#you keep repeating yourself and half the things he says are WRONG like are you on the right train my dude?

[guardians-of-exo]

Okay I know kpop fans can be obnoxious in public sometimes, but at least we’re not football fans in our pretend uniforms drinking beer on the train while joking about being “woke” 🙄 And they would call us weird

[pucksandpower]

Thick Thighs Save Lives

Day 15 → Thigh Riding 💋 Max Verstappen

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

“You okay?” Max’s voice cuts through your haze, pulling you back to reality. You blink twice, realizing you’ve been staring — no, more like ogling — at the man standing in front of you.

You cough, trying to play it off. “What? Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Your voice cracks, and you hate it. You’re not convincing anyone, least of all yourself.

Max tilts his head, concern flickering in those blue eyes. “You sure?” His Dutch accent is thicker when he’s confused, or worried. Right now, you think it’s both. “You look … distracted.”

Distracted. That’s an understatement. But what are you supposed to say? Sorry, babe, I overheard some fans talking about your thighs, and now I can’t stop imagining what it would be like to-

Nope. Not happening.

Instead, you shake your head too quickly, like that’ll fix the mess in your brain. “Just … hungry, maybe,” you mumble, though you know hunger isn’t exactly what’s going on.

Max gives you a sideways look, one eyebrow raised. “Hungry?” He repeats, not buying it for a second. You can tell by the way his lips twitch into that small, knowing smirk of his.

“Yeah, hungry,” you lie again, pulling at the sleeves of your jacket like it’s suddenly too tight, or too hot, or both. “Long day, y’know?” You hope the vague excuse will get him to drop it. You’re begging the universe for mercy at this point.

But Max isn’t one to let things slide, especially when it comes to you. He steps closer, and now, all you can think about is the fact that the fans weren’t wrong. His thighs really are massive — like, practically sculpted by the gods or something.

You can’t stop your eyes from flicking down for half a second. You catch yourself just in time, but Max catches you too.

“You’re acting weird,” he says, and there’s a teasing lilt in his voice now. He’s grinning, and you hate that he’s grinning, because it means he knows something’s up. “Did something happen?”

“No,” you blurt out. Too fast. Way too fast. You force a smile, trying to steer the conversation somewhere — anywhere — else. “I’m just, uh, thinking about … qualifying! Yeah, qualifying. How’s the car?”

Max’s grin softens into something more genuine, like he’s willing to play along for now. “The car’s good. Feels fast. We’ll see.” He shrugs, his eyes still studying you, probably wondering what the hell is actually going on in that head of yours.

“That’s good,” you say, nodding like an idiot. “That’s great. Fast is great.”

Max laughs, shaking his head. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” He leans in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “What’s really going on? You never look this … distracted.”

You swallow hard, heat rising to your face. Damn it, he’s not going to let this go. Your mind is racing, trying to come up with something, anything, that sounds remotely believable. “I told you,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “I’m just hungry.”

“Uh-huh,” Max says, clearly not convinced. He crosses his arms over his chest, which only draws your attention back to his entire … well, everything. You try not to look, but your eyes have a mind of their own.

For a second, you’re sure he’s going to press further, but then someone calls his name from across the paddock. It’s one of the engineers, probably needing him back before qualifying starts. Max looks over his shoulder and gives a nod before turning back to you.

“I gotta go,” he says, still watching you carefully, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle that doesn’t make any sense. “But we’re talking about this later.”

You nod, thankful that the conversation is ending before you dig yourself into a deeper hole. “Yeah, sure, later.”

Max looks at you for a second longer, his eyes narrowing in that way he does when he’s thinking, really thinking. Then he gives you a quick smile, one of those small, private ones that’s just for you. “Take care of yourself,” he says, his voice soft but insistent.

“I will,” you reply, managing to sound more normal than you feel. “Good luck out there.”

“Thanks,” he says, turning to walk away, and that’s when it happens.

Your eyes, without your permission, drift downward again. His back is to you now, his long strides taking him toward the garage, and it’s impossible not to notice the way his legs move.

His thighs — God, those thighs — are straining against the fabric of his race suit. It’s like every muscle is defined, every step making them flex in a way that you’re suddenly very, very aware of.

And it’s not just the size. It’s the power behind them, the way you know he’s spent years building that kind of strength, how it’s the kind of thing you only really notice when you’re close to him, or, in your case, when you’ve been thinking about it all day because some fans pointed it out, and now it’s all you can think about.

You bite your lip, trying not to make a sound. Your heart is racing, and your palms are starting to sweat, and all you can focus on is the way his legs look as he moves further away from you.

You should be ashamed of yourself. You are ashamed of yourself. This is ridiculous, and yet …

Max stops halfway to the garage and glances back over his shoulder, probably to check if you’re still watching. You quickly snap your gaze upward, hoping he doesn’t catch you staring again. But it’s too late — there’s that grin on his face, the one that says he knows exactly what’s going on.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

You nod, managing a weak smile. “Yeah,” you lie again. “I’m fine.”

Max shakes his head, clearly not buying it, but he doesn’t press any further. He gives you one last look before heading back toward the garage, and as he disappears inside, you let out a long breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

You’re still staring at the spot where he disappeared, and without even thinking about it, you run your tongue over your bottom lip.

You can’t help it. You’re salivating.

You’re only human, after all, and some temptations are impossible to resist.

***

The hotel room is quiet, except for the sound of the zipper on Max’s backpack as he tosses it aside. It’s late, the race adrenaline slowly wearing off, but you’re both still buzzing with energy. Max is already getting undressed, down to just his Red Bull t-shirt and those jeans that hug his body like a second skin.

You’re barely paying attention to what you’re doing, hands fumbling with the buttons of your own shirt, your mind somewhere far away. Or maybe not that far. Maybe your mind is right where it’s been for the past thirty-two hours — on him. Specifically, on those damn thighs.

Max turns his back to you for a moment, pulling his shirt over his head, and when he faces you again, you’re frozen, mid-button, staring. His thighs strain against his jeans, the fabric pulled taut around them as he shifts his weight.

You know you should keep undressing, keep moving, but you can’t. All thoughts leave your mind, replaced with the memory of the way they looked under his race suit, the way they flexed as he walked, the way-

“You’re staring again.”

His voice is low, teasing, and it snaps you out of your trance. You blink, cheeks burning, and quickly look away, but it’s too late. Max has already caught you, and you can hear the smirk in his voice as he moves closer.

