything…I’ll take anything. Just…please.”

You let him in, both stepping further into the flat, his eyes immediately locked onto the sight of the coffee table. The flowers he picked up yesterday were still sitting there—petals scattered everywhere, beginning to dry up and wilt.

You couldn’t bear to touch them after he tossed them there the day before, you had hardly left your bedroom due to their presence. A brutal reminder of what happened. He felt sick to his stomach with the knowledge of how badly he hurt you. How you couldn’t even deal with the ruined gift because they were tied to him. To the things he said.

You fiddled with the sleeve of his hoodie, now feeling embarrassed while wearing it, nervous as to what he could possibly say to make this right. If he even wanted to make it right. You honestly didn’t know.

He turned to you, words catching in his throat as he tried to figure out where to even start with this. He had gone over this with Robin multiple times yesterday, but the sight of you completely threw him.

“I—I’m sorry, angel,” he stammered, that was a good place to start, his voice as rough as he continued. “I’m so, so sorry. For everything. For not thinking. For not believing you. For… for making you cry. I didn’t mean to—I swear, I didn’t.”

You stood firm, arms not moving from their crossed position. You weren’t giving in easily, not this time. You had every single right to be upset. Steve has frightened you. He was mean and spiteful, lashing out at you instead of listening. His jealousy was ugly.

He fumbled for more words, his hands beginning to shake. “I…I was an asshole, I hate that I hurt you. I just…I freaked out, okay? I thought—“ He stopped, swallowing thickly as his emotions threatened to choke him fully. “I thought I was going to lose you. Like…like I lost Nancy.”

Your expression shifted slightly, but you remained silent, allowing him to continue.

His voice grew quieter, more pained. “Halloween, a few years back, Nancy told me I was just…bullshit. Jonathan swept in after that. And when I saw you with Eddie—fuck—I just—” He ran a hand through his brown hair, pulling harder at the ends as his frustration grew. “Eddie’s already got Dustin. He’s…he’s got everything. And I thought he’d take you too. And I just…I panicked. I know it’s stupid, okay? I was just—“

He was rambling now and he knew it, the words were tumbling out faster than he could stop them. He only had five minutes, he needed you to understand. To please understand him.

“I was so fucking scared, honey. I’m scared you’ll wake up one day and realise that I’m bullshit. That you’ll find someone better. Someone who isn’t…who isn’t me.” His voice cracked again at his attempt to hold back the tears that clouded his vision.

You let out a small sigh, your expression wary. You couldn’t let your guard down, not yet at least.

“Steve…what happened yesterday was not okay. You hurt me. A lot.”

“I know,” he said in a hushed tone, his voice barely louder than a breath. “I know I did, and I’ll never forgive myself for that. I swear, I’ll be better. I’ll be so much better—if you’ll let me. You deserve everything, sweetheart. A-and I’ll give it to you, I promise. Just…please. Please let me prove that.”

Steve’s voice broke as the overwhelming dread overflowed, what had once been a gentle simmering below the surface now coursed through his entire body. No, he thought, It’s not working. It’s not fucking working.

His hands were quivering uncontrollably, his vision blurred as his thoughts spiralled. Everything was crashing down around him—the fear, the memories, the guilt.

He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t lose you. Not you.

“I—I can’t,” Steve stammered, his words short as they came out in small gasps. He backed up slightly, he didn’t know if he was scared of your presence or himself at this point. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix this. I’m so—so fucking scared, I—“

His hands flew to his face in a weak attempt to hold himself together, his breath coming out in frantic bursts. His whole body shook involuntarily. Nancy, his parents, the same gut-wrenching feeling of being told he wasn’t enough. Wasn’t loved. That he was unimportant. Just temporary.

You were stuck, rooted to where you stood, watching him unravel. And in that moment, you didn’t know what to do. The Steve you knew so well—the confident, charming, self-assured Steve—was crumbling before your eyes, his fear felt so raw, so overwhelming that it broke your heart to witness it.

“Steve,” you say softly, moving towards him, but he couldn’t hear you. Not over his own mind. He was too far gone.

“I can’t—fuck, I—“ His broad chest heaved as he tried to suck in air, but it seemed to do little to help. His hands shook violently, gripping at his tousled hair as he slid down to the floor, his back against the wall. “I’m gonna lose you, angel. I know it, and I can’t—I can’t do that again.”

“Steve,” you repeat, voice more forceful this time as you drop to your knees beside him. You reached out to him slowly, so as to not startle him, taking his unsteady hands in your own. “Breathe. Just…breathe with me, okay?”

He was trembling so much that it scared you, even more than he had yesterday. His breaths were coming out shallow and erratic, your heart ached to see him like this—so broken, so scared.

“It’s okay. I’m here.” You kept your voice soft, soothing as you held onto him, your thumbs tracing small circles on his skin. You began to understand. “You’re okay. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

The skin around his eyes was pulled taught as he squeezed them shut, he tried to follow your lead, match your breathing with his own, using it as a guide. “Just breathe, okay?” You repeated, you held your voice steady until his ragged breaths began to slow, becoming deeper and more even.

It took a few minutes to get his trembling to ease, fingers still tracing gentle patterns, reminding him of your presence. His grip eventually loosened, but never wavered, he clung onto you like a lifeline. His head hung low as he tried to pull himself back together.

You watched his chest as you knelt beside him, it rose and fell more calmly compared to a few moments ago. His large brown eyes flickered open as they focused on you. Red and glassy, filled with fear as he looked at you. Really looked at you.

“I’m so so sorry,” he spoke in a muted tone, barely audible as he turned his attention to your intertwined hands. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I just… I didn’t know what to do. I—I needed to hurt you before you hurt me.”

Your stomach was in knots at the sight of him so vulnerable. Posture hunched over as if he wanted to disappear into himself. It broke your heart to witness. You squeezed his hands gently as you leaned closer to him.

“Steve, listen to me,” you tell him. His eyes lifted to meet yours, amber and swirling with uncertainty. “I’m not going anywhere. But you have to talk to me, okay? If something is bothering you. If you’re feeling scared, you have to tell me. You can’t just take it out on me. It’s not fair.”

He shook his head and sniffed, rubbing his hand roughly against his eyes, trying to brush away the tears. “I don’t want to push you away,” he muttered, voice no longer as shakey. He felt his mind settle as the words flowed out of his mouth more comfortably.

“I just… I don’t know how to do this,” he gestured between the two of you. “I’ve never been good at… at the talking stuff.”

For the first time today, you allowed a smile to play on your lips as you brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “I kinda got that,” you tell him. “You don’t have to be perfect. I just need you to be able to come to me, talk to me. Get out of your head. I’m always here.”

You tapped his forehead twice for emphasis as he exhaled slowly. The tension in his body had finally been released as he slumped against the wall. He brought both of your hands up to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, swallowing hard as he returned them to his lap. “Don’t deserve you, angel.”

Leaning forward and pressing your forehead against his own, closing your eyes as you speak. “You deserve someone who cares,” you tell him as you pull back, eyes shining with pure honesty which soothes his shot nerves. “And I do. So, just…trust me. Even if it's hard sometimes.”

“I do,” he said quickly. “I do. I’m sorry I didn’t, sweetheart. I’m sorry for everything.”

“I know,” you say, rubbing your thumb across his cheek, looking at him with the tenderness he never thought he would see again. “You don’t have to apologise anymore.”

He nodded once more, your forgiveness was finally sinking into him, pushing the last bit of panic out of his system. He opened his arms, asking you silently if it was alright to hold you once more.

You shifted yourself between his legs, allowing his arms to pull you into a tight embrace, bringing you close as if you might disappear again. Slip through his fingers if he let you go.

You rested your head against his chest, tucked up tightly as his chin rested on your hair. You could feel his heart beat at a more steady pace. You placed your palm over it. It belonged to you after all.

“I love you, you know that?” He asked as he held you against him, anchoring himself to you.

“I know,” you respond, words slightly muffled by his jumper. “I love you too.”

You pull away slightly, meeting his eyes once more. The heaviness from the previous conversation had lifted, feeling relief flow through you as the warmth returned to Steve’s face. He wasn’t completely at ease, still very much shaken, but he could see a light at the end of the tunnel. The worst was behind him. And he promised it would only be up from here.

“So tell me,” you began. You knew you needed to steer the conversation in a more light-hearted direction, not just for yourself, but for the boy whose lap you were in. “Was Robin mad?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Steve groaned as his head hit the wall behind him. At least he could walk into work with a smile on his face tomorrow. Tell her that he made it right…but maybe leave out the whole hysterical crying part. “She was ready to rip my head off after I told her what happened.”

“Oh, really?” You raised an eyebrow and giggled. “Good to know she has my back.”

“Guess I’m outnumbered,” Steve allowed himself to laugh, and God did it feel good to do it with you.

“Well, that’s what happens when you don’t listen.”

“Okay, okay. Fair enough,” he winced, but managed to maintain a grin. “I think I’ll survive her wrath…maybe.”

“Maybe,” you hummed thoughtfully. “Gonna have to put in some work there then.”

“I am prepared to do whatever it takes,” he tells you with mock seriousness. “Even offer to be her wingman with Vickie.”

“Wow, generous,” you snorted. It would probably benefit him more, if you were being honest. He had been nagging her to make a move for months, her constant pining and inaction was starting to get to him. He had been giving her the same advice over and over. It was getting ridiculous. His words, not yours.

“And, hey, maybe I’ll give Munson a chance too,” he tells you, glancing down with a playful expression. “Join Hellfire, see what all the fuss is about.”

The laugh that escaped you was loud, you shook your head at him. “Steve, you would be terrible and D&D.”

“Hey, I’m good at strategy!” He protested, not allowing himself to be insulted in this manner. “I’d make a great…uh, whatever they call the fighter guy.”

“You mean a barbarian?” You say teasingly. “I could see you as more of a chotic bard. Always trying to talk yourself out of trouble.”

“Yeah? You never know, I could surprise you,” he says, leaning down to press his lips against your hairline. “For now though, I think I’ll focus on not screwing things up again.”

Your heart fluttered as you melted into him, securing your arms around his wide shoulders. “You’re on the right track, Harrington”

“Good,” he smiled at the nickname, placing his hand on your arm, the other on your back. “I don’t plan on going anywhere. And neither are you if I can help it.”

“Deal,” you say with a firm nod of your head. “No more freakouts, okay?”

He looked over your face once more, relieved that there were no more visible traces of the pain he had caused. Just his sweet girl smiling at him. Just the way he liked it.

"I'll try my best," Steve whispered, holding you close. "I promise."

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington headcanon #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine

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apollogeticx · 3 days

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✧˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ DUMB & POETIC ♡·˚

— [♡] ; you sprouted love like flowers, growing a garden in your mind and watering the petals with every unshed tear. ｡°. gojo satoru

tags: hanahaki disease, afab!reader, fluff, slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional growth, vulnerable gojo satoru, recovered feelings, love after trauma, reconciliation, slow healing, happy ending, chapter two of four!

wc. 6.1K

↳ part 1 | part 3 [soon!]

Gojo’s newfound resolve was suffocating. The moment he realized the truth—that you were suffering, that you had been wilting away in silence—something inside him had shifted. He couldn’t let it go. His usual carefree attitude was gone, replaced with an intensity that left you exhausted beyond words. Every time he saw you now, he was right there—checking on you, offering his help, making sure you weren’t fading into the background anymore.

But you were tired. So tired.

You had spent so long trying to keep your head down, to hide the growing petals and the blood that came with every cough, that his sudden attention felt like too much. It was overwhelming. His presence, once something you had longed for in silence, now felt heavy, a constant reminder of how far gone you were.

After your confession, Gojo had made it clear that he wasn’t going to stand by and let you wither away. He was determined to help, to fix things, even though he didn’t know how. But that resolve, that fierce energy that he always carried, only served to remind you of how out of place you felt in his world.

Gojo was a powerhouse, the strongest sorcerer, the man who could bend the very fabric of the world to his will. He was confident, capable, and surrounded by students with talents that could rival his own in time. Yuji, Megumi, Nobara—they all had bright futures, their potential limitless. And then there was you: lungs full of blood and flowers, a cursed technique that barely registered on anyone’s radar. You had never stood a chance of catching his attention before, and now that you had, it was because you were slowly dying.

You made your way back to your room, each step heavier than the last. Your body ached with fatigue, the constant strain of the hanahaki weighing you down. The tissue box was empty, and you knew you would have to ask Shoko for more supplies soon, but even that felt like too much effort.

All you wanted to do was lie down in the dark and disappear for a while.

