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celestie0 · 1 day ago

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gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch6. the in-laws

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 6/x

ᰔ words. 12.6k

a/n. hiii my ihm lovelies!! hope you all had a great holiday season. i wanted to get this chapter out as a christmas gift but i failed and then i wanted to get it out as a new years post but failed and then i got food poisoning yesterday and while i was rotting in bed i ended up finishing the chapter LOL. it seems i can only write when i'm under duress? but anywho. hope you enjoy haha and see you at the bottom!

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“Alright, let’s head out,” you hear Gojo say from the bottom of the staircase, followed by the sound of dress shoes on the hardwood floor, and you glance over to see him clad in a navy suit with a white button up shirt that had one singular button undone. He’s messing with the cuffs of his suit jacket as he makes his way over to you. You catch the scent of his cologne, and it’s alarming how familiar it’s become to you.

Days go by shorter lately, mainly because it’s winter, and so the sun has almost fully set by 6pm. The sky outside is a dark hue of purple, seen past the windows of Gojo’s house, and the warm, dim lighting inside makes you feel strangely nostalgic. Like in a way that feels like home.

You tirelessly tousle with your hair at the mirror hanging above the foyer table that was snug up against the wall at the front entrance. Your hair wasn’t cooperating. You attempted to curl it, for the first time in forever given you can’t remember the last time you had enough time to do your hair, so you were out of practice. It was obvious, given the way some strands were curled outwards from your face, some inwards, some straighter than others, some curlier than others, and you were about to have a full blown mental breakdown before you remember your grounding exercises– 1, 2, 3, 4.

You turn to face Gojo, who you saw in the mirror was standing behind you and watching you with amusement, and you breathe in deep. “How do I look?” you ask, petting down the fabric of your dress as you face him. The thought occurs to you–why do you give so much of a fuck how you look right now? It’s just Gojo’s family. It’s not like they’re actually your in-laws. And from what Gojo’s mother had told you, it was just an intimate little get-together with Sana’s family. It’s really not a big deal. Yet the necessity to impress still consumes you.

Gojo threads his hands into the pockets of his pants and tilts his head to assess your appearance, and you watch his gaze trace the frame of you. “Nice,” he says, “you look nice.”

“That’s it? Just nice?”

“Well, I tried to call you hot earlier, but it got me yelled at.”

You roll your eyes and grab your purse off the foyer table, “okay, whatever, I’ll take it.” And then you head towards the front door. You hear the jingle of car keys from behind you as they’re shoved into a pocket.

The outside air is chilly in a way that’s almost sobering. Gojo opens the door for you to get inside his car and the warmth of your peach cobbler in your lap comforts some of the nerves you felt. By the time Gojo clicks his seatbelt into place in the driver seat, you realize you’ve never been in his car before, or driven anywhere by him before.

The interior smells of pine and something more familiar too, with sleek leather seats that are so comfortable they make you feel like you’re floating. You know it’s a Benz, you’re just not sure what year or model, and you’d usually ask most people out of a friendly curiosity, but for some reason your pride always got the best of you when it came to him.

“I seriously can’t wait to eat that thing you made,” Gojo comments after he’s backed out of the driveway, “it looks really nice.”

“Do you have a sweet tooth?” you ask him, glancing over at him, and you try not to stare at the strong one-handed grip he has on the steering wheel as he corrects it.

“Oh yeah,” he answers, “big time.”

“You don’t seem like it,” you mindlessly say, turning your head to glance out into the dim street, passing by houses that idly sit in this neighborhood.

“Why’s that?” he asks.

“You seem to maintain a steady weight,” you politely comment.

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Is that the closest I’ll ever get to a compliment from you?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s just science. Hard to maintain a build if you eat a lot of sugar.”

He turns onto the mainroad, and you keep your gaze plastered to the outside. “I seem to manage.”

“It’s because you're tall. Tall people get to eat whatever they want.”

You see him nod his head once in your periphery, and you take it as some form of dismissal. “Sure.”

It doesn’t take terribly long to get to Gojo’s parents’ house, just a thirty-five minute drive without traffic. He kept surprisingly silent throughout most of it, and the few moments you did glance at his face, you could even say he looked like he was deep in thought. With a creased brow, a grip on the steering wheel that sometimes faltered, sometimes strengthened, but rarely fully eased. It was all so different from his usual impulse to talk. You know that you often wish for Gojo to shut the fuck up sometimes, but the silence seemed unsettling today.

His parents’ house is large, maybe twice the size of the homes in your neighborhood, but it’s tucked away in a slightly remote area, where the next closest house is about a quarter of a mile down the road. The driveway is long and runs downhill, so you stumble a little on the high heel of your shoe when you step down onto the pebbled pavement, but Gojo holds your elbow so you don’t fall onto your face. And also so you don’t drop the peach cobbler he so desperately wants to try. You’re not sure which of the two was the bigger priority for him.

As you two walk up the driveway towards the front entrance, you hear him sigh behind you. “Just so you know, my mom doesn’t really have any sense of boundaries.”

“Ah,” you comment, “nice to know where you get it from.”

He gives you an irritated look, seen in the corner of your eye, and it’s hard to fight the small amused smile that makes its way onto your face.

He sighs again as you two make it to the top of the steps. “Seriously, though. Chances of you wanting to leave me after this dinner are high.”

“Why? You’ve got a hot older brother I don’t know about or something?”

“I am the hot older brother,” he tells you.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, and then face him fully. “You’re not the first guy that’s warned me about his parents, okay? I’ll handle my own. What good is life if your in-laws–er, fake in-laws–aren’t at least a little strange?”

He lifts his finger to the doorbell, and just before pressing it, he says, “alright, then.”

It only takes twelve seconds for the door to swing open, the aroma of fresh herbs and something more sultry like vetiver arouse your senses, along with a warmth beckoning you from the inside of the home.

Gojo’s mother stands at the doorway, surrounded by a halo of warm lighting, and her face instantly morphs into one of delightful glee.

“Oh! My dear, you’ve made it!” she exclaims happily, and just when you think she’s about to pull Gojo in for a hug, she pulls you in for one first instead, which startles you. “How lovely!”

“Oh—” you stutter, stumbling slightly as your nose becomes buried in the fluff of her silk pressed hair, but the delicate fragrance of lilac is somehow comforting.

She pulls you away to hold you by your shoulders. “You poor thing, you’re shivering! Come inside.” She hastily ushers you inside and you can feel the heat from Gojo’s body as he follows closely on your tail.

When his mother closes the door behind you, you find yourself surrounded by the kind of warmth only a house could provide.

You take a small look around the foyer, noticing that it’s large with tones of deep wood and a bright white and golden chandelier that hangs daintily above in the cavity of the high ceilings. Leather, wood, velvet, silk, these are the textures that you see as you look around. It’s an old-fashioned taste, with a polished grand piano off to the right in the hall and display cases of vintage dolls and porcelain plates. So very different from modern, but it’s comforting. Like a wave of nostalgia, but from something you’ve never experienced before.

“What’s this?” Mrs. Gojo asks with curiosity lilting her voice as she walks up to you and points at the casserole dish you were holding.

“Oh, it’s peach cobbler,” you say, holding it up slightly with a small smile adorning your face, “for dessert.”

“How sweet! You’re an angel,” she coos, then twists her torso towards the kitchen, “honey! Come here, will you?”

Shuffling down the hallway from the heart of the house is, who you presume to be, Mr. Gojo. He’s tall, with his shoulders slightly curved forward as he approaches you all, and you note that he looks more aged than his missus.

“Ah, this must be my new daughter-in-law,” he says, his voice gruff and crackly from years of use. You smell the faintest hint of smoke from his clothing.

You glance at Gojo, who is watching you interact with his parents, an unreadable expression on his face as his hands remain shoved into the pocket of his suit pants.

Mr. Gojo takes the peach cobbler from you and gives you a curt smile before taking it back towards the kitchen.

“Darling, I must say, you have a lovely figure—” Gojo’s mother begins to say, reaching her hand out to hover it over the curve of your waist, but just at that moment, Gojo comes up to stand in between the two of you.

“Alright, what time’s dinner?” he asks.

Mrs. Gojo glances up at him, her face immediately twisting into a frown. “Nevermind that. I want to take y/n with me back to the kitchen to help braise the chicken,” she says, grabbing a hold of your wrist and tugging you towards her.

“Oh—” you stumble slightly.

“Nope,” you hear Gojo say from beside you, and suddenly there’s a strong arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you back to his side, “she stays with me for the night.” You’d remember to blush at the feeling of being pressed flush up against him, but the shock overshadowed.

“Satoru!” Mrs. Gojo exclaims, rather loudly, and she lets out a hmph noise before placing her hands on her hips. “You’re no fun!”

“I’m not gonna let you indoctrinate her into whatever multi-level marketing scheme you’ve fallen victim to this month,” he says, his hold on your waist tightening.

“How petulant!” she says, trying to manage a stern look but Gojo doesn’t seem fazed by it, “quit acting like I’m going to corrupt her! I’m not some witch.”

“Your track record would prove otherwise,” he comments.

“Oh please, the only other time was when you brought—”

She suddenly stops speaking, her eyes going wide, and she glances at you. You cluelessly tilt your head at her.

Ah. The other woman. This mysterious ex-wife. Would you be the other woman in this case? Seeing as to how his entire family seems to walk on eggshells about the subject around you. And they all seem to think that any mention of her would devastate you, when really, you and Gojo aren’t even actually lovers.

But there’s a small part of you,

A teeny tiny part,

Revealed from the way your heart sank at the realization of who his mother was referring to,

That actually does feel some type of way about it.

You want to know who this woman was to him. Does he still think of her? Does he still love her? What happened between them? Was she the one that got away? And how does he feel about the fact that he’s now here with you?

You shake your head vigorously to get those thoughts out of your head.

It was like method acting. You stepped into the role of wife this evening, and now you feel the way that they expect you to feel at the mention of your husband’s ex-lover.

That must be the reason, right?

You slowly push yourself out of Gojo’s hold, and you try not to become hyper aware of his eyes on you as you smooth out the fabric of your dress, then you glance at his mother.

“I’d love to help you braise the chicken,” you say.

There’s a brief silence as you find your voice in this house, and then Mrs. Gojo flashes you a grin.

“Come with me, honey,” she says before wrapping a delicate hand around your wrist and pulling you towards the heart of the house.

There are pictures hung up on the walls as you brush past every hallway, along with peeling wallpaper that is peppered with florals and striped prints, sanded off from years of shoulders brushing against their surfaces in a way that creates an old, dated charm. You learn quickly that Gojo has always been pretty tall, judging from the photo of him standing with, whom you assume are his middle school friends, out on a boat, holding a bass the size of a small child.

There’s photos of the four of them together, like one professionally taken photo where Gojo and Sana are knelt in front of their parents, and your gaze fixates on the strong grip Mr. Gojo has on his son’s shoulder, digging deep in the bone, creasing the fabric, almost desperately. Gojo looks young in the photo, maybe a recent high school graduate, and his smile is bright but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

And, God, the trophies. The trophies that adorned the surfaces of aged cedar wood dressers, seemingly random in the order they are sprawled across the display yet you know there was intention behind it too. Ballet, soccer, tennis, spelling bee, FRC, even dragon boat racing.

“Feel free to take any of those home,” Mrs. Gojo says with a teasing tone, “you eventually get tired of staring at them.”

You wouldn’t know. Your mother never had much extra cash hanging around to take you to tennis lessons, or ballet lessons, or SAT prep, or whatever. You were lucky enough that you got into college with the cards you were dealt, but you sometimes wonder what your potential could’ve been if you had parents like Gojo did. Maybe the house you live in would be your own, and not something that your mother has spent the past forty years of her life trying to pay off. Maybe you’d have a freshly renovated kitchen and a pretty boat out on the street. But throwing a pity party for yourself right now wasn’t exactly going to get you through the evening.

Mrs. Gojo finally leads you into the kitchen, and the aroma of fresh herbs overwhelms your senses.

“Smells wonderful,” you comment.

“I know,” she cheekily comments, “will you turn the meat please?”

You grab a pair of tongs and attempt to sear the cuts that were sizzling on the stove.

“Sooooo,” she coos, wasting no time to playfully bump her hip to yours, “how is married life?”

“Nice,” you respond, your cheeks warming slightly, “it’s nice.”

“It won’t always be that way, you know,” she muses with some underlying sense of sincerity that isn’t lost on you.

When you remain quiet, concentrating on the searing sizzling noises coming from the pan, she decides to keep speaking.

“Eventually, you two will settle in a little too much…start to care less about your bodies…and then, oh gosh, when kids come into the picture, forget about having any time for yourselves,” she continues, “some days you’ll resent him, others you’ll feel like it’s the first time all over again.” She sighs. “Marriage is a funny thing—”

“Mrs. Gojo,” you interrupt her, turning to face her, “I—…I really appreciate you, I do, but, um, I’ve already learned a lot already about marriage from my own parents. Things are fine between Satoru and me.” You look into her widened eyes. “And…if something does happen down the line, and we choose not to be together anymore, then that’s okay too.”

After all, you had to prepare her.

“But that’s the thing!” she chirps, “your generation is too—…too impatient. Unwilling to work anything out! A marriage is supposed to be hard, but also it’s something you aren’t supposed to give up on so easily.”

It’s your turn to meet her with widened eyes in response to her preaching, and her posture immediately deflates before she holds you gently by your arm.

“I’m sorry, honey…I know it’s too early to be saying all these things to you,” she says, managing a small smile, “I always forget that I’m too old to be doting on my children like this anymore.”

Your expression softens and you wrap your palm over her bony knuckles, feeling the thinness of the skin that stretches over them. In a brief glimpse, you see your own mother in Mrs. Gojo’s eyes, something familiar, a universal expression of the love a parent has for their child.

“Well…” you say after clearing your throat, “for what it’s worth, you have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Gojo.” You try to manage a small smile. “I’m—…I’m really happy with your son.”

It was hard to lie to someone like this, especially from the way there’s relief that floods her irises, a genuine feeling that is so hard to come by in these days of false niceties. You often wonder how far a single white lie can stretch before it shatters against its own resistance.

“That’s a relief,” she says, managing her own prim smile, “I’m so glad.”

The two of you finish up in the kitchen, and when you circle around back into the hall, you see Sana standing in the warmly lit family room with Gojo and their dad.

Sana catches your eye, and you purse your lips together hesitantly before walking up to her.

“Hey,” you say softly and she returns the small smile you give her.

“Hi,” she says back to you.

“Um, where’s Juno?” you ask, looking around.

“Oh, she has a sleepover at her friend’s house tonight,” Sana says, “Jun’s dropping her off, and then he’ll come by here later.”

“Ah, I see,” you comment, itching at your elbow from the awkwardness.

“Well,” Mr. Gojo says, gesturing towards the dining room, “let’s eat, shall we?”

The three of you nod at him.

It’s fascinating to watch how the family falls naturally into their chairs, an assigned seating pattern that stays consistent among all dining halls and rooms and tables in the world, one that every family has. Mr. Gojo sits at the head of the table, his wife to his left, his son to his right. Sana sits quaintly to her mother’s left, and you sit across from her to Gojo’s left. The one empty seat is left for the presence of Jun.

“Food looks wonderful, darling,” Mr. Gojo says before leaning over to place a kiss on her bashful cheek.

Your heart does something weird at the sight. A simultaneous twinge paired with a warmer feeling that follows. You hardly witnessed any affection within your household growing up, not between your parents at least, probably because you were young when they got divorced and so the turmoils and tribulations started long before you had any higher order of cognitive discernment beyond the childish interest in Disney princesses and The Backyardigans. For you, the only memories that last of your parents’ marriage are those that feel like nothing more than the frigidity of a business arrangement. Ironically similar to the one you were currently in with Gojo. Except at least yours hadn’t been initially built on a foundation of love and a promise to be there for one another until death did you two apart.

Death was knocking on your mother’s doorstep now. But your father was nowhere to be found. So much for a vow.

Mr. Gojo pours his son a glass of whiskey, single malt as read on the label. Mrs. Gojo pours you and Sana a glass of red wine, and you try to hide the grimace, because you would’ve much rather had the whiskey.

“To y/n,” Mr. Gojo says, raising his glass up into the air, “for being our newest addition to the family.”

You all clink your glasses together, then in a variety of pairings, the last one being the tap of Gojo’s glass against yours, before you all take a drink.

“So…” Mrs. Gojo speaks up, “exactly how long have the two of you been married?”

You glance at Gojo for help, which isn’t exactly an unsuspecting thing to do.

“Four weeks,” he says.

You watch Mrs. Gojo’s eyes twitch. You can understand. Her own son gets married and doesn’t tell her anything about it for four weeks after the wedding. Well, in your case, a courthouse arrangement.

“Where did you two go for your honeymoon?” she asks, and Mr. Gojo clears his throat.

You look at Gojo for help again, and mentally pinch yourself for not being more discreet about how fake this whole thing is.

But Gojo surprisingly looks at ease. “Greece,” he says, and leaves it at that.

Mrs. Gojo’s body language turns to you, clearly irritated by her son’s short and curt answers. “Did you have a fun time, dear?”

“Oh! Yes, it was a very fun time. Definitely did all the newly wed stuff. Just as normal newlyweds do, you know. Because we are newlyweds,” you say through an awkward cough.

“Like…?” Mrs. Gojo pushes, and you can tell that she’s asking out of a genuine curiosity over the itinerary you two had allegedly carried out, but you crack under the pressure.

“W—…We made love,” you say, “we made lots and lots of love.”

The sound of silverware clanking onto ceramic plates startles you out of the blissful ignorance you had to the words that you had just said. Like you were so caught up in your mind about wanting to seem like an actual real life couple to his parents that you almost forgot about the number one social rule when meeting your (fake) significant other’s parents: no references to copulation.

You glance up to find Mrs. Gojo’s eyes are wide, a slight tinge of pink to her cheeks. The width of Mr. Gojo’s eyes match his wife’s except his expression is also duly accompanied by a furrowed, perplexed brow. Sana looks visibly uncomfortable, shifting in her seat and trying hard to put on a poker face as she pretends like she didn’t just hear what you said.

You finally glance at Gojo, who’s looking at you with the most what the fuck? face you’ve ever seen someone make, and there’s concern on there somewhere too, like he’s not even fully convinced that you’re mentally sane at the moment because why on God’s green Earth would you say something like that at a family dinner table.

Trying your best to laugh it off, you say, “ah…ahaha, d-did I say make love? I meant–I meant that we–”

“Just–” Gojo interrupts you. “Just stop.”

Everyone are still stunned silent and the flush to your cheeks grows warmer. While clearing your throat, you set your lap napkin up on the table and clumsily scootch yourself out of your chair.

“Ex…cuse…me...” you mumble under your breath, knocking the table with your knee on accident, your wine glass almost toppling all over the pretty linen tablecloth but your reflexes catch the stem to steady it. “I need to…use the restroom.” And then you head straight down the hallway without sparing them another glance.

“Use the upstairs one!” Mrs. Gojo calls out to you, “the guest bathroom is under renovation.”

“Of fucking course it is,” you mutter under your breath, but flash them a polite smile before rounding the staircase pillar and then briskly walking up the stairs.

You quickly realize there’s more personality to the house upstairs, with some clutter in the theater loft and mismatching decorations that don’t reveal the careful deliberation of an indoor designer. The master bedroom is directly to the right of the top of the staircase and you glance across the loft at a narrow hallway that leads into the three bedrooms tucked away into the heart of the house.

One foot after the other, you float in that direction as if some force were compelling you towards it. Some trance of curiosity that no human being could ever resist. It’s fine. You didn’t actually need to piss anyways.

The first bedroom you walk past is rather boring, with beige tones all around. Beige bed sheets, beige wall paint, beige lamp shade, beige curtains. But the air smells crisp, and you notice there’s a shelf that has about half a dozen plants lined up in a variety of artistic pots. Similar to the set-up Gojo has in his house at home. You walk inside and brush your fingers across the dresser surface, rubbing fine dust over the pads of your fingers, and with your next inhale, you sneeze.

A guest bedroom, you think to yourself.

The next bedroom you walk past is sweeter, kinder, warmer. There’s pink hues scattered across, the most obvious one being the pillow covers, and there are some shades of a baby blue as well. But the furniture looks modern, sleek, and new. There were two identities at war in the room, like that of a little girl and a grown woman. Neither able to find its voice among the chaos of friendship bracelets sprawled across the desk and the Louis Vuitton purse resting at the foot of the bed.

Sana’s room, you think to yourself.

Childhood bedrooms are like time capsules if left untouched for very long. You’ve lived in your room at home for as long as you can remember, only recently having shifted to the master bedroom. The room grew up with you. It had no chance to become some entity of its own.

The next bedroom you walk by feels familiar, even before you walk inside. There’s a comforting feeling that envelopes just from the lighting alone. You push the door open with a gentle palm.

The culprit of any young man’s room–navy blue sheets. Stretched taut against a made-up bed that has some sort of feminine flair to it, like it wasn’t set by Gojo, but rather his mother passing by his room one day to sit in his absence, only to needlessly mess with the sheets because it gave her a sense of purpose. You go eighteen years pouring blood, sweat, and tears into raising a child, protecting them, nurturing them, being the one they lean on for all of life’s woes, only for them to pack up and leave one day. You suppose that if you were a parent, you would find melancholy in that loss of responsibility too.

His desk is a large expanse of cedar wood with a desktop monitor and some bookshelf speakers set up on it. The PC itself has collected dust over the years but there’s a small mechanical whirring noise you hear somewhere within. The rest of the desk is mostly empty except for some unopened mail tucked away with some books, the spines creased at the last few hundred pages, but never to the end.

You pick one of the books up, flipping the pages open, and see sticky notes on some of them. Like English literature notes one would take in class, with studious words that over exaggerate the significance of the prose just to make a teacher happy. Who cares if the curtains were blue? Maybe the author just wanted them to be blue. Why does everything in life have to have meaning?

Setting the book back down with a sigh, you walk over to the bookshelf. There are some more trophies, some sets of comic books, some strange robotic-looking figurines. Small picture frames of foreign scenery are set up in different corners wherever there is empty space, like an afterthought.

“Hmm…” you hum to yourself, tilting your head to the side to read the vertical spine of a thick black book that was tucked flush up against the shelf's side.

West Valley High School. Class of 2007.

With your index finger hooking the spine, you slowly pull the book out from its comfy corner. It’s heavy in your hands and you notice that there are ink smudges across the tips of your fingers.

When you open the cover, you’re met with a page filled with a variety of colors and handwriting, and you realize they’re signatures. And to no one’s surprise, most of them are feminine. With hearts, some merely outlines, some shaded in with ink, scattered across the page. Bubbly handwriting, neat handwriting, cursive handwriting, a lot of it in pinks and purples and reds. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was like those Valentine’s Day cards all the girls would sign in grade school to pass onto their crush, except imagine if all of them were intended for just one guy.

You roll your eyes as you flip the pages, seeing no end in sight to the signed ink. I mean, come on, how many signature pages does a yearbook even need? This was excessive. And, no, you aren’t bitter simply because your high school yearbook has maybe a max of fifteen signatures (four of which were from your teachers). It’s just frustrating. And confusing. Why does everyone on this planet adore Gojo except you? Is there something wrong with you? Are you the problem?

There are some signatures from boys too, most likely his friends. Otherwise, you’re not sure what random fleeting classmate you’ve only spoken to a couple times would be brazen enough to draw pictures of penises squirting in whatever empty space they could find in your yearbook, if not for his high school friends. These boys are probably in their mid thirties now, just as Gojo is, maybe with wives and kids they’re now responsible for. You wonder if they’d still find the drawings funny all the same today.

You flip the pages more, taking in image after image after image of smiling portraits. ABC…DE…F…ah, G. Hmm, there. There it was.

Gojo Satoru.

Seems like his high school didn’t allow yearbook quotes, but you try to imagine what his would be. Probably something corny and lame, like See kids? I told you I was sexy in high school.

He looks cute though. With his hair fluffy, boyishly ruffled to pair with a charming smile that’s at ease. He just looks a little younger, that’s all. Not that much different. Perhaps a bit more scrawny, a bit more mischievous-looking. As opposed to his adult self, who appears sturdy. More serious. But you realize that cheeky part of him that comes out every now and then when he’s teasing you or pissing you off is that boy within him that looks exactly like the portrait in this yearbook that you trace with the pad of your finger.

You close the book, suddenly a little out of breath, and then slip it back into place. Your eyes catch the shimmer of the trophy at the top of the shelf. It was shaped like a baseball glove mitt, and in the palm cup, there is an actual baseball in there with a black ink signature. You gently pick it up and turn it in your palm to try and read the ink.

Ichiro.

Your dad used to watch baseball. You’re familiar. Seattle Mariners, Ichiro Suzuki. The first Japanese player to ever make it to the Major Leagues. Ten time all-star, and tenth member of the Mariners hall of fame. He retired when you were just a little girl, but you still remember the look of awe in your father’s eyes as he stared at the box TV in the living room of your house when Ichiro took his last stand at the plate.

Gojo was also a boy at that time. Living in this house. Maybe his old man was watching that game at the same time. And maybe Gojo was watching the look on his father’s face, too. It’s the romance of life–you look up at the moon in the sky, and you know that there is someone else out there, someone that you’ll meet some day, maybe even someone that will mean the world to you someday, who’s looking at it too. But you just don’t know it yet.

Lost in endless, rather fruitless thought, you continue to turn the baseball in your hand to pointlessly assess the seams, but it slips out of your hand and onto the carpeted floor with a loud hollow thud that startles you, and when you attempt to bend down and pick it up, you accidentally push it with your toe and it rolls underneath the bed.

“Shit,” you mumble, getting down onto your hands and knees to look underneath the bed.

You see the ball rolled a few feet away, and when you reach for it, it becomes clear that you don’t have the arm span to grab it. You struggle and you struggle, the tips of your fingers barely tickling its seam, and the frustration makes you sweat a little.

“Come…here…you…stupid…thing,” you mutter. You’re sure your hair is a static mess now, too.

You finally manage to roll it towards you a couple inches and then your palm wraps around it before pulling it to your shoulder, but not without something collateral that’s dragged along with it.

A photograph. Printed out, vintage. You pinch the corner between your two fingers and stand back up onto your two feet in order to better assess the image under the light of the floor lamp.

The first person you notice in the photo is Gojo. He looks younger than in the yearbook, but he’s wearing a suit and a tie. It’s a little big on him, ill-fitting as most teenage boys should look in a suit, like a rite of passage. His smile is less warm than the one in the yearbook too, more prim and stretched into a thin line that’s only slightly curved upwards. It’s only then when you notice the slender fingers sprawled across his chest near the collar of his undershirt, black nail polish blending in with the fabric of the suit. Your eyes trail the dainty hand, and your heart skips a beat when you see a girl standing next to him, pressed up against him, her smile much brighter than his. Pink braces line her teeth and her hair is that classic mid-2000s side-swept bang mess, but she’s pretty. Dressed in a pink-ish purple gown that almost looks like a bridesmaids dress, and you finally see the banner stretched across behind the both of them in the picture that reads Homecoming 2005.

It’s hard to explain it, but you can just feel it somehow. That this person is important to him. Not just some last-minute date to Homecoming, or an old high school girlfriend he’s long since lost touch with. It seems larger than that, somehow. Unlike penises drawn on yearbook paper, this feels like something a person never outgrows.

Of course, people have lived fully-fledged lives before you’ve met them. Just as you have as well. But you’re overtaken by the insane curiosity to want to learn every single detail about this past life that Gojo has lived. Where did he and his friends hang out after school? When did he learn how to drive? When was the first time he got shit-faced drunk? When was the first time he snuck out of the house? And who was this girl in the picture?

“Find what you’re lookin’ for yet?” a voice calls out, entirely startling you to where you almost jolt out of your skin, and you swiftly turn on your heel towards the entrance of the room.

You see Gojo standing in the door frame, leaning against it with his arms crossed as he levels his gaze at you. He has a blank expression on his face, although you would say it’s more serious than playful.

“What–...I–” you stutter, shuffling the picture you were holding behind your back so he doesn’t see.

His eyes don’t flit to the movement. “You don’t have to tear the room apart to find my illicit drugs. You could’ve just asked.”

You roll your eyes. “As if you would do drugs.”

“You say that like it’s an insult.”

“It is.”

“So, then, if you’re not looking for drugs, what are you looking for?”

Your cheeks are warm. “I don’t know. Petty cash? Human body parts? Playboy?”

He snorts. “Playboy? Who still has a subscription to Playboy?”

“Maybe your teenage self did.”

“I’m not that old,” he says, “I was watching porn like the rest of my peers.”

“Ew, you freak,” you say, and you grab one of his pillows and throw it at him.

He lets out a laugh before catching the pillow with ease, and then walks up to you, placing the pillow on top of your head. You half-glare, half-pout at him.

“C’mon,” he probes, “tell me why you’re hiding away up here.”

“I embarrassed myself,” you confide in him with a sulk of your shoulders. “I mean. Seriously. What the fuck was that? What a humiliating thing to say in front of your parents. I just feel so weird pretending like this.”

His expression softens. “Sorry,” he says, “for dragging you into this dinner.”

“No,” you sigh, “I’m the one that did. I forgot you can’t necessarily fake a marriage without…doing the typical couple things.”

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” he hums as his gaze flits towards the bed, “doing the typical couple things, you say?”

You roll your eyes. “In your dreams.”

“Oh, in my dreams alright,” he says with a grin.

“And if I strangled you? What then?”

“I like that. It’s kinky.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you don’t have magazines lying around?”

“Brown box underneath the bed. You didn’t look hard enough.”