“Seriously, what’s going on?” He’s standing right in front of you now, his eyes searching yours, but he already knows. Of course he does. The way he’s grinning tells you that much. “You’ve been acting weird since yesterday.”

You swallow hard, trying to find some way out of this, some excuse, but nothing comes. He’s so close, close enough that you can smell the faint traces of his cologne, feel the heat radiating off his skin, and all you can think about are those jeans, how tight they are around his legs, how-

Max reaches out, gently tipping your chin up so you have to meet his gaze. “You can tell me,” he says, his voice soft now, almost coaxing. “What’s got you all flustered, hmm?”

You can’t look away. He’s too close, too knowing, and suddenly, you feel like you’re caught in a trap. Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. What are you supposed to say? That his thighs are all you’ve been able to think about? That the way they look in his jeans is driving you crazy?

Max’s eyes flicker down, and you know he’s noticed where your gaze keeps drifting. His smirk deepens, and when he speaks again, his voice has dropped, taking on a huskier tone. “Ah. I see.”

Your breath catches in your throat. He knows. Of course he knows. You feel your heart start to race, and suddenly, the room feels too small, too hot.

Max steps even closer, his hand sliding from your chin to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “Why didn’t you just say so?” He murmurs, his eyes dark and intent, like he’s got you exactly where he wants you. “I would’ve taken care of you sooner.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep some semblance of composure, but it’s no use. Max is looking at you like he knows exactly what you need, and worse — he’s right. He moves his hand to the small of your back, guiding you toward the bed, and you follow, unable to resist.

When you reach the edge of the bed, Max sits, his legs spread slightly apart, and you’re left standing there, feeling like the world’s worst combination of flustered and exposed. He’s still in his jeans, the denim pulled tight over his thighs, and your eyes are immediately drawn to them again. You don’t even try to hide it this time.

Max chuckles, low and deep. “Come here,” he says, his voice a command wrapped in a velvet whisper.

Your feet move before your brain can catch up. You step between his legs, heart pounding in your chest, and Max’s hands find your hips, pulling you down until you’re straddling his thigh. The moment you make contact, your breath hitches, your body reacting to the firm pressure beneath you.

“See?” Max murmurs, his hands sliding up to your waist, his touch gentle but insistent. “This is what you needed, isn’t it?”

You can’t answer, can’t find the words. All you can do is nod, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance as you shift on his thigh. The friction is immediate, electric, sending a shockwave through your body. You gasp, and Max’s grip tightens.

“Yeah,” he breathes, his voice thick with satisfaction. “That’s it. Just like that.”

His hands guide your hips, slow at first, drawing out the movement, letting you feel every inch of him beneath you. The rough fabric of his jeans rubs against you, the friction unlike anything you’ve felt before. It’s overwhelming, almost too much, but at the same time, it’s exactly what you want, what you need.

Max watches you, his eyes dark and hungry as you move against him, your breaths coming faster, more ragged. He knows what he’s doing, knows exactly how to drive you crazy, and he’s taking his time, savoring every second of it.

“You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?” He whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me. At my legs. You couldn’t stop, could you?”

You shake your head, unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone words. The heat between your legs is building, and every time you shift, every time you drag yourself over the firm muscle of his thigh, it sends a pulse of pleasure through you.

Max grins, his hands tightening on your waist, guiding you faster now, urging you on. “I knew it,” he says, his voice low and full of satisfaction. “You just needed this. You needed me.”

You moan softly, your head falling forward against his shoulder as the pressure builds, your body practically trembling from the intensity of it. Max’s grip on you never wavers, his hands controlling the rhythm, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

“That’s it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your temple. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

You can’t hold back anymore. The tension in your body snaps, and you cry out softly, your hips bucking against his thigh as the pleasure overtakes you. Max holds you steady, his hands firm on your waist, grounding you as wave after wave of sensation crashes over you.

When it’s over, you’re left breathless, slumped against him, your body trembling in the aftermath. Max’s hands slide up and down your back, soothing, gentle, as he waits for you to catch your breath.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice soft and full of warmth. “You did so well.”

You don’t have the energy to respond, your head still spinning from the intensity of it all. But then, as the haze begins to clear, you feel something — wetness — on the denim covering his thigh. You pull back slightly, your face flushing with embarrassment as you realize what you’ve done.

Max just chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Don’t worry,” he says, his voice full of mischief. “I don’t mind.”

You bury your face in his chest, mortified, but Max’s arms come around you, holding you close, his laugh rumbling through his body.

“I told you,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your hair. “I know exactly what you need.”

***

The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow over the hotel suite. You stir in bed, slowly coming to consciousness, a vague sense of discomfort pulling you from sleep.

For a moment, you’re content to stay buried under the sheets, your body heavy with exhaustion and satisfaction from the night before. But then the feeling sharpens — a tenderness, right between your legs. You shift, and the soreness becomes more pronounced.

Your eyes snap open. Oh.

The friction from last night, the way you rode Max’s thigh with reckless abandon, comes back to you in vivid, heated flashes. You groan, face half-buried in the pillow, not from embarrassment this time but from the distinct ache you feel in your most sensitive spot. Your poor bundle of nerves, now sore, throbs slightly when you shift your legs.

You turn your head to glance at Max. He’s already awake, leaning back against the headboard, scrolling through something on his phone, his hair still a mess from sleep. He looks over at you when he notices you stirring, his mouth curling into a soft smile. “Morning.”

“Morning,” you mumble, voice still thick with sleep. You shift under the covers again, wincing as the soreness flares once more. You press your legs together instinctively, hoping it will somehow dull the ache.

Max’s brow furrows. “You alright?”

You pause for a second, debating how much you actually want to admit. But the soreness isn’t something you can brush off, not when every slight movement reminds you of it. You let out a small sigh and tilt your head to look at him.

“I’m … sore,” you admit, biting your lip. “Really sore.”

Max’s lips twitch, a hint of amusement lighting his eyes. “Sore where?”

You give him a look, half-exasperated, half-embarrassed. “You know where,” you grumble.

He chuckles softly, setting his phone down on the nightstand. “I might need a little more detail. I’m a driver, not a mind reader.”

You can’t help but laugh, though it’s mixed with a groan as you shift your hips again. “You know,” you mutter, avoiding his eyes. “There.”