When you finally reached your room, you shut the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment as you let out a shaky breath. The air felt thick, your chest constricting with the familiar tightness that signaled another coughing fit. You swallowed hard, willing the flowers to stay buried for now. You couldn’t deal with another fit, not right now.

The room was dark, the curtains drawn to keep out the harsh light of the afternoon sun. It was a small comfort, the darkness wrapping around you like a blanket as you made your way to the bed. You didn’t bother turning on the lights. You didn’t need them. All you wanted was to rest, to escape the relentless exhaustion that had become your constant companion.

As you lay down, sinking into the worn-out mattress, the silence of the room pressed in on you. For a moment, you allowed yourself to breathe, to close your eyes and pretend that everything wasn’t falling apart. But the pain in your chest wouldn’t let you forget. The flowers were still there, growing larger with each passing day, their roots winding through your lungs, cracking your bones and choking the life out of you bit by bit.

Gojo’s attention, his concern—it was supposed to help. He had hoped it would help. Maybe he thought that by staying close, by showing you that you weren’t alone, he could somehow stop the disease from progressing. But no amount of resolve could stop the petals from blooming. No amount of determination could fix what was happening inside of you.

And deep down, you couldn’t help but feel like you didn’t belong in his world. Gojo was larger than life, a figure of strength and power, while you were fading away. Even now, with his attention fully on you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were out of place. That no matter how hard he tried, nothing could change the fact that you were weak.

The tears came unbidden, slipping down your cheeks as you lay there, curled up in the darkness. You pressed a hand to your chest, feeling the familiar tightness as the flowers bloomed again, but this time, you didn’t fight it. You let the petals come, the blood staining your lips as they fluttered out, beautiful and deadly.

You had wanted Gojo’s attention for so long. You had dreamt of him noticing you, of him seeing you the way he saw the others. But now that he had, it only served to highlight the gap between you—the gulf that separated your fragile existence from his unstoppable strength.

As another coughing fit wracked your body, you buried your face in the pillow, the sound muffled but still too loud in the quiet of the room. The petals, soft and cerulean, fell onto the bedspread, a cruel reminder of the love you could never express. You wiped at your mouth, the blood mixing with the tears as you struggled to catch your breath.

Gojo was trying to help, but you were too far gone.

You curled tighter into yourself, your breath shallow as you closed your eyes and let the darkness take you. All you could do was hope that, for a little while, the world would leave you alone.

The past few days had been especially brutal—nosebleeds every time you so much as raised your head, petals blooming with every shallow breath. Your body had begun to reject even the most basic movements, leaving you bedridden, trapped in the darkness of your tiny dorm room.

You hadn’t gone to class in two days. The mere thought of leaving your bed felt impossible, the effort it took to even sit up leaving you dizzy and coughing up more blood than ever before. Your assignments, your studies—all of it had slipped away, fading into the background as you struggled just to survive the onslaught of pain and exhaustion.

The worst part wasn’t even the physical toll. It was the isolation.

You had cut yourself off completely, hiding away from the world and everyone in it, hoping that if you stayed quiet enough, no one would notice. But deep down, you knew that Gojo had been watching, keeping an eye on you even as you disappeared from his class. It was only a matter of time before he came looking for you.

It happened on the third day.

You were lying in bed, the covers pulled up around you despite the suffocating heat of the room. The curtains were drawn tightly shut, plunging the space into a dim, shadowy haze. The air was thick with the scent of blood and petals, a sickly sweetness that clung to everything. The tissue box beside your bed was nearly empty again, tissues scattered across the floor, stained with red and blue – turning almost a slickly hollow purple.

You hadn’t bothered getting up that day. Every time you tried, your head spun, and your vision blurred with the strain of another coughing fit. It was easier to stay still, to let the darkness wrap around you and pretend, for just a moment, that the world outside didn’t exist.

But then, you heard it—a knock at the door. It was soft at first, hesitant, but unmistakable.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat was too raw, your chest too tight with the ever-present flowers, their roots winding deeper into your lungs with every passing minute.

The knock came again, louder this time, followed by the unmistakable sound of Gojo’s voice. “Hey… you in there?”

Your heart sank. Of course, it was him. Of course, he had tracked your dorm room down.

When you didn’t respond, the door creaked open, and Gojo stepped inside. The sight of him, standing in the doorway of your tiny, dark dorm room, was almost surreal. He looked completely out of place, his tall frame too large for the cramped, messy space. His usual bright, confident energy seemed dulled by the atmosphere of the room, as if the darkness had reached out and swallowed him whole.

For a moment, he just stood there, taking in the scene before him—your rumpled bed, the scattered tissues, the bloodstained pillows. His blindfold-covered eyes scanned the room, his expression unreadable, but there was a heaviness in his posture that you hadn’t seen before.

You tried to sit up, but the effort sent a wave of dizziness crashing over you, and you collapsed back onto the mattress, your chest tightening painfully. Another petal slipped from your lips, landing softly on the sheets.

Gojo’s expression shifted, and in an instant, he was beside you, his presence filling the space around your bed. “You weren’t in class,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “Two days.”

You tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Your throat burned, and all you could manage was a weak cough, more petals spilling from your mouth as you pressed a tissue to your lips.

Gojo’s hand hovered near your shoulder, hesitating before he placed it gently on the edge of your bed. “You should’ve told me,” he said, his voice strained. “I would’ve—” He stopped, his sentence hanging in the air, unfinished.

It was almost funny, how out of place he looked in your dorm. Gojo, the strongest sorcerer, the man who could command any room, now standing awkwardly in your dark, messy space, his usual confidence dimmed by the sheer weight of the situation.

“You’re really out of your element here, Gojo-sensei,” you rasped, the words barely audible as you tried to laugh, but the sound came out more like a wheeze.

Gojo’s lips quirked up into a faint, sad smile, but you knew his eyes—hidden behind his blindfold—didn’t reflect the usual lightness they held. “Yeah, well,” he said, sitting on the edge of your bed, “you’re not making this easy.”

You let out a small, bitter chuckle, though it quickly turned into another cough, your hand trembling as you held the tissue to your mouth. “Nothing about this is easy,” you muttered.

Gojo’s hand shifted, and for a moment, you thought he might reach out to help, but he didn’t. Instead, he just sat there, his presence oddly quiet, his usual bravado tempered by the reality of what he was seeing.

“You didn’t have to come,” you said after a moment, your voice soft, barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Gojo’s jaw tightened, and he shook his head slightly. “Too bad,” he replied, his voice firm but gentle. “I’m here, and I’m not leaving.”

You swallowed hard, feeling another wave of exhaustion wash over you. “Why?” you asked, your voice barely audible. “Why do you care so much now?”

Gojo was silent for a moment, as if considering his answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “Because I should’ve been paying attention a long time ago,” he admitted. “I should’ve noticed you sooner.”

You blinked, taken aback by the sincerity in his words. For so long, you had convinced yourself that you were invisible to him, that your presence in his class didn’t matter. But now, sitting here in your dark, messy room, it was clear that Gojo had noticed more than you realized.

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “You have so much on your plate already.”

Gojo’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he leaned forward slightly, his hand finally reaching out to gently touch your arm. “You’re not a burden,” he said, his voice steady, but the emotion behind his words was undeniable. “You’re one of my students. I’m supposed to look out for you.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of his words settle over you like a heavy blanket. For so long, you had felt like an outsider, like your existence didn’t matter. But in this moment, with Gojo sitting beside you, his presence quiet and unwavering, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as invisible as you thought.

But even so, the flowers continued to bloom, their roots winding deeper into your lungs, and you knew that Gojo’s attention, his resolve, wouldn’t be enough to stop them.

Gojo’s presence in the room felt like an anchor, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. But even as his hand rested gently on your arm, his words filled with a kind of determination you hadn’t heard before, a harsh truth settled deep in your bones: no matter what he said, no matter how fiercely he tried to look after you now, it wouldn’t change the course of your imminent death.

You opened your eyes, staring at the ceiling, the familiar ache in your chest pulsing with every shallow breath. The petals inside you weren’t just blooming—they were taking over, suffocating you from the inside out. Gojo’s concern, his guilt, his newfound attention—it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t stop the inevitable.

“It’s too bad,” you muttered, your voice raw, barely more than a breath. “Looking out for me now isn’t going to change anything.”

Gojo froze beside you, his hand still resting on your arm, though the warmth of his touch felt distant. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, but you could feel the weight of his silence, the way his usually unshakable confidence faltered in the face of something he couldn’t fight, couldn’t fix.

“Don’t say that,” he murmured, his voice lower now, almost pleading. “I’m not giving up on you.”

You let out a soft, bitter laugh, the sound catching in your throat as another petal forced its way up, followed by a trickle of blood that stained your lips. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t give up,” you rasped, your breath uneven as you wiped the blood away with the back of your hand. “It’s too late, Gojo.”

He was quiet again, the tension in the room thickening as you both sat in the suffocating darkness. You could feel the weight of his frustration, the way his fingers tightened slightly against your arm, as if holding onto you harder could somehow stop what was happening. But nothing could stop the flowers now. Nothing could stop the hanahaki from claiming you, piece by piece.

Gojo finally spoke, his voice strained, like he was fighting to keep his usual bravado from slipping completely. “It’s not too late,” he said, but there was something hollow in the way he said it, like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince you. “There has to be something we can do.”

You turned your head slightly to look at him, the exhaustion heavy in your limbs. The sight of Gojo—normally so composed, so sure of himself—looking utterly lost in your tiny, dimly lit room, was almost tragic. His blindfold hid his eyes, but you could see the tension in his face, the way his jaw clenched, his lips pressed tightly together. This was the strongest sorcerer in the world, and yet here, in this moment, even he couldn’t stop the inevitable.

“I appreciate it,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, “but you can’t fix this.”

His fingers twitched against your arm, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But instead, he let out a slow, controlled breath, his hand slipping from your arm to his lap as he leaned back slightly, the weight of the situation pressing down on him.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost broken.

You shook your head weakly, the effort taking more out of you than it should have. “Because what would it change?” you replied, your tone resigned. “I’m just another student, Gojo. Telling you wouldn’t have stopped this.”

Gojo’s head snapped toward you, his expression hardening at your words. “You’re not just another student,” he said sharply, his voice thick with frustration. “You never were.”

You closed your eyes again, the heaviness in your chest making it difficult to speak, let alone process his words. “Maybe not to you now,” you muttered, “but you didn’t notice me before. And now that you do… it’s too late.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Gojo didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, you thought he might leave, might give up on this impossible situation. But then, his voice broke through the darkness, softer this time, almost fragile.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

You opened your eyes, surprised at the rawness in his tone. It was rare to hear Gojo like this—stripped of his usual confidence, his playful charm, and his endless bravado. He sounded… human. Vulnerable.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner,” he continued, his voice low, barely audible over the sound of your labored breathing. “I should’ve been paying attention. I should’ve—”

“Stop,” you interrupted, shaking your head as much as your weak body would allow. “Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself.”

Gojo’s hand tightened into a fist, his knuckles white against the fabric of his pants. “How can I not?” he asked, his voice thick with guilt. “You’re my student. I’m supposed to protect you. And I didn’t.”

The air in the room felt heavy, oppressive, as you lay there in the silence that followed. You understood where his guilt came from, but it didn’t change the reality of the situation. Gojo couldn’t fix this. No one could.

“Maybe… maybe I don’t want to be saved,” you whispered, the truth of your words sinking in even as you said them. “I’ve lived with this for so long, and now… I’m just tired.”

Gojo didn’t respond right away, but the tension in his body told you how much your words affected him. He wasn’t used to losing, especially not like this—helpless, unable to fight back.

“I’m not giving up on you,” he said again, but this time, the desperation in his voice was clear. He wasn’t just saying it for you—he was saying it for himself. Trying to hold on to something, anything, that would make this feel less final.

You closed your eyes again, the exhaustion weighing down on you like a blanket. “You don’t have to give up,” you murmured. “But it doesn’t change the fact that… I’m already slipping away.”

In the darkness of your room, with the scent of blood and petals filling the air, the truth became impossible to ignore. Even Gojo, with all his power and resolve, couldn’t save you from this.

And somehow, in that moment, you were okay with that.

The silence between you and Gojo hung heavy in the room. You could feel the weight of his presence beside you, but it offered no comfort, only a reminder of the widening gap between what could be and what was. You knew he was desperate to help, but even he, the strongest sorcerer, couldn't stop what was happening inside you.

The thought stirred something inside you—curiosity, maybe desperation of your own. You turned your head slowly to look at him, eyes half-lidded, your voice hoarse and broken as you spoke.

"Can you see it?" you asked, your words barely more than a breath, your throat raw from the constant coughing. "With your Six Eyes?"