You give him a disgusted look. He laughs.

“I’m joking,” he says, pushing his hands into his pockets.

“I’m not convinced,” you say, turning your body away from him slightly to keep the photo hidden behind your back.

He tilts his head at you, gaze flickering down to your other hand. Your heart skips a beat. “I could’ve guessed that.”

His hand reaches out and you flinch ever so slightly, something he thankfully doesn’t notice, and then he’s grabbing the baseball out of your palm.

“I always thought I could sell this thing for major money,” he muses, throwing the ball up into the air to catch it. And then doing so again a couple times.

“It’s authentic?” you ask with genuine curiosity.

“Oh yeah. I caught it. First ball game my old man ever took me to, and it happened to be Ichiro’s last.”

Your eyes widen. Gojo was at that game. He wasn’t just watching it from home on some TV like you did with your dad. He was living in it.

“Wow,” you say, “must’ve been quite the game.”

“Don’t really remember too much about it to be honest, other than how stoked I was to just be there with my dad.”

“Mm,” you hum, “I’ll have to ask Mr. Gojo more about it when we get downstairs.”

His expression falters slightly, his smile dropping in the most subtle way that you wouldn’t have even noticed if you hadn’t been intently staring at his face.

“Yeah,” he says, “maybe.”

Gojo continues to stare at the ball in his palm as he rotates it in inspection. There’s an awkward silence that settles between the two of you, and you feel the burden of conversation has suddenly fallen on you.

“My, um. My dad was a fan too,” you say.

His eyes glance up to meet yours. “How come I’ve never met him?”

The question catches you off guard. “Wh–...I’m sorry, what?”

“Your dad,” he says, as if it was something so casual.

“That–...well, he’s–...I don’t know, I haven’t seen him in years,” you admit, “not since…not since my mother was diagnosed with cancer.”

He stares at you earnestly, studying your expression, before he decides on saying nothing else except, “I’m sorry about that.”

You sigh. “Satoru, I–” you start, keen on the way his body stiffens slightly when you say his name, “I really don’t have the capacity for much else tonight. I mean, the questions. And the lies. And walking on eggshells around your mom.”

“Well. I was sent up here to get you,” he says, “and I can’t exactly go downstairs empty handed.”

“Fine. Let’s just get this dinner over with as fast as possible.”

“Sure,” he easily agrees, “I’m with you on that one.”

You take a step forward to head towards the door, but then suck in a sharp gasp when you remember what was being held behind your back.

“Wait,” you say, “look away.”

“...huh?” he huffs, a puzzled look on his face.

“Just look away for a second.”

His eyebrows furrow before he lifts one in a questioning manner. But he acquiesces and turns on his heel to face away from you. “Have I ever told you how strange you are?”

“No,” you say while discretely crouching down, playing along in an attempt to distract him, “you haven’t.” You flinch a little from the sound of your hip popping, but he doesn’t seem to notice and so you bend your wrist in preparation of flinging the photo back to the abyss underneath his bed.

But you stop.

And you take one more glance at the photo.

And your stomach flips the same way it did the first time you saw it.

If you asked, would he tell you?

But the more pressing question is,

Why are you so scared to find out?

You shake your head vigorously to get rid of all your pestering intrusive thoughts. It was the stress, you played it off. A hyperactive mind leads to hyperactive ruminations. And besides, it’s just silly. Sure, there’s your gut feeling that suggests otherwise. But this girl in the photo could really just be an old friend or girlfriend that had no significant impact on the trajectory of his life. Why be the crazy one and lose sleep over this? You’ve lost sleep over plenty of other things in your life, but not stuff like this. It’s just not like you.

You fling the photo across underneath the bed and then stand up just in time for when Gojo turns around to look at you out of curiosity.

“Alright,” you say, dusting your hands off, “let’s go.”

You walk over to where he stands by the doorframe, a slight warmth to your cheeks when he doesn’t move out of your way like he usually does, but instead he leans towards you slightly as you brush past him, and your heart jumps a beat in your chest when you feel his hand gently fall to the small of your back, softly urging you forward ahead of him. A feather of a touch, yet intentional, almost naturally so, like a curious test of the boundary between you two that he’s been dying to understand a bit better. And the fact you don’t turn on your heel to face him with that same undeserved and petty rage that you always do, and instead slightly shudder at the feel of his touch, means that somewhere along the way, you’ve moved the line a little closer.

He’s hot on your trail as you walk down the stairs slowly and when you turn around the post at the bottom then make your way back to the dining room, you see his family staring at you with wide eyes.

His mother stands up. “y/n! Come sit back down, dear.”

You nod meekly, and Gojo pulls your chair out for you to take a seat before he resumes his seat next to you.

The food is slightly cold by the time you finally get to pick at it. It’s not very seasoned, either. Not enough salt for your taste. But somehow Mrs. Gojo having a phobia of sodium is a study of character that makes perfect sense in your head.

Eventually, the awkward silence is too much for you to bear, and you set your fork and knife down on your napkin with a slight bit more force than you probably should’ve.

Everyone looks at you.

You sigh. “I’m sorry for earlier,” you say, “I’m…uh, I’m just not really used to these sorts of dinners…I don’t have much family here in this town, and it’s always just sort of been my mom and me. And I—…I guess I’m just a little nervous.”

Wide eyes blink at you. Mr. Gojo shifts a little uncomfortably in his seat while Mrs. Gojo blinks her long lashes at you. Sana tilts her head, and you have no interest in seeing what Gojo’s expression looks like. You fear it’s the one you’d remember the most.

You were just being honest with how you felt. And it doesn’t take you long to realize something you probably should’ve realized earlier walking into a home like this where everything was perfect and on display with no evidence of the way a true family can crumble on the inside—a house like this does not value honesty. Your mother couldn’t afford you many luxuries in life, but you never felt like you couldn’t be honest in front of her.

You glimpse up at Sana, and there is some knowing expression on her face. It’s almost sympathetic. As if you two were on the same page about something right now. When you glance at Gojo, you see him staring down at his plate with his brow slightly furrowed.

“It…it’s quite alright, dear,” his mother says through a prim voice, and in an attempt to change the subject, she says, “I do hope you are enjoying the chicken.”

“Ah,” you exhale, “yes. I am.”

“So!” Mrs. Gojo chimes in again as she dabs her mouth to a linen napkin. “Tell me about what you do for fun.”

You blink at her. “Oh, umm…binge watch TV? Occasionally I’ll go for a walk.”

“Ahh interesting! What about reading? Do you enjoy reading?”

“Well, the last book I purchased was a picture book about North Korean missiles…so.”

She lets out a laugh. “And where do you see yourself in five years?”

You hear Gojo sigh beside you before he reluctantly sets down his silverware and then he turns to Mrs. Gojo. “Mom. C’mon. This isn’t a job interview. Just let her eat.”

There’s a slight tinge of pink to the tips of her ears from the interrogation interruption as she glances between the two of you. She looks over at Sana for help but finds nothing other than a gaze tipped down towards a plate full of picked-at food. Mr. Gojo folds a hand over her frail knuckles as if to silently communicate, but Mrs. Gojo retreats her hands to fold in her lap underneath the table.

Feeling somewhat bad for the two of them, you turn the face Gojo’s dad. “Um…Mr. Gojo, Satoru was telling me about how you were a big baseball fan and a big Ichiro fan…do you still keep up with the Mariners?”

The man’s eyes grow wide with a visible confusion and you swear you hear Gojo clear his throat beside you.

“Ah…that’s–” he starts before the sound of the doorbell ringing startles you.

Sana immediately stands up without a word of excusal or a glance in anyone’s direction and she heads straight for the door.

You all look around at one another before Mrs. Gojo says, “must be Jun.”

You were at least glad to find you would not be the only “in-law” at the table full of a tension-laced family dinner, especially given the fact that in most of the cases where you’ve met Jun, his penchant to talk overshadows any other energy.

“What’s up, y/n!” Jun shouts when he waltzes into the dining hall, a few steps ahead of Sana. He throws his jacket over the first surface he finds, body language matching that of someone twenty years younger than he actually is. You can’t tell if it’s overcompensation for something, or if he just genuinely believes he’s still in his twenties.

To your surprise, he opens his arms out for you to greet him with a hug, and you hesitate before standing up slightly to give him a well-meaning wrap of your arms around him, but it lacks any warmth of familiarity.

“Welcome to the fam!” he jovially exclaims before patting your arm. He then hugs Mr. Gojo, then Mrs. Gojo (paired with those cheek kisses that the French do in greeting), then daps up Gojo (to which you notice Gojo is less than enthusiastic about) before he finally kisses Sana on the cheek and then takes his seat at the other end of the table. Your eyes are keen on Sana now, watching her intently, but she remains staring at the food on her plate. You had a feeling there was someone in this room that didn’t want to be at this dinner even more than you did.

“How was traffic, Jun?” Mr. Gojo asks.

“Oh it was nothing. Took a shortcut. Backroute off of Lake City Way. Full of pot holes though.”

Sana turns to him and scowls. “While you were taking Juno to her sleepover?!”

He lifts an eyebrow at her. “Yeah? We were running late.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to take that route to get into the city! Those pot holes are so dangerous.”

“Honey. Chill. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Just last week I saw news of three plot holes on the Mercer Street intersection opened up. Three people were injured, including a young boy.”

“Okay well if I also believed everything I saw on the news was going to personally happen to me too then we’d have never gotten this far in life.”

“Jun,” Sana deadpans.

“W-Why don’t I fix you a plate, Jun? You must be tired.” Mrs. Gojo chimes in.

Sana breathes in deep and exhales slowly before slumping down into her chair.

“Thanks,” Jun says, easing his brow as he sits back in his chair nonchalantly, before he turns to Gojo and starts to talk about mundane things like the stock market, the recent election, something about a new bowling record, and this one Thai restaurant he really wants to try on the other end of town, all within the span of time it takes Mrs. Gojo to set a plate down in front of him.

Mr. Gojo jumps in on conversation from time to time. Mrs. Gojo listens idly, sometimes placing a laugh where she feels appropriate. Jun gets particularly animated about this incident he ran into earlier last week when he was dropping Juno off at school, a story that you notice everyone at the table is for some reason entirely intrigued by, but you suppose it’s the most interesting topic of conversation you’ve all had tonight thus far. At certain critical points of the story, Sana jumps in with a that’s not what happened, Jun and you find yourself finally settling in somewhat to the evening.

Just as Jun’s story is ending, you glance up to Mrs. Gojo and find that she’s staring at you with a smile on her face. It makes you jump in your seat a little, luckily unnoticed by the rest of the table because of Jun’s engaging theatrical hand gestures as he attempts to keep his wife, his brother-in-law and his father-in-law engaged. You would’ve expected Mrs. Gojo to avert her gaze the second yours locked with hers, but she doesn’t. She just continues to look at you with a soft smile on her face and a slight tilt to her head, like she’s getting used to the sight of seeing you at this table.

Her gaze flits downwards slightly and you follow her line of gaze, tracing it to the ring that was adorning your left hand.

Your eyes widen slightly.

“Oh–” you stutter, the words already getting caught in your throat, “I–...I forgot to say, it’s an honor to wear your ring, Mrs. Gojo.” The table suddenly goes quiet, and you can’t tell if it’s because of you, or if it’s because there was no more story left to tell. “It’s beautiful.”

It truly felt like for every two steps you took forward, it was ten steps backwards. Because you watch the way that soft smile of hers entirely drops, her expression replaced with one of confusion, brows knitted together as she looks at you like you’ve just spoken in a language no one on Earth can speak.

She glances at Gojo, and you don’t have to look at him to tell that he’s stiff in his seat. You could’ve felt the tension from a mile away.

Mrs. Gojo looks at you again. “Oh honey, that–” She glances between you and Gojo. “That’s not my ring…”

Your eyes widen, cheeks already flush from whatever’s to come.

But suddenly, and to your surprise, Sana speaks up. “It was our mother’s ring.”

You look at her with confusion. And then you glance at Gojo. And then you glance back at Sana. And then at Mr. & Mrs. Gojo.

“But…” you trail off.

“Sumiko and Daichi are our aunt and uncle,” Sana says with a strained voice, “our real parents died in a house fire when we were younger.”

You blink at her in shock.

“He didn’t tell you?” Mr. Gojo asks.

“I–” You glance at Gojo and see that he’s poking his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the glass of scotch he was twirling around in his hand.

“Of course he didn’t,” Sana interrupts, the bitterness in her voice matching the attitude she’s since displayed this entire evening. Her gaze is locked onto her brother’s face, and when his gaze flickers up to meet her eye contact, his expression is set with a tense jaw. “He never wants to mention them. He never wants to acknowledge their life. He never wants to honor them. He just wants to pretend like they never existed.”

“Sana,” he cuts her off, and a chill gets sent down your spine from the seriousness and rigidity in his voice. “Now’s not the time for this.”

“When is the fucking time?!” she spats at him, the simmering tension brewing over. Ah. Yes. The moment you had been expecting. After all, what family does not have its baggage? Sana abruptly stands up from the table, startling everyone with the clanking of silverware and ceramic from the motion. “When is the fucking time for you to admit that you never gave a shit about mom and dad dying? When is the fucking time for you to admit that we moved on to live with these people so fast? When is the fucking time for you to admit how wrong it was for you to force me to call the people here my mom and dad my whole life when they aren’t?” Her voice cracks near the end.

You glance at Mr. & Mrs. Gojo, who both look shocked, hurt, even embarrassed as they gaze down at their food. Your heart stalls in your chest for them.

When you glance back at Gojo, you see that his gaze is hardened even further now. “You’re being rude,” he says, in as steady of a voice as he can manage from the way his brow is creased with disappointment.

“Yeah, whatever,” Sana says as she wipes at the tears with her sleeves, and you notice that she looks young like this. Younger than the usual prim and proper self that she portrays. Too young to be a mom, too young to be a wife, too young to be an adult. Like someone propelled into a life that she never wanted. “That’s always what you say, isn’t it? No answers, you just claim that I’m being childish and rude.” Jun tries to reach out to hold her hand but she snatches it away from him. Under her breath she says, “I didn’t want to come here. I should’ve just stayed home.” And with a rough swipe of her sleeve across both of her cheeks, she suddenly storms off somewhere deep into the house. Jun immediately stands up to follow her, leaving the four of you here with stale, cold food.

The timer in the oven goes off, the sound heard in the distance like a lifeline, and Mrs. Gojo immediately stands up. “Ah, must be…the roasted potatoes. I’ll be right back,” she fusses, and you avert your gaze from her face so she doesn’t feel embarrassed over the streak of a tear you saw streaming down her face.

“Let me help you,” Mr. Gojo says in a small sheepish mumble before following his wife into the kitchen.

And then there were two.

You only have a moment to process the dramatic outburst and subsequent fall-through before you turn in your chair to face Gojo, your face narrowing in contempt. You see him running a hand through his hair, entirely ruffling out any sort of neatness he had combed it into earlier, and he undoes the top button of his shirt with an impatient thumb like he was letting go of whatever image he had been trying to keep up for tonight, because after what just happened, there was no use.

“So when were you going to tell me that they aren’t actually your real parents???” you hiss at him.

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “They’ve raised us since Sana was just three years old. I didn’t think it mattered.”

“Okay well if I had known then I wouldn’t have mentioned the ring??? Now everyone’s left the table because of me.”

“It’s not because of you,” he quickly corrects you, “it’s because of years of unnecessary drama of which I’ve still got no fucking clue why it still gets brough up at every. family. dinner. If you didn’t bring it up, then they would’ve figured out a way to bring it up somehow anyways.”

You blink at him, a little taken aback by how dejected he was by this entire conversation.

“Are you going to go check on Sana?” you ask him.

“No,” he says without hesitation, “she’ll calm down soon enough.”

You press your lips into a thin line, contemplating his dismissal, before you let out a huff of disappointment and disapproval. You pull your napkin off of your lap, setting it up on the table, and slip out of your chair to head into the house in the direction you saw Sana storm off into, leaving Gojo to himself at the table.

As you walk down the hallway, all those pictures you saw hung up on the walls, those photos of illusion that painted this pretty picture of a nuclear family fall apart in the narrow space, those firm smiles and hesitant postures making much more sense to you now. They aren’t even his real parents. Baseball and wedding rings. Those details belonged to a life he never intended on sharing with you.

You walk past the kitchen, stopping briefly just beyond the entrance before backtracking and you find Sana standing near the sink with her arm across her chest as her other hand wipes at her cheeks. The soft sound of a sniffle echoes in the room and you’re surprised to see that Jun left her alone.

Tentatively, you shuffle your feet across the wooden floor. She seems to make note of you in her periphery but refuses to glance up.

“Hey…” you start when you finally make it to the space in front of her, your hip leaning against the edge of the sink counter in parallel with hers as you face her.

“I—” she starts, shuffling her palms across her cheeks again. “I am so severely embarrassed.”

Your eyes widen slightly at the honesty. “Don’t be. It’s just family.”

“No but that’s the point,” she says through a crack in her voice, “I’m thirty-one, I’m married, I’m a mom, but they’ll always just see me as some immature little brat because I always behave like this.”

You don’t know what to say. You suppose if you were a therapist, or a priest, or a mentor, or a mom yourself, or any other person with an emotional IQ higher than yourself, you would know the right thing to say to her right now. But you don’t. So silence is all that you can offer her, and you hope that it’s enough.

It seems to work in it’s own magical way, as she slowly opens herself up to you within the next passing sixty seconds. A fleeting glance up to your face. The halt of pointless fidgeting with the fabric of her sleeve. The way she stands up straighter, her hip no longer leaning against the kitchen counter, and you find that you mirror the same movement.

She clears her throat, rubbing her nose with the knuckle of her index finger, her eyes no longer glistening with tears but the corners of them look puffy.

You glance down at your feet for a moment before inhaling deep and making eye contact with her. “Hey, listen…” you say, “I’m—…I’m really sorry…about earlier today. For overstepping about the bullying. Juno’s your daughter, and I really shouldn’t have given her advice before at least running it by you beforehand. Especially for something so sensitive.”

The delicate muscles of her brow lift in surprise at your words, lids fluttering slowly as she processes your words, and the wave of melancholy is contagious as it washes through you as well.

“I’m sorry too,” she says, “for how angry I got with you. It’s just—” she hesitates, and you see that semblance of her that you’re more familiar with. Strict, stern, rough around the edges but for a noble reason. “Y’know, with kids…we tend to get overprotective over them.” Her gaze drops to somewhere beneath yourselves as if she suddenly lost confidence in her train of thought. “I’m just trying to do the right thing for her.”

A silence settles between the two of you before you realize you ought to respond to her.

“I get it,” you finally say. “I mean—…I don’t. Because I’m not a mom. But…I’m sure that when I am one some day, I’d understand.”

She finally offers you a smile in return to your words, polite but genuine nonetheless. And a soft remnant sniffle makes her ruffle her nose.

Her expression softens, and she stares straight ahead to your collarbone rather than your eyes. “She really likes you, you know?” Sana glances up at you now. “Hasn’t stopped talking about your ‘blubbery’ pancakes since last week.”

“Aww.”

There’s a sad glint in her eyes when she turns her torso away from you slightly in resignation before some hint of optimism flashes by in her face and she turns to you again.

“Do you…think you could give me the recipe?”

You want to ask her if everything is okay. But instead, you say, “sure.”

The sound of footsteps approaching is heard near the kitchen entrance and the two of you glance in that direction to see Jun walking in. He offers you a fleeting glance before taking his place beside Sana, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling him towards her before placing a kiss on her temple and saying, “hey honey.”

You watch as she averts her gaze down to the tips of her toes.

“Feeling better?” he asks her but there’s this lack of warmth you cannot quite discern.

“Yes,” she responds, scratching at her cheek as a discreet way of getting rid of the last remaining wetness that had streamed down her face earlier.

He rubs her arm soothingly and then looks at you with a smile pressed into a firm line. “Doing alright?”

You blink at him. “Wh—…yes.”

“Say, y/n, how’s your mom doing by the way?” he asks.

“She’s…better. She’s in hospice now.”

“Palliative?”

“Well—” you say, “I guess. It’s just temporary.”

He shuffles inside the pocket of his coat and takes out something. A small card with finely printed black ink on it. He hands it to you.

“I can’t imagine how expensive that all must be,” he says, and you glance down at the card.

Carevest Capital est. 2016

Invest in a healthier you!

You glance up at Jun. Sana’s gaze has now shifted to the inside of the sink.

“I started this business,” he says, “where we’re revolutionizing the way healthcare costs are managed. In our platform, we basically invest our clients’ money into the stock market, leveraging our high-reward algorithm to maximize returns. But here’s the unique part: we partner with leading healthcare CEOs who match a portion of the profits as an incentive for stock purchases. Together, these funds go directly toward paying off hospital bills and easing related financial burdens.”

Your eyes widen at his words. The speech was practiced, one you can only assume he has pitched to many potential clientele. But there’s a hint of personable grace to it as well.

“I’m telling you, y/n, we’ve had clients who have overcome six figures of medical debt in just six months,” he says, “and you’ll only need a couple thousand dollars to start yourself up.”

You purse your lips together, your finger pinching the corner of the card. “That’s amazing, Jun.”

He smiles at you, releasing Sana’s waist. “Sorry if this kinda came out of nowhere, but I heard through the grapevine that things have been rough.”

Oh, like how your card has declined publicly at the grocery store multiple times, or how you haven’t been able to afford your insurance deductible to get that chipped off part of your bumper fixed, or the fact you haven’t paid your landscapers in over three months so your lawn now looks like a swamp? It was a small town. And people’s finances were always a topic of interest for most.

“I just wanted to offer any help I can,” Jun says.

“Thanks,” you say, returning his smile, “I’ll, um, I’ll look into it.” You push the card into your pocket.

He offers you that same firm smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before he pulls Sana to him again, placing another kiss along her hairline and the PDA seems like overcompensation on some front from the way Sana is entirely frigid to his touch.

Maybe it was a woman’s intuition,

But you felt like something was wrong.

“Kids,” you hear Mr. Gojo’s crackly voice say as he stands leaning against the doorframe near the kitchen entrance, “let’s finish dinner?”

The three of you exchange glances before nodding and heading back towards the hall.

Your peach cobbler was apparently very good, the only thing that seemed to cut through the tension of the night. But that was the thing with family, right? You can yell and scream and cry and lecture and mope and roll your eyes at each other all you want but at the end of the day, they’re still family. Sana still seems slightly dejected though, and you can see Gojo in the corner of your eye at the table glancing up at her every other minute or so. His own way of making sure she’s doing okay, you think to yourself. Sana refuses to meet anyone’s line of sight except yours, however, which makes you feel some slight burdensome responsibility of sisterhood you had never signed up for. Nonetheless, you try to offer her a soothing smile whenever she looks up at you, and it seems to put her at ease.

The news of Sana and Jun moving seemed slightly anticlimactic, as Mrs. Gojo mentioned that they had already had an inkling that Jun and Sana would be moving closer to the city. You briefly wonder if Mrs. Gojo knew all along, but decided to make the announcement into some big affair just so that she could see her niece and nephew over a meal.

You make no more embarrassing comments. Conversation dulls into anything and everything unpersonal to you all, such as the news and weather and gossip of other people. And somewhere along the night, you relax your knee, the ball of it pressing into Gojo’s thigh underneath the table. It was wordless, innocent contact that occurs when two people become more comfortable with one another. Only excusable due to the slight buzz you felt in your veins from the wine. He’s kissed you before, yet somehow the press of his thigh against yours feels even more searing. There’s a point along the night where you tip your head to the right slightly, daringly close to resting your head on his shoulder due to the tipsy dizziness weighing in your head, and it would certainly put on a convincing show of newlywed affection for his aunt and uncle, but you manage to catch yourself. And subsequently refuse any more glasses of wine.

“Thanks for having me,” you say to Mrs. Gojo at the front entrance before she pulls you in for a hug.

“Oh, anytime dear,” she says as she gently pats your back, “please.”

When she pulls away from the hug, she holds you by your shoulders before her eyes glance down towards your left hand and the shimmering diamond that sat on the ring finger. She holds your hand in hers and lifts it to examine the twinkle underneath the lights of the chandelier.

“It really is a pretty ring,” she says, her eyes glossing over. “It looked beautiful on my sister, and it looks beautiful on you too.”

Your breath hitches slightly in your throat. “Thank you, Mrs. Gojo.”

“Please,” she says in response to the title, “Sumiko is fine.” But in less of a way in which she’s relaxing formalities, but rather in a way that acknowledges she never had the sovereignty to be called that in the first place.

You hear masculine voices approaching down the hallway as the three men make their way towards the front entrance as well. Gojo glances at you in the midst of their conversation, and he leaves the two of them to make his way over to you.

“Alright,” Gojo says, turning to face the rest of them as he stands beside you. “We’ll head out now.”

Sumiko pulls him in for a hug, then his uncle, and then obnoxiously by Jun as well. Sana fidgets with her fingers as she remains at the end of the line, and you catch a glimpse of surprise on her face when Gojo pulls her in for a hug too. You see him whisper something to her, and it’s only after she hears what he said that she returns the hug and wraps her arms around him as well.

You’re jolted out of your people-watching trance when Gojo walks up to you and takes your hand in his, shoving his other in his pocket. You glance down at the sight, the way his large hand engulfs your own. It’s warm in a firm hold, delicately squeezing your hand once right before you feel the cold air behind you when his uncle opens the door.

Well, you survived. That’s what you think to yourself as you sit in the passenger seat of Gojo’s car, watching the city lights twinkle as you two drive by. You don’t know what you were expecting. Drama? Ease? Tension? For a piece of the sky to fall and land on the roof? There was a part of you that wanted to impress. You want to be one of those daughter-in-laws that the in-laws just adore. You know, where they’re like, god am I so happy that she’s a part of the family now! The one that the mother-in-law is just so ecstatic to know that her son managed to hold down such a catch.

But any expectations and pressure dissolve with the reminder that this is all fake. Fake, fake, fake. And you’d do really well to remind yourself of that reality whenever you spent time with Gojo. Whenever you find yourself acclimating into his life for even a moment, just remember that it’s fake. Can you have a little fun here and there? Sure. Will you probably find yourself in even stranger situations going forward? Yes, because, well, that’s how life is. But it’s just fake. No obligations, no responsibility, nothing. Nada. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

But as you walk through the front door, staring straight ahead into the dark house at Gojo’s back as he sets down the keys by the foyer table, and even as you follow him further into the house towards the kitchen, that feeling inside you surges.

A woman's intuition.

That something between Jun and Sana was wrong.

Not just routine marital issues,

Or the occasional argument,

Something worse. Something dangerous.

And it’s not something you would ever expect a man to pick up on, even Gojo.

Because it was from the way Sana’s eyes silently communicated with you from across the table,

Something so subtle, a silent plea across a shared dimension,

That she needed help.

“Hey…” you speak up softly, standing in front of the fridge.

Gojo glances over his shoulder at you from the other side of the kitchen island, barely illuminated by the moonlight through the windows. He turns to face you. “What’s up?”

You blink at him.

“Um, I really don’t want to overstep again, but—”

There’s a sobering thought that flashes through your mind when you recall that you have never seen yourself as the hero in anyone’s story.

Simply because you could never, ever, ever trust yourself.

You could never trust your feelings or your decisions.

Because you cosigned on hundreds of thousands of dollars of medical loans. Because you stuck around for five years with a man that didn’t love you anymore. Because you still feel naive enough to believe that your best friend who betrayed you still misses you somehow. Because you still foolishly believe your mother will be around to hold her grandchildren someday.

Because you thought that your best bet in order to pull yourself out of hell was to fake marry a man,

And then act as if it’s all real when his aunt looks you in the eye with bittersweet tears as you now wear her bereaved sister’s ring in honor, entirely unaware it was actually being worn in vain.

How could you ever trust your judgement when you behave this way?

Never the hero. If anything, the villain.

“What is it?” Gojo repeats when he sees that you’ve been silent for too long. He tilts his head at you, his hair falling over his forehead haphazardly and he runs a hand through it to try to get it out of his face. Even in the dim light, his eyes shine a breathtaking blue.

You swallow hard.

“Um,” you say, and then glance down at the wetness you find at your heel. “The, um, the fridge is leaking again.”

He blinks at you for a solid ten seconds, and then the tension in his shoulders drops when he sulks and closes his eyes with exhaustion and defeat.

“Fuck. Okay.”

[end of chapter 5]

a/n. looool i really keep thinking i can post shorter chapters and them bam they be 10k+ words. but i swearrr it's just cuz i be yapping :(( anywho hope you enjoyed this chapter!! a lot of characters were kinda introduced and mm given a bit more depth in this chapter. sorry there wasn't as much romance or anything in this one though haha there will be more in the next one :0 big big thank you to my lovely ihm beta readers ayelin, jules, leni & mirl for helping me out w this chapter!! i believe i may have mentioned this before but i STRUGGLLEEEE with multi-character scenes (i'm much more comfy writing scenes that just have back n forth between two characters) so this chapter was challenginggg esp the whole dinner sequences and there were also a lot of complicated feelings at play, descriptions, stuff i wasn't sure if it was coming off the right way (and tbh am still not sure haha) but they really helped me work my thoughts out n gave wonderful suggestions too so tysm :'') much loveee!! hope to see you all in the next one <3 - ellie

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plaidcowboy · 2 days ago

Text

༘˚⋆𐙚｡𖦹✧ rafe losing you at his mansion party

✿ ۪⋆

content: you were okay with just sticking by his side but man do you wander

author stamp: party at the mansion we ‘bout to flood the spot!