Max raises an eyebrow, still amused, but then his expression softens with concern. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” you say quickly, wanting to reassure him. “It’s not that. I guess I just … overdid it. Denim can be rough.”

Max nods, looking thoughtful for a moment. “Wait here,” he says, sliding out of bed with the ease of someone who’s used to early mornings and late nights in uncomfortable places. You watch as he rummages through his luggage on the floor, tossing aside various items before pulling out a small tube of ointment.

“What’s that?” You ask, propping yourself up on one elbow.

Max returns to the bed, sitting on the edge. “This? It’s some kind of cream I used for a cut I had a while back.” He holds up the tube for you to see, the words on it clearly medicinal. “I think it might help.”

You hesitate, unsure. The idea of Max applying anything down there is both intimate and a little embarrassing. But the soreness is getting worse, and the thought of relief is too tempting to ignore.

“You trust me?” Max asks softly, his eyes locking with yours.

You nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I do.”

Max smiles at that, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead before squeezing a small amount of the ointment onto his fingers. “Let’s take care of you, then.”

You shift slightly on the bed, opening your legs a little to give him room. Your breath hitches as he moves closer, his touch gentle and careful. His hand slips beneath the covers, fingers finding the tender spot with a sensitivity that makes you melt.

“You sure this is okay?” He murmurs, his gaze flicking to yours for reassurance.

“It’s fine,” you whisper, though the feel of his fingers, even in this innocent context, has your pulse racing.

Max is slow, deliberate, applying the ointment with a tenderness that sends shivers down your spine. His touch is cool at first, but then the warmth from his skin mixes with the soothing sensation of the ointment, and your body starts to relax. The ache begins to ebb away, replaced by a gentle, comforting warmth.

“Better?” He asks after a few moments, his voice low, almost a whisper.

You can only nod, your eyes fluttering shut as the tension leaves your body. But it’s not just the relief from the soreness that’s making you feel this way. It’s the way Max is touching you — careful, considerate, and yet undeniably intimate. You hadn’t expected something as simple as this to feel so … intense.

Max’s fingers continue their slow, deliberate movements, his eyes never leaving yours. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says, though his voice is huskier now, like he knows stopping isn’t something you’re going to ask for.

Your breath catches in your throat as he presses a little more firmly, the friction now bordering on something else entirely. The tenderness is still there, but now, so is something deeper, something stirring inside you that you can’t ignore.

“Max …” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly.

He doesn’t respond with words, just a small smile as his thumb grazes over your clit, drawing a soft gasp from your lips. He’s not trying to push you, not really, but his touch is becoming more deliberate, more focused.

And you’re unraveling.

The gentle pressure of his fingers, the slow circles he’s tracing, the way he’s watching you so intently — it’s all too much, and yet not enough at the same time. You shift your hips, instinctively seeking more, and Max’s eyes darken as he registers your need.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over the same spot again, drawing another gasp from you. “Does it feel good?”

You nod, unable to find the words. Your body is responding without permission, a slow burn building in your core, the ache from earlier completely forgotten now. It’s been replaced by something else — something hot and electric, coursing through you with every touch.

Max leans closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Tell me what you need.”

You can barely think straight, let alone articulate what you need, but you manage a breathless, “More.”

His fingers move with more purpose now, pressing harder, rubbing in just the right way that makes your body arch toward him, a soft moan escaping your lips. The sensation is almost overwhelming, the pleasure mixing with the relief, and you feel like you’re coming undone in his hands.

Max watches you, his eyes dark and intense, clearly enjoying the way you’re responding to him. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. “Just let go.”

And you do. You let go of the last bit of restraint you’ve been holding onto, your body trembling as the tension builds higher and higher. Max’s hand never falters, his touch steady, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge.

You’re breathing faster now, your heart racing in your chest, and you can feel the heat pooling low in your belly, spreading through your body like wildfire. It’s too much, too intense, and yet you need it, need him.

“Max,” you gasp, your fingers gripping the sheets as the pleasure surges through you. “I’m-”

“I know,” he whispers, his thumb pressing down just right, and it’s all it takes to send you spiraling.

Your body clenches, the release crashing over you in waves as you cry out, your hips bucking against his hand. Max holds you through it, his fingers never stopping, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you’re left trembling, your body spent and your mind blissfully blank.

When it’s over, you collapse against the pillows, panting, your heart still pounding in your chest. Max pulls his hand away, careful and gentle, and leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“How do you feel now?” He asks, his voice full of warmth and affection.

You manage a weak smile, still catching your breath. “Better. Much better.”

[cherrynflowergarden]

જ⁀➴ bitter truths|| dealer!matt x doll!reader

sturniolo masterlist add yourself to the taglist

she was laughing, leaning against her desk as she chatted with noah, a guy from her college. her eyes sparkled as she giggled at something he said, her entire posture relaxed and comfortable in his presence. but matt, standing by the door, could feel something dark twisting in his chest as he watched them. he didn’t get jealous—but he’d seen noah around. he knew the guy. he wasn’t some harmless friend and he surely didn’t have the best intentions. and watching her so openly enjoying his company made matt’s jaw clench.

he cleared his throat loudly, catching her attention. she glanced over, her big smile faltering as she noticed the coldness in his eyes.

“oh! matt,” she said, pulling herself away from noah. “this is noah, from my psych class. he’s been helping me with some notes.”

noah nodded politely, but matt didn’t return the gesture, his arms crossed tightly, eyes narrowing. “right. helping,” he repeated, voice dripping with sarcasm. her expression softened, her brow creasing slightly as she sensed his tension.

“can we talk?” he said, his tone stiff. “alone.” he added, bitterly eyeing noah.

she looked at noah apologetically. she barely had a chance to say goodbye before matt grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out of the room. she could feel the anger radiating off him, heavy, simmering, the kind that made her stomach twist.

she shifted under his gaze, trying to hold her ground, but his intensity made her stomach twist.