Gojo's posture stiffened slightly, but you could feel the shift in his energy. The question hung in the air, thick with meaning. You knew that his Six Eyes gave him extraordinary perception, allowed him to see cursed energy and details others couldn't possibly comprehend. But you wondered—could he see the flowers inside of you? Could he see the petals twisting around your lungs, choking the life out of you, piece by piece - if he tried?

For a moment, he didn’t answer. The silence stretched on, and you could feel the weight of his hesitation. Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet, almost fragile. “Yes.”

The word lingered in the air, a confirmation that sent a chill through you.

Gojo didn’t elaborate, but you didn’t need him to. You could picture it now—his Six Eyes, usually so sharp and all-seeing, watching the cursed energy inside of you twist and knot around the blooming flowers. You wondered if it looked as beautiful as it felt tragic. Did he see the delicate petals weaving through your body, tainted with blood and despair? Did the flowers glow in his vision, vibrant but deadly, a curse of unrequited love made visible through the lens of his extraordinary power?

“Tell me what you see,” you whispered, unsure why you even wanted to know. Maybe because it felt like the only way to truly confront the reality of your condition, to hear from him just how deep the curse ran.

Gojo was silent for a long moment, his hand resting loosely on his knee, fingers twitching slightly as though he were struggling with how to answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it, almost reverent.

“I see… cursed energy wrapped around you, tightening,” he said slowly, as if each word was pulled from him against his will. “It’s like… roots, tangled and twisting, wrapped around your lungs. They’re… beautiful, but they’re suffocating you.”

Your breath hitched in your chest at his words. Beautiful but suffocating. That was exactly how it felt—both physically and emotionally. This disease, born of your unspoken feelings for him, was devastatingly beautiful in its way. The petals were lovely, but their bloom came at the cost of your life.

Gojo leaned forward, his voice more strained now. “The flowers… they’re cursed energy, too, aren’t they? Your emotions, your love… they’ve turned into something I can see. Something I can’t stop.”

You blinked back tears, the weight of his words pressing down on you. You didn’t need to look at him to know the helplessness that now filled his expression. Gojo was someone who was never helpless, someone who could bend the world to his will, yet here he was, unable to stop the flowers from blooming, unable to stop your slow descent.

“They’re… suffocating me,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Even you… can’t stop them.”

Gojo was silent, his hand gripping the edge of your bed as if that could steady him. For the first time since you had known him, he seemed lost. There was no easy solution, no power he could wield to fix this. All he could do was watch—watch as the flowers continued to bloom, watch as your life slipped away before his very eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Again.

You closed your eyes, feeling the exhaustion creep up on you again. “Don’t be,” you muttered, your voice fading as sleep pulled you under. “Just… stay.”

For once, Gojo didn’t argue. He stayed. And for a moment, in the suffocating darkness of your dorm room, with the flowers blooming inside you, it was enough.

You lay there, exhausted, your body worn from the endless cycle of coughing and pain. Gojo sat beside you, quieter than you had ever seen him. His usual boundless energy was gone, replaced by something darker, more solemn. He had seen the flowers—seen them with his Six Eyes—and now, for the first time, he truly understood the depth of what you were facing.

But even his understanding didn’t change the reality. You were dying. Slowly, but surely.

The soft sound of footsteps broke through the silence, and you turned your head slightly as Shoko stepped into the room. Her expression was unreadable, a mix of exhaustion and something else you couldn’t quite place. She carried the air of someone who had been wrestling with a difficult decision, and the moment she walked in, you knew she had something important to say.

Gojo straightened slightly as she entered, but he didn’t say anything. He just watched her, his blindfold still in place, though you could feel the weight of his focus shifting between you and Shoko.

“Hey,” she greeted softly, glancing between the two of you. She moved to the foot of your bed, crossing her arms over her chest as she took in the state of the room—of you.

You tried to sit up, but your body betrayed you, weak and uncooperative. Shoko’s gaze softened as she saw you struggle, and she moved closer, her eyes serious but compassionate.

“I’ve been thinking,” she began, her voice calm and measured. “About your condition. About the hanahaki.”

You felt a tightness in your chest at her words. You knew what she was about to say. You had been avoiding this conversation for as long as you could, but it was inevitable.

“There’s a surgery,” she continued, her voice steady. “We can remove the flowers, the roots, everything. It’s the only way to stop the disease from progressing.”

You glanced at Gojo, but he remained silent, his expression tense. Shoko’s words hung in the air like a lifeline, a glimmer of hope in the darkness that had consumed you. But you knew the cost of that surgery.

Shoko’s eyes flickered to Gojo for a moment before settling back on you. She hesitated, then spoke quietly. “But… the surgery will take away your feelings. Your love for him.”

The room felt impossibly still, the weight of her words crashing down around you. You had known this was coming, but hearing it out loud made it real in a way you weren’t prepared for. The flowers would be gone—the pain, the coughing, the blood—but so would your love for Gojo. That deep, unspoken feeling that had been a part of you for so long, the very thing that had caused this disease, would be erased.

You looked up at Shoko, your throat tight, your voice barely a whisper. “So… I’d stop loving him?”

Shoko nodded, her gaze softening with understanding. “Yes,” she said gently. “The feelings that caused the hanahaki would be removed. It’s the only way to save you.”

Gojo shifted beside you, and you could feel the tension radiating from him, though he still didn’t say anything. His silence was deafening, and it made the decision feel even more impossible.

You turned your head to look at him, searching his face for some kind of answer, some kind of guidance. But all you saw was the same confusion and helplessness that you felt. This wasn’t something his power could fix. This wasn’t something that could be fought or defeated.

The choice was yours.

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, your mind reeling. Could you really give it up? Could you let go of the love you had held onto for so long, even though it had been one-sided? The thought of not loving Gojo anymore, of not feeling the warmth and the ache that came with caring for him, left a hollow ache in your chest. But the alternative—letting the flowers bloom until they consumed you completely—was a death sentence.

“I don’t want to stop loving him,” you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips.

Gojo’s head snapped toward you, his expression tightening. You couldn’t see his eyes behind the blindfold, but you could feel his shock, his hesitation. He hadn’t known, not fully, just how much you had held inside. But now, with Shoko standing here offering you a chance to live—a chance to erase the very thing that had been killing you—he knew.

“Don’t…” Gojo’s voice was low, strained, as if he was grappling with what to say. “Don’t do this for me.”

You turned your head slightly to meet his gaze, though the blindfold hid his eyes. “It’s not about you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “It’s about… me. It’s about what I’m willing to lose to keep going.”

Gojo flinched, and you saw the way his fingers tightened into fists, his jaw clenched. He wanted to say something, to stop you, but he knew he couldn’t. This was a decision only you could make.

Shoko stepped closer, her expression compassionate but firm. “It’s your choice,” she said quietly. “But if you don’t do the surgery soon, there won’t be another option.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the weight of the decision pressing down on you like a heavy fog. If you chose the surgery, you could live—but you would lose the most important part of yourself. If you refused, the flowers would take you, slowly but surely, until there was nothing left.

“I don’t want to lose this,” you said again, your voice trembling. “Even if it hurts. Even if it’s killing me.”

Gojo’s hand finally reached for yours, his fingers brushing against your cold skin. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet, almost pleading. “I don’t want you to die.”

You closed your eyes, the tears falling freely now. The choice was in front of you, clear and unforgiving.

Save yourself, but lose him.

Or love him, and let the flowers take you.

You had never felt so lost.

Shoko had been quiet after your initial resistance, but her eyes were filled with a kind of quiet understanding that unnerved you. She had known all along that this decision would tear you apart. Even now, with Gojo sitting silently at your bedside, his hand gently wrapped around yours, you could feel the weight of the decision looming over all of you.

But in the days that followed, as Gojo was called away on a mission—one he couldn’t refuse—the decision became clearer. The pain was getting worse. You could hardly get out of bed without collapsing into a fit of coughing, petals spilling from your lips more violently than ever before. Every breath felt like a battle, and every time you blinked, the world around you seemed to fade just a little more.

Shoko visited frequently. Each time she came, she brought more supplies, more medications to dull the pain, but her eyes always carried the same question: When will you decide?

And finally, after a particularly brutal day when you could hardly move from bed, your body weak and ravaged by the flowers, Shoko had sat down beside you, her voice firm yet compassionate.

“You’re dying,” she said plainly. “And I know you don’t want to hear that, but it’s the truth. If you keep waiting, if you don’t do something… it’s going to be too late.”

You had closed your eyes, her words echoing in your mind. You didn’t want to stop loving Gojo. You didn’t want to lose that part of yourself, even if it was killing you. But the reality was becoming impossible to ignore.

“I’m scared,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to forget him.”

Shoko placed a hand on your arm, her touch gentle but steady. “I know. But Gojo doesn’t want you to die. You don’t deserve to die for this.”

Her words hit you like a wave, crashing against the walls you had built around yourself. You were so tired—tired of the pain, the suffocation, the slow withering away of your body. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to survive this. Maybe it was time to let go.

Shoko leaned in closer, her voice soft but insistent. “You deserve to live, even if it means you have to forget.”

The decision, when you finally made it, felt like it wasn’t entirely yours. It felt like giving up. But you agreed. You agreed to the surgery while Gojo was away, telling yourself that it was for the best. He wouldn’t be there to see you go through with it, to watch you lose the love that had been driving you toward death. He would never have to know how hard it had been for you to let go of him.

The surgery came faster than you expected. Shoko was efficient, as always, and her team worked in the clinical, detached way that was necessary for something like this. You felt numb, even before the anesthesia kicked in. The thought of losing the flowers—the flowers that represented your love for Gojo—was a strange, hollow feeling. You had grown accustomed to the weight of them inside you, even as they destroyed you.

When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was the absence of pain. No more tightness in your chest, no more blood, no more petals. Just… silence.

But along with that silence came something else. The overwhelming emptiness where your feelings for Gojo had been. The love you had carried for him, the very thing that had once consumed you, was gone. Erased. You knew it intellectually, but you couldn’t feel it anymore. It was like staring at a memory that had faded beyond recognition. The edges were still there, but the warmth was gone, and the ache that once defined your every waking moment had vanished.

You were free—but at what cost?

It was a few days later when Gojo returned from his mission. You had been resting, trying to adjust to the strange new quietness inside your heart, when the door to your room swung open. Gojo stepped in, his usual lightness dimmed by the weight of the situation.

He had rushed back, that much was clear. His blindfold was slightly askew, his hair disheveled, and there was an urgency in the way he moved as he approached your bed.

“Hey, kid,” he said softly, sitting on the edge of your bed, his voice more tentative than you’d ever heard it. “I came as soon as I could.”

You looked up at him, feeling… disconnected. He was still Gojo. Still the same person who had sat by your side, trying to comfort you, trying to save you. But something was different now. He seemed so far away, like a figure from a dream you couldn’t quite grasp.

“I had the surgery,” you said quietly, your voice steady. You were surprised by how calm you felt.

Gojo blinked, his expression shifting, though it was hard to read behind his blindfold. “I know,” he said softly, his voice laced with something that sounded almost like regret. “Shoko told me.”

There was a pause, a long, uncomfortable silence as the two of you sat there. You knew what he was going to ask. He had to ask, even though you knew the answer.

“Do you… still feel the same?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “About me?”

You looked away, your heart heavy, though not in the way it had been before. There was no pain, no aching love suffocating you. Just the quiet, empty truth.

“No,” you said softly, shaking your head. “I don’t. I don’t feel anything for you anymore.”

Gojo didn’t move for a moment. The weight of your words seemed to hang between you, thick and final. He sat there, staring at you, though you couldn’t see his eyes. You could feel the tension in his body, the realization that something irrevocable had changed.

“I see,” he murmured, his voice tight, though he tried to hide it behind his usual facade. But the cracks were there, small and painful.

You felt like you should have said something more, but there was nothing left to say. You had made your choice, and now you had to live with it. Gojo, too, would have to live with the knowledge that you had loved him once, deeply, but now, it was gone.

He stood slowly, forcing a smile, though it didn’t reach his usual brightness. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, his voice light but strained. “That’s what matters.”

You nodded, watching as he turned to leave. But before he walked out the door, he paused, his hand resting on the frame.

“I’ll still be around,” he said, quieter now, almost to himself. “If you need anything.”

And then he was gone.