“yeah? you sure you want to?” rafe was fine with you trailing behind him the entire party like a lost puppy, and you were most comfortable doing so, but now you kind of wanted to branch off and actually explore the party. there were some groups of girls chatting that you thought looked nice. maybe you could lounge around the pool. you weren’t thing biggest fan of parties and when rafe told you he was hosting one, you pushed down the weariness creeping in and told him you were excited about it.

rafe saw through it of course. so he tugged you around while chatting with guests and fixing himself a drink.

“i.. i can go and talk to those girls over there” you weren’t sure if rafe still wanted to pull you around no matter if you really liked it.

rafe glanced at the girls you were referring to down below the balcony you two were standing on, then back down at you. those aren’t the type you would talk to. rafe knew you were making an excuse to walk away. rafe sucked his teeth, tilting his head. “i don’t think you would like those girls. i think you like it more being with me”

you gaped at him with wide eyes, not excepting him to shut your idea down. “oh. i do.”

rafe smiled, leaning down to place a peck on your hairline.

“country club!” you both turned to see barry walking up, hand outstretched to dap up rafe. rafe returned the bro hug and barry turned to you, ruffling a hand through your hair. “wassup little rafe” you scrunched up your face in a faux pout. “hi barry.”

rafe fixed the mess for you, smirking at your reaction. he squished your cheeks to fix your pout, poking out his own bottom lip. “aw, barry messed up your hair?” you nodded, a little smile forming at his cooing.

“let me go talk to him, that wasn’t cool, huh?”

“mm mm” you shook your head definitively. rate let you go, turning to talk to barry about other matters, not really about your hair. he knew you weren’t actually upset, you and barry already having that poking-fun dynamic. you knew that was just rafe saying he was going to talk with barry about things you didn’t have to hear.

you went to sit on the sofa, observing the commotion below. twiddling your fingers, you thought this was a perfect time to go wander. maybe not with those girls who now looked to be whispering and pointing around at other girls, giggling at their looks. icky. you turned your gaze over to the entrance that led back into the house from the balcony.

the noise was starting to get a little overwhelming. the more so quiet inside seemed tempting. and temped you were, getting up and walking inside, the boys unaware of your fleeting presence. the music got quieter the further you walked into the house. that’s better. there was no one else here, everyone crowded outside.

you walked to rafe’s room, looking around. maybe you could tidy up a little for him? you picked up little scattered items, putting them back in their places. you headed over to his closet, browsing through his shirts. replacing what you currently had on with one of them, you sighed in content. even better. you felt good enough that you gave the party a try. anything rafe was happy about, you were over the moon for. and the same went for him. but settling down in his bed now looked appealing.

you spent a few minutes mindlessly entertaining yourself with fiddling with rafe’s duvet and pillows. so soft. the sudden sound of thumping through the house grabbed your attention. maybe someone was looking for the bathroom. you shrugged, having closed the bedroom door when you came in, assuming they wouldn’t wander in.

but when the door burst open, you startled, letting out a little squeak, but turning to see rafe standing at the threshold.

“oh. hi rafe” you gave him a little wave.

his gaze skimmed the room, then trailed over you, noticing the shirt you were in and that you were safe and sound in his room. he let out the breath he was holding, moving from the door over to you. you swung your legs over the side of the bed, kicking your feet a little, giddy to see rafe again. rafe came to kneel between your legs, grasping your waist. “hi, baby. why didn’t you let me know you were coming in here?”

you stopped your swinging feet. “oh um.. you were talking with barry.. i wanted to give you guys a little space.”

rafe licked his lips, letting out a little sigh. he hands rubbed up and down your sides. “i didn’t like not knowing where you were.. i’m not upset” he quickly grabbed the sides of your head at the sight of your forming pout. “just let me know next time, kid, i don’t wanna have to worry.”

who knows rafe thought. he had hoped you didn’t wander off to talk to those girls he told you not to, not sure if you somehow managed to hurt yourself from bumping into sharp corners throughout the house.

you shook your head in a nod, “’m sorry rafe. it was just quiet in here..” you voice trailed off, becoming softer.

“you want it quiet? i’ll shut this down and kick everyone out.”

“no! you’re having fun, go back” you slightly pushed at his chest, not budging him. this is what you didn’t want. your desire to trail off to affect rafe having a good time.

“just say the words.. i don’t really like these people anyway. i like you more” rafe poked your tummy with his finger, causing you to have a fit of giggles.

“no, ’m okay. go, go” you returned a peck to his hairline from the one he gave you earlier.

rafe grinned. “mm.. okay. you stay in here. call me if you want me.”

you nodded again, chewing at your lip. “mm mm”

rafe stood, softly shaking his head at you. he tugged at his shirt slipping down your shoulder. “cute.”

#༘˚⋆𐙚｡𖦹✧ rafe cameron #there’s this edit i was thinking of while making this #with the song in the author stamp #i can’t freaking find it #it’s fine #rafe blurb #rafe obx #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #obx #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction

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lilghostiequinni · 3 days ago

Text

Was Never Just You

Main Masterlist Lando Masterlist

Pairing: Single Mom!Girlfriend!female reader x Lando Norris

Warnings: Fluffy,

Summary: Somethings just start in a crisis, but it's not always a bad thing.

Requested: NO / yes

When you met Lando it was by complete accident.

The day started out normal and then later turned into a disaster.

Your sons, well, they wandered off.

It was the first winter vacation for the ski lodge you normally go to that they could come with, the boys were 3, having turned three the day you left for the trip.

But your mom didn't ski or snowboard and volunteered to watch them while you, your siblings, siblings-in-law, and your father had hit the slopes.

You snowboarding and racing two of your three older brothers, both also snowboarding, down one of their bigger slopes, you won, of course, maybe using some blackmail tactics, maybe.

When you got to the bottom of the slope after the fourth or fifth time, you went to see your boys and also got a warm drink.

You found your mother and your eldest brother's wife, who ended up staying behind because she wasn't feeling good, searching around the lobby; when your mom saw you, you could see the panic and fear in her eyes.

When you asked what was wrong, she told you that they and the boys were playing hide-and-seek, but they couldn't find the boys, and they had searched the whole inside of the resort.

When she told you how long she had been looking for your two sons, over an hour and a half.

You shred your winter gear faster than ever, leaving everything in the lobby, running around the hotel in just your socks, and having no shoes or slippers in the lobby to wear from leaving your boots there.

You ran through every floor calling your sons' names, "Theodore. Sebastian." You would knock on doors, holding up a photo of your two trouble twins if someone answered the door, asking if they had seen them.

You went from floor to floor and back down again.

On you, probably the third pass on the third floor, you ran into someone, expecting to feel the floor but instead feel the body of the person you ran into.

"I'm so so sorry." You apologize as you stand up, before trying to help the person you knocked over.

"It's okay," The man says as you help him stand and he takes off his hat and goggles.

"No, it's not, I'm sorry. I'm just looking for my twins, Theo and Seb. They were playing hide-in-seek with my mom and they... Well, they hid a little too good, and they have been missing for a couple hours." You explain, worrying even more when you realize the time.

"Maybe I can help. Let me change, and we will look together. Two sets of eyes are better than one, I can even get my girlfriend, she's just in this room." The man told you.

"You want to help me?" You were so distraught that you couldn't fathom that someone other than your family would help.

"Yeah, it's just kids. And I'm sure that my girlfriend will say the same. Just breathe and give me like ten minutes." He says, then goes into his room, and you start to take a few deep breaths, trying to calm your overactive mind.

Before the ten minutes are even up, you hear the door open and look up, it's a blonde woman who comes out and gives you a hoodie.

"This is one of our friends, I'm Pietra, and this is Max." She says as Max comes out of the room.

"Everyone just calls me Cookie. My boys, they're only 3." You say as you show the two a photo of them from your phone, tears in your eyes.

Max's eyes widen a little. "I think I know where your boys are."

"Really." You ask, your eyes widening.

"Yeah, I think they're downstairs with my friend, in the restaurant," Max tells you as Pietra grabs hold of your hand as MAx leads the two of you downstairs.

When you do get back downstairs and into the restaurant, you look around and then see Max pointing in a direction that you follow with your eyes and you see your boys.

"Theo! Seb!" You cry out and run toward them.

Your boys whip their heads around and yell out, "Mommy!" getting up and then running to you, not making it far from the table, though.

The friend of Max's following behind, just in case.

You fell to the ground to hug your twins, tears in your eyes as you hugged them.

"Where did you go?" You asked them.

"We was play seek with Gramam and Celi."

"Then we was hungry an fogot."

"Den Lanwo saws us and we gots food."

You knew their explanation was too little to be something for them to be missing just shy of three hours.

You must have looked in the restaurant three times.

But you just smiled at them and hugged them again, before standing up.

"Hi, thank you for looking after my sons." You say to the man who had also been at the table with them.

"It's no problem. I saw them on my way to my room from outside, and I figured that their mom would be with them soon. When I came back down for some food, I saw them close to the door looking out the window. One was trying to open the door, and I stopped them from going outside and offered food until you got here." He explained himself.

"Thank you again...."

"Lando. Norris. Lando Norris." He said as he offered his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Lando, everyone calls me Cookie." You said taking his hand.

That's how it started.

One singular mishap that had led to the best years of your life.

The fans were skeptical at best at first, but when they seen the smile that your sons brought to Lando's face, that you brought to him.

How you helped lift the weight off his shoulders.

At the end of the 2025 season, you basically jumped over the barrier to get to Lando after he won the championship.

He picked you up and spun you around.

He had to leave to go to the podium and do other after-race debriefs and media duties.

During December, not long after the end of the season, you and Lando both post a post on Instagram with two photos, one an engagement photo, the other a pregnancy annoucement.

Just like the year before with Max, there were retirement rumors the year before.

But when Lando came back in 2026, the rumors died out.

Life continued on, and the season was one of the best for him, only after his first wins.

A/N: First in the 100 Follower Cele Driver poll, I feel like I wanna redo this and make it longer but at the same time, most of my celebrations are usually just drabbles. But let me know if you'd want a longer fic using this idea

Tags: @poppyflower-22 @samantha-chicago @barcelonaloverf1life @tallrock35 @ellen3101 @llando4norris @mcmuppet @issi-loves-dannyric @1800-love-me @barcelonaloverf1life @scopeiguess @01rrdbull @charli123456789 @smashcrabsblog @hadids-world @amz824 @taetae-armyyyyy @watermelonslut @gigicisneros @hellothere9597

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cybrasigilism · 1 day ago

Note

I WANT SOME SMUT DRABBLE WITH DAE-HO OR JUN-HO. LIKE, YOUR WRITING IS SO GOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDDDDDDDD 😭😭 .

omg THANK YOU! it warms my heart with how sweet you guys are about my writing :)

and i’ll do you one better, i’ll write a bit for BOAF of em, because i fear i can’t get over either of them. they’ll be seperate drabbles of course but trust they will both have their time in the sun on my blog ;)

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Smut Drabbles (Kang Dae-ho/Hwang Jun-ho)

characters: kang dae-ho (player 388), hwang jun-ho

A/N: wanted to do both in the same post because why should i make anyone wait for a part 2? i hate two parters myself esp if it’s something like a drabble, that can all be in one part. thanks for the request and i hope you enjoy!

MDNI! 18+ content under the cut, readers discretion is advised

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

kang dae-ho/player 388

now it’s old news at this point to say that dae-ho is the absolute king of gentle sex, but that statement really does hold true. he’s not satisfied if you didn’t cum at least twice, he will not quit until he’s sure you’re completely finished.

his absolute favourite thing to do besides being inside you is having you sit on his face. in fact, he says he could cum from the facesitting alone, having you ride his tongue while he gives you pleasure in the likes of which you haven’t experienced before. if he gets a bit carried away, he’ll dig his nails into your thighs while he tongue fucks your pussy. you may get worried about suffocating him, but he insists that the adrenaline rush that comes with it all really gets him going.

trust when you give him head, the gentle side really comes through. he’ll make sure to praise you up and down about how good you’re doing, how good you’re making him feel, and how much he really doesn’t want you to stop. now, if you really want to have him melt in your hands, you can’t go wrong with edging him. just bringing him right up to the brink of release, having him grab your head for some sense of stability, only for you to stop. he’ll moan and whimper and beg like you’ve never heard somebody beg before. don’t let this fool you though, he’s totally into edging, it makes the release feel that much better. “please god honey, just let me cum… i promise i’ll be a good boy, i just wanna cum already, fuck”

he tries his best not to swear in bed, he personally just doesn’t think it’s necessary. however when he’s completely immersed in the pleasure, when you take over all his senses and thoughts like that, he doesn’t really give a shit anymore.

when you guys fuck, he’s for sure gonna maintain a slow and gentle pace. he knows he’s bigger, so while yes, he does like to bottom out inside you, he’ll give you ample time to adjust to his size at first. all the while, praising you on how good you’re being for him “yeah, taking my whole cock like that.. you’re doing such a good job” “it’s okay baby, i got you.. i got you”

one thing you can do to absolutely drive him crazy? claw up his back while he fucks you, god does he ever get vocal when you do that. he’s a bit embarrassed of his moans, he’s worried it comes off as obnoxious, but he’s more than happy to let loose especially when he realizes how it makes you clench around his dick when he does so.

he does lose control of his pace a bit when he gets closer to cumming, and trust he will kiss you lots throughout the whole experience. you guys might also break the headboard but that’s a different can of worms

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

hwang jun-ho/the police officer

anyone who tries to tell you that jun-ho wouldn’t make your first time all about you is lying to you, i’m so sorry you had to find out this way.

he would much rather focus on making you feel good, especially if you’ve established that you’re a virgin beforehand. and honestly, after he’s through with you, you’re not sure if you could even think about fucking anyone else.

there may not be penetration the first time, but he will do everything in his power to make you cum. that may be a tall order for the average guy, but seeing as he couldn’t give two shits about his own pleasure this time around, jun-ho wouldn’t have much trouble with achieving this goal. if you wanted to please him in any way, he would insist you let him do all the work. it’s not that he doubts you could please him, but he’s already had his first time, he’s more than happy to finger you or eat you out without receiving anything in return. “right now, it’s all about you sweetheart. i just want you to feel good, can you do that for me?”

oh don’t even get me started on how skilled he is with his fingers. he’ll be knuckles-deep inside you in no time at all, circling your clit with his thumb at the same time. trust he will also be kissing your neck while he’s fingering you, again just doing everything in his power to make you feel as good as humanly possible.

he’ll be praising you the whole time, complimenting you for being “such a good girl” when you take his fingers. and his tongue? god. this man could tie a knot in a cherry stem with his tongue, and that definitely goes to show when he eats you out. he will be fingering you while he sucks your clit and that’s a promise, and he will not cease until you’re shaking, barely able to form a single thought anymore.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

i really want to do a NSFW alphabet for jun-ho now that i’ve written this! as usual any advice and constructive criticism on how i can improve my writing is appreciated and requested! i really hope i did jun-ho justice in particular because this is my first time writing for him :)

thanks so much for reading! and thank you anon for the request!

#squid game #squid game 2 #squid game smut #squid game x reader #player 388 #hwang jun ho #dae ho x reader #x reader smut #fanfiction

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jesuistrestriste · 3 days ago

Note

Art having a crush on Patricks gf (painfully obviously) so Patrick asks her to cuck him w art ♡

what the hell i totally never saw this…..

but god yess. and art’s more than willing to fuck your pretty body while his best friend watches from the corner of the room ! as long as he gets to push his cock into you, he’ll do just about anything to get there :D

at least, that’s what he thinks he feels until he’s actually in your + pat’s bedroom and his friend’s dark eyes are locked onto him as he stands next to the side of the bed.

he’s got that stupid smirk on his face, and one of his calloused hands is gliding right over art’s lower back; right over the dimples that come before his soft ass. it makes art shiver, and he can’t tell if it’s in a good way or a ‘what the fuck is going on’ way. maybe a bit of both. or maybe it’s the shot of raspberry vodka that he took to loosen up before all of this.

“c’mon man, just give it to her,” pat says to him, “you’ve been pining like a fuckin’ loser for so long, and she’s already wet.”

before art can really form a protest, pat’s hand is pushing his lower body forward and his cock is then enveloped in the tight warmth of your cunt. you moan, your body clenching around his length.

“fuck!” art barks out, his jaw slacking and his legs trembling immediately afterwards.

his bestfriend just laughs lowly, shaking his head, “don’t be a quickshot now, artie… not when she’s treating you so well… feel her pussy squeezin’ you? god, she’s always so good..”

art’s eyes are rolling back, his body starting to rock into the back of yours instinctively as he seeks his release. his hands find your hips and he whimpers when he bounces you against his pelvis.

“good boy, art,” you gasp, nodding, “fuck me harder— ah!— give my boyfriend something worth watching..”

while art’s hips speed up to hump you greedily from behind, patrick steps back as his eyelids start to droop and he can’t help but shove his hand down into his shorts to pull out his dick; spitting into his palm before bringing it back down to stroke wetly and quickly over his twitching inches.

“oh god, oh fuck, oh god—“ art’s whining, his thrusts growing sloppy, “can’t-… shit-! i’m cl— cumming, i’m cumming—“

the whole room suddenly feels like it’s shaking under the weight of all three of your abruptly pulled orgasms, moans and cries and squeals echoing out. art’s slamming into your hole and curling over your back as he convulses, you’re shuddering and falling face-down into the sheets as you squirt and wring him of every drop he’s got, and patrick’s gnawing on his bottom lip as he groans and covers his fingers in a slimy mess of white.

definitely a good time, but art is beyond embarrassed afterwards..

patrick and you, on the other hand, want round two.

#🌸 - ask prompts #💌 - mutuals #angel i luv ur brain #love cucking art mmmmmn #riding him while patrick is tied to a chair and forced to watch ….. i’m thinking hard #this is so late my bad bby #<3 #sage’s asks #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x reader

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pancakesthewormwithcandy · 23 minutes ago

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Hey ya'll this is why Rainworld is both really good and really challenging. It has 72 PAGES OF MOVEMENT CONTROLLS HALF OF WHICH ARENT EVEN HUMANLY POSSIBLE WITHOUT MACROS AND ARE SO ODDLY SPECIFIC ITS SHOCKING ANYONE FIGURED IT OUT AT ALL. and it teaches you two moves in the start, drops you in an eco-system with a bunch of smart Ai that you have to learn yourself through trial and error. It's not a game about you. It's en ecosystem and you are at the bottom of the food chain and have to rely on your knowledge to get through it. You often die instantly in one hit, it's brutal but very fun especially if you look at it under the guise of an eco system simulator where you have to hit your head against the wall a few times until you learn how to get past certain things. Like it felt like being a child exploring the world again idk i loved it so much.

Easily one of the best if not my all time favorite game I've ever played. The first time experience was honestly insane to me and it has some interesting themes if you are willing to dive into the lore and explore enough.

DO NOT LOOK UP ANYTHING. DONT SPOIL ANYTHING. the jot of the game is learning it for yourself trust me. ( granted one time i got so stuck i was going to quit and looked up spoiler free help so like only do it if its like " I'm gonna quit if i don't look it up" ) But like don't look up anything if you can help it its sooo much more fun.

also if you've already finished the game there's DLC and mods and they are all peak. One mod lets you meow. it is perfect.

speaking of i think i know what im gonna do tonight LOL

just have to make sure

#RAIN WORLD TIME SPOILERS IN TAGS THO SPOILERS #meeting five peebles genuinly felt like meeting a god #i have never had a game or any media really convey the concept of “ meeting god” that well it's honestly so fucking cool i was leggit in aw #Its made me wanna do something similar for The Jester or maybe make a better “god like” character but I just never like... have a story.#My characters just grow with me they dont have an end #The Jester is the first character I made with a start and an end. he's DESTINED to die like by design. he is a temporary construct.#it's a lot of fun having a character with the end planned already because I get to practice foreshadowing ( I'm terrible at it omg )#i need to start writing stuff for him down tho its going to degrade if it stays in my brain case #i finished the base game when it came out years ago but i still think about the game and play the “Random Gods 3 theme” its so good its omg #spoilers #rainworld spoilers

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wosoloml · 3 days ago

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— third date || alessia russo x reader

summary: after your third date with alessia things get heated and one things lead to the other

from this request

masterlist

wanrings: smut, alessia top, reader bottom, fingering, use of nicknames, oral, thats it kinda

smut but with fluff

wc: 2,464 words.

a/n: I hope my girlfriend isn’t reading this. If you do, you don’t. <3 I’ve been listening to too sweet by Hozier while writing this, so maybe it’s fun to listen to it while reading! enjoy !

—————

"This was an amazing movie choice, I have to admit," Alessia said, her smile growing as she glanced at me.

"Really?" I arched an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in my voice. "I thought you hated cheesy romcoms."

Alessia stepped closer, her hands resting gently on my waist. She brushed a strand of hair behind my ear and leaned in, her voice a soft whisper. "How could I hate something so sweet when I’m experiencing it with the person who means the world to me?"

Her words made my heart flutter, but I fought to keep my composure. "God, Russo," I said with a smirk, "you should be writing those movies next time."

Something changed between us at the cinema—I could feel it.

It all began when I picked her up from her home. The way she greeted me—her smile, her tone—everything about today felt so much more intense.

From the not-so-innocent touches we exchanged at the cinema to the way her tongue slipped into my mouth when we kissed tonight, every moment carried a spark I couldn’t ignore.

And I have to admit—I liked it.

We’ve been on two other dates before today, and ever since the last time we met, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about taking the next step.

It won’t be our first time, but I’m still nervous. I mean, it’s the Alessia Russo. I’m sure she’s far more experienced than I am.

The way she linked her arm through mine pulled me back into reality. "Lost in your thoughts, darling?" she asked, and I felt exposed.

"I was just thinking about the movie," I tried to play it cool. "I really liked it."

She narrowed her eyes slightly, sensing I might be holding something back. She gave my arm a gentle squeeze as we continued walking.

"The movie? That's it? Nothing else on your mind?" she teased, nudging me lightly with her shoulder.

"Nothing else," I smiled innocently in her direction.

I tried to change the subject by asking if I should drop her off at home, and of course, she agreed. The drive back to her apartment was relaxed… except for her hand on my thigh, and that damn thumb of hers, slowly circling higher the closer we got to her place. It was getting harder to focus on the road with a certain blonde teasing me like that.

As we approached her door, she suddenly grew quiet and looked deep into my eyes. I knew she wanted to say something, so I stayed silent. Her voice broke the intense silence between us.

"Thanks for driving me home," she said, her voice low and sultry. I was unable to find the right words, so I pulled her close and pressed my lips to hers. After a few seconds of processing what was happening, she kissed me back. And when I say she kissed me back, I mean she kissed me back. The way her hands cupped my face, her tongue pleading for me to let her in, and the fight for dominance made me weak in the knees. I knew she liked to be the dominant one in the relationship, but I never imagined I'd enjoy it this much.

She leaned back slightly, being the first to break the silence.

"Wow, if that’s how you react every time I thank you, I should do it more often," she smirked, her mischievous grin lighting up her face. I could feel my cheeks flush, and my smile shifted into a shy giggle.

"Maybe you want to come upstairs with me? I could show you my little cozy apartment. But only if you want to—it's totally fine if you don't." She trailed off, and I had to interrupt her before she started getting too wild.

"Lessi," I said, grabbing her hand. "I'd love to come upstairs with you."

I thought it was cute how she turned all shy, asking me to come into her private space after just kissing me like that. But that’s why I fell for her.

Little did I know that the part where she shows me her apartment would be the most irrelevant one.

As Alessia pulled you into her house and closed the door behind you, she pushed you up against the wall, her lips crashing into yours in a heated kiss. Her hands roamed over your body as she pressed herself closer to you. Her lips traced a path down your jawline, finding a sensitive spot on your neck that made you gasp lightly. She noticed your soft gasp but simply smirked at your neck as she continued.

Alessia's smirk widened as she kissed and nipped at your neck, noticing the effect it had on you. Her hands slowly moved down your body, unbuttoning your shirt and revealing more of your skin to her touch.

She locked eyes with you, seeking permission. You were too lost for words, so you simply nodded in her direction. But that wasn't enough for her. "Use your words, baby," were the only words that left her mouth, breathless.

A shiver ran down your spine as Alessia spoke, her breathless voice sending a wave of desire through you. You met her gaze, your own eyes filled with a mixture of arousal and eagerness.

"Yes," you managed to say, your own voice betraying your desperation. "Please, yes."

"Yes what my love? What do you want?"

As Alessia asked the question, her lips hovered just above your ear, her breath hot against your skin, her body still pressed against yours. You could feel her body heat, the way she trembled with her own desire.

"I want you," you said, your voice low and raspy. "I want you now."

Without saying a word, Alessia pulled you into her living room and guided you to the couch. Her hand remained linked with yours as she led you. The room was softly lit by a dim lamp, casting a warm, intimate glow. She gently pushed you down onto the plush cushions, straddling your lap as her gaze met yours. Her eyes, darkened with desire, locked onto you, her chest rising and falling with each heated breath.

"You're so gorgeous," she whispered, her fingertips tracing a path down your chest.

I'm too stunned by the fact that she's straddling my lap, so I just stare at her, my eyes filled with desire.

Alessia smiled at your reaction, enjoying the obvious effect she had on you. Her hips moved against yours, a slow and sensuous rhythm that drove you crazy. She brought her lips to your ear again, her voice a low murmur.

"I love seeing you like this," she said, her breath hot against your skin. "So flustered and undone already, and we've barely even started."

I gulped at her words, my throat tight with anticipation. "I need you so badly," I begged, desperate for her to touch me, to do whatever it took to relieve this overwhelming desire

Her own hunger and desire growing with every word. She leans closer, her lips grazing your earlobe, her voice a needy whisper.

"That's it," she murmurs, her hands roaming over your body. "Beg for me, baby. Tell me what you want. I want to hear you say it."

"I want you to fuck me," I said, my voice betraying the shock I felt at my own words, yet driven by the undeniable need to finish what we'd started.

As the words left your mouth, a shiver ran through Alessia's body. She looked down at you, her eyes darkened with need.

"That's what I wanted to hear," she whispered, her hands sliding to the hem of your shirt. "I'm going to give you what you need, my love."

Alessia slowly pulled your shirt up and over your head, her fingers trailing along your bare skin. She took a moment to admire the sight of you beneath her, her eyes roving over your chest, taking in every inch of you.

She murmured, "God, you're so beautiful." Her hands roamed down your sides. "I can't get enough of you." I close my eyes and enjoy every second of her hands on my bare skin.

She leans down and kisses your collarbone, her lips moving lower, her tongue tracing a path along your skin.

She teases me by kissing my titts and putting her tongue around my nipple. I made a small noise when I felt her mouth on my breast. With her hand, she made sure to stimulate my other nipple. She knew exactly what she was doing and how much she turns me on.

My back involuntarily arching as her lips and tongue worked their magic.

"I love hearing you moan," she murmured. "It drives me crazy when you make those sounds. She made sure that everyone passing her apartment knew who is fucking you right now.

Alessia's hands move to your thigh as she begins to unbutton your jeans. her touch is slow and deliberate, a torturous tease that leaves you aching for more.

"I want to taste you," she says quietly, her voice full of hunger. She is slipping her finger into your pants as she notices how already wet you are. "That's all for me, sweetheart? I blushed at her comment, feeling embarrassed that she had aroused me so much before even touching me. "God, you're so hot."

You shivered as her fingers teased your entrance. She hesitated for a few seconds before inserting her finger. I grasped at the sudden contact between my folds, I love how her finger feels inside of me.

As you took her fingers into your mouth, Alessia's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. She let out a ragged moan, the sight and feeling of you tasting her driving her wild.

As she leaned in to kiss you, her tongue slipped into your mouth, seeking out the taste of yourself on your lips. Alessia let out a low moan as she tasted you, hungry for more.

"You taste so sweet; I want you to come undone on my fingers."

Alessia's hand returned to your sensitive area, her fingers finding their way back. "You like that, baby?" she asked, a smirk playing on her lips. "You want more?" I nodded at her. "Your words, baby."

"Yes. I want more. Please stretch me with your fingers Alessia" unable to focus on anything else than her touch on your skin.

"Mmm good girl," she said, her fingers sliding deeper into your folds. A moan escaped my lips. It feels so good to have her inside me.

Her fingers curled inside you, seeking out that sweet spot that would have you moaning. She added another figer to fully satisfy me after noticing my reaction.

"Oh my god, please, Alessia." She began pushing her fingers roughly inside me, instantly understanding what I wanted from her. My hands found her hair as I tried to pull her head to my breast. Her fingers moved harder and faster as she began to suck on my nipples. The cozy room was filled with the sounds of my low moans and her palm pushing against my wet, bare pussy.

She knows exactly how to make you feel good, her lips finding their way back to your neck as she speaks. "You're so close, aren't you, baby.""Please" was the only word that left my mouth. "Please what, darling?" "Please let me cum."Her eyes darkened with desire, clearly enjoying how desperate you were for release.

She knew you were close by the way your folds were clenching around her fingers. "That's it, baby. You're such a good girl. Come for me. That's everything you needed to come undone on her fingers. She felt so amazing inside of you. Her fingers continued her movements to help you ride out your orgasm. She watches your face as you finish, her eyes dark with passion. A satisfied smile spreads over her face as she pulls her fingers out. She lifts them to her mouth, tasting you once again.

"You're so damn sweet," she muttered, clearly enjoying your taste. "I could do that all night."

"Now it's my turn.".