“what the hell are you doing, doll?” his voice was cold, almost a snarl. “hanging around with a guy like him?”

she frowned, taken aback by his tone. “he’s just a friend, matt. he’s helping me with some notes—”

“a friend? you don’t get it, do you?” his voice was mocking, filled with a bitterness she hadn’t heard from him before. “people like him don’t want to be friends with someone like you. you’re just easy prey.”

her eyes widened, a hurt expression flashing across her face. “matt, why are you being so—”

“realistic?” he interrupted, eyes narrowing. “because someone has to be. you think everyone’s got some good in them, that everyone’s gonna treat you the way you treat them. but that’s not how the world works, doll. you’re too blind to see it.”

her lip trembled, but she took a shaky breath, trying to stay calm. “you’re wrong, matt. i know what he’s like with me. just because he doesn’t fit into your world doesn’t mean—”

“oh, please,” he cut in, rolling his eyes. “you really think you know what you’re doing? you don’t have a clue. you’re just letting him string you along because he’s nice to you. that’s all it takes, isn’t it?” his words were sharp, condescending. “anyone gives you a bit of attention, and you’re ready to trust them with anything.”

her face flushed, her chest tightening at his words. “i thought… i thought you trusted me, matt. trusted that i could figure things out.”

“trusted you?” he scoffed, shaking his head in frustration. “y/n, i’m just trying to keep you from getting hurt. but you’re too stubborn, too naive to see that half these people only see you as an easy target.”

the word naive cut through her like a knife, each syllable laced with disdain. “so that’s what you think of me?” her voice was barely above a whisper. “some… some helpless girl who can’t take care of herself?”

“isn’t that exactly what you’re proving right now?” he snapped, his patience finally snapping with it. “you’re so desperate for everyone to like you, so willing to see the good in people, that you don’t even realize they’re laughing behind your back. they see you as this silly soft girl they can use and toss aside.” his voice was harsh, each word landing like a blow.

tears pricked at her eyes, but she held them back, swallowing hard. “i… i thought you saw me differently.”

he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “doll, you’re… you’re sweet, alright? you’re too sweet for your own good. ‘t’s gonna ruin you if you don’t learn to see through people like him. and right now, you’re just proving me right. you’re proving you don’t get how people are.”

she flinched, his words making her chest ache. “maybe… maybe i don’t want to see people the way you do, matt. maybe i want to believe in people. i thought you’d get that.”

“get that?” he scoffed, crossing his arms. “’m done trying to understand why you’re so determined to get hurt. you don’t get it, do you? you’re weak and you refuse to see it. you refuse to admit that you need someone to watch out for you.”

the words echoed in her mind, his voice searing into her heart. weak. naive. silly. and what hurt her the most was how he addressed her by her name and not as doll. she felt a tear slip down her cheek and quickly wiped it away, but matt didn’t soften, didn’t reach out to her.

for a moment, she couldn’t even speak, her throat tight with unshed tears. “if that’s really how you see me, then… maybe you don’t know me at all.” her voice was shaky, laced with hurt she couldn’t hide.

he watched her, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t move. he didn’t apologize or reach out to stop her as she turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last. she kept her gaze down, trying to block out his words, but they echoed in her mind, relentless.

days passed. she avoided his texts, his calls, even ignored the harsh banging on her door and every attempt he made to reach her. every time she saw his name flash on her phone, her chest tightened and the hurt bubbled up again. she knew matt was protective, that he cared, but his words had felt like a betrayal, like he didn’t trust her to know what was best for herself.

an; angst bc i'm sad(⁠｡⁠•́⁠︿⁠•̀⁠｡⁠) also tell me do we like this small title font more or the quote font one?

taglist; @mattsdolll @izzylovesmatt

[redflagshipwriter]

Mamabat 10 part 2/2

masterpost

Sam craned to listen to secondhand sounds of combat. It was all filtered through Val’s headset, so it was vaguely electronic.

“Up!” Said a female voice. Was that Robin? Sam tried to piece it together. The little one had been Robin, she'd thought. Could have been a boy or a girl. Robin looked around Dani's size. 

Ah, hell. She pushed down the recurring dread that thoughts of Dani brought up. 

Dani was probably fine. She just wasn't answering them because she was fabulously busy in Malaysia or Guam or somewhere else gorgeous and fascinating. She wasn't in one of those labs. They hadn't left her in a lab for a month. Sam’s hands were shaking. She squeezed them hard, angry with herself. Good thing she wasn’t in that fight, she’d be useless like this. Useless!

The percussive sounds of fast, expert violence came through Val's sound system. “Damn,” Val said. “Nice swing.” 

The answer was a feminine laugh. Man, who was that? “Not half bad yourself,” said the unknown girl.

Sam untensed, a little. They didn’t sound stressed. It was probably going fine.

There was a groan. “Spoiler, please,” said Red Robin, in a tone he probably thought was too soft to be overheard. Ha. Val was using Vlad's creepertech, and Vlad was one of the best creeps out there. Sam felt weirdly proud of him for a moment. It bordered patriotism. Their freak was the best freak in the business. Eat your heart out, Batjerk.

“Like you're the only one who can pick up girls on the job?” The girl who had to be Spoiler said. 

Sam snorted. Good luck with that one! Val was spectacularly unavailable. She should know, she had tried. 

“Spoiler, Red Robin, and Robin.” Sam listed aloud for Tucker. “What do we know?” 

“All known associates of Batman, Gotham operatives, estimated active dates are at least a couple years each. Robin is clearly an inherited role, but this current one… been in for two years, I think.” Tucker listed off. “I think Spoiler and Red Robin were both former Robins, that's not too subtle.” 

Sam snorted. Her breath fanned out as visible moisture in the cold night air. 

“Likely older teens or early twenties, both of them. Robin is obviously pre puberty. 13 at the oldest.” 

Val made a subvocal grunt that meant she agreed with Tucker's assessment 

That fit. And she really didn't like it. Sam felt her hackles rise up. What was wrong with Gotham? Her group was all child vigilantes, sure, but they'd had no adult help. They'd also all been 14 or older when they got involved. Except for Dani. God, Dani, please don't be in that building. Sam had to relax her grip on the bazooka handle because she squeezed it so hard that the metal creaked. 

Danny was older now. But she didn't like that this was who he'd ended up with. Sam gritted her jaw hard and tried to keep her temper on a low simmer. She didn't have enough facts to think Batman would put Danny in danger. 

“Clear.” 

“Clear.”

The operation inside seemed to continue smoothly. 

“That should be all the staff members on the premises,” Red Robin said. “First lab, coming up.”

“Behind me.” Batman practically growled the order.

A door opened. Sam held her breath. 

“...Are those samples?” 