The room felt emptier than before, and though the flowers were gone from your lungs, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something precious had been lost in their place.

notes: I tried to keep your cursed technique vague so y'all can pick whatever it is - If you'd like to be tagged, just let me know <3

tag list: @lily-of-my-dreams @sunnyx07 @3zae-zae3 @sashisuslover @kingshitonly @bvuckleybby @laviefantasie

#— [♡] by gigi #jjk #gojo #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you #fanfic #fanfiction #angst #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jjk oneshot #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen oneshot #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo oneshot #jujutsu kaisen

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mellotunekitty · 2 days

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Dating Jason Todd Would Include…

He’d be very private when you first started dating, but as he gets more comfortable he’d start to open up. Not huge things, but small things like what he did that day or if something reminded him of you. He’ll hear a song and show it to you explaining that it reminded him of you. It’s not like he runs up to you just to show you though, he’ll sneak the mention of how “it sounds like something you’d like” or something along those lines.

Along with slowly opening up, he has to slowly adjust to you as a being. Jason always knew that you were there and was very aware of your presence, but having you there by his side most of the time was something he really had to get used to. When you started living together, he felt like he had to hide the evidence of his person existing in that space. He wanted to sit and read before you got home? Ten minutes before you came back he set all the pillows and blankets on the couch EXACTLY how they were before he sat there.

One thing he enjoys is reading to you. Laying in bed with you while you’re snuggled against his chest as he reads to you in a low, soft voice. That’s his favorite thing. He loves it even more if his reading makes you sleepy and you end up falling asleep on his chest because it lets him know you feel safe enough around him to do that.

This man does not give a care in the world who you are, he is the one who’s going to take care of you. He could be beaten to a pulp and he’s still going to cook you dinner at the end of the day. Being taken care of makes him feel small, vulnerable, and even a little worthless in a way. If he isn’t taking care of you, he feels like he doesn’t have a purpose with you.

That being said if he were to give into you taking care of him, it would be very rocky. First, he’d be angry about you taking care of him instead of the other way around. Then, he’d settle into it and let you do your thing. You can see him getting used to it. And then, you’d watch him turn into a clingy, gushy mess. It’s definitely a rare sight, but a little less for you.

After the first time you take care of him, he’s suddenly very clingy with you. He’ll come home from a late night patrol or mission and instantly get ready for bed so you can hold him. Once you start rubbing his back and peppering kisses all over his face, he’s out like a light, softly snoring against your chest. Of course he’d never admit it though.

#dc comics #jason todd #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #headcanons #jason todd headcanon #red hood headcanon

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molosseraptor · 3 days

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I usually avoid dog content on Instagram unless it’s things my friends post about, but now that I have a puppy the algorithm keeps feeding me puppy content and especially “dog trainer” puppy content.

I can’t handle all the misinformation and more importantly, the inappropriate expectations. It’s all for stupid reasons like comments and views and likes at the expense of the puppy. Baby puppies do not need to, nor should they, know 20 cues and tricks at 16 weeks. Baby puppies have no business being asked to make inappropriately difficult self control decisions. And baby puppies most definitely should not be expected to have the mental and physical capacity to perform adult dog behaviors at home or in public.

Baby puppies need the time and space to be babies and explore and learn about the world in a safe and low pressure way. Of course you’re going to be doing training at home and in the world, but most of that is teaching them your general rules and expectations and building solid foundations for life and sport skills. That’s already a lot to have on both of your plates.

While I and other dog people who get it look at these videos and roll our eyes, pet owners and people getting started in sports see these things and get super down on themselves for failing their puppies or not doing enough. They don’t know that this isn’t normal, appropriate, or something to aspire to. That pressure either makes people discouraged and they shut down or it makes them push their puppy way too hard and way too fast in an effort to keep up. It hurts everyone.

I didn’t want to put random people I don’t know on blast, so I made my own video of a mild version of what I’m describing.

What does this tell you about my puppy and us as a team?

While it looks like my puppy is doing complex “formal obedience” behaviors, he doesn’t actually know any of these skills or what he’s doing. All this video shows is that he knows how to follow a food lure and that he can eat cheese while walking. On my end, it shows that I know how to lure a dog into different positions. A baby puppy doesn’t have the mental or physical capacity to do a formal heel or chain multiple behaviors together and that’s normal.

If we kept this stuff up long term I might create an aversion to the signs/sport picture because the dog associates it with too much pressure. I’ll definitely create a serious lack of independence in my behaviors and difficulty fading out the food lure. And I’ll 100% create a lot of sloppy heeling on the dog’s part and poor handling on mine. Like most of these videos, “impressive” in the short term but digging a very deep hole that will get in the way of future long term success.

#my dogs #cane corso #dog stuff

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chvoswxtch · 18 hours

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epilogue

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: you and frank start a new chapter together.

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of pregnancy, the world flooding from my tears bc this is the final chapter, explicit sexual content (minors dni)

word count: 3.8k

a/n: i'm not going to get emo in this section (there will be a separate post for that when i've processed my feelings about this ending), but i want to say again from the bottom of my heart to all of y'all, thank you. this is for you.

[previous chapter] | [series masterlist]

One year later.

Stepping through the familiar threshold, a light breeze enters behind you, bringing with it a crisp chill of autumn and the lingering smell of impending rain. There’s a soft clink when you toss your keys into the small emerald green ceramic bowl on the side table in the foyer. Slipping your long gray wool coat off your shoulders, you can smell freshly brewed coffee wafting in the air, and there’s a murmur coming from the kitchen of two distinct voices you’d recognize anywhere.

A tiny smile graces your lips catching snippets of the conversation, and you shake your head with a light chuckle, hanging up your coat on the hook by the front door before making your way down the hallway adjacent to the spacious living room.

“This could be a huge bust. I mean, it’s five years worth of intel, and there’s a small window of opportunity here-“

Leaning against the entryway of the kitchen, you cross your arms over your chest and clear your throat.

“Dinah.”

Both heads of dark hair suddenly turn in your direction. Upon seeing you, Dinah straightens up, a fleeting expression on her face resembling that of a child getting caught doing something they’re not supposed to. Arching one of your brows, you barely suppress an amused smile that briefly tugs at the corner of your lips.

“My husband is retired.”

Dinah’s lips part to speak, and then she abruptly closes them. Her brown eyes flicker over towards Frank sitting across from her at the dining table, silently asking him for back up. Catching her eye, Frank gives a subtle shake of his head, bringing his mug of coffee up to his lips with one hand, and making a gesture of surrender with the other, attempting to hide his smirk.

“You heard the woman.”

Dinah gives him a pointed, exasperated look and purses her lips at his lack of cooperation.

“I’m just asking for a consult-“

“You got the whole goddamn CIA under your belt, ask one of them. You want a consult ‘bout a remodel, you let me know.”

Frank sets the mug of coffee down on the table, shrugging his broad shoulders covered in worn dark green flannel. Dinah faintly narrows her eyes at him, letting out a deep exhale through her nose.

“Fine.”

As she stands, the chair scrapes against the hardwood, and she looks down at him in subtle defiance with an arch of her dark brow as she buttons the middle button on her navy blue blazer.

“I’m thinking about redoing my kitchen. Let me know when you’ve got time in that busy schedule of yours, Castle.”

A deep rumble of laughter sounds in Frank’s chest at the dripping sass in her voice, and his eyes crinkle in amusement as he gives her a faint nod.

“See what I can do.”

Shaking her head, she rolls her eyes and turns around to leave the kitchen, her heeled boots clicking against the hardwood floor. When she reaches you, she pauses and gives you a light smile, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder gently.

“Good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Hearing the front door open and shut, your eyes drift over towards Frank, narrowing your eyes with a look of faux accusation. Frank’s hand pauses midway in bringing his mug up to his lips, and his dark brows furrow as his face scrunches slightly.

“What?”

Arching one of your dark brows, you bite back a smile as Frank sets the mug back down and leans back in the chair, the wood creaking under his weight, bunching up his shoulders and loosely gesturing with his large hands in a show of defense of his innocence.

“She called me-”

“Mhm.”

Frank pursed his lips in lighthearted annoyance, scrunching up his face adorably, and you finally broke. Your laughter filled the kitchen, and he shook his head and rolled his eyes, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip before he turned to look at you again, his dark eyes wandering over your figure.

“You ever not gonna be a pain in my ass?”

“Nope.”

Grinning, you walked over towards where he was sitting, and a grin stretched across his own lips as he reached out immediately to grab your hips, pulling you down onto his lap to straddle him.

“S’pose I signed up for that, yeah?”

Frank nuzzled his large nose against your neck, and the coarse dark hair of his beard brushed against your skin, tickling and sending a shiver down your spine as you laughed.

“Legally.”

Leaning back slightly, you gazed at him adoringly, bringing your hand up to brush back some of the loose dark curls that were laying against his forehead, carding your fingers through his grown out hair. Your hand slowly slipped down his temple, caressing the full beard covering his cheeks and the lower half of his face, a smirk spreading across your lips.

“You know, this whole…hipster thing is really working for me.”

Frank blew out a puff of air through his lips, shaking his head and rolling his eyes in moderate annoyance. Pursing his full lips, he looked at you, his warm brown eyes flickering between your lips and your eyes.

“Yeah? Think I should go full man bun?”

A deep laugh escaped you at the dryness of his voice, shaking your head as you ran both of your hands through his soft hair from the thick roots down to the loose curls at the base of his neck. Leaning in, you brushed your lips against his gently.

“I like it just the way it is.”

Frank’s large hands splay against your back as he pulls you further against his firm chest, but before he can kiss you, suddenly you perk up and lean back.

“Oh! I have something for you.”

Patting his chest, you untangle yourself from Frank’s arms and get off his lap, slipping down the hall. Frank’s dark brows knit in confusion, glancing down at his lap where you just were and then flickering his gaze towards the entryway of the kitchen you’d just disappeared down, craning his neck as he listened to your footsteps.

“I’d rather have what you were just about to give me.”

Hearing his grumble from the kitchen, your laugh echoes from down the hall, and as you reappear in the kitchen, you can’t contain your grin seeing him sitting in the wooden chair and pouting like a petulant child. Shaking your head slowly, you resumed your position on his lap, placing a soft kiss to his large nose.

“Hey, the role of the impatient one in this relationship is already filled, thank you very much.”

“Has been since the beginning.”

Rolling your eyes at Frank’s sassy remark, you smile as you pull your hand out from behind your back, holding out a small velvet black box in your hand. Frank glances down at it, his face contorting in an expression of pure puzzlement. He glances between it, the ring on your finger, and the band on his own left hand before looking at you, arching one of his dark brows.

“You know we’re already married, right?”

“Just shut up and open it.”

Rolling his own eyes in return, Frank grabs the small box in one of his large hands, keeping one of his arms wrapped around your waist. Flipping it open with his thumb, you watch in amusement as the temperate confusion previously on his face shifts into pure convoluted perplexity. Frank stares down at the little T-shaped plastic device displayed upright in the slit of the velvet square.

“Oh…wow. That’s…this is…it’s a…really nice-“

Frank blinks a few times, eventually lifting his head to look at you in a mixture of apology and uncertainty.

“-sweetheart I got no idea what the hell this goddamn thing is.”

Letting out an amused laugh, your lips spread into a soft smile as you brush his curls back with your fingers.

“My IUD.”

Frank blinks a few times, his face a blank canvas. There isn’t a shred of recognition in his eyes.

“My intrauterine device.”

His dark brows raise up his forehead slightly, glancing between the small plastic device and you, eyeing you curiously as he speaks hesitantly.

“And…you’re givin’ me this…because…?”

Realizing that Frank genuinely has no idea what the significance of the small thing he’s holding is, you decide to take mercy on him.

“Frank, it’s my birth control device.”

Frank’s rugged features are twisted up in confusion as he repeats your words slowly.

“Your…birth control…device?”

“Modern medicine has come a long way, big guy. Birth control isn’t just pills. It’s also that.”

When you point to the small box in his hand, his dark eyes flicker down between it, your patient gaze, and the tiny plastic device again.

“And it’s…in this box.”

You can see the gears turning in Frank’s head, piecing the new information together. Nodding, a smile leisurely spreads across your lips as you suppress your laughter.

“Which means it’s not inside of me.”

All of a sudden, it was like a light bulb went off, and you could see Frank’s eyes light up with understanding.

“Wait, you mean-“

Hearing the hesitant hope and excitement in his voice felt like a fist tightening around your heart, squeezing it in a vice.

The idea was still new. Over the past year, you’d seen that desire steadily building in him. Whenever the two of you went somewhere, the sound of a child’s laughter would grasp his attention and hold it captive. At first, you thought the look in his eyes was lingering grief, reminiscing on that sound in his memory that had come from his own lost children once upon a time.