#arsenal #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community #awfc #awfc imagine #awfc x reader #alessia russo #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo x y/n #alessia russo smut #woso x y/n #woso smut #awfc smut #awfc x y/n

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rafesbangs · 1 day ago

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soft!kook!reader and rafe do it on the beach 🤭

oh em gee this is perfect ty nonnie !

req! 𝜗𝜚 fwb!rafe asks soft!kook!reader out on the beach

c!w; mdni !! dom!rafe, soft!kook!reader, public (?) sex, fingering, hand job, oral (f. + m. receiving), 'unprotected' sex, p in v, creampie, bitta fluff too for once!

notes; two soft!kook!reader fic drops wowow. i really need to finish the 5 other fics in my drafts... i hate writers block ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა

the truck rattled down the sandy path, headlights cutting through the thickening dusk. rafe sat behind the wheel, one hand loosely draped over it, the other tapping rhythmically against your thigh. you leaned back in the passenger seat, the ocean breeze tangling your hair as you glanced over at him. his jaw was set, his eyes fixed ahead, like he was on a mission.

“you’re being cryptic,” you teased, a half-smile tugging at your lips. “should i be worried?”

he shot you a quick glance, his mouth twitching into something almost resembling a smirk. “you’ll see,” he said, voice low, calm.

the beach came into view, the shoreline glowing faintly under the moonlight. you left your shoes and hopped out as soon as the car stopped, your feet sinking into the cool sand. but then you noticed it, a small glow farther down the shore, fairy lights twinkling softly. your brows knitted in confusion, but rafe was already pulling you by the hand, leading you toward it.

when you got closer, you stopped dead in your tracks. a kiddie pool sat nestled in the sand, lined with blankets and pillows, the string lights hanging around like something out of a dream. you blinked, taking it all in.

“rafe,” you started, your voice trailing off.

he rubbed the back of his neck, a rare moment of unease flickering across his face. “look, i’m not good at this,” he admitted, his words tumbling out quickly. “but i couldn’t... not anymore. i don’t want anyone else. i want you. just you. so... be mine?”

the air seemed to hang still between you, your heart hammering in your chest.

“yeah,” you said finally, a soft laugh escaping as you shook your head. “yeah, of course.”

and just like that, he pulled you into him, his lips crashing into yours, both of you sinking into the mountain of blankets. his hands slid up the sides of your body, you climbed into his lap, straddling him as your arms wrapped around his neck.

"you're so pretty" he breathed in between kisses as they grew more desperate, your bodies hotter and breathing more ragged. a hand slipped underneath your top, creeping up to one of your tits and he affectionately squeezed it. you could feel the mischievous grin on his lips through the kiss.

you groaned when he rolled your nipple between his fingers, "i want you rafe." he tore his lips away from yours and searched your eyes for a moment. "on the beach? you sure?" he rasped, his breathing still heavy and increasing at the thought of you screaming his name for the whole ocean to hear.

you grinned and began lining his neck with kisses, slowly rutting against him while one hand slid up his shirt, feeling his toned body. he groaned and planted his hands on your waist, grinding you against him harder.

"i'll never get tired of your dick rafe..." you whispered into the shell of his ear, if he wasn't so hard already he definitely would be now. his eyes rolled back as his mind split open from pleasure.

you unbuckled his belt, pulling down his pants so only his boxers were between you and his poor throbbing cock. you rolled your palm over his tip through the fabric, he sucked air in through his teeth and rolled his head back.

you chewed your bottom lip as you slowly pulled his cock out of his pants, his tip angry and leaking pre-cum, already swollen and begging. you grinned at him as he stared intensely at you, nothing but adoration in his eyes. your hand moved carefully up and down his shaft as another played with his tip while he squirmed under your touch, you'd never been so slow and painful about it before.

looking him in the eyes you moved backwards and lowered your lips down, pressing a sloppy kiss to his tip while still looking up at him through your lashes. he nearly came right then and there, the careful attention you were giving your new boyfriend drove him insane, he was whimpering under your touch as you continued to jerk him off while playing close attention to his tip with your mouth.

you only stopped when he grabbed your chin, stopping you from licking up his cock, "c'mere, your turn." he demanded, and you obliged with a smile. he switched positions with you, sitting you up against the edge of the kiddie pool as he slipped your shorts and panties down with a smirk.

his big hands ran over your thighs before he laced two fingers into your folds, playing around with your wetness and teasing your clit. you twitched at the feeling of his long fingers, begging him to slid them in with the way you were looking at him.

"so so wet baby... this all from getting me off?" he cooed, his fingers now teasing around your hole as his other hand held your leg to the side.

your gaze was pleading, "stop teasing me rafe... 'ts not fair." he only chuckled lightly before kissing your inner thigh and sliding two fingers into your weeping cunt slowly.

you whined when he began sliding his tongue between your folds, lapping at your clit as his fingers continued to slid in and out of you. rafe moaned into your pussy, the vibrations causing you to thread your fingers through his hair, cinching your eyebrows together from the pleasure.

you chewed your lip, trying not to moan too loud so out in the open, still letting small noises slip as rafe ate you like a man starved. "rafe..." you choked, your hand grabbing his wrist.

he lifted his head, the lower half of his face coated in your slick as he smiles up at you, still teasing your folds with his fingers, "yes baby?"

"please... i wanna cum on your cock" you beg, chest rising and falling as you breath heavily. rafe grinned, his smile wide as he crawled over you, sucking your juices off his fingers before pressing his lips to yours, making you taste yourself on his tongue.

"fuck you're so gorgeous" he rasped, tearing away from your lips before grinning down at you as he jerked himself off a little before lowering down to your sopping pussy.

rafe tapped the tip against your folds before then swiping through them, teasing you as you lay there in anticipation before sinking into your pussy with a low groan. you whine when he slowly pushes his cock to the hilt, your cunt tightening around him deliciously.

your hand grips his arm, "'ts so... nhghh, you're so big-" you whimper. no matter how many times the two of you have had sex before, you knew you would never get used to the sheer size of rafe.

he thrusts his hips back then forward again, you feel every inch as your pussy flutters around his cock. "don' worry baby, you can take it" he replies, throwing one of your legs onto his shoulder.

rafe groans as his speed increases, your muscles clenching around him, coaxing him into filling you up. his hand connects with your tit, kneading the fat and pinching your nipple, making you moan loudly. rafe grinned, thankful he chose a secluded beach and the fact that the sun had just set behind them.

he bit his lower lip at the plap-plap-plap coming from his pelvis hitting the wetness that had gathered between you. a thick ring around rafe's cock already along with a stringy mess every time your bodies met.

rafe's eyes raked your body, taking in every outline he could in the dim light provided by the fairy lights. he leans and kisses you as his hands explore your body, he just can't get enough of you.

his hips stutter as his thrusts slow down a little, the tightness of your pussy becoming too much for him to hold off anymore. "ah fuck, g'na cum baby.." rafe groans, his grip on your hips bruising.

"want you to fill me up rafey, cum inside me" you demand, eyes locked on his until they meet yours, wide and wild. as soon as the words left your lips rafe thought he was in heaven, he'd finished on you plenty of times but only inside of you with a condom. it was always a rule of yours that only a boyfriend would have the privilege.

he strained as his thrusts sped up, your cunt tightening unbearably around him, milking every last drop as his cum finally spurts inside of you. your hips twitch as your orgasm takes over and rafe continues fucking his release into you for a few more thrusts before collapsing beside you.

he pulls your face in, kissing you deeply, "fuck you're amazing. i love you baby." he sighs.

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sonotpattismith · 3 days ago

Text

ruin it all over

pairing: tattoo artist!sukuna x ballerina!reader word count: 12.9k content: angst, insecurity, feelings of worthlessness, reader low-key crashing out, hurt w/comfort, loss of virginity, there's a happy ending here somewhere pls bear w/ me, smut, 18+ a/n: continuation of where I first saw you

Ryomen was a guarded guy. Sure— he was getting a little better at the small talk he once thought was so pointless, but it was only because you always seemed genuinely enthralled to hear about what kind of cereal he ate that morning or what song he was listening to on the car ride to work (even though you had no clue who the artists were that he would name, but you were keeping a running playlist). He tried, but it certainly didn’t come naturally to him.

No, because it was much more entertaining for him to listen to your sickeningly sweet voice ramble on and on about the exam you almost missed because you were trying to give a stray campus cat your leftover egg salad sandwich, or how you started keeping tins of actual cat food in your bag just in case even though the critters never seemed to appear when you were actually prepared for them.

The silent man would go about whatever he was doing— closing up the shop with you perched on the counter awaiting him, cleaning his car as you sat in the passenger seat pretending not to stare at the way the sweat clung to his bulging arms as he wiped down the dashboard, shaving his face as your voice fluttered through his phone on the sink— he was taking in every word with as little as an occasional grunt that proved he was still listening.

His favorite part though, was nearing the end of your drawn out stories, when your words would start to trail, and your face would begin to flush because you realized— god, you really have been talking for a long time. Whenever he’d notice those little queues, he’d always look up just in time to watch as you buried your burning face into your hands, muttering out an apology about talking his ear off, and he would smile, because something about that gentle timidness contrasted so deliciously with his brash and jagged edges. It lit a fire in his chest each time, one that had him reminding himself to reel it back in before he scared you one of these days.

So, he’d bite down the urge to pounce and opt to flick at your forehead, tutting softly as he urged you to not leave me in fuckin’ suspense as soon as you’d peek up at him through your fingers.

His crass mouth was another aspect of him that didn’t seem to phase you as much as he thought it would. In your eyes, he could curse like a sailor and scowl all he wanted, because none of it ever took away from the way his typically rough hands handled you with the delicacy of fine china, and how he always seemed to remember the little bits of you you’d shared when you were sure he hadn’t been listening. It also didn’t hurt to have someone without any hair on his tongue around when the cafe got your order wrong, and you were too scared to say anything.

So, maybe you weren’t sure exactly how to label whatever it was that had been going on between you two for the past couple weeks, but you knew you were actually excited for something other than your frequent dance practices for the first time in months. Shrugging on a sweater and a pair of sweatpants over your leotard and tights, you scooped up your bag before tossing a rushed goodbye out to your teammates and bursting through the doors.

Your feet still ached from the extensive time spent awkwardly constricted in your pointe shoes, but Sukuna had texted you just before practice asking (demanding) to meet him at the shop afterward since his last appointment was ending early. He’d offered to come pick you up, but the last thing you wanted to do was become a burden on him after he’d been working all day. So, you trudged through the dull pain and walked as fast as your throbbing feet would take you through the campus.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you busied yourself with checking the train schedule as the breeze messied your once neat bun. Glancing up after you narrowly avoided getting knocked into one too many times, you had to do a double take when you saw the familiar mop of pink hair in the distance. Biting down your tickled smile, you shook your head at his stubbornness. You picked up your pace a bit, but slowed down just as you were a few feet away from him. It had become a self-appointed challenge, your constant attempts to scare him as it seemed nothing swayed this man.

With an unnecessary burst of adrenaline, you made a running start before pouncing on his hoodie-covered arm with an exaggerated shout, an eccastic grin lighting up your face at the sound of his abrupt yelp.

“Hah! So much for— oh my god!” It was now your turn to yelp, because the startled face looking down at you was free of all the intricate tattoos that you’d grown so fond of, and the bicep in your grasp was most definitely a few inches smaller in circumference than you remember. Perhaps you should have known, because the hoodie you were clinging onto was a baby pink color, and you were positive you’d never seen that man in anything other than black.“I-I’m so sorry, I thought—” Your mortified apology died on your throat, because now that the jolt of fear had somewhat subsided, you noted that this was a damn near spitting image of Ryomen. “Oh my god!”

Stumbling back with a start, your foot twisted awkwardly on the rocky pavement below you, nearly sending your ass tumbling to the ground when the black haired man in front of him, whose eyes had since been shooting daggers into your skull, jolted forward to steady you. Stammered apologies continued spilling from your lips as you crouched against the sudden pain in your foot that had already seen better days before your tumble.

“I’m so sorry, it’s just that you look exactly like—”

“Ohhh,” The doppelganger cut you off, an amused smile of recognition finally lighting up his once startled expression. It wasn’t long after though that his face quickly scrunched up in disbelief once again as he took in the way you starkly contrasted his gruffer counterpart. “Wait, you’re the one seeing my brother?”

You blinked once, then twice, mouth hung open as the puzzle pieces began clicking together. Ryomen had mentioned that he and Choso have another brother, but he left out the arguably major details that for one, you two attended the same university, and two, that they were—

“Twins?”

Sukuna had already wrapped up his last appointment by the time you waltzed through the doors of the parlor, your eyes narrowed at the back of his head as he cleaned his station absentmindedly. Pausing your hunt to offer a warm smile to Choso as he greeted you, you quickly locked back in. It didn’t seem too busy in the shop today, only one other customer in the back getting the finishing touches of their ink.

Taking advantage of his lack of attention, you quietly made your way over and took a seat in his tattoo chair, holding back a groan of relief at the weight being taken off your twisted ankle. As he turned back around, it didn’t surprise you that he didn’t jump in the slightest at your sudden appearance. Hiding the tiny smile tugging at his lips with a short scoff, he reached up to flick at your forehead before swooping in with an urging hand on your jaw to press a kiss to your temple, your cheeks mushing together under his grip.

“There you are, geez. What took you so damn long— got lost?”

“No, funny story actually,” You began, watching with a tilted head as he began putting his supplies away. “I ran into this guy that looked just like you. Pink hair and everything!”

This made his movements falter for a fraction of a second, and you could practically see the realization don on his face that he’d forgotten to tell you something. Playing it off as he always did though, he only hummed in response. Narrowing your eyes again, you finally thought of the one thing that might actually startle him for once.

“Yeah, it was pretty embarrassing. I accidentally kissed him and—”

“You kissed my brother?” His baffled shout echoed through the shop, the bottle in his hand clattering to the ground abruptly.

“You kissed one of his brothers and it wasn’t me?” Choso shouted incredulously from the front, face morphed in bitter betrayal. “Yuji doesn’t even like girls!”

Sukuna felt his eye twitch, and he wasn’t sure which one of his siblings’ necks to wring out first. Deciding that Choso was closest and therefore easier game, he quickly pivoted on his heels to make a beeline for his target before you squeaked at the predicament you’d caused, snatching him back by his wrist with poorly disguised laughter.

“Wait! Wait! I surrender, I was kidding— spare him!”

The pure mass of him had you tumbling from the chair, clinging onto him desperately to give his half-brother a running start to lock himself in the bathroom. A pained yelp fell from your lips as you stumbled after him. This had him abruptly whipping his head around, staring down at the way you limped back over to the chair.

“The fuck happened to you?” He was kneeling down before you had the chance to answer, grasping at your calf as his other hand worked the fleece-lined boot from your foot. Leaning back on your hands, your scrunched face stared down at him as he carefully peeled your sock back to reveal the red skin that was paving the way for a gnarly bruise. Along with it though were the scars and blisters that your pointe shoes had graced you with over the years, and he tutted under his breath.

“Well, it kinda freaked me out when I saw Yuji.” You explained sheepishly, wincing as he ran a thumb over the warm skin. “And my feet were already killing me from practice, so I tripped up a little.”

“Can’t blame you— punk’s got an ugly fucking mug.”

Despite the searing ache in your feet, you couldn’t help the airy laugh that bubbled up your chest at his ridiculous claim. A smirk slid onto his lips at the sound. From your peripheral, you saw Choso poke his head out of the bathroom to check if the coast was clear, and you offered a subtle thumbs up, biting back an amused smile as he carefully slipped out to quietly take his place back at the front.

Sukuna ditched the plans he had to take you to lunch, opting to take you back to his place so you could get off your feet. You flushed initially at the idea, still never having stepped foot into his apartment since you two started… whatever this was that you two had started. Your unease was palpable as you sat stiffly on his couch, watching as he bustled around the kitchen after having told you to wait here.

He almost looked too large for the space he was residing in, the appliances in his kitchen appearing ridiculously small next to him. You couldn’t help but wonder what he’d look like in his pajamas, hovering menacingly over that stove as he cooked you breakfast after—

You quickly cleared your throat, cheeks burning as you tore your gaze from him in search of anything that might distract you from your impure thoughts. With a wandering gaze, you landed on the picture frame sitting idly on his side table. Sukuna had his middle finger positioned at the camera, partially blocking his face as his other arm was slung around the neck of the boy that had startled you so badly just hours prior, his brother's finger hooked into his already beaming smile to pull at his lip. You smile softly at the picture, being able to detect the subtle softness in the brooding man’s eyes even with all the layers of stone he always seemed put up before him.

“Alright, take them dogs out.” The man in question commanded as he trudged back into the living room with a bucket in tow. Your brows furrowed as he set it down on the floor in front of you. As if you had already been taking too long to comply, he kneeled down with a disapproving tsk to snatch your socks off himself and roll up your sweatpants before lowering your aching feet into the water.

“Ah—” You hissed as the warm water enveloped your inflamed tendons and skin. A few short pants escaped you before morphing into a sigh of relief as you felt your feet throb as if thanking you for showing them mercy. Slumping back against the couch, your eyes shifted apprehensively between him and the bucket. “Um, Ryo, do you happen to have any—”

“Salt? I already put a shit ton in there.”

“Oh.” You blinked in surprise, watching as he finally stood from his knelt position to trek back to the kitchen and procure a water bottle from the fridge. Finally sinking into the spot beside you, he passed over the bottle. “How’d you know to put it in there?”

A small, questioning hum left him, and you tilted your head down to the bucket.

“Punk’s been running track for years.” He explained as he slung an arm around your shoulder to pull you into his side. “If you think your toes are fucked up, you should see what I’ve had to soak off that bastard’s feet— shit’s not natural.”

A laugh attempted to leave you, but it came out closer to a groan than anything else, your head falling back against the cushion in agony over the state of your feet. Shifting your head to the side to look up at him, you found that he was already looking down at you. The intensity in his eyes seemed to suck you in, opening the smallest window to the inner thoughts that he seemed so protective of.

You found yourself flushing at the way it never wavered, unabashedly trained on you as though he could possess you by will alone if only he tried just hard enough. His fingers caught your jaw as you tried to escape it in hopes of calming your racing heart, ruby eyes dragging down your face until they fell upon the lips that were smushed between his fingers.

“You didn’t really kiss my brother, did you, doll?” He tested, his hot breath creating a mind-numbing humidity over your gently parted lips. The faintest of whimpers escaped you, and you quickly shook your head in hopes that he’d put you out of your misery already and kiss you as you’d been waiting for all day. Your response made him smirk, his nose brushing against your as he seemed to inhale each shaky breath that left your mouth. “Good, cause I woulda’ hated if I had to scrub him off of ya’.”

Lord, if you’re up there, please spare me.

Your frantic inner prayer seemed to fall on deaf ears though, because Ryo was swiftly pulling you in for a nearly bruising kiss, barely giving you the time to relish it before releasing you all together. He always loved the look on your face— the tiniest of disappointed furrow in your brows paired with that glossed pout— it drove him to the brink of insanity each time.

Gluing your eyes to your lap for the sake of having anything else to concentrate on, your fingers dug into your thighs for a moment as you thought of something to say. Hearing the sloshing of the water bucket as you shifted uncertainly, you were reminded of why you were in this position in the first place.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a twin?” You finally broke the tense silence, the one during which his gaze not once left your delicate side profile. A dainty smile pulled at your lips when you glanced back up at him. “Probably would have saved me the embarrassment— his boyfriend looked like he was going to kill me on the spot.”

“Why— think you’d like the other one better?” It was so like him to brush off your questions with a jab and a matching smirk, though you had a feeling there was some truth hiding in the depths of this one.

“Is that what you thought?” You questioned, not matching his banter as you usually did. Instead, your voice was level, careful in how it broached this topic with him.“That I’d prefer your brother?”

The reaction he tried to disguise revealed itself within his fluttering blink, the way his smirk faltered for even just a millisecond before he scoffed. You caught it though— that rare sliver of vulnerability in his eyes just before he turned his head away from you under the guise of pushing his hair from his forehead.

“Bullshit,” He quipped, that guarded smirk back on his face faster than it had left. Reaching down to scoop up the towel he’d left beside the bucket, he placed it in his lap before abruptly pulling your feet out of the now luke-warm water to dry them. “Brat might be nicer than me, but he sure ass hell don’t got my hands, huh?”

Before you could even consider flushing at the implications of his words, said hands were kneading into the searing arch of your feet with more pressure than any of the myriad of foot rollers you’d come to know in all your years could ever manage. All thoughts of Yuji and his brother’s oddly stubborn defenses vanished from you as you fell back horizontally against the couch, a gutteral groan leaving you that Sukuna hadn’t even realized could come out of such a comparably small person.

“Geez, doll,” He whistled lowly through the pure mirth etched onto his face as he drifted his focus down to your heels, rolling his knuckles over them tantalizingly. “Not what I imagined when I thought of you all spread out and moaning on my couch, but I’ll take it.”

With a burning flush, you dug the back of your head into the cusion below you to shield yourself from his teasing gaze.

“Sorry,” You mumbled, covering your timid face behind your hands with a blissful sigh. “Just haven’t had much of a break lately.”

“Take it easy the next few days.” He grumbled as though he hated how his own concern sounded in his ears, fingers trailing up to gently massage into your calves. His neck nearly snapped with the abrupt turn it took at the sound of your quiet, incredulous laugh at his suggestion. “Did I say something fuckin’ funny?”

“No!” You squeaked, though the amusement still lingered in your tone as you peaked at him through your fingers. He only raised his brows at you in challenge. “That’s just… not possible right now. Swan Lake is only like a week away, remember?”

Of course he remembered— he had been reeling to see you perform again since that first night you took his breath away, though he’d never admit it. The air of nonchalance that waved from him when your ecstatic voice squealed through his phone weeks prior that you had been picked to portray Odette was carefully calculated. In truth though, he felt as though his chest might burst with a sense of pride he wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced before.

Sure, he hadn’t the slightest clue who the fuck this Odette character was, but he wasn’t at all surprised after a quick google search that you would have been the only choice fit for the lead role— though perhaps he was a little biased. The stoic man wasn’t upfront with his praises though, but you heard it loud and clear in his simple response of yeah, no shit you got picked, a hidden smile lingering in his otherwise gruff tone.

“Yeah? How you gonna play Odyssey with no fuckin’ toes left?” He quipped, purposefully mistaking the name just to hear that saccharine laughter of yours as he paused his massage to creep between your legs.

“It’s Odette, Ryo!” You giggled, pushing at his chest to no avail as he hovered over you to pepper wet kisses along your jaw. “And I can’t afford to slack off.”

“You’re taking a day offa’ practice.” He grumbled against your ear before snagging the soft lobe between his teeth. Your breathless pants tickled his neck, and the hands that had since been haphazardly shoving at his broad shoulders curled into the neckline of his shirt.

Those pretty, pink lips that took up so much space in his mind circled into the gentlest of oh’s as his hand wandered down your waist and grasped at your hip, pulling it up to press you against him.

“I-I can’t—”

Slipping that same hand down, he cupped at the warmth between your legs purposefully, sending your back arching up from the plush cushions.

“Hm?” He hummed tauntingly at your sudden loss for words, easing up the pressure on your center just enough to make you beg him for it. “You gonna stay home and rest those pretty little legs of yours tomorrow?”

The heat radiating from your cheeks warmed his lips as he traced them up your face and nipped at your pouted lips. You nodded deleriously, tangling your hands into his hair to pull him in to properly kiss you.

“I’ll take a break.” You barely got out against his curled up lips before he was consuming you once again.

His once idle hand eagerly snuck up to dive down the front of your sweatpants, and he tsked in aggravation at the barrier that was the leotard and tights you had yet to change out of. Pulling away from you with a wet smack, he instead focused his efforts on snaking down your body, pressing kisses against your clothed chest, across your ribs and down your stomach.

A faint rumble had him pausing his pursuit to glance up at you, that familiar glitter of amusement hidden in his ruby eyes. You quickly shook your head, mumbling that you were fine, and your eagerness had all but convinced him that you were, diving back down to slip his fingers into the waistband of your sweats. Your fingers danced up to tangle into his already mustled hair, lifting your hips ever so slightly so he could tug down your bottoms. They had only just barely grazed the swell of your ass before he heard it again— this time more vengeful than the last.

“Okay, put your fuckin’ shoes on, we’re getting you a burger.”

Much to your dismay, Ryo did convince you (stood over your shoulder until you texted your instructor that you were sick) to take the day off of practice the next day. In his defense, the foot that you had injured the day prior had begun to take on a faint purple hue along the bridge. Still, you couldn’t help but barely relax the entire day as you were meant to be doing— too caught up in the fear that the mere day you were taking would set you back tremendously.

Truthfully, while you were completely over the moon to have been given such a coveted role, one you’d dreamt of since you were little no less, the years of buildup had paved the way for a blackhole of self doubt. Not only were you given the opportunity to perform your dream role, but you knew for a fact there would be recruiters for at least three professional dance companies in attendance for the show. Additionally and nearly as nerve-wrecking, Ryo would be there, and it would be the first performance he would see following that first night you two had spent together.

With how matter of factly he always spoke of your dancing abilities, you couldn’t bear the humiliation of messing up under his watch. Aside from him, your identity as a dancer was all you had since moving here. Without it, you weren’t sure there was anything left to you at all. There was a gnawing fear sprouting roots in each of your bones that told you that Ryo wouldn’t find much else either. Perhaps it was unfair, unhealthy to be putting such pressure on yourself, but you’d much rather drown in your contradictions than bear the weight of swimming up to the surface to confront them.

Maybe it was the fact that you had worried yourself into the early hours of the morning when you should have been sleeping to prepare for the hours of practice that would be awaiting you when you woke. Even more likely was the fact that it was the barely healed, blackening bruise lingering maliciously on your foot that assured that you just wouldn’t for the life of you land any of your grand jetés, your aching tendon simply dipping too far under the leaden weight of your drops. Your partner, who would be fulfilling the role of Prince Siegfried alongside you, really did try to help, his hands tightening in a barely noticeable fashion around your waist each time you came down from your leaps in hopes of easing your landing so that you may execute it with more grace— but not even his mercy seemed to save you. Whatever you could inevitably point the blame at though caused you instructor to finally snap about four hours into practice that day.

It took barely a sharp glare, a hushed critique, but it sliced through you like a knife. Over the years, you had of course learned to take and constructively use the feedback given by your instructors, though the weight of your role’s importance to the success of the show perhaps made her words cutting and her eyes despondent toward your previously blossoming potential. You could even feel your partner’s typically playfully smug expression boring into the side of your head with barely concealed sympathy, but not even Satoru’s usually life saving swoop-ins could pull you out of the hole you were throwing yourself down.

You could hardly think of a thing else when you left that evening, sun already prepared to retreat soon for the night. The score played resoundingly in your headphones speakers that sat snuggly against your ears, aiding in your wide-eyed, mental rundown of each number on your trek back to your dorm, every muscle in your body seemingly screaming with every dragged step.

Nothing would allow you to let up on yourself, it seemed. You stared blankly into your fridge for nearly ten minutes following your scalding shower before deciding your mind was far too preoccupied to conjure up any sort of appetite. And so you didn’t rest when you got home that day. With the increasingly taunting melodies of Tchaikovsky's compositions filling the already tense air of your dorm, you continued your trembling fouettés and pirouettes until each of your steps wavered and it became glaringly difficult to lift yourself from your rocky landings.

There was barely a glimmer of sunlight left shining from your window, and you weren’t sure how long you’d been furiously torturing yourself for, each falter or misstep being met with blindly frenzied repetitions. A sharp rap on your door seemed to shake your resolve, almost drowned out by the volume of your music that had been steadily ticking up and up and up until the fact that you hadn’t received a noise complaint had to have been chalked up to a heavenly intervention.

It startled you in the midst of your leap, reducing whatever semblance of grace you had prepared for your landing into a thudding heap on the floor. Your knee’s resounding smack against the wood floor along with your frustrated cry was only followed by a harsher pound at your door, and you were sure you saw the door frame rattle even if just by a hair.

“I’m coming!” You tried to sound as though you weren't ready to open your window and scream your miseries out to the world, though you weren’t sure how well it translated. A shuddering breath shook your frame as you rose from the floor to make your way to the door one wincing step at a time. You had barely the chance to crack the door before it was being pushed open, and the spine-chilling scowl on the face of the man who invited himself in would have had you calling campus security in any other situation. “Ryo?”

“What the hell happened to you? I haven’t heard from you since this morning. Ain’t been answering any of my—” His exasperated interrogation died in his throat as he took in the state of your dorm— namely the main floor, where your modest couch had been pushed haphazardly against the far corner of the room, with your rug rolled up and slouched against the wall. The body mirror that typically hung on your bathroom door was ripped from its place and leaned against the wall to face the makeshift practice space.

You watched with a waxing humiliation as his expression morphed into a startled disquietude he did little to mask. With a flickering gaze, the cool air of your space whipped against your burning cheeks as you shook your head, placing your hands desolately onto his shoulders in an attempt to push him back toward the door.

“You should go, I—”

“Like hell I should go, what the fuck is going on?” Sukuna’s venomous tone contrasted the desperately gentle manner at which he reached out to grasp at your cheeks. In his frenzied inspection of you, he noted how your flushed face and damp skin paired painstakingly with the droop of your exhausted eyes. “Have you stopped at all today?”

“I—” Your weak stammer pitched until you could no longer hear it falling from your lips. The fat of your cheeks squished against his palms as you slumped defeatedly into his grasp, a traitorous tear slipping down your burning eyes. You tried to cast your gaze downward in search of any solace against the way you were breaking down so pathetically before him, but his insistent fingers prevented you from doing anything of the sort.