Val grunted slightly. Why? What was going on? “Cores,” Val said. “Basically, people who have been injured into a coma. Left like that, they're gonna die slowly. Starvation.” 

“What do we do?” Spoiler cut in. “I mean- what can we do?” 

“Is there a way to transport them?” Val dodged the question. “I don't- yeah, that's good.” 

“Can you provide treatment?” Batman pushed. “Where will you take them?”

Val let out a long, annoyed sigh. “I don't trust you enough to go into the details.”

“Why should we trust you, vixen?” Spat a very young voice.

“Vixen?” Spoiler repeated quietly, incredulously. 

“Robin, you can't say things like that!” Red Robin hissed. “Ow- little asshole.” 

“Enough. Thank you.” Batman cut off the chatter. “Let's clear the facility.” 

They found more cores in the labs. Sam felt her stomach condense tighter and tighter into a knot as they came across research areas time and time again. 

They hadn't taken the GIW seriously enough. They'd thought they were incompetent and funny. How long had scientists been experimenting on captured ghosts here? How many of them had totally withered away? 

“Fuck,” Sam said quietly, and wiped her eyes off with her arm. 

They were clearly finished. No Dani, not unless she was one of the cores rolling around on GIW shelves like she wasn't a person.

Batman and crew came out. She could hear Batman clearly making some kind of call to…. To a Green Lantern, she thought, to pick up the GIW agents. 

Oh. That…

“Probably legit,” Tucker said on the line. He let out a big sigh and his chair clicked when he leaned back, no doubt crossing his arms behind his head. “I guess we should talk to ‘em. Should I come out there?” 

“Yeah, do it,” Sam said. “You want a pick up?” She moved the bazooka from a ready position to rest across her back instead.

Tucker hummed. “That would probably be a little cooler than using my bike.” 

Val snorted, but didn't chime in. Sam dipped back to town and let Tucker climb on behind her. He crouched to hold onto the board with both hands, because he was a sweaty nerd with no balance. 

“The bike might have been cooler,” Sam teased, and then she accelerated hard. She met them back in the field where Batman had landed his plane. As soon as she veered into sight, all of the bats looked at her, clearly ready for a fight.

“Calm down,” Val ordered. “You're all so jumpy.” 

Sam snorted and came to a sharp stop. She braced against Tucker's weight (she knew he'd be jostled.) She aimed her hardest glare at Batman. Fuck everyone else. “Danny said you wanna talk.” 

Behind them, unseen, Val double-checked the straps of a new black bag. Sam had no doubt it was full of helpless cores. 

Batman frowned at her slightly. “...Samantha Manson.” He looked behind her. “And Tucker Foley.” He didn't seem surprised, exactly,  but he didn't seem happy to see them either.

“Old man,” she shot back. “You've got half an hour. But first off, what the hell kinda game are you playing with Danny? Because this-” she waved a hand at his child soldier platoon. “is some bullshit, okay. What's going on?” 

Val shot vertically up with a whoosh of air that blew Spoiler’s hair out. All four bats whirled in time to see her blast off into the distance. 

“Focus!” Sam snapped her fingers. “Why are you here?” 

A muscle twitched in Batman's jaw. “My only intention with Danny is to ensure his safety. I have some concerns about the GIW and about his home situation that I want to look into.” 

Sam scoffed. “Bit late.” She wound some hair around her finger. “They're gone. All of them. You saw what's left of the GIW. The Fentons disappeared the day after the GIW did.” 

She heard the first hint of urgency and upset in his voice when he pressed, “Jasmine Fenton?” 

“Gone.” 

[erwinsvow]

can we have rafe try to grovel ?? :((((( shy reader deserves better !!! <3 https://www.tumblr.com/erwinsvow/751213087399510016/what-if-rafe-ever-hit-shy-reader-from-built-up?source=share

he will grovel!! side note i dont know how i feel about this its just for the sweet anon who wanted part two

the moment rafe shuts the door and traps you in the room, between his body and the wall, you know some part of you has just broken that you'll never fully be able to fix.

everything in your body tells you to look up at rafe and do something. slap him back, push him away, turn around and storm out of the room and try to at least show him you're just as mad as he is—but none of that actually happens.

hot tears keep spilling down your cheeks, and you stay frozen like that for what feels like forever, staring at the floor of rafe's bedroom. the sound of rafe's heavy breaths fills the space, though you can barely detect it over the way your heart is pounding in your ears.

you want to leave. but you don't know where you even would go. before the events of the last hour, there was no where you wanted to be more than wherever rafe was. and now, staring at the floor instead of up at the boy who you had gladly given your heart to only for him to snap it in half with his bare hands and deliver it back, you stay frozen, waiting for rafe. you are always waiting for rafe.

"kid, i-" you finally look up, through wet lashes and almost painful eyes fluttering slowly, and rafe stops talking the moment you do. you don't know why, but it doesn't take you long to figure it out. there's a mark on your cheek the size of his hand, probably an imprint from his ring too.

it's such a shame—you always loved that ring.

you snap out of your thoughts when rafe keeps talking, though there's still blooding rushing in your ears. he sounds muffled, his mouth moving and expression looking, you can only imagine, somewhat close to yours—sad and angry all blended together. you keep blinking slowly, listening but not really listening, waiting for him to finish so you can leave.

how stupid you must seem to him, and to yourself, you think pathetically. he just hit you, and you're waiting for him to finish, so you don't impolitely interrupt. you should drive straight from tannyhill to a therapist's office—though you think not even a licensed professional could help you figure out what exactly is wrong with you.

the thought makes you laugh, corners of your mouth turning up and a rush of air leaving your throat. half a laugh, half a sob. the gutting realization has just hit you—whatever was wrong with you, rafe was the only one in the world who seemed to understand you.

"baby?" rafe asks, and you actually snap out of it this time—looking up at your boyfriend, wondering if he knows you haven't heard a single thing he's said so far.

"i think i should go home," you reply, wondering where your keys are and where your wallet is. you don't keep track of these things anymore, usually since rafe drives you everywhere and pays for everything.

"okay. i'll bring you, just let me go get-"

"no, i-" you stop yourself—about to apologize again. everything running through your mind makes you choose your words carefully. "i'm gonna go home."

"you didn't drive here, kid. i picked you up, remember?" rafe looks back at you and you feel a fresh wave of tears take over. you hadn't remembered.

"oh."