But in the last few months, you’d come to realize that the emotion in his gaze wasn’t just nostalgia, it was also longing. You saw the way his eyes softened as he stood at the sink, watching the neighborhood kids playing in the street out the window, his eyes faintly crinkled as a tiny smile graced his lips when he didn’t think you were looking. All the kids in the neighborhood were drawn to him, and he was all too eager to fix a bike chain, or demonstrate a perfect football spiral.

The interactions granted you a glimpse of what Frank had been like as a father, and it sent a crack through your own chest that he’d been robbed of something he was so good at, something he should’ve had more time to do. You could see that it was something he wanted, but you could also see the hesitance. You didn’t know how to bring it up. Frank was happy, and he’d found a semblance of peace in this new life, but that void of loss would always be there. That pain would never truly go away.

You wanted Frank to know that it was okay, that it wasn’t wrong to want to try again. You wanted him to know that moving forward didn’t have to mean forgetting. You’d eased him into the idea of visiting the cemetery, something he hadn’t done in years, and you’d held his hand tightly as he placed three sets of flowers on the headstones, encouraging him to talk to them, to get out all the words he never got to say.

You’d hung up the worn photograph of Maria and the kids he’d been carrying around for the last few years, the only one he had left, in the living room so he could see them everyday instead of hiding them away in his memory. You wanted Frank to know that they had a place in your shared home, that they were still a part of his new life, even if they weren’t physically here. That he could talk about them, share fond stories of them, and include them.

“We don’t have to start trying right away, but-”

“The hell we don’t.”

Frank grabbed your hips with renewed vigor and stood up, setting you down on the edge of the dining table he’d built himself. A bubble of surprised laughter erupted from you, but was quickly cut off by Frank’s lips as he kissed you deeply, slotting himself between your parted thighs as his calloused hands hiked your skirt upwards. When his thumbs hooked into the sides of your panties, brushing the pad along the skin of your hips, you shifted them upwards to assist him in slipping them down.

Your fingers swiftly sought out the buttons of his flannel, popping each of them with growing urgency, shoving the worn green fabric off his broad shoulders and down his arms. While you reached for his belt buckle, Frank untucked your blouse, tugging it up your waist and over your head, carelessly tossing it onto the hardwood. Your heels slipped off your feet, falling to the floor with a soft thud, and the sound of his zipper being undone echoed in the kitchen as Frank pushed his hips forward against your welcoming hand, cupping your breast and squeezing as his lips latched onto the juncture of your neck.

Feeling the blunt head of his cock nudging at your slick entrance, you pressed your palm against his firm, warm chest and panted breathlessly.

“Frank.”

Pulling his head back slightly, his warm brown eyes darted back and forth between your own, dropping to your lips before looking at you with hooded lids.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

Letting out a soft breath, you brought your hand up to cup his bearded cheek, biting down on your bottom lip gently as you gazed into his eyes and spoke softly.

“If…if you’re not ready-”

Frank gave a faint shake of his head and dipped down to kiss you tenderly, murmuring against your lips.

“I’m ready.”

Pushing his hips forward, Frank filled you in one swift thrust, and your head dipped back as your mouth hung open, your eyes fluttering shut at the euphoric sensation of being so full. Frank let out a quiet grunt as your tight warmth enveloped him, wrapping his arm around your waist to hold you firmly to his chest, slipping his other hand in your hair to cradle the back of your head as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

Wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, you grabbed onto the back of his neck, slipping your fingers into the loose dark curls as you brought your legs up to lock around his waist. Frank nuzzled your neck reverently, flexing his hips forward, thrusting in slow and deep strokes. Letting out a desperate moan, your lips brushed against Frank’s bearded cheek, seeking out his kiss, and he turned his head to capture your mouth passionately, gliding his tongue along the seam of your lips and seeking entry.

He swallowed every noise of pleasure you spilled into his mouth, sensually caressing your tongue with his own the same way his hands caressed your body in dedicated worship. The wooden table creaked as Frank pushed you to lay flat on your back, bending to press his chest flush to yours, grabbing your wrists gently to guide them upwards and pin them above your head. He interlaced his fingers with yours and squeezed your hands, pressing his forehead against yours as he gazed deeply down into your eyes, his warm breath caressing your lips as he panted.

“Frank-”

“I know.”

Your eyes fluttered shut and your back arched as he nuzzled his nose against your throat, trailing warm open mouthed kisses along your jawline and neck, dripping praises and sweet nothings into your ear like honey. You gripped onto his large hands, using them as an anchor to his moment, tightening your legs around his waist to eliminate any space between you.

As your breathing got quicker and more shallow, and your moans grew in volume and pitch, Frank increased his pace in tandem, grunting into your ear. Feeling the tremble in your thighs and the contraction of your tight walls signaling your impending release, he brushed his lips against the shell of your ear.

“I love you.”

You never got tired of hearing those three words in his deep gravelly voice. All at once, they made you shatter into a million little pieces, and your body seized up as an intense wave of gratification crashed over you, nearly knocking the breath out of your lungs. Your eyes rolled and you writhed beneath him as your prayer of his name echoed in the kitchen, repeating those same three words back to him over and over and over again.

Frank was right there behind you, his hips stuttering as his rhythm faltered, letting out a guttural groan and holding his hips still against your own as the seed of a new beginning was planted deep within you. His forehead dropped against your shoulder, both of you panting heavily as you clung to each other tightly. Frank felt a buzzing bliss spread throughout his body, reveling in keeping himself buried within your comforting snug warmth, but he also felt something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time.

Hope.

»»———　　———««

Laying in bed with the sheets draped over your naked figure, your head was propped up on your elbow, and you watched as Frank stood in front of the sink in the bathroom and brushed his teeth. Your eyes wandered over his body slowly, taking in his tan skin littered with various faded scars. When you’d first met him, you hadn’t known how many were still healing internally, but you could see it now. There was a lightness to him, in the way he carried himself now, brick by brick of trauma and grief slowly being lifted from his shoulders.

Frank didn’t have nightmares anymore. Attending Curtis’ Veterans group had given him the space to divulge the things he didn’t know how to say to you. As hard as you tried, there were just certain things he’d been through you couldn’t fully understand to offer comfort, but they could. He still had his moody moments, and that familiar brooding expression would shroud his features, but it wasn’t as hardened as before. That impenetrable steel guard had been slowly dismantled over time, and now it was nonexistent. You knew that broken man was still in there, still healing from wounds you couldn’t see, and maybe he always would be. There would always be that jagged piece of him that had donned a bloodstained, bullet filled white skull and waged a one man war on a world that had taken everything from him, but the curvy edges were softening to fit somewhere.

It was such an interesting dichotomy, that Frank could be so familiar to the stoic broody bodyguard you met two years ago and yet so different as the loving husband that built you a dining table with his bare hands on his day off because you couldn’t find one you liked.

Shutting out the light in the bathroom, Frank turned to walk into your shared bedroom, and he raised one of his dark brows when he caught you staring at him.

“What?”

Lifting your gaze from the tantalizing view of his gray sweatpants draped low across his bare hips, you looked up at him with a faint smirk, lifting one of your own brows.

“I can’t admire my husband?”

Frank’s lips always split into a goofy grin hearing you call him that. In two short strides, he was crawling onto the bed, climbing on top of you and placing his hands on either side of your head as he leaned down to nip at your bottom lip playfully.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that, you’re gonna be pregnant by sunrise.”

Letting out a soft laugh, you leaned up to brush your lips against his teasingly with a grin.

“Promise?”

Frank gave you a wide, tooth-bearing smile as he leaned in and captured your lips in a soft and sweet kiss, letting out a deep exhale of content through his nose. After a moment, he pulled back slowly, caressing your face tenderly with his knuckles before he brushed your hair back and cupped your cheek. For a minute, he just stared down at you, taking you in like it was the first time he’d ever seen you.

“Thank you.”

A soft furrow nestled between your brows, and you placed your hand on top of his gently.

“For what?”

“Givin’ me a second chance.”

Frank’s voice was so soft and quiet, full of genuine gratitude and admiration, and it tugged at your heartstrings. Gently grabbing your left hand, he gazed down at the ring on your finger, and slowly lifted your hand to press a soft kiss to it.

“I don’t…I don’t know how much of this I deserve, and I don’t know what I did to…to get here after…ya’know. I just…I wasn’t plannin’ on makin’ it this far, or makin’ it here ever. And I don’t know why you didn’t give up on me, God knows I gave you many reasons to, but you didn’t. And I…I don’t know if I've ever thanked you for that. I mean…all of this…I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

The vulnerable honesty in Frank’s voice had tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You understood the deeper meaning behind his words. He didn’t just mean here in this bed with you. Frank hadn’t cared about living since the day he lost everything. Everyday that followed, he’d been prepared to join his family. From the day you first met him, and even the night everything went down with Billy, he had been ready. You couldn’t even bear to think about a world that Frank Castle didn’t exist in.

Frank gently brushed a stray tear away from your cheek that had slipped, gazing down at you with nothing but pure and honest adoration and commitment. To you, to your marriage, and to this next chapter of your life together. By some cosmic force or grace of a merciful deity, he’d been granted a second chance, and he wasn’t going to waste a second of it. He was all in.

“Thank you, for all of it. For bein’ patient with me, seein’ me, puttin’ my ass in check when I need it.”

Both of you shared a small laugh, and Frank gently brushed the pad of his thumb along your cheekbone.

“Thank you for lovin’ me the way you do.”

Staring up into the warm brown eyes of this magnetic force of a man you were lucky enough to love, and to be loved by, you gently cupped his bearded cheek and brought him down for a reverent kiss, allowing your lips to linger before slowly opening your eyes to look at him, a gentle smile gracing your lips.

“It’s my job, baby.”

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babeyun · 2 days

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falling alone ✩ l.hs [teaser two]

✩ series m.list | taglist form ✩ synopsis: cold cases were heeseung’s specialty, and he cracked every single one. cold hearts were your specialty, and you have yet to make a single chip in your husband’s. ✩ genre: established relationship au | hurt-comfort ✩ pairing: lieutenant!lhs x housewife!reader ✩ word count: 1.4k | [full fic: tbd] ✩ rating: 18+. minors dni. ✩ warnings: a little more pining between husband!hee & wife!reader, a bit of outsider help. nothing explicit ✩ author's note: hello everyone! i just wanted to let you all know that i am trying my best to get this fic out before the end of the year (and if i don't, i do go on winter break from uni in early december! so we can expect a few fics in that time.) this being said, i will add a taglist link here as well as the series masterlist because i cannot for the life of me keep up with urls at the moment. the people tagged below have already been added to said taglist, but if you wanna jump on and don't see yourself tagged, please fill out the form linked above! thanks!

Heeseung knows that Dr. Bahng told him to leave work at work. However, Dr. Bahng said nothing about bringing home to work. He said nothing about thinking about you at work, or missing you, or daydreaming about you instead of analyzing the reports that a pair of rookies messed up. He also said nothing about reading articles by some sketchy romance columnist on how to keep your relationship alive, which is exactly what Heeseung was scrolling through right now.

There are things in a relationship that must always be shared in order to avoid, or resolve conflict. How the other person is making you feel, how you are making them feel, and how to tackle both negative checklists properly. It is key to always remember that it must be you and your partner against the problem, not you and your partner against each other.

You make Heeseung feel…alive. You make him feel loved, cherished, and even at some bizarre times, worshiped. You make him appreciate waking up at the ass crack of dawn, your sleeping face relaxed as he peppers kisses across your warm skin – something he's thankful never manages to wake you up, but it adds to all the adoration he holds in his heart for you.

How does he make you feel? Dejected, neglected, rejected. Pushed aside for the true love of his life – work. You never bring it up unless he asks. You never brought it up until last July, when he was slumped in his office chair after drinking half a bottle of sherry whiskey, listening to music and thinking about yet another dead end that deterred him from finding Soyoung. You had approached him with a gentle gaze, a soft touch to his shoulder and asking about taking a shower together. You never questioned him, you never pressured him, you never tried to make him something you assumed he just wasn't – an attentive, doting husband.

And he remembers how he asked you, too. He remembers spinning around in his chair, asking you if he was everything you'd ever wanted. Asking you if he was living up to your expectations, as a husband, as a life partner, as a friend, even.

And he remembers the way you sighed carefully before perching on his desk. "You're everything I've ever wanted, and I'm sure you'll continue to grow and be even more deserving of the love I hold for you." You had smiled, your hand coming to rest on his cheek. "Nothing we can't work through, you know? If I was given a choice in another life, another world – I'd still choose you."

He will never forget it, and he can still feel the warmth of your lips against his as you led him to the bathroom. He can still feel the ache of your love on his skin from the way you held him under the running water, quietly basking in his presence as the mint of your shampoo filled his nose. Nothing is as special to him as you are.