His incredulous eyes widened as one tear turned into several, until no dam could possibly stop your abrupt onslaught onto the tightening grasp of his hands. And god, how he felt he was the worst person to have stumbled upon such a scene, because Sukuna had never in his life been sure what to do with tears. In all his years, he’d solved matters with his sharp tongue and barreling fists— though he’d never quite mastered the intricacies of handling anything with fragility or care.

So, as comforting as he thought he could manage, he stiffly pulled your head against his chest, sighing in modest relief when you buried your nose in further. The motion gave him hope that just maybe whatever foreign moves he was making didn’t come off as horribly stiff and unnatural as they felt to him.

“I kept messing up my choreography today, a-and I just— I can’t—” The choked sobs were rendering your frenzied explanation nearly incomprehensible as you began heaving out your breaths. Your shoulders were jostling with the sudden expended efforts of your erratic breathing, and he decided that perhaps a hug wasn’t going to cut it, because your skin was clammy and you were choking on your breaths and he was sure you’d pass out any second now.

“Nah, c’mon, get it together f’me.” Ryo muttered with a crippling effort to not raise his voice and make the situation worse. With a firm hand on your nape, he began urging you toward the hall where he nearly tore your bathroom door off the hinges opening it. Twisting on the faucet of your ivory sink, his hand pushed you down until your frazzled face was a mere inches from the now running water. Cupping his hand under the stream, he ran the starkly cool water down your feverish face. You gasped softly at the way it seemed to shock your already strung-out nervous system. “Breathe, dammit.”

But the much needed air was already crashing against your withering lungs like waves against an unsuspecting shore as his hand continued splashing at your face.

“I’m sorry— I’m sorry.” You finally rasped out, feeling as though you were at last breaking through the surface tension that had been trapping you in your haze. The grip on your nape slowly loosened in tandem with your leveling breaths, and you leaned against the counter for support.

Sukuna switched the faucet off before turning you to face him once again. There were stray droplets of water still rolling down your face and dripping into the divets of your collarbones, and he swiped at your dribbling jaw as he waited for you to collect yourself. It was silent as his intense gaze burned holes into your forehead, and it pushed the few stray tears lingering in your waterline out.

“She told me that I—” You cut yourself off, face scrunching up in embarrassment, but he gently jostled you to urge your continuing. “That I-I’m not taking this seriously.”

“Fuck that—”

“No, she’s right, Ryo.” Your sudden insistence caught him off guard, his eyes searching yours incredulously because he couldn’t think of one person who could’ve grasped at their goals as tightly as you had between your delicate fingers. “I skipped practice yesterday, and I haven’t been putting in as much time as I can— I’m gonna mess everything up.”

“Hey, no that’s bullshit, you hear me?” His fingers squished at your cheeks in order to urge your wet gaze onto his grave eyes. “You ain’t a damn machine— how the hell do you expect to put in a hundred percent when you’re grinding yourself stupid? Huh?”

You didn’t answer him, instead opting to squeeze your eyes shut, chewing on your bottom lip.

“You need a break. You need to fucking relax, alright?”

“I can’t— I don’t know how.” You admitted meekly as your own trembling hands came up to grip desperately at his wrists. The scent of his cologne helped marginally to ground you as he leaned down to press ardent kisses against your temple and forehead. “I feel like I’m possessed or something. I can’t sit still, I can’t—”

“You gotta try for me, baby.” The way his gruff voice reverberated in his chest had you pulling yourself closer to him, desperate to drown in the intoxicating distraction that had been laid before you. Because Ryomen— he smelled like a forest, his hands were so sure in their pursuit of you, his voice flowing like the most expensive of wines, and he had never called you that before, and you thought there was nowhere you’d rather plummet into insanity than his fortifying embrace.

“Can you…” Your soft whisper drifted in apprehension, a deep scarlet painting your still drying cheeks. He hummed in question, already terrifyingly resolute in his decision that he’d burn cities down to complete whatever request it was that would fall from your lips if it meant that painstaking little crease of worry between your brows would leave you alone. “Can you help me? You know… r-relax?”

And oh how his chest filled with pride, because the tears and the speeches were lost on him but this? This he could do, he determined as he sank to his knees before you. He’d felt utterly hopeless at the hands of your tender nature and gentle touches, because he knew that anyone else would be able to reciprocate them to you far better than he could ever hope to, though he knew one thing for certain as he tugged your bottoms down, chin propped on your navel to look up at you in that sweltering manner he was so good at— there was no one alive or dead that would be able to take care of you like he intended to.

Your hands found purchase on the counter behind you in desperate pursuit of support as he nudged your legs further apart and buried his head between them. His tongue was warm as it lapped mercilessly at your center, urging hands gripping at the back of your thigh to wrangle one of your legs over his shoulder. He moaned against you as you arched into him, his grip around your thigh tightening as if to encourage your movements, and you found yourself crying out along with him. Your chords meshed together and danced harmoniously off the thin walls of your dingy, dorm bathroom.

The mystery raced through your mind of what planet this man had come from, as he was managing to pull at threads you hadn’t known existed in you with each skilled thrust of his tongue. Your balance wavered on the leg that remained standing, trembling on its tiptoes as it attempted desperately to keep up with him to no avail. Just as you slipped forward, Sukuna’s bicep was hooking under the wavering limb before hoisting himself up along with you.

Your back fell against the mirror once he dropped you onto the counter, and his fingers were soon replacing his tongue just as all your crippling thoughts of self doubt were soon replaced by him. Him as he lurched forward over the sink to capture your lips, allowing you to taste yourself lingering on his tongue before leaning back to watch the way you began to desperately grind yourself against his fingers.

“What are you thinking about right now?” He all but growled out as his fingers found a blistering rhythm within you, the continuous, wet smacks of his palm against your heat making it difficult for you to think of anything at all though. So, you only whined out in response, your feet craning up to gain any kind of leverage on the counter’s edge. At once, his free hand was grasping at your nape to angle your gaze to look up at him, his incandescent eyes demanding to be met. “I asked you a question.”

“You!” You gasped out, the searing pleasure making way for the tears that gathered in the corner of your eyes. He smiled wolfishly at your response, and you moaned softly at the sight. “Just you, I’m thinking about you, Ryo.”

“Yeah?” Sukuna muttered smugly, grasping at your leg as it continued to slip against the counter in search of support.

His heated touch ran down your calf teasingly until it curled around your ankle that was still partially covered by the ties of your pointe shoes. Ever so slowly, as if testing the spellbinding flexibility that had had the perverse wheels turning in his head since he first witnessed it on stage all those weeks ago, he inched your leg up and up and up until the bridge of your foot brushed against the mirror only a mere inches away from your rapturous face. For once, the wind felt as though it had been knocked from his lungs at the sight, but he worked to quickly compose himself lest you bear witness to the slip in his resolve.

So, he instead leaned in closer to you, the back of your thigh now flush against his chest as his hand kept your leg pinned up. A shuddering moan slipped from you at the feeling of his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“And what am I doing in those thoughts of yours, doll?” The whisper sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t help but turn your face away from him bashfully. Tutting softly in mocking disapproval, he nudged your face forward once again with a push of his nose against your chin. “Hm? Speak up now, I can’t hear you.”

But your climax was nearing closer and closer, evident in the way your warmth squeezed around his relentless fingers and your breaths grew choppy. Perhaps that was the only reason you had the nerve to actually answer him.

“Y-You’re— ah!” A sharp gasp shook you as he angled his palm to brush against your clit with each stroke, but he quickly ground out for you to keep talking. “You’re making love to me, Ryo.”

Your high came crashing down onto you just as your words seemed to shatter his mind, his mouth falling open in tandem with your pitched cries as you peaked. His brows drew fiercely together, his teeth gritting together as he worked you through the waves of your release, and he no longer cared if you saw the way his thusfar fierce front had fallen, because Ryomen couldn’t possibly want anything more in that moment than for you to allow him to bring your lust-clouded thoughts to fruition as he leaned forward to swallow your moans.

“Can’t talk like that, doll.” He groaned despondently against your lips, foreheads brushing together while your lower half jolted against him.

“Why?” In your delirium, you could have cried at his disapproval.

“Cause I might just fucking do it, that’s why.”

It fell silent in the already small bathroom that seemed all the more cramped with Sukuna’s Herculean figure occupying the majority of it. Your soft pants puffed against his mouth, eyes fluttering out a stray tear as you reached up to grasp at his nape. The sensation of your nails dragging down the blunt hairs of his undercut made his fingers curl deeper around your ankle, scrambling for any semblance of restraint. It would never come though, because you had the gall to pout against his parted lips, your grip like a vice on his neck as you whispered to him.

“Please, Ryo.”

He certainly didn’t feel as though he deserved such a privilege, but it was also far from him to make you beg for a part of him that was already wholeheartedly yours. So, his grip fell from your leg in favor of scooping you up by your thighs, your dripping core soaking against his shirt as he moved through your dorm like a man possessed, kicking at your bedroom door impatiently.

You barely had the chance to recover from the abrupt manner in which you bounced back against your mattress before he was wrangling your sweater from over your head. Sighing wantonly at the sight of his tattoo marked proudly against your heaving sternum, he leaned down to sink his teeth into it. Any semblance of rationality seemed so far from you as your jaw hung open, and you blindly reached down to tug at the back of his shirt until he disconnected from you to pull it off.

In a lust-filled haze, you reached out to trace the black ink that ran down his chest, making him hum appreciatively, his own hands capturing yours to hold them against him even if for just a moment longer. Slowly though, those sinful hands were drifting down your bare sides until his fingers dug into the swell of your hips to yank you down until your ass was just barely kissing the edge of the bed.

“These legs drive me fucking ballistic.” His sultry confession would have made you blush had you not already been spread open so vulnerably before him. Laden fingers dragged down your legs as he gathered them up to rest against his chest, turning his head to press salacious, open mouthed kisses along your calves. With a feather-light touch, he drifted up toward your ankle before tugging at the tie of your pointe shoes hungrily. That fervid, side-long glance he tossed your way as he worked the stiff shoes off you was nearly too intense to take head on, but there was a glint in his eyes that told you that you should know better than to look away.

The offending shoes fell against the floor with a soft thud. The keen gaze he kept on you should have sent you sprinting, akin to an apex predator scouting its next meal. As you assured yourself just moments prior though, you knew better. So, you stayed perfectly still, save your heaving breaths, as he dug a small, gold foiled packet from his wallet, holding it between his teeth before working his belt off and allowing his pants to pool at his feet.

There was the slightest hint of a pause as Ryo allowed the scene to settle in— to give you a chance to turn back at the very moment you’d left off on the last time your fates brushed this closely. That resistance never came though, and your ankles dug into his shoulders in anticipation. Your eyes fell on their own volition as he pushed his boxers down to join the rest of his clothes, and you thought you might swallow your own tongue in the midst of your shock.

His erection sprang from its cotton prison, ever so gently brushing against your core in its escape. You shuddered at the sensation, but for once your tremors rooted not in fear but instead in an aching anticipation. Much like the rest of him, as you had assumed, he was intimidatingly… above average— not that you had much by way of comparison. Gulping down the saliva that seemed to pool dramatically on your tongue, you took note of the black rings that circled his upper thighs, and you couldn’t help but let your lips curl up at the sight.

“What’re you smilin’ at, huh?” Ryomen teased through clenched teeth, the condom still hanging between his lips. An adoring smirk was splitting across his own face as he took the opportunity to pump leisurely as his leaking cock, using his free hand to smooth up your navel.

“You just… match everywhere.” Your timid giggle had his length twitching in his grip, his intense gaze softening just a bit. Abandoning his caress against your lower half, he reached up to tear open the foil between his teeth.

“What— don’t like ‘em?” His husky question was followed by the teasing plap of his heavy cockhead on your sensitive bud. The amused smile on your lips quickly fell into a sharp gasp at the sensation. Sukuna hummed as he rolled the condom over his aching length before guiding it through your folds.

“I love them.” Your sincere, breathless confession caught him off guard. “You look like… a piece of art, Ryo.”

For the first time since knowing him, you watched a genuine flush fall over his face at your words. Wide eyes were staring down at you as though he’d never received a compliment a day in his life, but, truthfully, he wasn’t sure anyone had ever bothered showing him such tenderness, always preferring to veer off his path lest they get caught in his crossfires. There was a barely noticeable tremble in his breath as he sighed out.

“Art, huh? Nah.” He murmured, pushing forward until his tip dipped into your straining entrance.

You cried out softly at the abrupt stretch, and he quickly hushed you with a soothing hand up your thigh. It felt so incredibly cathartic, enduring the dull pain at the hands of Ryomen. No matter how much you felt you might split in two as he gradually introduced each inch of himself into your honied heat, you would have done it all over again if it meant you’d be able to see that look on his face as he bottomed out. Eyes rolled back, fingers clutching at your thighs as they rested against his chest with a bruising grip, with a gaping mouth that curled up at the corners in a lingering, intoxicated smirk.

He fell forward until your knees pushed up against your breasts, moving one hand to fist the sheets beside your head to pace himself as he licked at the tears rolling down your cheeks.

“This is art.” Sukuna corrected as he dipped down to capture each, pained whimper that fell past your lips until it was your moans would soon compete against his favorite of artists, because if he was art then you must be a masterpiece.

You slept with a serenity that rivaled a corpse that night, your dreams floating through clouds as your mind was utterly consumed by him. For the first time in weeks, something had rivaled the searing ache in your feet, and it was the dull reminder of Ryomen between your thighs— though you couldn’t possibly bring yourself to deem that particular pain unwelcomed as you stirred from your slumber.

The frigid air bit at your bare skin, sending a tremor through your shoulders. Cracking your eyes open, you were greeted by the sight of the man so many seemed to fear, his lips gently pouted as half his face molded against your pink pillow sheet. You wondered if it was his perpetually defensive nature that made him sleep on his stomach, the idea putting an amused grin on your tired features as you observed how his arms clutched onto the pillow under his head.

His legs were tangled into yours under the covers, giving you the vital information that he seemed to be putting out far more body heat than you could hope to at this hour. Shuffling closer to him, you carefully placed a hand under his arm in an attempt to lift it just enough to slip into his warm embrace for solace against the cold.

“What’re you doin’, brat?” His gravelly voice cut through the morning silence, catching you red handed without ever having opened his eyes.

Biting back the disappointment upon realizing that you weren’t nearly as stealthy as you thought, you smiled sheepishly despite his closed eyes.

“I’m cold.” You whispered softly.

“No one told you to get this thin ass blanket.” He grumbled, and you let out a quiet huff of disappointment before turning over and pulling the covers tighter over yourself. It only took a mere few seconds though to hear the rustling of sheets behind you, and you were soon being enveloped in a bear-like embrace nonetheless. His arm dipped under your head to cross over your chest, and you smiled against the warmth of his forearm. “What’re you smiling for? Too fuckin’ early.”

The fervent kisses he began pressing against your shoulder contradicted his grumpy rambling though, and he was soon nosing at your jaw for you to expose your neck to him. His teeth sank into the new area bared to him, and you arched against him just as his tongue began circling the attacked skin.

“Hmm,” He hummed in a deep baritone, his hand running up your thigh before dipping down to where you still ached of him. “Better cancel whatever fuckin’ plans you had today.”

Just as you nearly allowed yourself to succumb to him once more, his words sunk into your still barely functioning mind.

“Oh my god!” You shrieked, shooting up from his grip and nearly tumbling off the bed as you reached for your phone.

“Woah, woah, settle down. What the hell are you tweaking about?” Ryo groaned, rubbing at his now ringing ear as he propped himself up to watch you.

“I’m late! Oh my god, I’m so late.” You rambled through trembling breaths. It was like watching a tornado ripping through your tiny room, clothes flying as you wrangled on whatever was closest to you. He quickly sat up at your frenzied movements. “I’m supposed to be at practice!”

“Hey, take a fucking breather, you’re gonna pass out.”

“I can’t take a fucking breather, Ryomen!” His eyes widened at your uncharacteristic tone, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard such… unsavory language falling from your lips. Tears of frustration blurred your vision as you began shoving your abandoned pointe shoes haphazardly into your bag. “I keep messing everything up, I’m such a—”

“Nothing’s messed up—”

“Everything’s messed up!” You cried, grunting in frustration as you shoved your aching feet into your boots. “My foot is still messed up, my routine is messed up, my instructor thinks I’m a joke, and I’m about to screw everything up because I keep letting myself get distracted, and I—”

“Distracted?” Sukuna scoffed, pulling on his boxers as he stood up to follow you out of your bedroom. “Is that what I was fucking doing last night? Distracting you?”

“I don’t have time for this right now, Ryo.”

“Well you better find some fucking time before you mess this up too.” He regretted them as soon as the words left his mouth, but his entire nervous system had switched onto the defense at your ruthless undermining of what had transpired between you two last night.

The wounded expression on your delicate face told him he should drop to his knees to beg your forgiveness, but the wounded pride of the rejected child in him refused to submit so easily. So, he simply stared back at you with that callous expression you hadn’t ever seen him dare direct your way. Wiping furiously at your traitorous tears, you slung your bag over your shoulder and left, slamming the front door behind you.

That door had shut in his face five days ago, and you had yet to hear from him since. In hindsight, you knew that what you said was out of line, and it was clear that you had hurt him in a way that he would refuse to outwardly display. Sukuna would always bare his teeth before showing his belly— you knew that whole heartedly even after knowing him a mere few months. Still, his words stung, and you were too afraid of how the things he’d left unsaid might feel if you should reach out to him first in the midst of his anger.

You tried to use his absence to your advantage, throwing yourself wholeheartedly into your now daily practices that went hours on end. Your grief, anger, and betrayal fueled each twist and turn, each leap you aimed to perfect until you could convince yourself it was worth what you had damaged in the name of your passion. Even when you finally received that pathetically anticipated approval from your instructor, it no longer felt as sweet.

There was hardly time for you to wallow over Roy’s radio silence though, because Swan Lake was in a day, and you weren’t even sure that he’d still show up. The thought clutched at your chest, but you were quick to dismiss Satoru when he’d whispered his concerns into your ear during your final dress rehearsal. It felt as though you were back in that desperate solitude that had inadvertently veered you on his path in the first place.

Sukuna had been pretending that it wasn’t eating him alive that you had yet to crack first, but he sure as hell wouldn’t do it. Everyone around him could tell though. He was quiet— even more so than usual, and the fuse that they were sure couldn’t get any shorter was blowing easier than ever. Choso was met with a biting snap when he dared to ask why he hadn’t seen you around lately, so he figured you must have something to do with it, and he’d be damned if he sat back and simply watched his brother fuck this up.

“Hey,” Despite his determination, his tone was still careful as he approached the pink-haired man who was still hunched over his client, brows furrowed as he concentrated on the cat he was coloring in on the woman’s thigh. It so obnoxiously reminded him of you and the soft spot you held in your heart for the damned feral animals. Sukuna grunted in question at his half-brother. “You still coming to the show tonight?”

He paused his careful strokes for a fraction of a second before blinking away his frustration.

“Why the hell wouldn’t I be?”

His gruff response made Choso’s eyes roll in annoyance. It was so like him to pretend as though no one could tell that something was going on with him.

“Well she just texted me to ask, so I figured there was a reason.”

It took every bit of restraint in him not to jolt in surprise and completely fuck up this client’s day. Why didn’t she text him? Why the hell did she feel more comfortable going to his damn brother than him? His jaw clicked as it clenched in indignation. An aggravated huff escaped him as he wiped at the woman’s tattoo and prepared to wrap it up.

“You can tell her that if she wants to know that she can ask me her fucking self.” The dark-haired man’s brows rose at his brother’s tone, pursing his lips as he turned on his heels with a shake of his head, a motion that certainly didn't go over Sukuna’s head. “You got something to say?”

“Other than you’re going to regret whatever the hell it is you’re sulking over in a few days? Nah, it’s all good. I’ll let her know that Yuji and I are still coming.”

He didn’t give him a chance for a rebuttal before he made his way back up to the front. A grumbled tut left him as he cleaned the tattoo before him and began wrapping it.

“That sketch is gorgeous.” The client commented as he busied himself with her wrap. He glanced up at her in question before following her gaze to the sketch that he’d created for you that night and inevitably inked on you. The original was still taped to his station, always having been his favorite reminder of you to get him through his shifts. “You the artist? I have a friend who would probably love to get that inked.”

Faster than he could even fully process her request, he was adamantly shaking his head with a fierce defensiveness. Even through the haze of his hurt, he knew that that drawing would never grace the skin of anyone else— no one else would be worthy of a piece inspired by you, no one had the right. He couldn’t bear the thought of tainting its sanctity with the likes of some of the scum that came through here.

“Out of commission.” He gruffed plainly, not bothering to grace the notion with an explanation. Ripping off his gloves, his eager fingers dug his phone from his back pocket, but he was only met with further disappointment at the realization that— no, you still hadn’t reached out.

As he walked his client to the front, he could see his brother typing away adamantly on his phone, and it pissed him off to think of you on the other end of it with the reassurance that his damn brothers would be coming to support you tonight.

Sukuna couldn’t drag himself outside fast enough, hiding under the guise of needing some air when, truthfully, he was tempted to rip the stupid fucking buns right off Choso’s head if he heard his phone ping one more time. It was his rage, that’s what he’d blame it on as his thumbs furiously pounded at the poor, unsuspecting screen of his phone before hitting send.

I’ll be there.

You were sure you would throw up if there had been anything in your stomach to begin with that day. With your nerves so overwhelmingly shot, you could barely stomach a few saltine crackers before even they were making you nauseous.

Staring back at you in the mirror was the woman you had been fighting tooth and nail for for so long. The white, feathered headpieces sat snuggly against your temples and into the sides of your slicked-back bun. You almost didn’t recognize yourself in the dramatically winged, dark shadow that shrouded your eyes.

You couldn’t be sure if the reassurance that Ryo would be coming despite your near week of radio silence comforted or intimidated you even more.

From the closed door of your dressing room, you could hear the orchestra performing each intricate number as act one got the ball rolling. There were dancers in and out of the room, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move, stuck idly in your chair as you awaited act two to begin with your entrance.

No matter how much you had soaked it, iced it, rolled it— goddamn it, prayed over it, your foot still throbbed under the constraints of your pointe shoes. It only needed to get through the next hour and a half— that’s the mantra that played like a broken record in your head in hopes of calming your very real fears of it failing you mid-performance.

The minor piece of solace you had apart from that was that your sudden change in behavior had urged you and Satoru to get a bit more comfortable with each other as you had to begrudgingly explain to him why you had been a bit off your game. You were shocked when the man, who you were sure hadn’t a sincere bone in his body, reassured you that he’d be more cautious with you with each lift and land the two of you had ahead of you tonight given your injury.

You watched with bated breath from the side stage as Satoru aimed the prop crossbow before turning to prance toward his stage left to mimic his hunt, the long awaited queue for your entrance. The peripherals of your vision blurred as you allowed your muscle memory to take over, and you were soon landing your grand jeté before dipping into your first bow as Odette.

Ryomen felt each last puff of air in his lungs abandon him at the sight of you with your breathtakingly intricate, snow-white costume, truly embodying a princess. He had admittedly been growing restless throughout the first half hour of the production without so much as a glimpse of you. Now though, as the glimmering crown tucked into your hair shimmered under the stage lights, he was sure he’d wait it tenfold to relive the magnetic way you commanded the stage upon your first arabesque.

The grip he had around the base of the bouquet he’d brought you tightened as he watched you and your partner float about the stage, twisting and turning against and around each other with a synchronicity that embodied just how much dedication you two had put into your performative chemistry— at least that’s what he hoped as your noses brushed in an almost kiss.

Not even in his wildest dreams would he have thought he’d ever find himself sitting through a two-hour ballet, but you had him completely enraptured. He recalled what you had mentioned about the recruiters that would be coming to this performance, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was your night. The recruiters had to be captivated by you— just as every soul that was surrounding him seemed to be.

As the show progressed, it was clear how you lost yourself inch by inch to Odette, and you soon weren’t sure where you ended and she began. You had just been starting to convince yourself that you’d make it. There was but a half hour left, and though you could feel your injured foot growing angrier and angrier with each pointed formation, you were pushing it to the back of your mind, something to be dealt with later.

But somewhere after the fourteenth of the iconic thirty-two fouettes in a row you had to execute as your darker counterpart, Odile, was perhaps the beginning of the end for your optimism. As fate would have it, each gruelling fouette was meant to be spun off of that fucking foot, and by the end of them you were sure your face was tinted red from the way you held back your cries of pain.

Ryomen could see it too, despite how well you disguised it as an expression of passion. His fingers dug deeper and deeper into his thighs with each spin during the sequence, because he could practically feel that bruised foot crumbling under such pressure. Despite it all— you did it, and, not only that, you made it appear damn near effortless.

It was nearing the final number now, and he had been watching your eyes morph with each second that passed. Perhaps it wasn’t clear to anyone else, but he knew that glassy look wasn’t just your impeccable dedication to the scene. You had been changed back into your white swan costume, taking the stage with both Prince Seigfried and Rothbart as you gracefully dashed yourself between the arms of each man. It wasn’t until the final leap that Satoru would catch you from that you felt it.

Just as your pointed foot hit the stage floor, you could all but hear the tiniest of cracks. Your breath hitched, a nearly muted choke catching in your throat that luckily the audience couldn’t hear over the orchestra. Satoru did though, his hands on your waist tightening as he attempted to subtly lift you ever so slightly to take some of the weight off your foot. A whimper lingered in the back of your throat as the pain radiated up your leg.

“It’s okay.” Your white-haired partner whispered subtly so as not to break the illusion of the performance. “You just have to make it to the lake.”

His near silent reassurance into your ear was fleeting as you spun away from him. Make it to the lake. The words were chanting like a mantra in your head.

Ryomen thought the armrest of his seat would snap under the pressure of his grip, watching in horror as a single tear slipped down your cheek upon that fateful landing, and he knew something had gone wrong. Judging by the way your partner seemed to subtly lean in to whisper in your ear, he knew he was right.

Still, your remaining bourrees across the stage were flawlessly executed despite you feeling the likely fracture in your foot arguably worsening with each step, and Odette was finally taken up into the arms of Rothbart, lifted high above his head to take her behind the veil of the lake to die— and that’s certainly what it felt like you were doing.

Sukuna was out of his seat before Prince Seigfried could even properly fall to his knees to mourn the loss of his love, practically hopping over seats to get to the back. It was proven difficult, what with all the attendees rising to their feet to offer a standing ovation as the show concluded. Finally making it out of the row, he shouldered into attendants and workers until he found the backstage entrance sign.

A worker placed a hand on his shoulder to inform him that he wasn’t authorized to go back there, but he knew the man wasn’t about to be stupid enough to fight him if he pushed his way through those doors anyway. There were troves of ballet dancers moving like ants through the hallways, all looking up at him in bewilderment as he pounded toward the dressing room at the end of the hall.

“Oi, you all had better be fucking decent cause I’m coming in!” It was the only warning he gave along with the three cautionary pounds against the door before he burst in. There in the far back surrounded by a myriad of frazzled dancers was you, still hauntingly enchanting in your Swan Queen costume as you heaved out cries against the cold floor. The pointe shoe on your injured foot had already been wrangled off, and Satoru was frantically tearing your tights between his fingers from the ankle down to observe the damage.

You looked up at the sudden commotion. The dramatic, black makeup that had been so intricately painted onto your face was now streaming down your cheeks in ugly, noir waves as your face scrunched up heartbreakingly at the sight of him standing before you.

“Ryo.” You choked out helplessly between your heaving sobs of pain, and he felt his heart shatter all at once. Parting through the sea of dancers, he shoved at the white-haired man’s shoulder.

“Move the fuck outta my way.” Sukuna bit out, probably much harsher than necessary for someone who seemed to be trying to help, but he did just watch this dude grabbing at your waist and thighs and caressing your face for damn near two hours straight. And sure, he knew it was all part of the performance, but fuck you didn’t warn him that you’d actually be kissing the dude. In spite of it all, Satoru didn’t need to be told twice before he was standing to let him take over.

“I-I think it’s broken. I can’t m-move it—”

“It’s okay, I’m right here.” He urged, his fingers just barely ghosting over your calf as he took in the sight of your mangled foot. It had swollen considerably within the confines of your pointe shoe over the past few hours, and the nearly black skin was hot to the touch.

“The recruiters, Ryo— I screwed it up, I—”

“Fuck the recruiters, I’m taking you to the fucking hospital.” You didn’t get much of a word in edgewise as he scooped you up, darting through the parted crowd and out the back exit.

Though he wasn’t quite sure what he would say if given the chance, your frenzied sobs filled the air around you two the entire drive. He tried to calm you, but it was proven difficult with his split attention on the road. It also wasn’t clear if your cries were mainly attributed to the pain or the mental anguish. Still, with sweat beginning to bead at his temples, he grasped at your hand and placed it over his chest in a desperate attempt to get you to match his breathing. Although it seemed like you were truly trying, you continued choking up with each throb of your foot.

Sukuna’s perpetual feeling of being absolutely worthless continued as you sat silently in the hospital bed, only your occasional sniffles breaking through the white noise of the room as you awaited the okay from the doctor to be discharged. The xray they performed confirmed your suspicions, and you had been suffering from a stress fracture. He sat in the stiff chair beside your bed, hunched over with his elbows resting on his thighs as you stared blankly at the stark white cast now covering your foot and ankle.

Neither of you were quite sure what to say to one another. Your current state was… delicate, and he wasn’t sure that bringing up the fight would be the best idea for you right now. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he straightened his posture, eyes fluttering over you apprehensively before he cast his line out.

“I don’t know how you do it.” He confessed sincerely, watching as your eyes cast a sidelong glance at him.

“What, manage to fracture my foot during one of the most important performances of my life?”