"listen, kid, i'm so-"

"i'm going home," you repeat firmly, mostly to yourself. "i'll just-i'll walk."

"y'not walking. it's dark and-"

"rafe, stop." the way you say it, he actually listens. you don't sound like yourself, you can tell from the way he looks at you, rafe's face doused with concern and apprehension. you look away, turning to face the door. "i'll be fine. i need to go."

"c'mon, kid, don't go," he says, and every bone and muscle inside you wants to listen, to do what he says like you always do. you feel more hot tears coming up, stopping them seems impossible yet you know crying is useless. it already happened and the damage is already done.

you turn around from your position, knowing it's a mistake. rafe gets closer, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks. he holds your face like he always does, except there's one big difference—you flinch the moment he starts moving.

"baby," rafe says quietly, and everything in you stops for a moment. brain lagging, breath catching, even the tears stop for a second while you look up at your boyfriend. "i'm so sorry. i am so sorry. i fucked up, okay? i know i did, but please don't go."

"rafe, i can't stay," it comes out just as quietly, a notch above a whisper. "you hurt me." it comes out wrangled in a sob. rafe wipes away some of your fresh tears with his hands.

"i-i know. and i'm gonna regret it forever, but-" rafe stops, and you stop too. you chew on your lip nervously, realizing it's going to bleed from how much you're biting down. "can-can i at least bring you home? please?"

"okay," you give in-but you shouldn't have.

you don't even know how you're gonna explain the mark on your face to your parents, or why you're home so early when you said you were sleeping over. every movement feels exhausting—grabbing some of your things and walking down the stairs to getting into rafe's truck. the drive to your place isn't very long, only ten minutes, and you stare out the window the whole time. it feels like hours with the way rafe looks at you at each red light.

rafe pulls into your driveway and you look up at him expectantly, though you're not sure why.

"can you-can you turn the headlights off? i don't want them waking up," you say, after what feels like ages of silence.

rafe turns the lights off but doesn't say anything. it's not until you reach for the doorhandle that he does—it's almost muscle memory for him. he leans over you to pull the handle and open the door for you, but you flinch so hard when he moves that he can't even get the door. instead he looks back at you while you stare up at him. without any words, you both know what the other is thinking.

"goodnight, rafe," you say, your own hand on the door now.

"wait, kid," he says, and you stop your movement immediately. even in this situation, you can't help but listen. "can i see you tomorrow? please?"

"i don't think that's a good idea."

"c'mon. we-we have to talk about this. i can't just.. not see you. i'm gonna go crazy."

"i need to go rafe." the second you say it, you start feeling bad about it. it's so engrained in you—trying to avoid hurting rafe in any and every way possible, that the very idea of not giving him what he wants makes your chest ache painfully. "i.. i have to think about it."

he leans over, slowly this time so you don't get scared again, opening the door for you like he always does. you climb out, getting your bag and trying to pretend everything's fine until you get inside your room.

"good night, kid. i'll talk to you tomorrow."

without replying, you walk inside. rafe's truck stays in your driveway until you lock the door, and he doesn't drive away until minutes after.

surprisingly, you make it to your room before you start crying. and you don't stop crying until the sun comes up.

[p0orbaby]

Could you write something about reader having surgery? Leah worrying about her & getting super stressed out x

-

Leah’s pacing. Of course she is. She’s wearing the trainers that squeak on the hospital floor, the ones you begged her to throw away three months ago. “They’ve got character,” she said then, like that was a reasonable argument for keeping footwear that sounded like an off-brand comedy gag every time she took a step. Now, the sound feels like a metronome for her anxiety.

She’s also muttering under her breath, something about waiting rooms being designed to drive people mad. “Why is there always a random fish tank?” she asks no one in particular, gesturing at the gurgling monstrosity in the corner. “Like, is that meant to be calming? Watching a clownfish swim into a plastic castle?”

Kim, who you bullied into babysitting Leah while you’re in surgery, hums noncommittally and sips her tea. It’s the worst thing she could’ve done because it prompts Leah to snap, “You’re too calm. Why are you so calm?”

“Because it’s a routine procedure,” Kim replies, her tone so even it borders on condescending. “She’ll be fine, Leah”

But Leah doesn’t look convinced. She crosses her arms, leans against the wall, then decides against it and resumes pacing. “Routine doesn’t mean risk-free,” she mutters. “What if they mix up her file with someone else’s? What if they give her a kidney transplant instead of fixing her knee?”

“Are you hearing yourself right now?” Kim asks, barely suppressing a laugh.

Leah whirls around. “Anything’s possible, Kim. Hospitals are chaos. I’ve read articles”

Kim just shakes her head and goes back to scrolling her phone, clearly regretting agreeing to this.

Leah’s still fidgeting when the surgeon finally appears. The man is smiling, calm and professional, but she doesn’t let her guard down. Not even when he says, “The operation went smoothly. She’s in recovery now”

“Define smoothly,” Leah demands, squinting at him like he’s lying. “No complications? No close calls? You didn’t drop anything inside her, did you?”

“Leah!” Kim hisses, mortified.

The surgeon, to his credit, only blinks. “She’s fine,” he repeats, clearly accustomed to this brand of hysteria. “You can see her shortly”

Leah doesn’t wait. She marches down the hall like she’s storming the pitch, the squeaking of her trainers echoing behind her.

When she reaches your room, you’re half-conscious, propped up in bed with a silly-looking hospital gown that does nothing for your dignity. Your eyes flutter open at the sound of her trainers, and you manage a groggy smile.

“You’re here,” you mumble, your voice sluggish from the anaesthetic.

“Of course I’m here,” Leah says, pulling a chair up to your bedside. “How do you feel? Do you need water? Ice? A lawyer in case something went wrong?”

You blink at her, too out of it to process her rambling. “I think they gave me morphine. I feel amazing”

Leah exhales sharply, her hands twitching like she wants to touch you but isn’t sure where. “Good. That’s good. You look… fine. A bit pale. But fine”

“Thanks,” you slur. “You look sexy”

She finally smiles, though it’s small and a little wobbly. “You scared the hell out of me, you know”

You try to reach for her hand but miss by a mile. “Sorry. Love you”

Her expression softens, and she takes your hand, squeezing it gently. “Love you too. Just… don’t ever make me do this again, yeah?”

“No promises,” you mumble, already drifting back to sleep.

Leah stays by your side the entire time, even when the nurse comes in and politely asks her to stop squeaking her trainers against the floor.