There are things that should routinely be shared in order to maintain a homeostasis of the calendar. Asking how their day was, if you have any ideas for dinner tonight, or if you'd like to do something this weekend to celebrate the mundane. It shouldn't be difficult to establish a routine with your partner, if you are in tune with them. A kiss goodbye in the morning, a warm embrace in the evenings. A shared meal, a shared bath, a shared bed.

Heeseung can't remember the last time he fully checked in with you – you always have something to do. You always attempt new creative projects, and his fingers toy with the fabric of his slacks as he remembers that you hand stitched them. He thinks about how you waited for him all night yesterday, and the disappointment you must have felt when he arrived late. He thinks about how he just doesn't make time to tackle the problem that you two are constantly glossing over by being intimate – he knows you don't feel loved.

He didn't ask you about your day yesterday, or the day before, or last week. He didn't ask you if you were sewing anything new, learning any new pieces on the piano collecting dust in the living room. He hasn't asked about your mother, but at least he knows you don't like to talk about her.

Heeseung hasn't asked you a single thing about yourself, or your life, and he doesn't know how long it's been. Even last night, your eyes were focused entirely on him – the way his lips twitched when you said you liked the wine he chose, the way he pulled your leg over his in the booth you were sharing. You asked him about work, and he just shook his head as he pointed out the new menu items.

You love him so selflessly.

Something that works for my partner and I is parallel play. We aren't necessarily doing something together, but we are present in the same room and doing our own thing. Knowing that he is there, and that if I need him, I can reach for him, adds a comfort to our relationship. Aside from this, we also come together every two weeks and address any issues we may be experiencing – both in our relationship and our individual lives. We resolve the issues about us together, and advise the other on our personal issues. Balance!

You do this a lot. If Heeseung is home, you'll wander to wherever he is and sit down where you can, and quietly go about your business. Sometimes it's a new cross-stitch, sometimes it's just putting a headphone in and listening to music. Sometimes you're giving yourself a pedicure, sometimes you're just sitting there staring at his corkboard of paraphernalia while matching your breathing to his. It was subtle, something you thought he'd never notice.

He sighs, exiting out of the tab before grabbing his coat off the back of his chair. Tugging it on, he uses one hand to log out of his computer when he hears three knocks on the door. A lightness of the rapping knuckles similar to yours…and your smiling face appears as you crack open the door. "Surprise?" He hates that he can't bite back his smile, a few of his fellow officers wide-eyed at his expression. He nods silently, and you extend your hand for him when you hear his coworkers whispering about you. With a dejected look, you tuck your hand back into the pocket of your jeans, "Guess we don't want them gossiping, right?" "Right." He mumbles, his own hand twitching around the doorknob as he pulls it shut behind him. He wants to reach for you, embrace the warmth you bring, show you off to the people he often calls his friends. Sunghoon catches his eye, a quizzical look on his face before shaking his head.

Heeseung reaches for you, but you've already made your way towards the door. Your smile has lessened as you open the door, holding it for him. "How was work?" You ask as he joins you in the cool air, and he wastes no time wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you in close, his nose buried in your hair. You hesitate to wrap your arms around him, instead leaning back to try and meet his eyes. "Hee?" "Don't ask me about work." He mutters, before pressing his lips to yours softly. You let out a noise of surprise, but you can't melt into his touch before he pulls away. "I hate talking about work, let's talk about you. Over lunch." He takes your hand in his, gently pulling you to his side as he makes his way to the car. He doesn't see yours in the parking lot, so he only assumes you got a rideshare before you clear your throat. "Are you okay?" The words are slightly jumbled as he leads you to the passenger side, opening the door for you, helping you step in. "Hm? Why do you ask?"

"Well…you're actually out of the office. And you want to go to lunch…and you don't want to talk about work?" Your voice is meek, and it makes his chest ache as he reaches to buckle your seatbelt in for you. "I just want to spend time with you. Shall we?" His smile is a little forced, until he sees the soft gloss of embarrassment over your eyes. "Okay."

TAGLIST [those in red could not be tagged] @thesassy-mia @starfallia @ramenoil @hoonieversies @wintabite @shnnzsworld @eneiyri @jjongsha @ilovejungwonandhaechan @oopshee @capri-cuntz @petalsofink @teddybeartaetae @chocminteu @moon0fthenight @delvziion @heeseungthel0ml @bbyjw @marimariiiiiiii @thenastone

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powdermelonkeg · 2 days

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You know what? I'm gonna make a Minecraft movie

This is a plot I banged out over the course of like three hours at work so bear with me.

Movie starts. Main Guy just got fired from his job or something. He goes home to his house, greets his dog, agonizes over how he's going to pay for said dog with this development. Dog comes up wanting to play fetch, has a mcguffin in its mouth. Main Guy takes it and fiddles with it that night.

Mcguffin activates.

Guy winds up in Minecraft world. Spends a day freaking out about everything. Finds a dirt house someone else made and spends the night there to escape the monsters.

There's a map there. Takes that to a village

Meets Alex. She doesn't speak.

Alex is in the middle of saving a village from an Illager raid. Main Guy helps.

It takes a turn into a rescue mission for captured Villagers. The Illagers are hunting for a Trial Chamber with a legendary weapon (the mace).

After that arc is complete, Main Guy has an Allay as a pet and a new friend in a Villager he saved. Gang's all there, all adventures from here on out will be with MG, Alex, Villager, and Allay.

They go to Alex's home base. It's neat, but it's very clear she's not the only one that's lived there.

MG manages to convey to Alex that he needs a way home. And she's got the Ender Dragon egg, but doesn't have the rest of the equipment to get to the End and make the portal home.

Trip into the Deep Dark, ancient city, Warden fight while getting diamonds.

Villager takes the diamonds and makes a pickaxe for them.

They get obsidian and make a Nether Portal. Trip to the Nether to find a fortress and get blaze rods and ender pearls.

While they're in the Nether, they come across the Wither Briar. It's a new biome that's spreading, wither roses everywhere, with a Wither at the center.

They get the supplies they need, but the Wither catches them and attacks. They barely make it out alive; Villager gets zombified.

Rush to a witch to get Villager healed.

It gets revealed that Alex and her friends once took on the Wither, but it turned out too destructive and they lost the battle and several friends. They split up then. The Wither's been terrorizing the local Piglins and spreading the zombie infection ever since.

MG gets up, determined, gearing up and reentering the Nether. Epic battle against the Wither. The Wither Briar dies, the Piglins rejoice.

MG, Alex, and Villager start gearing up to find the Stronghold, with help from the village, Piglins, witch, etc. MG gets a unique armor trim that's not in the game.

Melancholy travel. Alex and Villager are gonna miss MG a LOT, and he's considering whether or not he wants to leave.

Stronghold leads to the End, End City fight for an Elytra.

Final fight with the Ender Dragon, hesitation, then final goodbyes. The group all jumps into the portal together.

MG winds up back home in his bed, in the real world, but he still has his gear and the sword he used to slay the Ender Dragon with.

He gets the mcguffin that sent him to Minecraft in the first place and is about to destroy it. He second-guesses it. Epic montage of him grabbing the things he needs to go.

He puts on a blue shirt and dark jeans. He packs his bag with apples, a slice of cake, and a map. He grabs his dog, a fluffy gray one with a red collar, then he activates the mcguffin again.

End poem plays, followed by the credits rolling.

Post-credits at the end with Minecraft music playing, Steve rolls up to Alex's house as she and Villager are building a beacon out of the Nether Star the Wither dropped. He helps them finish it, the beacon shoots into the sky, then they go into her house.

Alex looks at the map hopefully, waiting for her friends as the sun goes down, but all it shows is hers and Steve's icons on it…then someone else's shows up, just barely at the border. It's one of the other "default" players.

End of movie.

#minecraft #minecraft movie #concept #guys can mojang hire me pls #long post

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cosmicdahlias · 2 days

Text

Take Me Under

a ford x reader fic

MINORS DNI

warnings: NONCON, drugging, somnophilia, oral, smut

so this is a spiritual successor to my last fic, it’s not a continuation but the themes are similar

It was a warm summer night in Gravity Falls. The crickets chirped as you sat out on the porch with your research partner, Stanford Pines. You nursed your glass of whiskey that Ford had poured for you. It had been a long night of research, Ford was trying to build an interdimensional gateway, stuff you would’ve thought five years ago only existed in science fiction, but he really was a genius.

His other partner had already gone home for the night, Fiddleford. He was a good guy, a family man with a son, you believed his name was Tate. Tonight you were kind of happy Fiddleford had left already, you liked him just fine but the truth was you had feelings for his cohort.

You blushed whenever Ford looked your way, eyed his hands as they fiddled with the laboratory devices, wondering to yourself how his hands would feel on you. There were so many times you wanted to tell him how you felt, to confess your true feelings. With Fiddleford almost always present the timing never felt right, but tonight you had Ford all to yourself.

Neither of you said much, just taking in the night air. You bounced your leg nervously, you started to feel light headed but decided to ignore it. Ford studied your face, it was clear you were anxious about something.

“Y/n, are you okay?”

You bit the bullet and took a deep breath.

“Ford, I-“

But before you could get another word out the world around you began to sway, the corners of your vision going black, the darkness slowly creeping in. You felt yourself falling forward. The last thing you heard was Ford’s voice.

“Y/n? Y/n!”

Ford caught you in his arms, he looked down at you, not sure what to do. He shook you.

“Y/n! Y/n!”

He tried to collect his thoughts, what the hell had just happened? You were fine all day and now you were out cold. He put a hand to your forehead, it felt normal, you weren’t sick.

A chilling laugh that made the hairs on his neck stand on end echoed through his head.

“Well well well well well well well well well, looks like the perfect opportunity is right in front of you, sixer.”

Ford swallowed. “Bill?”

“The one and only. So what do you think of my handiwork?”

“Handiwork? What handiwork?”

“Oh come on, you’ve been pining after this kid for ages and you’ve been too darn afraid to do anything so I figured I’d throw you a bone.”

Ford felt a pit grow in his stomach “Bill… what did you do?”

“It’s really not that big of a deal, sixer. I just had you add a little something special to their drink.”

Ford was horrified. “Bill, that’s- you can’t-“

“Oh come off it Fordsy, you and I both know this is a golden opportunity. Do you seriously think you’re gonna have the guts to even kiss them when they’re awake?”

Ford bit his lip, Bill was right, he was a coward when it came to you.

“Mull it over, I’ll leave you two alone for now, don’t be a pussy. Byyyyyyeeeee.”

And with that things were quiet again, it was just Ford and you lying unconscious in his arms. He felt his pulse in his throat. He had wanted to kiss you, to know you intimately for so long. Would he really get another chance like this?

He stood up, and carried you through the front door. He walked through the dark shack, the floorboards creaking underneath his feet. He opened the door to his room and walked to the edge of his bed, setting you down gently on the plush covers.

He cupped your cheek, stroking it with his thumb. He knew it was sick, but thought you looked incredibly cute passed out. Your lips were parted slightly, so kissable. He couldn’t resist, he leaned down and kissed you deeply and felt himself grow achingly hard. Fuck, this felt so wrong but he didn’t have the will to stop himself now.

His fingers traced the top button of your blouse, undoing each of them slowly, kissing his way down the valley between your breasts as he did so.

He thumbed the delicate lace of your bra, god if you hadn’t planned to be seen like this why would you wear something so sexy underneath? He slipped a hand down your back to sit you up so he could undo your bra.

He sucked in a breath as he laid you back down and took in the sight of your breasts, they were so fucking perfect. He had pictured it in his mind thousands of times but the real thing was even better than he imagined. He took one of your nipples in his mouth, swirling it with his tongue. Taking your other breast in his hand, he circled your nipple with his index finger.

His cock throbbed through his pants. If this was wrong why was he so turned on? Was he really that depraved? He shook his head, trying to escape the thoughts and enjoy the moment.

He ran his calloused hands up your thighs and started to pull down your pants. He let out a small dark chuckle, matching underwear. Yeah, you were asking for this. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of your panties and slid them off your legs. The sight of you elicited another sinister laugh from him. You were soaking wet, even in your unconscious state your body begged for him.

He pulled his hands off of you and began removing his trench coat, next his sweater vest and collared shirt. He unbuckled his belt, letting it hit the floor with a loud thud. He slid his boxers off of his hips and let them fall over his discarded pants.

He stroked himself absentmindedly as he studied your naked body. He wished he had a polaroid camera so he could save this moment forever. He wanted to ravage you, claim you. Then it occurred to him that it would only be fair to make you cum if he was going to destroy you.