“How you let yourself feel so much for everyone to see.” His response made you flush, your brows furrowinf as you looked away from him once again.

“I couldn’t really help it, my bone was kind of split—”

“I’m not talking about your damn foot, doll.” Ryomen sighed in exasperation. It was already difficult enough for him to be so sincere in his appreciation, and your making him spell it out was twisting the knife in his already wounded pride. “The show. I… I ain’t ever seen anything like that before. You’re just not fucking scared of yourself.”

Twisting your arms around yourself, you gulped down whatever emotions his words seemed to ignite in you.

“Yeah, well it doesn’t matter now. I screwed it all up.”

“Bullshit, you had everyone hanging off their fucking seats.”

“And they all watched me ruin it with that— that stupid landing.”

Sukuna blinked harshly in disbelief at your self-critictism. With an incredulous laugh, he leaned forward to look you in the eyes.

“You played that shit off like nothing happened. No one noticed.”

“You noticed.”

“Yeah, cause I fucking love you.” It tumbled out his mouth faster than he could have reeled it back in. For the second time that night, he was struck by the gruelling confusion of how the fuck it came so easily to you to pour your heart out, because it felt like he was chewing on glass right now as he awaited your response. Your glassy eyes finally looked up at him, face stained by makeup and disbelief. It all showed so clearly on your face, so bravely and unabashedly. It made him want to stand resolute for something for once in his pathetic life. “I love you.”

Soon, your lip was trembling once again as a fresh stream of tears stung at your already burning eyes. Burying your face into your hands, you shook your head.

“I said such awful things to you, Ryo.” You cried into your palms, the guilt that had been festering over the gruelling week finally coming to fruition without the distraction of your performance to keep your mind from dwelling on it. “Y-You were just trying to help me—”

“Hey, I say mean shit all the time,” He reassured, moving from his chair to squeeze beside you in the bed. “You should’ve beat the shit outta me if we’re really trying to get equal.”

Your back shook, and he knew this time it was finally from your laughter instead of those gut-wrenching sobs that had been frequenting his ears. Desperate to catch a glimpse of your smile after so long of being met with your frown, he gently pried your hands away from your face. Ryo sighed wistfully at the sight of your wobbly grin, reaching up to wipe at the smudged makeup under your eyes.

“You look more like a fucking racoon than a swan right now.” Your teary-eyed gaze didn’t seem to help his lack of brain-to-mouth filter at all, and he smirked at his own pathetically weak restraint. “See? I should’ve gotten my teeth knocked out for that one.”

But, of course, you only smiled at him— that glimmering eyed smile that even after all this time he felt so undeserving of.

“Well, you’re lucky I love you then, huh?”

His heart pounded embarrassingly against his chest, blanketed with the safety of your reciprocity.

“The luckiest bastard I know.” He whispered before pressing a kiss gentler than he was accustomed to against your awaiting lips.

There was a soft knock at the door that had him sighing in frustration against your face, but he pulled away from you nonetheless. When the door cracked open, it wasn’t the doctor as the both of you had been hoping so you could get the hell out of here. Instead, Choso and Yuji both filed in hesitantly as though they weren’t sure what kind of energy they’d be met with. When you smiled brightly at the sight of the various flowers in their arms, the pair felt more at ease as they stepped fully into the room.

“That was the most metal shit I’ve ever seen in my life.” Choso was the first to gush excitedly, setting down both his and Sukuna’s abandoned bouquet in your lap.

“So sick— I can’t believe you just walked that shit off!” Yuji was rushing to the far wall of the room to snatch the marker off the whiteboard containing the nurse’s information on it. He continued to ramble enthusiastically as he sat himself at the foot of your bed to doodle on your cast. Your eyes fluttered between him and his twin, and it was a bit disorienting seeing them side by side for the first time. “You’re a total badass.”

“Oi, easy with her fucking foot, brat.” Ryomen grumbled as he flicked his brother in the forehead, already annoyed at both his brothers for butting into you two’s moment.

It was clear that his bright-eyed counterpart was used to his brash nature as he completely brushed it off, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on his drawing of what you could only assume was supposed to be a swan. It was clear his twin got all the artistic ability while Yuji was left with all the sunshine. As if his drawing triggered his memory, he quickly perked up.

“The casting was crazy too! That girl playing the black swan seriously looked just like you.”

A quiet disbelief fell over the three of you as the boy continued marking up your cast.

“Yuji—”

“Don’t bother,” Ryo quickly stopped you from correcting him with what could only be described as a fierce look of exhaustion on his face. “He’s a little slow— it’ll come to him.”

All the artistry and the brains— got it.

gojo and itafushi crumbs because your girl is starving

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irisintheafterglow · 3 days ago

Text

touya todoroki completes community service hours at an aquarium.

your supervisors, understandably, were adamantly against having the convicted criminal anywhere near the facility, its staff, and its animals. however, after being reassured time and time again that he wouldn't be working in public areas, you were assigned to be his unofficial parole officer (or off-fish-er you called it) because of your hydrokinetic quirk. not only were you responsible for watching a criminal, you were also the first line of defense in case he decided to make the facility into a seafood boil.

you'd better be getting a stellar letter of recommendation after all this.

as luck would have it, word spread quickly among aquarium staff about the new volunteer and his...messy...history. you received many texts wishing you good luck and stating that you're in many people's prayers as if working with him would be a death sentence. but, to your surprise, your first day with touya is actually...not terrible.

"you're doing a nice job. you can cut them into larger chunks if you want," you recommend kindly as he slices pieces of shrimp and fish for the penguins and drops them into the gray bucket.

"don't want them to choke," he mumbles almost imperceptibly. from what you've heard about him, touya was physically incapable of shutting up and always had some snarky insult to mutter under his breath. the man you were working with, however, kept his thoughts to himself and only engaged you with curt acknowledgments of tasks. "these got bones in 'em still?"

"digestible ones, yeah," you confirm, a little confused about why he's so curious. he struck you as the type of guy to just work and finish his assignments with as little energy exertion as possible. but here he was, concerned for the animals' safety even when he hadn't even seen them yet. "we just need to cut them up because some of them try to swallow the big ones whole, and we don't need them blocking their throats."

"how many are there?"

"the penguins?" he hums in assent, never taking his eyes off the precise cuts on the food. "i think our colony is a few dozen, maybe twenty-two?"

"do they get along well?"

"some of them are a little feistier than others," you admit with a fond smile. "but the majority of them are really sweet. you'll see when you meet them."

"meet them?"

"you're not walking out with me, of course," you quickly correct. "my shift lead's gonna have my head on a stake if you so much as show a finger to the public." he nods, an odd sort of quiet falling between you two that was more awkward than the previous silence. if you knew any better, you would interpret his expression for disappointment. "there's one recovering from an illness backstage named peach. she gets fed on her own, but if there's some left over i can take you over there to feed her."

"it's fine. don't wanna bother your routine," he mutters with a shrug, but you catch the renewed glint in his eyes at the prospect of meeting one of the animals personally. after feeding the main colony and not-so-accidentally leaving a few treats at the bottom of the bucket, touya follows you through the back halls of the vet center to peach's holding area.

"be warned, she's one of the feisty ones," you caution him, carefully stepping into the plexiglass-enclosed space. he copies your motions exactly and you're surprised, again, from the great care he seems to take when interacting with the small penguin. "so, all you need to do is hand out the fish to her and let her take it in her beak."

"does she dislike new people?" he asks as peach aggressively inspects his shins, prodding them with her beak when touya tries to step away. "i don't think she likes me."

"it's the opposite, believe it or not; you're making her angry when you try to give her space like that," you reply with a stifled laugh.

"oh. i see." peach continues to slap touya with her fins and poke him until he gives her what she wants, a large chunk of fish straight from his hand. you kneel down next to him when he has a seat on the floor, his eyes curiously observing the spunky bird. "she always this sassy with you?"

"only when she gets jealous," you smile, running your hand over the top of her head. her eyes close in contentment before returning to touya's outstretched food offering. "what do you think?"

"about what?"

"do you think this arrangement is gonna be a nightmare for you?" he pauses and, for the millionth time that day, surprises you with how much thought he put into his actions.

"if everyone i meet is as easy as you and her," he says, gesturing to peach but speaking soft enough to make your cheeks heat, "i think i'll get by."

---

"peach duty today?"

"schedule got mixed around, so we'll be giving her dinner instead of lunch today," you reply and touya hums at your side, an answer that could be considered rude if you didn't already know he was a man of few words.

few words, that is, if he was speaking to anyone other than the animals. after a month of touya shadowing you, you could pick up on the little conversations he had with the different animals he took care of: asking the cownose rays to calm down during feeding time, warning the reef sharks that they might need braces if they keep losing so many teeth (he kept forgetting it was normal for them to lose that many teeth), quietly cheering on the day octopus as he breaks into a jar full of crabs.

"who've we got today?"

"took a hell of a lotta convincing, but my boss is letting you meet my best friend today," you inform him. touya walks in step beside you like he'd memorized the fishy-smelling back halls of the aquarium, barely sparing passing wary staff so much as a glance. you'd be intimidated, too, if he wasn't your partner; he was formidable in his favorite blue windbreaker with his hands stuffed casually in its pockets that subtly accented the lean muscle in his arms. not that you were paying much attention to his body, anyway.

"and who would that be?"

"her name is donna, but i call her mama donna." he follows you down a corridor he'd never taken before, toward the very back of the medical wing. "take that hall on the right and change into a wetsuit; i'll meet you back over here, okay?"

"why do i need to change?"

"well, because you're getting in the water with me."

shit.

it's the first time touya hesitates in a long time when you beckon him to join you in the shallow pool. you'd already summoned donna, who was much larger of an animal than he expected. you said she was an adult zebra shark, but all he could register is the tiny tank of brown sacks the size of his hand just outside the walls of the pool.

"i don't think it's the best--"

"get in the water, touya, or i'm gonna report you for insubordination," you interrupt, waist-deep in the water. you don't mean it, of course, but you did need a hand with donna if you were going to check on the status of her eggs.

"i shouldn't be in the water with her, 'specially if she's a mother."

"what, you got something against moms?" he flinches and you suddenly regret speaking so brashly, something about his reaction indicating that you'd hit a nerve. "sorry, that was insensitive--"

"i don't wanna hurt her if i..." his voice trails off and he looks down at his scarred hands, the tissue dark enough to almost match the color of his wetsuit. "it's better for everyone if i don't get close to her if she's vulnerable." you wait for him to look you dead in the eyes before answering.

"i wouldn't bring you to meet her if i didn't think you were ready, touya," you begin gently. "i don't think of you the same way as the rest of the staff because you've proven that you're different from the gossip."

"but what if i--"

"did you forget why i'm paired with you in the first place?" donna swims around you impatiently, nudging you with her nose while you continue to convince touya to get in the water. "i'm the only one on staff that can neutralize you, but i know i won't need to."

"how are you so sure?"

"because i hear you talk to them," you state simply, rubbing your hand on donna's nose as her tail splashes your upper body. "your little conversations tell me you care, even if i'm not allowed to be a part of them." you shoot him a wry smile and he finally scoffs, partly a chuckle and partly an exhale; he didn't realize he'd been holding his breath. "i'll drown you if you heat this water by even half a degree, so help me with donna and then we can go visit peach, yeah?"

---

you'd fallen into an unexpectedly fond partnership over the course of your six months of touya-duty. he was a pretty damn good listener, letting you boss him this way and that and only retaliating with a lighthearted eyeroll. on certain occasions, he would open up about his history, and you followed along intently. he insisted on doing the heavy lifting and opening every door for you, even if you weren't carrying anything. he remembered every animal by name and could tell apart the most similar looking creatures, pointing out their differences with an expression that screamed 'is it not obvious?' towards the end of his assignment, you both faced an unexpected surprise.

his family came to visit.

well, not all of his family, only the ones touya maintained somewhat of a relationship with. in the times he'd opened up, he briefly mentioned his now-graduated little brother, shoto, and the work he'd done to mend the tears between him, his mother, and his other siblings. you consider it a blessing that only his mother and siblings appear when you round the corner to the 'vip only' waiting area (from your talks, you'd also learned it'd be on sight if touya's retired father stepped on the property). he freezes when he sees his family as the guests who would be shadowing him, becoming uncharacteristically stiff as petrified wood.

"welcome, todoroki family. i'm so glad you could join us today," you greet with a polite smile. only when your hand gently settles on touya's shoulder, the reminder of your presence melting the chill in his veins, does the tension in his body dissipate. "touya? d'you wanna introduce me to your family?" he glances at you, your unwavering trust in him, and his eyes soften as he nods.

"yeah," he affirms quietly. "yeah, i can do that."

"doing great, partner," you whisper once you're acquainted with the family and on the move, heading toward the back halls of the tropical gallery. "i'll only talk if you need me to, today, because i want this to be about you and them."

"but you're not gonna leave me, right?"

"wouldn't dream of it," you reassure him, something in your heart stumbling when he gives you an easy smile. as the day goes on and touya guides his family through the back corridors of the facility, he's able to ramble about all the knowledge he'd acquired while working with you. at each exhibit, he points out every species with total accuracy and shares his favorite quirks about certain animals. you have a front-row seat for the way his eyes, usually so molten and intense, have a star-like quality to them when he talks about his new friends, the abalone and the otters and the sea bass. his family observes him in awe, and you catch his mother watching you watch him several times. touya ends the day by introducing peach, his self-proclaimed 'number one girl,' and helping his family with her nightly feeding. though all the todoroki siblings struck you as reserved when you first met them, their conversations were full of life as they walked ahead and you trailed behind with his mother.

"this suits him," rei states with a thoughtful smile.

"i'm biased, but i agree," you reply. she fixes you again with that curious stare, analyzing you. "do i have fish scales on my face?" she laughs and shakes her head.

"no, i'm just indebted to you for getting through to him." you blink, taken aback by her genuine response. "being with you makes him happy. i haven't seen him like this in a long while." she turns back to her children, walking in one raucous group and making plans to get dinner after his shift. "he doesn't talk with them like this often."

"i imagine it's all a mother would want after everything they've been through, if i may," you add and she hums in agreement.

"it is. it's also why, i hope you wouldn't mind," she trails off and her eyebrows pinch slightly, like she's thinking of something worrisome. "if he could stay here."

"of course. i've noticed that he has a knack for husbandry, so--"

"he wants to stay with you," she cuts in, her voice soft as powdered snow. "and i'd like him to stay with you, if it means we can see him more like--"

"this," you finish for her, gesturing to the pile of adult men wrestling each other just ahead, their sister shaking her head from afar. rei sighs, her smile turning sad.

"exactly." before you can give her your reply, touya has escaped his brothers and approached to steal you from his mother.

"if you take those double doors and turn left, you'll end up in the gift shop. wait there and we can get dinner once i'm off," he tells rei, taking her hand and squeezing it once. "i won't be long." she nods and joins her other children, leaving you alone with touya in front of the staff-only window of the sea lion pool. the fading afternoon light catches in the water's rippling and sends a soft beam of light across the cavern. the largest of the lions, boris, floats from below to observe you and touya standing in front of his tank.

"he moves like a slinky," touya states and you can't help but laugh.

"he does move like a slinky, you're right." you turn to him and find he's already looking back at you, not boris. "i loved meeting your family today," you offer in the silence that makes the heartbeat in your ears sound so much louder. "they're very sweet, especially your mother."

"what were you two talking about while we were away?"

"she wanted to show me baby photos," you tease and he gives his signature eyeroll. "but really," you inhale and steady yourself, "she was saying how much this suits you."

"i'd have to agree," he murmurs, his eyes glowing like dying embers. you're close enough to smell him, smoky and rich and only the slightest bit like fish. the proximity feels comforting, like home. "if...if you'd let me--"

"stay with me," you blurt. he blinks at you, the rosy color on the tips of his ears standing out against the bright white. "i-i want you to stay with me." you wait and the quiet stews, nothing moving except slinky-like boris in the water beside you. touya's reply is barely above a whisper.

"i want to stay with you." you release a shaky exhale and let your head fall forward against his chest, steadied by his arms securing themselves around your waist. your hands slide over his shoulders and rest at the nape of his neck, fiddling with the tuft of hair at its base. "please let me stay with you," he breathes in your ear. his arms flex as his grip tightens, like you'd turn to water if he held you too loosely. touya feels like his heart is rattling in his ribcage, bouncing around uncontrollably the longer he has you in his arms. he hasn't felt his chest ache like this before.

"yes, i want you to stay with me," you confirm and he melts into you, breathing you in like fresh oxygen.

"for how long?"

"as long as you'd let me," you answer honestly. the corner of his mouth turns upward in a teasing smirk.

"and if i said forever?"

"then i guess i'd have to oblige," you beam. your hands cup his face, tracing the seam of his scars, and your eyes flutter shut as his lips meet yours. it's careful, the first time he kisses you, and he's terrified you'd slip from his fingers. but you don't disappear, so he lets himself lace your fingers with his and drag you out to the rest of his loved ones, hand-in-hand and finally feeling like he can do something good.

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#FAWKKKKKK i miss him so badly it's not even funny anymore #as our birthday draws closer i am once again reminded that....he is not real.....#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #touya x reader #touya x you #touya x y/n #touya todoroki x you #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #mha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n

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that-student-that-has-homework · 3 days ago

Text

Pulse - Portgas D. Ace

Portgas D. Ace x Reader

CW: trauma, mentions of death, and slightly suggestive teasing, kinda proofread? I got tired :/ | wc: 15,671 🫠 SPOILERS: Amazon Lily / Marineford / Post Marineford Y'all can thank @captainportgasdace for this. as agreed upon previously, @silentgravesdontexist you're tagged for this piece MasterList (linked at bottom too)

There had always been a somewhat wistful quality to Ace.

It wasn’t always apparent, but it was there, lurking, much like the many sea kings of the Calm Belt. The Calm Belt…you huffed a little, you could liken Ace to that stretch of sea - so much lurking beneath the surface.

If you looked at him hard enough you’d be able to see the large shadows swimming not too far away. Though today, or rather, following the first anniversary of his very close call with death, the summit war, you couldn’t help but feel those shadows had migrated closer to the surface. Large, dark, intimidating - moments from attacking.

That needn’t be a bad thing. Maybe you could finally take them down. Maybe he’d even let you help.

Or so you hoped.

No mind. You had patience to spare. Especially when it involved your loved ones.

You studied your dear friend from afar, starting from his head - his hair had grown longer over the course of the year or so he’d been recuperating for. A trim was in order - if only to remove the bottoms and promote healthy hair growth. Regardless of your skill with scissors, he’d probably let you trim it for him if you asked him to. Anywho, he sat cross-legged on the sand, his shoulders hunched slightly forward as he hugged his knees. Your eyes were immediately pulled down to the marred skin of his back.

Where his back was once crowned with the mark of the strongest man on the seas, there was now an empty patch of scarred skin: a testament to the void left by the loss of a father. It was still the same back though. The same back that had stood between you and adversaries unthinkingly: raising both morale and wrapping you in security. It was the same back, just…missing a little something.

You couldn’t help the way the sand crunched under your feet, still you tried your best not to disturb his reverie. He did little more than glance over to confirm you weren’t a threat, before silently turning his gaze back to the sea that he would no doubt be taking to soon enough. He would be much like a child returning to the embrace of his parents in a sense…as he was “a child of the sea.”

There really had always been a somewhat wistful quality to Ace.

You had to tear your eyes away from him. Quite the feat when the sun was starting to set, casting a golden glow upon your friend - who was already beautiful enough under the dingy lights of pirate ship cabins, let alone during this golden hour. You knew well enough that you’d give yourself away if you kept staring at him. While it wasn’t wise to wait, you also knew that confessing to a person in the midst of grief was insensitive. And, you had patience to spare. Especially when it involved your loved ones.

You instead took a moment to trace his line of sight, attempting to follow it with your own gaze. You soon took a seat beside him, sitting cross-legged much like he was, only that you opted to hold your hands within your lap, rather than hug your knees.

It had been a while since you’d both come to this island after all that had happened. While walks on the beach were regular, and you did leave the house, it had been a while since you’d really taken the time to admire the vastness of the water. It had been a while since you’d really focused on the way the breeze felt as it tousled your hair tenderly. It had been a while since you’d really dug your feet into the sand and enjoyed the little poking sensations of the sand under your toes.

“Y’think I can get my back tattooed again?”

You blinked yourself back from your thoughts, turning to look at the man to your side, his brows furrowed as he continued to look out to the sea. In the time it took you to process his question and consider how to respond, he’d already found his answer: “I can’t, can I?”

“I think it would be better not to,” you agreed nodding slowly, “were you considering getting another back tattoo?”

His grip on his arms tightened as he hugged himself tighter, gaze finally moving away from the sea, falling onto the sand instead, taking your heart with it. You leaned back to study his back once again, contemplating.

“There’s always your lower back,” you rocked forward to try and capture his attention, “or your butt.”

The incredulous look he gave you had your eyes crinkling in mirth. Though you did find yourself looking away soon enough, your embarrassment catching up to you. It went down a little bit-kind of…when you heard him give a quiet, but amused chuckle, “nah my butt won’t work!”

You glanced his way, and the instant that he recognized you were looking at him, he continued, “unless you’re suggesting I go around with my ass cheeks out.”

“Ace!” You groaned, your hands immediately going to cover your face, your whole body hunching forward in embarrassment as he erupted into boisterous laughter.

After a moment, and through the scalding heat of your cheeks, you asked, “would you wear a shirt to compensate for having your bottom half exposed?”

When you heard him hum, you braved a peek through your fingers to see his brows raised into a thoughtful expression, brown eyes reflecting the warm pinks and oranges of the sunset. You looked away the moment his eyes met yours, cheeks burning yet again.

“Y’know what?” You looked up again, and he grinned, teeth glistening in the light as he answered you. “Nope! I wouldn’t.”

When you hid your face all over again, you were entreated to even more of his beloved hearty laughter. You could feel the way his shoulders shook beside you, despite not being in contact. Your pride battled against your satisfaction trying to force you to be upset even though you’d invited this kind of teasing, and enjoyed the effect it was having on him.

Though laughter right now was mostly just an anesthesia: it numbs things, but doesn’t really address the cause.

When his laughter died down, he let out a long breath, “I remember pops had it on his back.”

You turned to look at him again, he was more relaxed now, one arm resting on a bent knee, the other behind him as a support with his other leg stretched out in front of him. Looking down at his chest, he placed a hand on it, “guess my chest wouldn’t be a good idea either.”

At his suggestion you found yourself staring at the terrifying mark marring his front. You gulped, seeing the crimson of the past. The crimson that had finally become a warm peach. A warm peach that rose and fell rhythmically with the breaths he took. A closed, covered, mostly healed warm peach.

“Hey! Hey! Breathe!” He poked at you.

You shook your head, blinked violently, and took in a deep gulp of air. Snapping your eyes to his face you were treated to his raised brow and remorsefully awkward grin. You pursed your lips petulantly. Looking away you answered, “I think we should avoid,” you paused, “tender areas.”

“Tender, huh?” He looked back at the great blue.

“I’m so grateful you’re still here,” you let it slip out as you too looked out at the sea.

He chuckled humorlessly, “you say that a lot.”

“It’s because I am,” you stood firmly by your opinion.

“I must’ve given you a real scare,” you hated how guilty he sounded.

“Marco told you, didn’t he?” You mumbled, hugging your knees to your chest.

“Yeah, he told me you wouldn’t stop crying unless you fell asleep,” he huffed out, “something about you not eating well either too.”

“I’m so grateful you’re still here,” you reiterated, looking at him, taking him in.

“You already said that,” he raised a brow at you, a corner of his lips upturning slightly.

“Just let me count my blessings Ace,” you rested your head on your knees.

He didn’t respond, but you could hear him shift a bit beside you. Turning your head you saw that wistful quality of his resurface on his face, the pretty features relaxing once again. You pondered on what he’d said…

“Hey Ace,” you raised your head and he turned to look at you, “what if you got it tattooed on your pulse?”

“Huh?”

You raised your arm up to reveal your wrist, pointing to the area you mentioned, “it’s one of the places you can check for a heartbeat.”

He stared at you, the gears in his head turning, “it’s a little less obvious than your back, and much smaller,” you continued, “but it’s still readily visible,” you looked down, “and it’s got something to do with the heart too.”

He was in your space immediately, “that’s a great idea!” You looked up at him, his eyes glimmering pools of molten chocolate. “You’re so smart! Thanks!”

“Happy to help,” you smiled back at him, and he pulled back a little, staring at you for a moment too long - ah, “what’re you thinking about?”

Much like you had earlier, the pirate blinked himself back to attention with a shake of his head. He looked away for a moment, scratching at the back of his head, a sheepish smile taking his features as his eyes flickered back to you, “‘s nothin’.”

“Fair enough,” you shrugged, “I’ll help you find a tattoo artist and get the design down if you’d like.”

“You would?” He lit up some more, sparks of his old vigor reigniting.

“Of course.”

-_-

It hadn’t taken more than a week or two to find a tattoo artist on the island. There were a couple and Ace found himself liking the older lady artist more, so you went on over to her with Whitebeard’s jolly roger proudly etched on a paper. The fiery man had burst into full-bodied laughter at the offended scolding she’d given the two of you: of course she knew Whitebeard’s jolly roger! The…late…Emperor had come and established a sort of peace over their quaint little island a decade ago or so, even going so far as to chase off some thugs from her little shop.

The former division commander was grinning from ear to ear when the artist sang his father’s praises. She did not withhold any of her opinions about how manly and handsome he appeared to her either. There was a small prickling in the back of your eyes, but you managed to keep it together, especially as a warm hand came to rest its weight between your shoulder blades. Turning to Ace, you were greeted with an equally warm grin as he excitedly told you he had a great feeling about this lady.

Oh! And that you did an amazing job finding her, “leave it to you to find such great people!” He beamed.

“I’m so grateful I found you too,” you stressed, returning his grin with a smile of your own.

Your delightful buddy froze momentarily before coming back to his senses, “thank you.”

“I’m happy to help.”

“Not just for finding the lady.”

“No thanks needed.”

“Though if I remember things,” he thought aloud, “didn’t I find you?”

You rolled your eyes, “oh no, a very good person found me.”

He chuckled lightly at your sarcastic tone, before your attention was required by the tattoo artist.

She did a truly spectacular job with the tattoo, and even provided the ointment he’d need to help promote faster healing. Over the course of tattooing the young man she seemed to realize you’d probably remember the aftercare instructions better than he would.

She wasn’t wrong about that.

Ace felt like his tattoo was mostly healed by the end of the following month. The old lady had mentioned that given the location, it would take a while to heal fully though, so…You were the one worrying most days. Especially as Ace began to make the necessary preparations to embark back out on the seas again - he was healed enough for it, per the instructions and information Marco had left you with.

It was a great deal of fun though, working on building your small ship together, you were just constantly worried he’d scrape himself and get the tattoo infected or something. He often shrugged it off, reminding you that he was made of fire after all, and could avoid scratches.

“Ah yes,” you nodded, “you’re hot in the literal sense.”

He burst out laughing again. He did seem significantly more lively these days. Especially following the tattoo. Though you weren’t sure if he’d slain some of the beasts within, or if the shadows had simply chosen to recede from the surface.

You got a glimpse of the answer one night as the two of you sat in front of the fire he’d started up, staring at the tattoo on his wrist while waiting for the fish and veggies you’d caught and scavenged earlier to cook. Your dear friend’s wistful quality resurfaced from the unfathomable depths that made him up, though with a tinge of nostalgia this time. There was a very small, very deeply fond, uplift to the line of his mouth.

You marched over to his side, plopping yourself down beside him, a basket of fruit and a knife in hand. He looked up at you, eyes reflecting the warmth of the fire beside him…or perhaps the warmth of the fire within. He was always so warm.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” he grinned and you could feel the warmth of domesticity mix in with his naturally warm aura and creep up on you.

Looking back at the basket of fruits in your lap, you picked up a pineapple, “well a little snack before won’t completely ruin our appetites,” you were about to begin cutting into it when he took it out of your hands.

“Here, lemme show you a neat trick,” he proceeded to twist the top of the pineapple off, hit the bottom of it on his knee, and forcefully roll it between his hands, “now you can pull out each piece, no knife needed!” He grinned, pulled a piece out and handed it to you.

You took it, impressed with the new piece of information, “that is neat!”

Silences had become increasingly common between the two of you. Tonight was no different, the two of you sat side by side, snacking on a pineapple, he did have to hand it over to you to switch out fish and vegetable skewers. At which point you decided to poke at the corner of his mouth with a piece of the fruit and he opened to eat it without thinking twice. Given how your relationship had transformed over the course of his healing period, this level of closeness had also become commonplace between you two.

It didn’t mean anything though. It could be likened to the way you’d feed any of your close friends.

You were trying not to fault yourself for wanting something more though. It wasn’t as if this feeling was new. Ace always burned so bright, and was so warm-and you weren’t unique in these feelings. What was unique about you, was the situation you were afforded. Again: it didn’t feel right to burden him with your feelings while he was essentially fighting for his life in a whirlpool of turmoil trying to drown him.

“What’cha thinkin’ about there?” He asked as he passed you a skewer of cooked fish.

You shook your head. You were a coward. You’d think almost losing him would push you to reveal just how important he was to you. Verbally reveal it that is.

“Don’t wanna talk about it?” He nodded, understanding as ever. “Got it.”

“So you’re going to be setting off soon huh?” You chose to change the topic.

He hummed, stoked the fire a bit, and paused. He turned to look at you, brow furrowed.

“I’m going to be setting off soon?” He reiterated, confused. “You’re not coming?”

“Would you want me to?” You looked at him. “I mean, I remember you were upset over me staying with you when you were relegated to bedrest.”