[7ndipity]

Time For You

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Just a lil blurb about Yoongi surprising his S/o at work bc he’s a softie.

Warnings: none

A/N: Thanks to my lovely ⭐ anon for this request! It’s a lil short, but I hope you like it!💜

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

It had been one of those work days that seemed to drag on longer than normal. Nothing was particularly wrong, it wasn’t any busier or more hectic than usual, but you were still acutely aware of the hours seeming to creep by at a glacial pace.

‘Just a little longer’, You promised yourself. Just a few more hours and you would be home, in your cozy apartment with your warm bed and your sweet boyfriend, who you planned to cuddle within an inch of his life as soon as you saw him.

As if summoned by your thoughts, one of your co-workers came over as you were finishing up helping a customer, sporting a knowing grin.

“Hey, Y/n? There’s a guy over there that says he’s going to start crying if you don’t look at him?” She said, nodding off to the side.

Glancing up in confusion, you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as your eyes landed on a familiar figure standing over near the door. His face was partially hidden by the hat that he tugged down , but you could recognized that sheepish, little grin anywhere

You quickly switched places with your co-worker before practically sprinting over to Yoongi, half tackling him in a hug.

“What are you doing here?!” You exclaimed, trying to keep your voice low to avoid drawing attention, but unable to hide your happiness at his sudden appearance.

“We were filming a few blocks over, so I thought I’d come by on my way home and check on you.” He said, glancing up at you shyly.

“Aww, were you worried about me?” You grinned, reaching up to cup his face. “You big softie.”

“Don’t make me regret it.” He groaned, trying to squirm out of your hold.

“Hey, you were the one threatening to cause a scene because I wouldn’t look at you.” You chuckled.

He grumbled out something you couldn’t make out before holding out a small bag to you. “I also brought this, but if you’re gonna be weird about it-”

You quickly snatched the bag away before he could finish, peeking inside at the contents before looking back up at him in surprise.

“You brought me cookies?” You questioned.

“I happened to pass that bakery you like on my way here, no big deal.” He shrugged.

You said nothing, staring up at him as he tried to hide the growing flush in his cheeks.

“What?” He asked after a moment.

“You love me.” You grinned.

He huffed.

“It took cookies for you to realize that?” He asked dryly, fiddling with the edge of his hat, a habit of his that you had come to know meant he was embarrassed or flustered.

“No, but it’s a nice reminder.” You said. “It’s nice when you make time for little things like this.”

“I’ll always make time for you.” He answered softly, the sudden sincerity in his tone catching you off guard.

Yoongi had always had a way of pulling your heartstrings with just a few words, even before you had started dating, a simple comment like “I miss you” had been enough to cause your heart to skip a beat before taking off at high speed.

As much as you liked to tease him for being whipped for you, you were just as down bad for him.

You suddenly remembered you were standing in the middle of your workplace, clearing your throat awkwardly.

“I- uh, I have to get back to work.” You said quickly.

He nodded, understanding.

“I’ll see you at home.” He said, stepping away, but you followed, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“I love you too.” You said softly, stepping back. “Thank you for the cookies.”

“You’re welcome.” He said, his cheeks flushed fully red.

“I’ll see you later.” You promised.

“See you later.” He repeated, turning quickly and heading for the exit.

You caught him giving a quick glance back at you from the door, sending you a little wave before ducking out, leaving you stood grinning after him.

“He’s really something special, isn’t he?” Your co-worker commented, watching you with an amused expression. “My boyfriend never does stuff like that.”

“Yeah,” You agreed. “He really is something special.”

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @a-gayish-unicorn @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @universal-travel-er @bo0o0o0ooo @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

[thebeesatemyknees]

141 with a gf who has been cheated on in the past and it kind of destroyed her confidence?? Like just how they would prove themselves as true and how they would go about a relationship with her. Love your writing, friend!!!! <3

141 with a (fem)partner who's been cheated on in the past

Some headcanons about things that Simon Ghost Riley, John Price, Kyle Gaz Garrick and Johnny Soap MacTavish do to reassure you after learning that your previous partner/s cheated on you.

Word count: 1k || No warnings. || Reader: FEM reader. Pronouns "you", but feminine terms used ("missus, girl, lady") [I could make a gender neutral version too if anyone would want it!]

Simon Riley, who, half joking half serious, reminds you that he’s a difficult bastard to get close to. So you don’t have to worry. I mean, look how much time it took you to make him open up and let you become part of his life. He has a hard time openly admitting how he feels about you and how he only has place for you in his heart and mind. So instead, he jokes that you’re the only person on this planet, crazy enough to approach him. Though sometimes, when you have late night conversations, he admits in a hushed voice, that as much as he enjoyed the solitary life, leaving it behind for a lifetime with you was the best decision he's ever made.

Although he prefers to avoid crowded places, he starts taking you to pubs more often to prove that he’s right about being unapproachable. It also gives you a reason to dress up all pretty, so he can shamelessly compliment you and tease you about wanting to show you off.

If someone is silly enough to walk up to you two and try chatting him up, he immediately cuts it short, not even trying to be polite – “No, we’re alright. We’re busy.” And if they’re persistent, he uses his “Lieutenant Ghost” voice on them – “You’re interrupting my date. With my girl.” He keeps his hand on you for the rest of the night.

He asks you if he should get your name tattooed on his arm and you can’t tell if he’s joking or not. But he is dead serious. Have you seen his tattoos? Not to be judgemental, but… He wouldn’t mind tattooing your name on himself once he thinks you’re the one.

John Price, who relies on communication. He asks you to talk to him whenever something feels wrong – whether it’s caused by your thoughts or something he’s done. But he doesn’t just wait for you to bring the issue up either. He’s a true leader and he’s very observant. Sometimes he notices the heavy thoughts starting to cloud your mind before you can even cotton on. He’s also really good at reading between the lines. If you ever do that self-sabotaging thing, where you ask his opinion about other women on the street or on the internet, he immediately gives you a stern look and, without even looking at the lass you’re pointing at, gives you a lengthy pep talk. Why would he even need to form an opinion about another woman’s appearance, when he only cares about you? 

He’s got the patience of a saint when it comes to you. He’s told you what he feels towards you and how you are the only one for him many times already. And he would repeat himself, over and over again. Until he loses his voice.