He slid himself down the length of your body, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake. His hot breath tickled your pussy. He took your clit in his mouth, his tongue flicking it rapidly. He moaned into your pussy, you tasted so fucking good. He wished that you were awake so you could tangle your fingers in his hair. He slid his index and middle finger inside of you, pumping roughly into you.

He felt your walls tighten around his fingers, your wetness dripping out of you. He worked you with a steady rhythm, savoring the delicious wet sounds of his fingers sliding in and out of you.

He sucked your clit furiously, his fingers fucking you with a brutal intensity. Your pussy began to spasm around his fingers, he knew you were close. He kept at his pace, wanting to push you to orgasm.

“That’s it, baby, cum for me.”

You began to pulse around his fingers, a small moan escaped your lips. He reveled in your orgasm. His cock leaked precum and twitched wildly. Nothing had ever gotten him this aroused.

He got up, dragging you head first to the edge of the bed, tilting your head back. He swiped his finger on your tongue, feeling the warmth of your mouth. He angled his cock to your lips and shoved himself down your throat.

He fucked your mouth aggressively, panting and swearing. You looked so pretty with his cock in your throat. He bucked his hips into your face, holding a hand to your neck, feeling his cock bulge in your throat.

He felt himself getting close, and pulled out. His breathing was ragged. He took a moment to collect himself before picking you up and laying you back down with your head on the pillow.

He climbed on top of you and kissed you deeply, hands fondling your breasts. He aligned his cock with your entrance and with a loud groan forced himself into you all the way to the hilt. The way your pussy gripped his cock was perfect.

Your eyes fluttered open, all you could see from the dim light of the bedside table lamp was a figure moving on top of you. As your eyes adjusted and you started to come back to reality it hit you just what was happening and who it was.

“FORD WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“Oh, you’re awake. I’m sorry but you passed out and you just looked so perfect that I had to have you.”

You desperately tried to free yourself from underneath him, you clawed at his arms. He took your wrists in his hands and pinned them down above your head.

“Don’t- ah, don’t struggle. I promise I’ll make you feel good.”

“Ford, stop. Please.” You cried.

“I can’t, nngh, you feel too good.”

He fucked you hard, pumping his thick cock into you. The slick, wet sounds filling the room. He forced his lips on yours and moaned into your mouth, his tongue shoving its way to the back of your throat.

You wrestled yourself out of his grip and pushed him off of you. You scrambled off of the bed and ran for your life for the door, but Ford was faster. He tackled you and pinned you to the floor.

“Baby please don’t make this, ugh, harder than it has to be.” He whispered into your ear as you fought back against him.

He pulled you to your feet and shoved you back down on the bed, pinning your wrists once more. He was going to finish what he started. He violently forced himself into you again, his rhythm punishing. He groaned loudly and bit your neck, you whimpered. His cock twitching at the noise.

He stopped for a second, reaching into the bedside drawer and pulled out a pair of handcuffs that he had stolen off a cop during a night of possession by Bill. He cuffed your hands above your head. His hand now free to travel south, making its way to your clit. He drew circles with his fingers while continuing to brutally fuck you, causing your pussy clench around his cock. The pleasure was indescribable, god he loved it.

You tried to struggle again, but Ford held you down by the waist with his free hand. His breathing quickened, he was close, you were too. He pounded you into the mattress, the bed frame shaking.

“Fuck you’re gonna make me cum, I need you to cum around my cock.”

His fingers didn’t let up, you felt yourself getting closer to the edge. You bit into his into his shoulder and felt the skin break, the sickly metallic taste of blood flooding your mouth. That was enough to send Ford over, he cocked his head back and his moan echoed throughout the shack. You cried out as you came, tears welling in your eyes.

Ford shuddered and panted, he was spent. He rolled off of you and collapsed beside you. You laid there, shaking and crying. Ford took your face in his hand, wiping away the tears with his thumb.

“Shh shh shh, it’s okay, you’re okay.” He cooed. “Let me get those cuffs off of you.”

With a click of the little key your hands were released. You thought about using this as an opportunity to run, but you felt frozen. He kissed you lazily on your lips and neck, then he pulled you against his chest. His big calloused hands stroked your back. You felt strangely comforted, safe almost. You had always wanted this, to be wrapped in Ford’s arms.

Ford had desired you for so long, and now that he finally had you he wasn’t going to let you go.

#ford pines #ford pines x reader #ford pines fanfic #ford pines smut #gravity falls

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hutchersonsgurl · 3 days

Text

Out of the Shadows - Daryl dixion

paring fem reader & Daryl Dixon

summary: you and Daryl have been seeing each other for a couple months but he never said i love you

warning: none

The sun hung low in the sky, painting the world in hues of gold as you and Daryl dipped under the broken fence lining the Greene farm. The tranquility of the countryside felt like a distant memory compared to the chaos that lurked beyond its edges. Surrounded by the chaos of the undead, you had carved out a little corner of normalcy here, even if it was fraught with tension and higher stakes than ever before.

You and Daryl had been through a lot in the last few months, the bond between you stretching beyond friendship into something more confusing—something that sizzled just beneath the surface. When Daryl had first suggested, rather awkwardly, that you two could help each other out in "some ways," it had seemed like a harmless enough arrangement. But now, watching him adjust the straps on his crossbow with that familiar frown etched on his forehead, you wondered if your friendship could ever really go back to what it was before.

“Are you ready?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at you. His voice was steady, perhaps a little more composed than how you felt. You nodded, pushing aside your swirling thoughts and focusing on the task at hand. The grocery store loomed before you, a hulking skeleton of its former self, but it was full of potential supplies that could save lives.

As you stepped through the threshold, it felt eerily quiet. The aisles were toppled and littered with cans and wrappers. You took a deep breath, the stale air heavy with the scent of decay, and pushed forward.

After some searching, you began gathering canned goods, medical supplies, and whatever else you could find. Daryl moved through the isles with a predator’s grace, his sharp eyes continually scanning for danger. You admired his focus; it was part of why you were drawn to him.

“There’s gotta be more in the back,” he said, pointing toward a set of swinging doors at the end of the aisle. You felt a thrill of anticipation coupled with a tinge of unease. This was the longest you had been on a supply run in a while, and the store had been silent far too long.

“Let’s check it out; we can’t leave any good stuff behind,” you suggested, heart racing. You wanted to impress him, to prove that you could handle yourself out here.

With a nod, you approached the swinging doors and, with one swift motion, pushed them open.

The sight beyond those doors sent a chilling jolt through your body. A horde of walkers shuffled in the dim light, their grotesque forms shuffling aimlessly. You barely had time to register their existence before Daryl was at your side, crossbow raised, ready for action.

“Back up!” he shouted, shoving you gently behind him. The moment hung in the air before chaos erupted. You seized your knife, your instincts kicking in. Daryl took out the first walker with expertise, his aim true, but there were too many—more than you had anticipated.

You ducked under a flailing arm, slicing your knife into the side of a walker’s head, its putrid weight collapsing to the ground. Daryl's movements were fluid, almost choreographed as he covered your blind spots.

“We gotta get outta here!” he barked, his eyes fierce with determination. You nodded, adrenaline flooding your veins, and together fought off the growing swarm, pushing your way back toward the entrance you had come through.

Each step felt heavy as you battled your way towards the door. You worked in sync, a rhythm established through countless hours at the Greene farm. It wasn’t just about survival now; it was about protecting him, just as he had protected you.

Suddenly, you stumbled, a sharp pain shooting through your leg as one of the walkers latched onto you, its rotten teeth gnashing just inches away. Daryl was there in an instant, wrenching the walker away and dispatching it with a brutal thrust of his knife.

“Get up!” he urged, pulling you to your feet again. You won’t let him down; you wouldn’t let either of you down.

The two of you barreled for the opening, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You felt breathless as you fought to the front of the store and burst through the doors, leaving the throng of walkers behind in the dusty gloom.

Once outside, you sprinted toward the truck, gasping for breath. Daryl slammed the door shut just as a few stragglers lunged at the vehicle. Hearts pounding, you both sank against the truck, the adrenaline slowly fading.

“Damn,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, a seldom-seen relief washing over his features. “Thought we were done for.”

You smiled weakly, still feeling the rush of adrenaline. “I could’ve handled it,” you teased.

“Yeah, like hell you could,” he shot back, a smirk finally crossing his lips, melting some of the tension that had built between you.

Returning to the Greene farm felt surreal. You had faced death together and survived. Only moments later, as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the fields, you found yourself alone with Daryl by the barn. The silence wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

“Listen…,” he began, his voice halting. He avoided your gaze, focusing on a distant horizon, but you could see the weight of emotions in his expression. “I... I need to tell you something.”

Your heart raced. Was he finally going to say it? Your breaths came in shallow bursts, the entire world narrowing down to just the two of you.

“I never thought I could let someone in like this,” he confessed, finally meeting your eyes. “But I do care about you, more than… more than I thought was possible in this messed up world."

You felt your heart leap. “Daryl…”

“I love you,” he rushed out, the words tumbling from his lips. His gaze was fierce, raw with vulnerability. “I don’t just want to be friends or whatever. I want you.”

It felt like time stopped. You took a slow breath, allowing his confession to wash over you. “I love you too, Daryl,” you admitted, sincerity resonating through every word.

" it took you us almost getting killed by walkers to tell me you love me " you tease

"Hey I told ya I ain't good at these types of things" Daryl answered

First fic in awhile! I'm slowly getting back into this but hope y'all like it

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peachesofteal · 2 days

Note

I love when you write reader being all unsure of what they are to Simon or worrying about being too much for him, meanwhile Simon is like “this one is mine. I will end the world if it made life even a degree easier for them. I have already declared us married and soulmates in my head, and will start to manipulate, mansplain, and malewife my way into that reality. I’m gonna provide for them so good”

One of my favorite versions! I love him when he’s clearly not well adjusted but knows what he wants. He’s not keen on what society and everyone else thinks he should be doing, he’s just going with basic instinct. Immediately in pursuit and obsessed.

#peaches asks

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apollogeticx · 1 day

Text

✧˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ DUMB & POETIC ♡·˚

— [♡] ; you sprouted love like flowers, growing a garden in your mind and watering the petals with every unshed tear. ｡°. gojo satoru

wc. 3.2K

↳ part 1 | part 2 | part 3

The beach house had settled into a rhythm. Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi had kept the energy alive with beach games, bad jokes, and playful arguments. Even you had begun to relax, finding moments of peace between the tension that still occasionally surfaced between you and Gojo. But for the most part, the trip was turning out to be just what you needed—a break from everything that had happened, a chance to breathe.

It wasn’t until the third day, when the sun was high in the sky and the others were down by the shore, that Gojo’s phone rang. He was lounging on the deck, sipping something cold, when the shrill sound of his ringtone broke the lazy quiet. He glanced at the screen, surprised to see Shoko’s name flash across it.

He raised an eyebrow but answered, casually leaning back in his chair. “Hey, Shoko. What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Shoko’s voice came through sharp and annoyed, a tone Gojo didn’t often hear from her. “Are you out of your mind, Gojo?”

Gojo blinked, sitting up straighter at the edge in her voice. “What’s this about?”

There was a pause on the other end, and then Shoko sighed, her frustration palpable even through the phone. “You know what this is about. You dragged them— her —to your beach house? For spring break?”

Gojo frowned, confused. “Yeah, we needed a break. So what?”

“So what? Gojo, are you seriously that oblivious?” Shoko snapped. “Or are you really trying to make her fall in love with you all over again?”

Gojo froze, the words hitting him like a bucket of cold water. “What? No! That’s not—” He trailed off, suddenly unsure. Was that what he was doing? Was that why he’d invited everyone here? Why he’d made sure you came along?

Shoko’s silence on the other end was damning. She let out a frustrated huff before continuing. “Gojo, you might be the strongest sorcerer in the world, but when it comes to this, you’re clueless. Do you even realize what you’re doing? You’re putting her in the same position she was in before the surgery.”

Gojo stood up, moving to the edge of the deck, his hand running through his hair. “That’s not what I’m trying to do,” he insisted, though even as he said it, doubt began creeping in. “I just… I wanted to figure things out. With her. With all of this.”

“Figure things out?” Shoko’s voice was laced with disbelief. “You don’t get it, do you? She almost died because of how deeply she loved you. And now, after all that, you’re bringing her here, spending time with her like this… What do you think is going to happen, Gojo? She’ll just magically fall in love with you again? And this time it’ll be fine because you’re paying attention?”

Gojo clenched his jaw, the weight of her words hitting him harder than he expected. He hadn’t thought about it that way. He hadn’t been trying to manipulate anything—he hadn’t meant for this trip to turn into some kind of emotional trap. But now, hearing Shoko lay it out so plainly, he couldn’t ignore the truth.