“That was because you had better things to do than take care of me,” he bit back.

“If I wasn’t actively caring for you I might have gone insane though,” you worked to remove the skin from the fish, “it helped me.”

“You,” he tore into his fish with an aggressive bite, chewing in frustration, “you have your own dreams and adventures, and you wasted a whole year here with me though, the least-”

“Time spent with you is never wasted,” you cut in, effectively stopping his mouth from moving, “time spent with you, is never time wasted,” you repeated again meeting his gaze as he stared at you.

He just continued staring at you, with nothing but the crackling of the fire and the soft rolling of the waves filling the space between you.

He remembered to finish chewing and swallow his food soon enough though, blinking himself back to reality as he did so and looking at the fire he confirmed, “you’re coming with me,” his tone was firm with his conviction, “we’re setting sail, together.”

“Okay,” you nodded, nibbling into your fish, “I’m glad.”

He muttered something, or perhaps he whispered it, the words were stolen away by the breeze before you could make out what he said though. “What is it?”

“I wouldn’t leave you here on this island by yourself,” he shook his head, “not after everything you’ve done for me.”

“I did all that because I wanted to,” you drilled into him, “you don’t owe me a thing.”

Your brow pinched, your displeasure making itself evident on your face, “if you’re just going to befriend me out of obligation and guilt,” it was your turn to bite into your fish aggressively, “then leave me here.”

“I never said that!” He shot back. “We were friends before all this, and I’d rather die than lose you.”

“Please don’t talk about dying,” it was a quick, breathless, desperate request.

“Sorry.”

You shook your head, “no no I’m sorry,” your appetite was vanishing rapidly, “what you went - what you’re probably still going through - is worse than,” you swallowed thickly, tears welling up, “than me just watching it happen.”

“Hey,” you tried to wipe away the tears, fish skewer still in hand, “hey, look at me,” you turned to face your dear one - his intensity entrapping you.

He took your skewer from your hand, stabbing it in the sand next to his own. His larger palm enveloped your own as he pulled the appendage towards his chest pressing it right above his heart. You found your face warming inordinately-and it wasn’t because of your proximity to the fire. You felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he took deep breath after deep breath, felt the rhythmic - kind of quick - pounding of his heart.

“I’m alive,” he reminded you, “I’m still here.”

You nodded, bottom lip trembling, “I’m so grateful you are.”

He opened his mouth, about to say something, then looked away with a huff. His brows pushed down on his eyes, “I want to take you off this island with me.”

You nodded at him, hand still held above his chest, where you could feel his heart rapidly pumping blood to the rest of him - intact. Alive.

“I want to leave this island together,” you agreed.

“Then it’s set!” He grinned, and released your hand leaving it to fall limply to your side as he grabbed the skewers and handed you yours again.

That was also when he remembered the food he was still cooking. Seems he’d almost burnt the remaining fish, but they were thankfully saved just in time.

-_-

Ace clearly loved being at sea again.

It suited him so well. Surrounded by blue on all sides, blazing his own path - own course through the waters.

A child of the sea come home.

You could see it in the way light seemed to dance off of him every instant of the day: the ethereal glow of dawn upon his defined features, the halo that the afternoon sun drew on his head, the gleam of the sunset on his back, or even the twinkling of the stars in his eyes. You could see how at home he was out on the restless waters.

Perhaps he was so at home on the restless waters was because he could actually see the restlessness? Maybe that was why when the sea calmed, you would catch him glancing back at his newest tattoo from time to time.

One of the times, he’d been laying down on one of your small sailboat’s little benches, his head resting near your own, as you sat on the floor of the deck beside him. He raised his hand up, staring at his wrist under the blanket of stars in the sky. You couldn’t help but notice, looking away from one beauty to another.

You weren’t too sure what possessed you in that moment, but you reached out a finger and began to trace the iconic crossbones and mustache embedded within your dear friend’s skin. It was as your finger finished dragging along the mustache that he maneuvered his hand so that his fingers could clamp down upon yours.

The first time he’d done this (held your hand) after the…after the war, you’d both been gripping each other’s hands like you were both on the edge of a cliff, afraid the other would fall to their demise if you let go. Though the first time he’d gently held your hand, you’d startled and he’d let go soon after. Of course since then, you’ve held him and been held by him as the grief of it all washed over you in waves.

So anyway, hand holding didn’t mean anything.

His thumb pressed down on the vein in your wrist, making you more aware of how fast your heart was beating. It didn’t really mean anything though - what he was doing right now.

No matter how much you wanted it to.

When he stopped pressing down on your pulse, choosing instead to rub circles into your skin, you turned to look at him and meet his gaze as he gave you yet another of those bright smiles, leaving the heat to crawl up your chest and squeeze it.

-_-

When you arrived at the island the pose was pointing to the following day, Ace once again took your hand - to help you disembark. You spent the day scouring the place for new information, trying out the local dishes (with Ace falling asleep mid bite), and taking in the local sites. It involved a lot of you being dragged from corner to corner, your hand clutched firmly within his own as he led you around. By the time the evening fell, you both found yourselves on a beach front again, your narcoleptic buddy’s head on your shoulder as he snored away.

Hmm…you’d probably camp out somewhere near your Mini Moby tonight. Your brain couldn’t help but wander about as you played with the thick waves of Ace’s hair. You’d decided to do honest work for the time that the former Division Commander was healing. The reality was you’d been thrust into piracy due to your…”scholarly” pursuits, so of course you’d be doing honest work. It hadn’t paid much is all. After all, the island that Marco had left the two of you at was a quaint, quiet place that wasn’t too far from Saobody, and friendly to Whitebeard pirates.

You had to admire his wisdom in choosing the place. It had both mountain and beach environments and a lot of greenery, so it would be soothing to the mind as well as the body. The local doctor was also very adept, and there was an extremely talented apothecary there as well. Marco had thought of everything.

You could hear your friend’s usual grumble, moan, and whine that he made whenever he woke up from one of his spells. The weight on your shoulder lifted, as his inky tresses slipped past your fingers as he sat up.

“Good morning,” you hummed jokingly.

“Morning?” He yawned, stretching out. “Did I sleep that long?” He was squinting at his surroundings.

“Nope,” you rolled out your shoulders, “I was thinking of setting up camp near the Mini Moby.”

He blinked at you, “food first,” and grabbed your hand to pull you up with him.

How he was so awake already was beyond you. Perhaps it was a consequence of having to deal with this regularly.

“Usually you ask if the person is hungry first,” you huffed, working to steady yourself on your feet after being sat for a while.

“You aren’t hungry?” He blinked at you.

Truly it was fascinating how this man before you managed to be fierce, fiery, and beautiful one moment, and then absolutely boyishly adorable the next. “I am,” you nodded, your mouth pulling itself up and pushing your eyes into a smile.

Your dear friend stared at you in silence for a bit, before tugging you by your conjoined hands with a loud declaration of, “then let’s eat!”

And eat, you did. On the house too. Thanks to Ace’s battle prowess he managed to stop the restaurant from getting looted at gunpoint. It wasn’t some casual dine and dash, this guy was threatening the cook’s life!

Though Ace likely cost the owner the same amount as what he’d have lost from the looting with how much the commander ate. The old man didn’t mind though.

His daughter definitely didn’t either. You noticed her sneaking glances the pirate’s way the whole evening. You couldn’t blame her, even if you didn’t look directly at the sun, it was still impossible to ignore.

It seems that the personified sunshine in question didn’t notice her longing gazes as he, once again, took your hand to lead you out when you were both done. He was talking your ear off about Luffy again, just like he used to before…

…before everything happened.

The only difference was the way he was holding on to you this time. You found yourself squeezing his palm and watched as he stood at attention and turned to you with a curious expression, “what is it?”

“Nothing,” you shook your head, “I’m just happy.”

You were greeted with a warm silence following your layered confession. Soon enough he was squeezing your hand as well, “me too.”

You didn’t get to see his face as he began pulling you along again.

-_-

On the next island, your friend once again dealt with an issue. Well he dealt with it prior to you even getting there. Due to some Marine’s negligence, there were sea kings terrorizing the locals of said island. Three sea kings to be exact. You found that out when you were greeted with cheers as you docked right after helping Ace take them out so you could arrive safely. Free food, free lodging, among other things were offered to the two of you.

Given you had contributed somewhat, you didn’t mind, the food was going to be made from the Sea King meat anyway. You also didn’t mind much when all the joy resulted in a revelry with your companion at the center of it all.

You sat, a mug of spicy cocoa in one hand, your cheek pressed into the other as you watched him, arm in arm with other men, children, and the occasional lady: smiling, laughing, celebrating.

Were the shadows lingering deep within the waters? Or were they on the verge of bursting forth from just beneath the surface you wondered.

There was no denying you loved seeing this side of your beloved friend. Joy suited him well. You just couldn’t help but be concerned that it wasn’t unburdened.

Oh! He was looking at you now.

He waved you over with an excited smile, to which you raised your mug of cocoa. That made him furrow his brow. Before you knew it he was marching over to you, snatching your hand again, and dragging you to join him. He was kind enough to wait for you to chug your cocoa…well…kinda. He chugged a bunch of it for you when you couldn’t get through it fast enough.

After attempting to do the local dance with him, and laughing along with the crowd at your miserable failure to do so, you were invited to eat some more. In true Ace manner, he fell asleep mid bite, causing everyone to panic. You on the other hand simply chuckled and did your part: lifting his head, wiping his face and his bangs, before gently placing his cleaned head on the table and adjusting his hair a bit. You then unpacked your shawl and transformed it into a makeshift pillow, before sliding it under your unconscious companion’s head.

It would seem that display resulted in some misunderstandings as the lodging you were offered subsequently was a single room with a bed of a moderate size meant to be shared. You were too embarrassed to ask for a change given they’d given you this room out of their own generosity. The man to your side didn’t seem bothered by it though. Well, it wouldn’t be all that bad really.

Or so you thought.

Because the former commander was not a peaceful sleeper. You woke up as you’d fallen asleep for the most part. If you’d shifted while sleeping then it wasn’t anything too drastic. Ace on the other hand was a complete starfish. His forearm was on your neck, one of his legs bent over your stomach, with his head off his pillow and a hair’s breadth away from rolling off the bed.

And when his head did inevitably roll off, while you were trying to figure out how and if you even wanted to untangle yourself or not, it took the rest of him with it. As anyone who grew up the way he did would, his instincts kicked in and you found yourself being dragged across the bed while he crashed onto the ground loudly - groaning as he did. You’d ended up tightly tangled in the covers now, with part of Ace’s weight pulling it taut and making it difficult to roll out of the cocoon it had wrapped around you.

When you asked him to get off of your cover, he began apologizing, “ah jeez, did I wake you?” You hated the guilt seeping into every word. “Sorry.”

“Nope,” you shook your head, still tightly bound in the covers, “I woke up right before the disaster struck.”

He didn’t look completely convinced that was the case, so you decided to elaborate: “I was trying to figure out how to get up without disturbing your sleep, when you rolled off.”

He raised a brow at you, and you shot him a pointed look of your own, pursing your lips to further solidify your stance in this staring war. Seems like it paid off because soon enough his shoulders shook with his chuckles. You soon found yourself chuckling along, which of course reminded you that you were still stuck.

“Uh Ace,” you wiggled about, tugging at the cover still under his bottom, “a little help.”

“Oh yeah! Sorry!” He was grinning as he moved aside this time, going so far as to clamber up onto the bed again and help unroll your burrito self. He chuckled at your bedhead when you finally got free, his eyes crinkling and his dimples popping up as he looked at your disheveled appearance.

It was weird.

Feeling at ease and self-conscious all at once that is. He’d seen you in worse states, yet you still wanted to look pretty in front of him.

Though as his calloused hands came to pat down the mess your head had gotten itself into to help you get it under control, the emotional pendulum swung more towards being at ease.

“Y’know,” he hummed as he continued to pat and play with your hair, “I think I like this look on you!”

Just like that you were slung straight back into unease, the heat clambering up your face. You groaned and covered your face, pulling away from him-and receiving a little complaint-as you threw yourself back on the pillows.

“What’s with that reaction?”

You turned away from him, still covering your face. “Oi!” His hand was on your arm turning you back towards him. “Don’t hide from me.”

You decided to peek out from behind your hands, “you know most people don’t say ridiculous bedheads look good.”

“Well yours does!” He grinned, ruffling your hair without any regard for how difficult it may be to style.

You huffed, lips gently curving upwards. You were blanketed by a gentle warmth, and it wasn’t from the sun. No this warmth could only be achieved in the presence of the man beside you. You let yourself look at him as you smiled - and he mirrored your expression.

-_-

After that first day on the island you started to feel bad about not paying for things, so you decided to offer labor in exchange given the islanders wouldn’t take your berries. At the bath house you fixed a few things around the lady’s home, then bathed. When it came to the food, you washed some dishes in the back including all of the dishes both you and Ace ate out of. He helped of course.

The rest of your day was spent wandering around, reading newspapers and picking up information from conversations. At one point the two of you separated to explore different areas. You found a cute little shop where you could make things out of wood. When its artisans noticed you staring, they invited you inside. They’d even taught you some basics before leaving you to your own devices with your own small slab of wood.

You became completely absorbed within the atmosphere the shop had to offer, completely losing track of time with the family of artisans as you all worked with gentle conversation flowing. You hadn’t fully realized just how much time had passed until you heard the breathless voice of your traveling companion, frantically inquiring if they’d seen you. Of course he noticed you soon enough, given you’d turned to look at him.

“There you are!” He beamed, relieved to see you, before his expression flipped into something frustrated.

“Oh my!” The voice of a lady, who’d been patiently teaching you how to whittle, cut into your conversation. “Dear, we had so much fun we didn’t realize we’d worked ourselves well into the evening!”

Sure enough when you turned to the clock it was nearing 10:30 in the evening. The sun had set at least three hours ago. Oh. Looking back to Ace, you paid closer attention to the fact that he was still breathing heavily.

He’d been worried.

But why? It wasn’t that late. What had he come across during his time wandering on his own?

Hmmm…you could empathize with his concern, though that wasn’t enough to completely appease you. After all it wasn’t like he didn’t go missing for hours on end. You still remember the panic of going about searching the island for him: especially when he was still in bandages!

“Seems like now you know how I feel when you go missing,” you stood up, patting the wood shavings from your project off your lap, and taking off the apron.

“You!” You could almost see the little flickers of flames coming off of his barely clothed shoulders. “I thought something happened to you!”

The father of the little family of artisans began laughing loudly, standing up to give Ace a pat on the shoulder, “now now, I know you’re frustrated,” then he leaned up and whispered something into the former commander’s ear.

Ace’s eyes met yours for an instant before his face and shoulders turned red, his eyes going as wide as saucers, and a little flame flared out from his head. When the older man laughed some more, the pirate tore his gaze away and put on his hat so it covered his face, grumbling, “thanks for the advice.”

Looking back up at you-face still pink-he announced, “we need to get going.”

“Just a moment, I need to sweep away my wood shavings,” you responded.

“Why don’t the two of you stay for dinner?” It was the elder lady - the grandmother of this quaint family - that offered.

You smiled and shook your head, “I appreciate the offer,” then you jabbed a thumb at your companion, “but this man can eat twice or even three times his weight in food.”

“Hey!”

You turned to him, your smile cheeky, “I’m glad you can.”

That took the wind out of his sails entirely. It was a bit unfair of you, but you really were glad that he could eat like he used to. The whole event was settled and you were promptly shooed out, your shavings left on the floor, as they intended to work some more and there was no point in you sweeping before they finished.

“Come back tomorrow to finish your work, alright sweetie?” Was the parting they gave you, and you agreed to return the following day.

Ace took your hand the moment you were outside the little family shop, grip tight on yours as he led you through the dimly lit streets. “I got us a room with two beds this time,” he said, eyes forward, “it’s at a different inn though.”

“Oh,” was all you could say, “are you - are you okay?” You squeezed his hand in yours. “I was a little insensitive earlier.”

The action made him halt altogether, his shoulders dropping the tension they were holding as he breathed out.

“I saw some Marines,” oh. That explained his earlier outrage.

“What’re they here for?” You sped up a little to look at his face. “Do you know?”

“Remember those sea kings we took down?”

“They’re here to finally deal with them?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “now they’re just staying here because the island folk are mad at them for ignoring them for months.”

“Urgh.”

The corruption and hypocrisy of the Marines was something you had always been critical of. Of course this meant you were also privy to the hypocrisy and hegemony of the World Government (more like World’s Ratified Mafia). And of course such knowledge and attitudes were absolutely intolerable under their dictatorship so soon enough you had a humble bounty on your head.

Justice.

They had gone and assumed themselves infallible deities: justifying all their behavior through the abuse of the word, they’d completely perverted the concept of justice.

Urgh the sheer egotism.

Disgusting.

“I saw them not too far from the Mini Moby when I went there looking for you,” he broke you out of your angry reverie, “then I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

You squeezed his hand, “thank you for worrying about me.”

He squeezed your hand back, a silent “you’re welcome.”

“Good thing my bounty doesn’t have a photo right?”

The marines could never get a clear shot of you for some reason…

“The most they had was a really awful looking drawing, like Blackleg from the Straw Hats!”

Ace’s lips pulled into a massive, very amused grin.

You still remembered the way he’d laughed himself to the ground, little tears forming in the corners of his eyes when he first saw the wanted poster. Even Marco and…Thatch…had gotten a laugh out of it.

“It looks nothing like you!”

“What do you mean?” You grinned holding the paper up to your face. “You mean my nose doesn’t look like a carrot?”

And they’d laughed some more. Ace’s laugh was especially memorable, his strong shoulders shaking, his freckled face completely consumed by unbridled mirth. You never stood a chance - sweet, with a smile like that?

You never stood a chance.

“They didn’t see you right?” After all, his wanted poster was much clearer than yours.

“Nope,” he shook his head, “I’m keeping a low profile until we get back to the New World,” he winked at you, “like we agreed.”

“Good!” You squeezed his hand again.

Later, you’d squeeze his shoulder as you shook him awake.

Nightmares.

You moved out of the way just in time as he gasped himself awake, chest heaving as he panted for air. He looked around frantically as you soothed him. Which was when he finally turned to look at you. You’d barely gotten a sentence out before he’d tugged at you, crushing you into his embrace.

Your nose was essentially being crushed against his right pectoral muscle. It hurt a bit, so you pat his back while squirming to liberate your nose. He loosened his hold for a moment and you quickly adjusted to be in a more comfortable position, before you were once again being crushed into him.

You held him back of course.

But not before he could readjust his hold so that his head rested on your chest-more specifically his ear.

Oh.

You began tracing your fingers along his scalp as they weaved through his thick locks. Had his nightmare featured you this time? His grip on you only tightened, a shiver wracking through him before you heard a shuddering breath.

“Ace,” you hummed in an attempt to soothe him again, “Ace, I’m okay,” you tried to keep your tone soft, “I’m okay.”

He nodded, but continued clutching you, body trembling under trapped his emotions within it. You on the other hand continued to run your fingers through his hair, with him gradually getting heavier and heavier in your hold. His grip loosened slightly as his consciousness slipped - if you waited a bit you’d be able to slip out and back into your own bed.

Looking at him, you could see the remnants of his tears sparkle on his lashes. You wished he’d just let himself cry more openly, rather than fight to bottle it up.

A quiet sigh left you as you looked at the man in your hold, people really were as beautiful as their souls. You continued to play with his hair, basking in the relative silence.

You ought to tell him that to his face really. Your lips softly pulled upwards as you gently brushed his bangs from his face.

You wouldn’t have dared to even consider doing that when you first met him: back when he’d convinced you his bravado was confidence. You knew better now though.

He’d probably still tease you if you did. His teasing made him just about intolerable to you initially.

Yeah…your road to friendship hadn’t been the smoothest. You grinned at the memory, tenderly poking at the little furrow in his brow - coaxing him to relax. He’d very much made you regret your efforts to be kind(er) to him initially with his insufferable teasing. You were reconsidering altogether when he showed up and made amends after realizing he’d gone too far. The teasing remarks soon became playful jabs…which soon became thoughtful discussion when no one else was around.

You smiled at your dear-incredibly dear-friend, and readjusted yourself slightly thinking maybe you could go back to your own bed now. Of course no sooner had you started to consider that, than his grip on you tightened. You’d rather wait a little bit longer to make sure he was definitely asleep enough.

-_-

It was warm.

Too warm.

You found yourself regaining consciousness with a strain of agitation at the temperature your body had achieved while you were resting. You tried to kick off the covers in hopes of revealing your feet and cooling down, however you found that they were much heavier than they ought to be. It wasn’t until you heard a very familiar groan echo throughout the bones of your body that your eyes flew open.

Well…you’d figured out why it was warm.

Soon enough your friend’s eyes also opened, an absolutely criminal pout on his lips. You’d curse Ace’s luck with his genes if they weren’t why he suffered so much all his life. Though you didn’t get to admire him for long as he blinked himself back to the conscious realm, slowly realizing the position he was in, the position you were both in. At which point, a similar kind of alarm found its way onto his expression as he looked up at you.

“Good morning?” You tried.

That was all it took for him to hurriedly grant you freedom from his clutches…and some relief from the heat. Once you were both seated a respectable distance apart, though still on the bed, he shot you a sheepish look, “guess we didn’t need that second bed after all.”

You found yourself snickering at his comment, him joining in soon after, and with that any and all tension was cast away. You went back to your bed, slipped under the cool sheets and slept for a little longer too. So there was a use for the bed after all.

-_-

The rest of the day went well after the initial surprise and awkwardness. You went back to the wood whittling shop and Ace…well he went about doing his own thing. He came back to find you around night time, he’d already stocked the ship up, and set up camp as this time you’d be camping around the Mini Moby. The pose would reset as of dawn of the following day after all.

Bidding farewell to the quaint little family, you couldn’t help but think back to your own, way back on your home island. You did your best not to let your emotions choke you up. Though it was particularly difficult to hold them all in while you were hugging the lady who was old enough to be your aunt and then the grandmother. It was a pleasant surprise when the lovely family invited you to spend the night chatting until it would be time to leave.

“Hey! I can go catch us some wild animal,” your companion raised a brow at you with a smug little grin pulling at the corner of his lips, so you don’t have to worry about how much we eat, was the part he left unsaid.

“Would that be okay with everyone?” You turned to the homey family, who had absolutely no qualms with the suggestion.

The evening zoomed by: you had a fun dinner, exchanged stories over tea and biscuits, and even played some fun family games. It was after the elderly had retired, and your companion had, true to his nature, fallen asleep mid-bite again, that the more sensitive questions were brought up. In true auntie nature, the auntie-aged lady asked about your “husband,” especially given your lack of wedding bands.

You smiled at the auntie while heating up. She wasn’t wrong in her assumption. Prior to letting you escape with the then-captain of the Spade Pirates, your parents had you and Ace sign a marriage contract.

You appreciated him deeply for going along with it. That your parents would let you marry a wanted man though, even if it was supposedly just on paper, even if it was just for the sake of preserving your honor and dignity, showed just how dire and desperate a situation it had been. That he’d gone along with it though…and was remaining true to the agreements made with your family too…

For a pirate, he was an honorable and trustworthy man.

Then again…even the fearsome Whitebeard had more honor than the allegedly just marines.

So anyway, you didn’t correct the auntie, instead nodding and saying how you two were currently sailing together. She seemed relieved that you didn’t correct her on your relationship status, but she didn’t need to know that it was just a marriage on paper.

-_-

“Mornin’ sleepyhead,” was the greeting you’d gotten when you’d exited the singular cabin on the Mini Moby.

Squinting at the light, you rubbed your eyes and grumbled, “there’s no way it’s still morning.”

“You’re right,” you blinked blearily at your companion as he agreed with you, “it's afternoon.”

Which earned a tired groan from you. Which in turn drew an amused laugh from Ace as he continued adjusting the sails.

“You had fun talking with them didn’t you?”

You hummed in agreement as you shrunk back into the cabin.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“Water, I need water,” you croaked, opening the door and re-entering the darker environment.

It felt nice not needing to squint anymore.

When you made your way back out you were assaulted with another question, “how did they figure out we were ‘married’?” He asked you.

“I mean if you look at them, they seem marriage oriented and traditional,” you shrugged, “it could be a case of them just getting lucky we were in line with their hopes.”

“No wonder you got along with them so well,” he approached you from the helm, “I had a feeling they reminded you of your family.”

“They did,” you nodded, taking a seat on one of the benches on the small deck.

“I remember your folks giving me a hard time when we just needed to get you off the island before the navy got to you,” he recounted.

“I’m relieved they didn’t arrest any of my family members,” you exhaled deeply.

“You got lucky that it was Smoker that responded to the call,” Ace grinned.

“My mother said the same,” you agreed, “in her letter she said that what Smoker lacked in fashion sense he made up for in reasonability and honor.”

“She’d absolutely hate my sense of fashion then,” he laughed.

“She does,” you deadpanned, earning an even more boisterous laugh from him, “but I think she’d appreciate knowing you kept your promise.”

He raised a brow at you, “you mean the one about not laying a hand on you?” He made a show of taking a moment to think, then, “hmm but I forced you to share a bed with me just the other night.”

“Ace!”

He burst into even more boisterous laughter, “I broke that promise almost immediately while we were on the Spadine!” He was clearly relishing in teasing you, “I was always laying hands on you.”

“You know what they meant by that,” you groaned, “and you only ‘lay hands on me,’” you huffed, “to save me from going overboard and keep me out of trouble! That’s the whole reason we insisted on the contract prior to letting me board the Spadine,” you stoof gesturing to him and then the boat you were currently on, “they knew that you’d need to grab me for my own safety.”

As if to prove your point the ship lurched and you almost went overboard. Luckily Ace had the muscle to pull you onto the deck-or well onto him really, as you came crashing into his chest…which was…still clothed! Seems he’d forgotten to take his shirt off - which was currently to your benefit, so you weren’t complaining.

Looking up at him as he held you to him, you gave him a dry look, “see what I mean?”

“Yeah,” he grinned at you, readjusting his hold on you as another wave rocked the ship, “but, I’ve been pretty handsy this last year,” he cocked an eyebrow up, “wouldn’t you say?”

You found yourself heating up. What was he trying to achieve teasing you like this? You instead sent him your most unimpressed stare and he laughed some more.

“Everyone needs a hug sometimes,” you grumbled, “I wouldn’t call that being handsy.”

You could feel his chuckles from where he held you, you could hear them loud and clear through his chest. You needed to get some space between you. Though you couldn’t even begin to move away before the waves threw you onto him again.

The sooner the two of you regrouped with Marco, the better. You needed to get yourself under control. Having Marco around would help. Probably. You tried not to touch him any more than necessary as you gingerly removed yourself from his grasp and moved away a bit looking for a way to make yourself helpful.

“I think the island after this is Saobody,” Ace grinned tugging on the ropes for the sail as he deftly maneuvered your small vessel, “after that we can get to the New World.”

“Well we’d have to go to Ryuguu first,” you corrected, “I wonder how Madame Sharly is doing.”

“Madame Sharly?” He glanced away from the waters to raise a brow at you. “I thought you didn’t agree with her fortune telling.”

“I don’t,” you approached him to help where you could, “but there’s no denying she’s gorgeous,” you took a rope, “and soothing to listen to.”

“So I’m competing with a mermaid?” He shook his head.

“Competing how?” Was he trying to be the most soothing presence in your life or something?

Ace looked startled by your question, furthering your confusion. He blinked at you silently once before sheepishly scratching the back of his head, “it’s…nothing.”

“But how would you be competing with a mermai-” you found yourself nearly thrown off again by the ship lurching yet again. Your work on the ropes came undone as you held onto them for dear life. It wasn’t a moment and a large, warm hand helped pull you back up and helped you regain your footing.

You couldn’t help but notice the ink on your friend’s wrist as he gently pried the ropes out of your hands and secured them himself. You stood there for a moment watching as he deftly tied them up before shaking yourself out of your reverie and making your way to the helm instead.

-_-

You actually ended up at Saobody Archipelago. Which was convenient. Now it was just a process of trying to get your little ship coated. Oh and to avoid marines and all that.

Unfortunately the “friendly neighborhood ship coater Ray-san” wasn’t available. Only that made sense. He was with Luffy, training him. His partner was manning the joint though. You weren’t sure of their relationship status but, “if I were Mr. Rayleigh I’d make sure to at least attempt to propose to you.”

That earned you a chuckle from the lovely lady, “mmm some men can be cowardly in the romantic arena,” she was grinning.

Which was when you heard choking to your left - it was Ace, thankfully he’d started coughing. You immediately began patting his back, and then turned back to the lady, “So um Ms. Shakky, would you happen to know how to coat a ship?”

“Nope,” Shakky took a puff of her cigarette, “I run the bar. Rayleigh runs the coating service.”

And he’s the most trustworthy man to coat the ship on the archipelago. Well…

“Can you suggest any other coating services?” You tried.

She hummed as she took a drag off her cigarette, before elegantly tapping out some ashes into an ashtray. Breathing out she grinned at you, “I don’t think you have to bother with looking for anyone else.”

Well that had the potential to be ominous.

“Are you saying he’ll be back soon?” It was Ace who was asking the question through his coughs.

“Oh did he say he’s on his way back?”

“No, just my intuition,” her expression looked fairly amused before it settled into something more cheshire.

She was humming as she studied you, “I have to say you do have a way of making a woman feel appreciated dear,” she threw a wink your way.

“I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable,” you sheepishly returned her smile, “my friends and I used to ‘flirt’ with each other all the time to express our love for one another and y’know?” you shrugged. “Boost each other’s confidence, all that.”