Was that what he was doing? Trying to pull you back into his orbit, hoping that maybe—just maybe—you’d fall for him again? He hadn’t even realized it, but now that Shoko had said it out loud, it was impossible to ignore.

“I didn’t…” He trailed off, his voice quieter now. “I didn’t think of it like that.”

“No, you didn’t,” Shoko said, her voice softer but still firm. “You’ve never been good at thinking about the emotional fallout, Gojo. And I get it—you’re used to being able to fix things with power or clever words. But this isn’t something you can just fix by inviting her to a beach house.”

Gojo leaned against the railing, staring out at the ocean, his mind racing. He hadn’t meant for this to happen, hadn’t realized how deeply he was still entangled in everything that had happened between the two of you. But now, with Shoko’s words ringing in his ears, he couldn’t deny the truth. Somewhere along the way, without even realizing it, he had started wanting you to love him again.

He didn’t even know when it had started—maybe it was when he had seen you for the first time after the surgery, standing there with the weight of your love for him gone. Or maybe it was when you had told him, with fear in your voice, that you were afraid of falling for him again. Either way, it was there now, lingering in the back of his mind, in every look, every word.

Shoko’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Look, Gojo… I know you care about her. But you need to be careful. If you really want to help her, if you really care about her, you need to stop thinking about what you want and start thinking about what’s best for her.”

Gojo let out a slow breath, his grip tightening on the railing. “I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to hurt her, Shoko.”

“I know you weren’t,” Shoko replied, her tone softer now. “But just be honest with yourself, Gojo. Are you really ready to face what happens if she does love you again? Or are you going to make the same mistake and push her away when things get complicated?”

Gojo didn’t answer right away, his mind spinning with everything Shoko had said. He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. But now, standing here, he realized that maybe—just maybe—he had been hoping for something. Something he hadn’t even been able to admit to himself until now.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said finally, his voice quieter, more serious than before. “I don’t want to hurt her again.”

“Good,” Shoko replied, her voice gentle but firm. “Because if you do, Gojo… this time, it might be too late to fix.”

They said their goodbyes, but Gojo didn’t move from his spot on the deck. The weight of Shoko’s words hung heavy over him, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure what to do.

He wasn’t used to this—feeling unsure, feeling vulnerable. He wasn’t used to caring this much about someone. But when it came to you, everything felt different. Messy. Complicated. And now, standing here in the soft light of the evening, he couldn’t help but wonder: What was this? What was he doing?

And more importantly: What did he want?

Because whether he liked it or not, Shoko was right. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to make the same mistake all over again.

And this time, there wouldn’t be a second chance.

Gojo stood there, the ocean stretching endlessly before him, but his mind was elsewhere—caught in the tangled mess of emotions and half-formed thoughts that had been brewing since the moment Shoko’s words hit him. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to questioning himself, to feeling so unsure about what he wanted or what to do next. But now, he couldn’t avoid it.

What do you want, Gojo?

That question had been lingering in the back of his mind for days, ever since this whole beach trip started. He had thought, at first, that it was about giving you a break, giving all of you some time away to reset. But if he was being honest with himself—and maybe for the first time, he really was—this trip had never just been about a vacation. It had been an excuse. An excuse to be near you, to figure out what this thing between you two was. He had wanted to get closer, to understand why you still lingered in his mind, even after the surgery had erased the love you once felt for him.

But now, after Shoko’s call, after that blunt, almost painful clarity she had given him, he couldn’t pretend anymore. It wasn’t about curiosity. It wasn’t about guilt or responsibility, either.

He cared about you. Not just as a student, not just because of what had happened. It was something more. Something deeper that he hadn’t realized until now, until the idea of you falling for him again was no longer a distant possibility but something that could happen. Something that he wanted to happen.

Gojo exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as he watched the waves roll in, his thoughts swirling like the tide. He had never been one to care about these kinds of things. Feelings, relationships, love—it had always seemed messy, complicated, something he wasn’t built for. He was Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer alive, someone who lived on the edge of power and responsibility, always just a step removed from everyone else.

But with you… it felt different. He wasn’t standing on the edge anymore, wasn’t watching from afar. He was right in the middle of it, tangled up in something that he couldn’t just ignore or brush off.

Shoko had been right. If you fell in love with him again—and he knew it was possible, even probable—it would be different this time. Because now, it wasn’t just about your feelings. It was about his.

He hadn’t noticed it before. He hadn’t wanted to. But now, with the question staring him in the face, he couldn’t deny it anymore.

Gojo wanted you.

Not in the simple, surface-level way that he sometimes joked about with others. This wasn’t about charm or attraction, or the way he could so easily draw people in with his confidence and smile. This was deeper. He wanted you in his life, in a way that felt grounding, like maybe for the first time, he wasn’t floating above everything but was anchored to something real.

He wanted to be there, for you and with you—not just as your teacher or some distant figure in the background, but as someone who mattered. Someone who could be a part of your life, not just someone you admired from afar.

And if you fell in love with him again?

He wasn’t going to push you away this time. He wasn’t going to let fear or uncertainty stop him from trying. Because now, he understood that he had been waiting for something like this—for someone like you. Someone who made him feel… human, in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

Gojo smiled softly to himself, feeling the weight of his decision settle over him. It wasn’t a grand revelation or some huge, life-altering moment. It was quiet. Simple. But it was real.

He wanted you. And for the first time in his life, Gojo wasn’t afraid of what that meant.

The rest of the evening passed quietly. Yuji and Nobara had managed to drag Megumi back to the house, exhausted from the day’s activities, and the house was filled with the usual banter and noise that came from having them around. You had retreated to the kitchen, helping yourself to a glass of water, when you felt his presence behind you.

“Hey,” Gojo’s voice was light, but there was something different in his tone—something more grounded, more focused.

You turned to face him, surprised to find him standing closer than you expected, his usual easy grin absent, replaced by a more serious expression. His eyes, usually hidden behind his blindfold, were uncovered, bright and intense as they met yours.

“Hi,” you replied, suddenly feeling nervous, like there was something unspoken hanging in the air between you.

Gojo leaned against the counter, his gaze never leaving yours. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, his voice softer than usual, almost tentative. “About everything. About us.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the word us, and you swallowed hard, unsure of where this conversation was going. “What about us?”

Gojo was quiet for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. “I know things have been complicated,” he began slowly. “And I know I haven’t exactly been great at… dealing with all of this. But I want to be honest with you.”

You stared at him, your pulse quickening. “Honest about what?”

He took a deep breath, his gaze softening as he spoke. “About what I want. About what’s been going on in my head since all of this started. And the truth is… I want you around. Not just as one of my students, but… more than that.”

You blinked, his words sinking in slowly. Your heart was racing, and you could barely breathe. “More than that?”

Gojo smiled, a small, genuine smile. “Yeah. I’ve realized that… I don’t want to push you away. I don’t want to pretend like none of this matters. It does. You matter. And I want to figure it out—whatever this is, whatever it could be—together.”

You stared at him, your mind reeling. Gojo—Satoru Gojo—was standing in front of you, telling you that he wanted you, that he wanted to figure out whatever was between you. The fear that had been gnawing at you since the surgery, the uncertainty of what would happen if you let yourself care for him again, all of it seemed to melt away in the face of his quiet sincerity.

For the first time since everything had changed, you felt something new. Something fragile, but real.

Hope.

You took a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “What if I fall for you again?” you asked, your voice trembling but steady.

Gojo stepped closer, his smile widening, his eyes soft but full of that familiar spark. “Then it’s all good.”

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t afraid of what came next.

A few months had passed since that conversation at the beach house, and everything had settled into something new—something real. The fear, the uncertainty that had once weighed heavily between you and Gojo, had slowly faded, replaced by something more stable, more grounded. Life had moved forward, but now, it did so with a quiet ease that you hadn’t expected.

Your relationship with Gojo had evolved, and though it hadn’t been without its bumps and awkward moments, it had become something solid. It wasn’t rushed or dramatic, like you might have once imagined. There were no grand declarations of love, no sweeping romantic gestures. Instead, it was quiet and slow, built on the foundation of friendship, trust, and mutual understanding.

It felt like you had both found your footing, like you were learning how to be in each other’s lives without the fear of repeating the mistakes of the past.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and the weather was warm, the sun shining down as you and Gojo walked through the school grounds. Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi were off training somewhere, and the two of you had decided to take advantage of the quiet. Gojo had a bag of snacks slung over his shoulder, and you had your hands tucked into your pockets, enjoying the comfortable silence between you.

“What’s the plan for today, sensei?” you asked, giving him a teasing smile. It had become a running joke between you—calling him "sensei" even though the dynamic between you had changed so much over the past few months.

Gojo grinned, his usual playful energy still very much intact. “Oh, you know, the usual. Thought we could go somewhere quiet and you watch me be awesome.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips. “You mean watch you eat snacks and avoid responsibility?”

“Exactly,” Gojo said with a wink, falling into step beside you. “See, you’re catching on.”

The banter between you had always been there, but now it was different. There was a lightness to it that hadn’t existed before. You weren’t constantly second-guessing yourself, wondering if Gojo was thinking about the past or the surgery or the complicated feelings that had once consumed both of you. Now, things just… were.

You weren’t in a rush to define the relationship, to label it. The love you had once felt for him had changed—it wasn’t the same overwhelming, suffocating force that had bloomed inside of you like the flowers that had nearly killed you. Instead, it had grown into something healthier, something that didn’t demand all of you but existed alongside you.

And Gojo? He had changed, too. He wasn’t the same distant, untouchable figure he had once been. He still had that easy confidence, that charm that made everyone around him smile, but there was something softer about him now—something more vulnerable. He had let you in, and though it hadn’t been easy for him, he hadn’t pulled away. He hadn’t run.

You found a quiet spot under a tree near the edge of the training grounds, and Gojo flopped down onto the grass, pulling a snack out of his bag with a dramatic flourish. You sat beside him, leaning back against the tree and closing your eyes for a moment, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your face.

“So,” Gojo said after a while, his tone more serious than usual. “How’s it going? You know… with everything.”

You opened your eyes, glancing over at him. It wasn’t like Gojo to ask questions like that—he wasn’t one for deep conversations unless they happened naturally, but when he did ask, you knew it mattered.

“It’s going,” you replied honestly, offering him a small smile. “Better than I expected.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly interested. “Better how?”

You sighed, resting your head back against the tree as you thought about your answer. “I’m not afraid anymore. Of being around you. Of falling for you again.” You turned your head to look at him, and his expression softened. “And I think… I already did.”

Gojo didn’t flinch. He didn’t tense up or act surprised. Instead, he smiled, his gaze warm as he looked at you. “I know.”

It wasn’t a grand moment, but it didn’t need to be. You had fallen for him again, slowly, gradually, and this time it felt right. It felt safe. It wasn’t the kind of love that demanded too much or threatened to swallow you whole. It was something that grew between you, steady and unforced.

And Gojo? He was right there with you.

You hadn’t talked much about what your relationship was in specific terms. You didn’t need to. What mattered was that you were both here, both willing to figure it out together. There was no rush, no urgency. Just… time. Time to grow, to understand each other, to learn how to love in a way that wasn’t destructive.

Gojo reached out, his fingers brushing against yours as he gave you that easy, lopsided grin you had come to know so well. “I’m not going anywhere, you know,” he said softly. “No matter what happens. We’ll figure it out.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his words settle over you. “I know.”

The two of you sat there for a while longer, the sound of the breeze rustling the leaves overhead and the distant laughter of the others in the background. It was peaceful, quiet, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe—like you had found something worth holding onto, not because you needed it to survive, but because it made life better.

And that was enough.

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the grass, Gojo shifted beside you, his gaze thoughtful. “You know, we never did figure out what this is,” he said, gesturing between the two of you with a lazy wave of his hand. “Maybe we should give it a name.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Does it need a name?”

He grinned, leaning back on his elbows and looking up at the sky. “Nah. I guess not.”

And in that moment, you realized that it didn’t matter what you called it. What mattered was that you were here, together, and that the love between you—whatever form it took—was real.

And that was more than enough.

notes: now everyone says "thank you shoko ieiri"! writing this was so much fun, thank you so much!

tag list: @lily-of-my-dreams @sunnyx07 @3zae-zae3 @sashisuslover @kingshitonly @bvuckleybby @laviefantasie @r0ckst4rjk @minkyungseokie @tw0fvced @f1sheeee @laviefantasie @f1sheeee @spindyl @itsjustnikkixoxo @springsoltice

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