Shakky rested her cheek on her palm as she chuckled at you, “it didn’t make me uncomfortable at all, it’s very cute,” she looked over to your side, “wouldn’t you say so Porto-chan?”

He sputtered, almost choking on his drink again, “way to put a guy on the spot huh Shakky?”

She giggled at him,before turning back to you, “I’m sure this was only between you and your girl friends, given Porto-chan’s reaction here.”

“Well I wouldn’t want to give any guys the wrong idea,” you shrugged.

“True,” Shakky tapped out some more ashes, once again glancing to your side.

-_-

True to what Shakky had said, Rayleigh came back not three days later. When you mentioned that she had really strong intuition he’d let out an amused whistle and, “women’s intuition can be scary,” before regaling you all with the tale of how Shakky’d been on the mark with something else.

The Pirate Empress, The Most Beautiful Woman in the World, Boa Hancock herself, had fallen in love, and fallen pretty hard. You heard the beautiful woman whose presence you were currently in giggle with, “see, I told you Monkey-chan was pretty good looking.”

“Scary,” Rayleigh grinned as he breathed the word, “you women and your intuition are scary.”

“Eh?!” Ace was the one to vocally react. “She’s in love with Luffy?!”

Somehow his surprise was what had you laughing. “He’s a real charmer that Luffy, isn’t he?” You beamed at his older brother who looked like a mix of surprised, proud, and disbelieving all at once…maybe even a tinge jealous? “He takes after his brother.”

His owlish stare turned to you, and you saw a little lick of fire escape off his shoulders. All the while you simply shot him a lopsided grin given one cheek was smushed into your first.

You’d briefly met Luffy while with Ace in Arabasta. He reminded you of Ace in some ways: bright, bombastic, straightforward…reckless…and…very loving. There was one thing about Luffy though: you could say he was more honest about his feelings and less prone to prejudice - oh! Though you’d also say that while Luffy was dependable, Ace felt more responsible, which made sense given he was the older one of the two. You wondered what sort of kindness Luffy extended to the Pirate Empress that she fell for him.

“Whatcha thinking about there?” You blinked yourself out of your trance as you felt a warm finger poke at your forehead.

You looked up into your dear (oh so dear) companion’s eyes and felt yourself melt at the warmth they held, “I’m wondering which of Luffy’s traits caused the Pirate Empress to fall.”

He huffed, and you found yourself following the corner of his lip as it curled upwards, “he’s always had a way with people, that kid brother of mine.”

His gaze was distant, as though he was looking at something very far in the past. Or perhaps not that far away really, these descriptors could be relative.

“So how is Luffy?” You turned to Rayleigh. “Is he doing well?”

The old man’s expression could be described in a singular word: proud. “He’s got another six months of training by himself, but I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he turned his gaze to another person in the room, “he’s real excited to see his crew, and his brother again.”

The beaming smile on Ace’s face said more than words ever could.

-_-

The evening before you would depart for Fishman Island, you’d gone to take a stroll alongside your dear friend. The tree canopies got in the way of you being able to see the stars, but the bubbles twinkled in their stead.

You turned to study your beloved’s form yet again. Your hands squeezed the straps of your pack, soon enough the world would know about him - that he’d survived. They’d be back to hunting him down, only with twice as much zeal. Marines and enemies of his late father alike.

“What?” He glanced at you, raising his eyebrow. “Do I still have salsa on my face or something?”

You shook your head quickly looking away, “I was just thinking about how, soon enough, you’ll be back to being hunted.”

“Are you worried?” You could hear his amusement, and he even had the gall to laugh when you scowled up at him. “Dumb question, of course you are.”

“Very dumb question,” you grumbled and he laughed some more.

“Hey! I’m pretty strong!”

“I still don’t want to see you get hurt,” you let out a long, tired breath, “when you’re back to officially being a wanted man.”

“Wanted huh?” He was again looking out into the distance, mumbling. “Wanted by everyone but the person I want.”

The person he wanted?

“Who would that be?” You found yourself asking despite yourself.

Despite the way your heart hammered at you begging you to remain silent. Despite the way your extremities lost heat. Despite the clammy feeling in your palms as they all but squeezed the straps they held. Despite the ringing in your ears. Despite the way your stomach sloshed as though you’d swallowed a sea storm.

It was such a dangerous question to ask. He’d just said with certainty that the person he wants doesn’t want him - that rules you out. For some reason your thoughts jumped to the Pirate Empress. He mentioned getting to see her while he was stuck in Impel Down.

You watched, your head feeling as though it was full of cotton, as his Adam's apple bobbed with a thick swallow. “Can I…” he wasn’t looking at you as he asked, “can I hold your hands?”

Did he know? Was he trying to hold your hands to let you down slowly? Ace was always a little clumsy with these kinds of things…or was he? He was kind regardless. You had to repay this kindness, so you plastered on whatever smile you could.

If Ace had found someone to love, even if it wasn’t you, you’d be happy for him.You could be heartbroken later, but happy for him now.

You nodded, feeling the pain in your joints as you unclenched them. Your hands were slightly trembling and cold as he held them in his own larger, warmer ones - oh this was a horrible idea! Your hands were starting to get sweaty! Instinctively you started pulling away, “wait my hands - sweat - they’re sweaty!”

“I don’t care,” he tightened his hold on your hands, and as he spoke you noticed, “so are mine.”

He looked at you, and he seemed absolutely convinced of something. You kept up your little smile.

“I,” he swallowed again, bringing your hands closer to his chest, “I don’t think I can keep my promise to your parents,” a little flame escaped his shoulder as he said that, “I-” he pulled your hands even closer to him, “I want to be real.”

What?

“I mean I want our relationship-er-marriage to be real!” He rushed to correct himself. “I want to be with you! But in a real relationship! Not just on paper! I want you - ah!” More flames escaped his shoulders as he got louder. “No! Not like that! I mean yes like that- but not just like that! I mean I want - can I?”

He threw his head back, a loud groan of frustration leaving him, meanwhile you just stared at him, brain abuzz as it tried to process what he was saying. He looked at you again, determined expression back full force, “can I be your husband? Your real husband? Can I be,” he glanced away before mumbling, “yours?”

Your mouth had opened slightly to let some air in. The world was almost spinning - save for Ace. The warmth that was flooding your body was practically dizzying. Something stuck out to you - well two things as your legs gave out and Ace lunged to soften your landing and crouch in front of you, in that silly way he always did, still holding your hands.

“You can’t keep your promise to my parents?” You blinked at him.

“That’s what you heard?” He groaned.

“No I heard it all Ace,” your breaths were heavy, “my brain’s struggling to keep up,” you gulped, “give me a minute to catch up.”

“No, I don’t think I can,” he shook his head, cheeks fully flush as he looked away from you, “I want our relationship to be real… and my promise-it wasn’t a problem back then-but now..”

He trailed off, struggling to make eye contact with you as he admitted, “now, it’s a major problem,” he shook his head at you seriously, “I can’t keep it. I want to have a real relationship - I’d regret not trying to have a real relationship with you.”

He did not shy away as he concluded his confession, “the promise gets in the way.”

You blinked at him, finding the air suddenly too warm.

“Can,” you gulped, head still full of static and the sound of the heavy thumping of your heart, “can you ask me to be yours?”

He blinked at you confused by the response, so you pressed on, “instead of - instead of,” your bottom lip was trembling and you could feel heat radiate from your cheeks, “asking to be mine,” was this a dream?

Your heart did some kinda fancy somersault at the way Ace straightened at your last word, much like he would whenever he was excited about something.

“Are you asking me to call you mine, like that?” He leaned into your space.

You couldn’t help the way your whole body was zapped to attention at the giddiness that consumed it when the word: “mine,” left Ace’s lips.

He looked at you with an equal amount of giddiness upon comprehending what your question implied, and his bravado seemed to find him again - but more than that, it was hope that pulled his lips into a massive, luminous grin as he asked, “then, will you be mine?”

When your lips wobbled into a smile, he decided to continue on, “y’know be my wife? My real wife?”

Your head was moving up and down in agreement before you were fully aware of it, “yes.”

You barely registered the pure unadulterated joy, and maybe even the glimmer of liquid in your…husband’s eyes before he was pulling you into a tight hug, gurgled chuckles leaving him. You weren’t any better, you were practically clinging to him as you began to sob, the salty blobs washing away the maelstrom of emotions with liquid relief. You might have felt some wetness on your own shirt.

You probably had, with how he sounded wobbly when asking, “did I make you cry, darlin’?”

Which of course made your tears worse, as you gulped and tried to force yourself to be calm, “I’m just happy it was me.”

He chuckled, “who else could it be?”

Who else - well…wait.

“But, are you sure?” You let go to look at him, his brow furrowed and lips pursed in confusion. “Are you sure this isn’t just because of the past year and a half where all we had was each other?”

His frown deepened for a moment before it relaxed into something sheepish, “I think I started feeling this way since,” he paused to think about it, “maybe even before Pops took me in.”

“You mean when you were still captain of the Spades?”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” he chuckled some of his nerves out, “you’re a real catch y’know?” He raised a brow at you. “I even had to play the husband card a few times back then.”

“Really?” You paused to think about it. “I remember us arguing most of the time back then.”

“Yeah, I remember I used to complain to Deuce about that,” he let out a hearty laugh, “but remember that time when everyone was celebrating-”

“And I found you sitting by yourself in the crow’s nest when I went up to hide from everyone?”

“Yeah,” it was there - the wistful quality to Ace, “that was probably when this all started.”

“Wasn’t I just talking about why I had a bounty on my head back then?” You tried to remember.

“Yeah,” he sighed out, “you were really passionate about it too,” there was a dopey quality to his smile, “and I couldn’t help it - you reminded me of my brother and I thought you were really smart.”

“Sabo?” You asked tentatively.

He nodded, “in the beginning it was because of that - I just wanted to be by you and hear everything you had to say, it made me feel like my brother was alive again.”

“That explains the way you kept nagging me back then.”

“Nagging?”

“That’s how it felt to me back then.”

He shrugged, “when we were on the Moby Dick though - I stopped thinking of Sabo, I just wanted to know what you had to say.”

“Really?” He chuckled as you lit up. You wondered if he realized how deeply his confession touched you.

“Really!” He grinned at you, and you felt a warmth wrap around you like a warm blanket.

He looked so boyish as he shrugged, “ anyway, Marco tried to push me to confess to you after I woke up,” he grabbed your hand, tracing your knuckles with his thumb, “he told me all about how much I made you worry,” he turned your hand over in his, “but I was too scared to believe it meant anything.”

“Marco knew about it?” You asked when he was done.

“Everyone knew!” He chuckled. “Heck even Pops knew,” he grinned now looking at the tattoo that sat on his pulse, “of course they knew, I pulled out the husband card on some swabbies.”

He burst out laughing, “you should’ve seen their faces!” He calmed down. “It wasn’t so funny when the commanders heard me though-” he grimaced, but smiled soon enough.

“I’m glad they did though,” he went back to rubbing warm circles into your skin, “forced me to reckon with myself,” he looked into your eyes, “put a name to what I was feeling.”

“Put a name to what you were feeling?” You breathed out - head as light as ever. “What did you come up with?”

You watched his shoulders rise and fall with the deep breath he took, as though steeling himself again. There was a ferocity in his gaze as it locked onto yours, “I was jealous,” he brought the hand he held to his lips letting them carve his answer into your skin, “whenever I saw someone else trying to win you over,” his hand squeezed yours as yet another wave of heat crashed over you, “I felt jealous and gross because it wasn’t like you were really my wife.”

“I’m not good enough for you,” what was he- “but your parents told me to protect you. And I would -will, and not because they asked me to. I just want to.”

“Ace,” you felt the warmth foment into wrath instead, “you’re confusing me,” you frowned, yanking your hand back, “what do you want from me?”

You saw it then, a flicker of the shadows of the monsters beneath the waters.

You loved Ace. You knew this. You knew that it made you lenient towards him at times. But right now…no. You needed clarity.You weren’t about to enter this new stage on shaky foundations. Because you loved him you couldn’t afford to be lenient about this.

“You ask to be mine,” you couldn’t help the way the fear seeped into your words, “then tell me you aren’t good enough for me,” you looked away with a frown, “I know you don’t have the best idea about yourself, but…just…” you were struggling to put words to it, “what are you trying to achieve?”

When you looked at him again, his eyes were wide, his mouth slightly ajar. He probably didn’t expect things to go like this. Especially given you could have said they’d been going well initially, until you ruined things with your overthinking…but still…you didn’t want some kind of accidental or pity romance. You didn’t want Ace to feel indebted to you, or make decisions while confused or vulnerable.

Though as you looked at him, all the shock left his body, his singular brow arching in that unique way it did with him, while his lips curved up. “Hey, can I hold your hand again?”

“O-kay?” Where was he going with this?

He took your hand again, carefully spread out your fingers, and then pressed it to chest, right above his heart, like he had back when you’d started hyperventilating. He held it there and you could feel the rabid, slightly erratic pattern it was taking, “y’feel that?”

You nodded.

“You’re right,” he was sheepish, “telling you I’m jealous, and that I want you to be mine, and that I can’t keep a promise to keep my hands off of you makes it sound like I’m really horny, huh?”

He was laughing as you sputtered in embarrassment, and held your palm firm to his chest, “to be honest with ya, I really like having your hand on my chest here - kinda wish I wasn’t wearing a shirt really.”

“Ace!” You barely garbled out.

“I think you’re amazing,” he continued, holding firm - and you could feel his heart pounding under your palm, “and like you said, I hate the cursed blood I carry.”

“It’s not-”

“But you know how I said I want to live a life without regrets?” You stopped struggling. “I’m not good enough, never will be, not for you,” his hand squeezed yours, pushing it further against his chest, “but, I’d regret not trying to be good enough, I’d regret not shooting my shot.”

“How can you say that with such certainty?” You frowned. “What if I’m not good enough for you?”

“What’s that thing you like to say?” He hummed. “It’s my opinion?”

“I hate your opinion.”

He guffawed. “I’m a coward,” he confessed as he calmed down, “and a selfish bastard,” his smile rivaled the sun, “but I wanna spend the rest of my life with you, even if I’m not worthy.”

“You are,” you glared at him.

His expression went back to that charmingly confused one. “I’ve deemed you worthy,” you huffed - genuinely upset with how he was speaking about himself, “regardless of all this worthy-worthy talk, you’re the one I want to spend my life with too.”

You genuinely could not find it in you to care how cute his grin was right now, “and that’s the worst proposal I could receive!” You were fuming. “I hate it when you insult yourself like that!”

“I’m below you, but please accept me,” you scowled, “well no can do!”

His face fell at your rant. “I want an equal Ace,” you gestured with your free hand, “I want a partner, not an indentured servant! I don’t want to be put on a pedestal! If my husband isn’t willing to be on equal footing with me then-”

“Hey that wasn’t what I meant!” The object of your fury (and affections?) argued. “I’m just saying you’re out of my league!”

“That’s one thing to say,” you were rather animatedly ranting now, “and we’ll have to agree to disagree on that-because hot stuff you’re within a league of your own,” you continued what was likely years worth of frustration with his self-deprecation leaving you, “and for argument’s sake, let’s say you weren’t - that sounds like an excuse not to work hard to become worthy once I accept you!”

“I didn’t mean that at all!” He cut into your rant. “‘Sides I already said I’m gonna bust my ass trying to be good enough for you!”

“Well that’s all any girl would ask for! You absolute dumbass!” You yelled back at him. “No one wants to hear their loved ones talk smack about themselves the way you do!”

“Just imagine we had kids one day and they hear their father talking about himself in such an awful way!” Seriously, where did this idiot come from? Talking about himself in such a terrible way. “What kind of lessons would you be teaching them? What kind of example are you setting? They’d learn to-”

“Kids?” He blinked owlishly at you - oh.

Ohhh…

Ohhhh nnnoooooo.

If he wasn’t holding your hand to his chest, you’d have put more distance between you two, but for now you’d have to settle for covering your face with one hand while looking away. It was silent for a long minute…was it a minute? You weren’t sure, but you felt Ace’s chest vibrate with a series of chuckles and braced yourself.

“You’re a real difficult woman to please, y’know?” You met his amused stare with your own unamused one.

“I don’t want to start our relationship on anything but a solid foundation,” you muttered, “if you don’t feel worthy, then put in the effort to feel worthy.”

His grin only widened, “y’know I’d take that to mean you want me the same way I want you.”

“I think that fact is pretty well established by this point,” you grumbled.

“If I understood everything,” oh he looked so smug right now, “then if I wanna tell you I love you, I can’t say anything about how you’re out of my league?”

“You think I’m out of your league.”

“Oh that’s right, because I’m hot stuff.”

He laughed some more when you rolled your eyes. His laughs died immediately when you said, “you are hot stuff.”

“Because…I’m made of fire?” He gulped.

“No.”

“I forgot how assertive you could get,” he blushed, stunned, “it’s been a while since I pissed you off huh?”

Your embarrassment was beginning to catch up to you, as you adjusted yourself to be able to rest your cheek on your palm. You were avoiding looking at him, even if he was essentially burning a hole into you with how he was unabashedly looking at you.

“That bit about our future kids…I never wanted any, but I’m starting to like the idea,” he was being such a tease.

“Yeah? Well, I want kids!” You huffed, still not looking at him.

“Mmm, even if they’re mine?”

“Especially if they’re yours!” You huffed. “You and the idiots in the World Government are the only people with such a weird fixation on Gold Roger’s blood.”

“Darlin’ you’re being really bold right now,” he was grinning, “how mad at me are you?”

“I’m livid,” you finally turned to glare at him, “you’ve been saying absolutely awful things about my d-dear darling husband! It’s-it’s unforgivable!”

One corner of his lips curled upwards at the way you stuttered, but the little flickers of flames popping off his shoulders revealed he was just as embarrassed as you were. “Sounds like,” he swallowed thickly, “sounds like you really like this husband of yours.”

You swallowed as you looked him in the eyes, “I love him.”

His eyes widened, then he scowled, “hey! I wanted to say it first!”

“Well, be faster next time!” You stuck your tongue out at him - wait. “You did though.”

“Ah! So you did hear me!” He pointed a finger at you, finally releasing your hand, letting it drop from his chest.

“Yeah,” you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest, “but you were being mean to yourself, so I had more important things to deal with.”

“More important than me telling you I love you?” He looked at you incredulously. “For the first time?”

“Well maybe if you didn’t put yourself down right after,” you poked his nose with your index finger, “I would have focused on the ‘I love you’ part more!”

His eye twitched for all but a moment, expression indignant, “you’re really hot when you’re assertive y’know?”

You sputtered at that and looked away to maintain some semblance of composure. You didn’t see that coming. He called for you and you looked at him again, “you asked me if I was sure about this.”

You nodded at him, frustration finally cooling down.

“I’ve never been so certain about anything in my life,” he declared, “I want you by my side, I want to be by yours, I want to spend the rest of our lives together until we’re nothing but skeletons in a grave.”

“I love you,” he stated it like it was as factual as the sea being blue, “even when you’re mad and yelling at me for confessing to you badly,” his grin settled for something more solemn as he asked, “what about you? Are you sure?”

“I am,” you nodded, “I want to build a life together. With you.”

“I love you,” he breathed it out like a prayer then, and you couldn’t help but describe his expression as reverent.

“I love you too,” you responded firmly as though it were an irrefutable fact, and you could feel your smile threaten to split your face in two.

“Satisfied?” He asked. “Is this ground solid enough for us?”

“I think so,” you nodded, “I want nothing but success for our relationship.”

“Me too,” he grinned as he ruffled through his pockets, from which he pulled out two velvet boxes. “I got these with-what did you call it again?” He grinned. “Honest money?”

You simply stared at the boxes in shock, then back up at your husband, then back down at the boxes. “What?” There was an amused lilt to his speech. “Y’didn’t think I would confess to you unprepared now did ya?”

You guessed you did, with the surprise you were feeling, as you tentatively reached for one of the boxes and opened it up. To your greatest fortune the silver band was clearly meant for a groom. Your eyes widened when you looked over and saw the ring he’d picked out for you, raising a brow at him you couldn’t help but wonder, “how did you get the funds for this?”

“I did some work around that island we were on,” he beamed, “and sold some of the gifts they gave us when we beat those sea kings.”

“It’s so pretty,” you admired what was going to be your ring, it reminded you a little of fire, the ruby red gem was cut in a teardrop shape however the surrounding gems were arranged in such a way that it looked like a flame, you giggled your shoulders relaxing, “it reminds me of you.”

“That right?” He smiled, removed the ring and packed the box up in his pocket, as he took your left hand in his, “I kinda wanted it to,” he admitted as he slid the ring on your finger.

While you were admiring your finger, Ace tried to grab the other box from you, however you pulled it out of his grasp, “ah ah ahh,” you tutted, “I’ll be the one to do the honors!”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I really like it when you’re assertive.”

He laughed at you as you pointedly avoided his waggling brows until you had the ring ready. He already had his hand out for you to slide the ring into, seemingly more than happy to wear that symbol that seemed so silly to him…until now, you supposed as you slid the band onto his finger.

“Should we say vows?” You asked. “Wait, didn’t they say the vows before the rings?”

Ace hooked his pinky with yours, “I promise - er - vow, to…” he gulped and you could feel him heat up, “love…you…uh until I die - for as long as I live?” He slacked. “I’m not great at this poetic stuff.”

“Then don’t be poetic,” you smiled at him, “just say what you want to say.”

“Then,” he tightened his pinky, “I’m gonna work hard every day to be a man worthy of being by your side,” he looked you dead in the eyes, “it’s true that it’s due to pure luck I even got the chance to get to know you, but I won’t ever let this opportunity go. I’ll love you to the day I die, and even beyond that if I can.”

“You already said that,” you smiled at him, “maybe we didn’t need to do vows.”

“I’ll say it every day if you want me to.”

Somehow…somehow…now that you had a ring on your finger, and with your pinky linked to his, and with him reiterating how strongly he felt…somehow…

All you could do was blink at him.

This was really happening.

The last remnants of indignation flickered away into the breeze that toyed with the waves of your beloved’s hair.

Oh.

This was…you were…Ace was…you blinked up at him, “is this real life, or am I dreaming right now?”

His determined expression was wiped off with one that was very unamused, “I’m out here pouring my heart to you - wait you dream about me?”

“Maybe once or twice?” You continued to gape at him. Noticing his own surprised expression, you shook yourself out of your trance, and pulled at your joined pinkies. “Oh-yeah, my-my turn.”

His gaze carried that same softness you’d seen for a while now as he waited to hear your vows, “I know it won’t always be easy, the same way painting a masterpiece isn’t easy, but,” you paused your joy teasing your lips, “I am determined to spend the rest of my life here with you,” you looked him straight in the eyes, “you’re worth every bit of love I have to give, and I’ll prove it through my efforts and commitment, I’ll work hard so you’ll never regret choosing me.”

“Never,” he affirmed.

“Using a negative term…feels rather…negative, don’t you think?” You thought aloud.

“Then,” he shook your pinky-linked hands, “I’m going to work hard every day to make sure you’re always happy you married me.”

“And I’m going to make sure you’re always happy you chose me.”

“Always,” he affirmed again, the two of you laughing at the repetition of the pattern.

“Pops was right,” he let go of your pinky.

“About?”

“He kept telling everyone to calm down and stop meddling because our relationship would happen in its own time,” he sheepishly scratched at the back of his neck, “though he did tell me not to wait forever after a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“A few months?”

“Oh pops,” you chuckled as you reached for his tattooed wrist tracing the mark of your late captain, “Marco found out about my feelings for you from Thatch.”

“From Thatch?” He looked surprised. “Marco knew?”

There was betrayal written all over his expression.

“That’s probably why he was pushing you to confess after the war,” you continued to trace his tattoo even as he shuddered, “Marco tried to get me to confess too.”

“He did?”

“It felt wrong,” you shook your head, looking up at him, “you’d nearly died, pops had died, I was a mess mentally, I figured you’d be a mess mentally,” you continued to shake your head as your breathing shallowed, “I told him as much, and he stopped trying to convince me.”

“How’d Thatch find out?”

“Teased me about hosting a wedding banquet given we didn’t have one because y’know?” Your smile was gentle as you remembered the late Fourth Division Commander, your finger resuming its path along the inked mustache. “I told him not to joke about that - and he figured it out immediately.”

“Then he went and told Marco?” Ace guessed. “Wait, I remember there being a day when you were chasing after Thatch on the deck, looking really desperate about something.”

“Yepp,” you nodded, taking in a deep inhale you traced the crossbones on your husband’s skin again, “got him to promise not to tell anyone else after I found out he’d told Marco.”

“Y’know, at that point I was already a goner for you,” he confessed, “and the crew already knew about me.”

A silence passed over the two of you, as you continued to play with the mark on his skin.

“To think…you liked me too?” He scratched the back of his head with the hand not currently in your clutches. “I mean back then!”

“Is it really that surprising?” You pressed down on his pulse a little.

“It’s just,” you looked up at him, “darlin’,” there was that sweet, sweet adage again, “you ended up on my ship due to pure dumb luck,” his hand moved to grab your own that was still tracing his tattoo, “you’re practically a princess in comparison to a pirate like me.”

You scoffed at that, “please, I am far from being a princess.”

“To me you are,” this might be the softest you’ve ever seen your friend, “and this isn’t me talking down about myself,” he poked you in the forehead, “you’re smart, you’ve got a family that wouldn’t hesitate to shoot me dead if I ever tried anything funny-”

You laughed at that bit, “my cousin especially.”

“She was more than ready to have my head and I hadn’t even done anything yet,” he laughed alongside you, “‘the only reason I’m letting you take her is because I have to! Who knows what they’ll do to her in the marine prisons.’ was what she said before threatening to hunt me down.”

You both laughed at that, “if she sees you keep me safe and make me happy she’ll love you, you know?”

“Love me like that?” He raised a brow at you.

“Maybe!” You shrugged.

“You see?” He gently poked your cheek with his knuckle, “you’re royalty. Way out of my league.”

“Technically you’re royalty,” you flicked his forehead.

“How?” His confused expression was absolutely adorable.

“Pops was an Emperor!” You beamed. “You’re a pirate prince.”

The two of you shared a laugh, the ridiculousness of the notion amusing both of you until, “oh that’s right!”

“What is?” Ace startled as you suddenly straightened up, shoving your hand into your own pocket, and pulling out a small wooden plaque attached to an adjustable black cable.

Upon further inspection it became apparent that it was a bracelet - one you’d whittled back at the little family’s shop. On the main plaque there was Whitebeard’s jolly roger, and it was surrounded by two wooden “beads” - could you call them that? One was a flame shape and the other a spade, you’d had to make sure they were thick enough that you could put a hole through either one.

“This is for you!” You beamed at him as you offered it to him.

“Did you make this?” He stared between you and the bracelet.

“Yeah!” You grinned. “I tried making your happy and sad faces, but it didn’t work out, so I made a spade and little flame instead!”

“You sure know how to make a man feel loved,” he gently traced at the jolly roger etched in the wood.

“I hope you always feel loved in my presence,” you beamed.

“I do,” he grinned at you, “so much it’s almost scary,” he held out the bracelet to you, “will you do the honors?”

“With pleasure,” you took the trinket out of his hands and slid it onto his bare, right wrist.

He barked out a laugh, when you went straight back to playing with the tattoo on his pulse. “What’s so funny?” You couldn’t help but ask.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, “I’m just thinking about how we could have been real years ago.”

“In that case weren’t we technically a real couple at that point? If everybody knew?” You rubbed your thumb along his tattooed pulse point. “Except for us, that is.”

“Mmm but I wanted to do, coupley things with you,” he wiggled his eyebrows at you, relishing in how that seemed to make you shy.

Though, it seemed like you weren’t one to simply let him have the last say. You weren’t looking at him as you took his tattooed pulse and brought it to your lips. He jolted at the sensation, heart leaping. Little flames flickering out of his shoulders as you made eye contact with him afterwards, “how’s that for coupley things?”

He was quick to grab and tug you into him, relishing in your mild surprise, “don’t you know better than to play with fire?” He grinned at you as he readjusted the hand that had found its way to your waist.

“I remember being told I have to ask a lady for permission to kiss her,” he nodded his chin at your lips, “may I?”

You were too embarrassed to say yes, instead choosing to cover your face with your hands. “Ace!” You whined. “Have mercy on me.”

“I didn’t realize you were this shy,” he was chuckling, “where’d your bold attitude go?”

He guffawed when you let out an embarrassed screech at the reminder, “I was absolutely shameless earlier, don’t remind me!”

“I didn’t think so,” oh you could hear the smug grin on his face, “you felt more fierce to me,” he sounded closer, “it’s a real turn on, y’know?”

“Ace!” You garbled out.

He chose to press a little kiss to your forehead instead, “I’m not gonna push you, just teasing you a little is all.”

True to his word, he readjusted his hold, and repositioned the two of you so that he could hug you from behind. He was kinda like a koala bear in that regard.

“Hey Ace?” He gave a small hum in response. “Can I see your tattoo again?”

“You sure like playing with it huh?” He asked as he handed his hand over to you and you turned slightly in his hold.

You could feel his eyes on you as you pressed your thumbs into it, feeling the steady thrum of his heart. Once again, you brought his wrist to gently brush your lips against it, and felt him jolt. Finally you brought his pulse to your forehead, “I’m so happy you’re alive.”

When you turned to face him again, his cheeks were bright, dusted in those freckles you adored, as he smiled, not a shadow in sight, “me too.”

As always I am OPEN TO CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM, and would like to know if anyone seemed out of character. Please and thank you! Reblogs and comments appreciated!

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