If he got approached by someone and offered a drink, while you’re hanging out in a pub, he would point towards you and say “I’m alright, but you can buy my lady a drink if you insist,” with a cocky smile on his face.

Kyle Garrick, who attacks you with “I love you”-s and compliments whenever you start doubting yourself. Literally. Won’t let you finish your self-derogatory comments, even if they’re well hidden in what you’re saying. Starts yelling ILYs from afar. Then once he gets closer, he grabs you and holds you close, repeating it against your ear until you laugh from the sensation. But he doesn’t ignore your worries. He often sits you down so that the two of you can have a conversation about your feelings, your boundaries, behaviours and things he can do to assure you of his loyalty.

He has pictures of you everywhere and he’s proud to show you off. There are polaroids of you alone and both of you together in his wallet, in his car’s sun visor, in the pocket of his uniform. You’re his phone’s wallpaper. He posts pictures of you on social media. Obviously, he does all that while making sure it won’t affect your safety. And as for him bragging about you, you probably learnt about that from Price. What you don’t know though, is that he went out of his way to introduce you to his captain in hopes of Price telling you how often he talks about you. And only you.

If someone tried to chat him up while he’s with you, he would give them the nastiest, most offended glare possible. He looks at them, at you, at them, at you… He throws a simple “Uhh, no thank you,” while he grabs your hand and pulls it to his chest, using it to ground himself. Before the person can even turn away, he’s looking at you with a “can you believe this shit” stare. He gets upset for the both of you.

Johnny MacTavish, who’s physically glued to you.While off duty, he doesn't give you much space for doubts or anxieties cuz he follows you everywhere. You’re going to run some errands? He’s coming with you. He’s going to run some errands? Can you please come with him…? One time, when you went to the toilet in the middle of the night, you found him sitting half-awake on the floor next to the bathroom door. Later, he can’t even explain why he did it. He wasn’t even fully conscious. It was pure instinct – you go, he follows.

He takes you to buy matching rings. You can take your relationship at your own pace, but others don’t have to know it. He’s more than happy to pretend to be already married to you. Especially when he’s deployed away from home. And when he comes back, he proudly shows you a tan line on his ring finger, proving he’s been wearing it the whole time.

If someone approaches him and offers him a drink, he scoffs and tells them that HIS MISSUS can buy him his drinks just fine, thank you very much. If you’re there with him, he turns to you and, before the person can walk away, he starts playfully flirting with you, saying you can take him home if you buy him a drink. If you’re for some reason not there, he immediately calls you (or at least texts you if he’s with the lads) and proudly tells you about how clever his response was.

I hope that some loose headcanons like these are alright.

Also, if this happened to you – I'm really sorry and I wish you all the best! And if anyone needs to hear it: remember, the fault is never in the person who got cheated on but the one who cheats. Screw them. You deserve to be treated kindly.

[therealcocoshady]

Request

Little Lilly hearing reader or Marshall say a swear word and her repeating it at random times .

Time Out

Author’s Note : Thank you for your request ❤️. I had a fun time writing this and I hope you like it ✨. Please keep these fluffy and cute requests coming because they heal my soul ✨. (Other requests are also welcome)

2020

- Fuck.

It was almost inaudible at first, and he wasn’t sure he had heard that quite right. A tiny, childish voice using a big swear word. Definitely odd. Marshall turned his head, only to see that Lily had spilled juice all over the leather couch. She was pursing her lips, obviously frustrated. His three year-old was always annoyed when things weren’t proper. She hated having paint all over her finger, loathed having dirt on her dress after playing in the garden and, whenever she spilled something, it was as if she had witnessed the eruption of WWIII. Her being upset that she had spilled juice wasn’t surprising, but her using such a colorful language definitely was. It was the first time he heard her swearing and it almost broke his heart. It was probably a bit dramatic on his part, but it was further proof that his baby was growing up. She had just turned three and her language had gotten so much better in the past few months. However, he didn’t expect it to include swearing words. She was only three years old ! If memories served, his eldest daughters were a bit older the first time they swore.

- it’s fine, baby, he said. It’s just a little juice. We’ll clean it up. But you don’t get to use that word, ok ?

- What word ? She asked innocently.

- The one you just used. Ok, Lily ? No using that.

- Ok, Daddy.

There it was. Better. Lily was an extremely polite little girl and he prayed that she would stay that way. He decided not to make a big deal out of it. After all, he wasn’t even sure that she understood what she was saying. It probably wasn’t on purpose. Although, he wasn’t quite sure where she’d heard that word. Ever since he became a Dad for the first time, almost three decades ago, he had always been careful to mind his language around children - especially his own. One might argue that his making a living relied on the use of swear words - which wasn’t technically wrong - but there was no way in hell he would allow his kids to use them freely at home.

After tucking Lily in bed that night, he brought it up to you.

- So… Lily’s swearing now, he said with a frown.

- Swearing ? You asked. What did she say ?

- Fuck, he explained. I don’t even know where she heard that one.

- That might be me, you confessed. We went to the Starbucks drive-thru the other day and I spilled coffee all over my blouse. I might have let it out…

- Fuck, babe ! He scolded.

- You just said it ! You defended yourself.

- But she’s not around, he groaned. She’s three ! She has no business hearing that kind of word, let alone repeating it…

- I know, you said apologetically. Look… she’ll probably forget about it.

- I guess, he shrugged. I hope so. She’s only three. Even Stevie waited until she was five to use swear words.

- You must have had fun conversations when they found out you make a living by using swear words, you giggled.

- You don’t know the half of it, he chuckled. I mean, the kids always understood that it’s just me making songs. Mostly because we never used those words at home. And I would very much like it to be the same for Lily.

- She said it only once, you pointed out. Of course we’re not raising a rude little girl. She’s always so polite. I’m sure it won’t happen again.

Only it did happen again. A couple of days later, she let it out while you were sitting at the dining room and she accidentally dropped her cutlery on the floor. Both Marshall and you looked at each other.

- Fuck ! Lily said in an annoyed voice.

- Lily ! You scolded.

- Baby, remember what I said ? Marshall said sternly. No using that word. It’s a swear word and we don’t use that, understood ?

- But Mommy-

- I shouldn’t have used that word, you said. It’s a bad one.

- And if I catch you using it again, you’ll get grounded, Marshall warned.

You gave him a funny look. Out of the two of you, Marshall had always been a more lenient parent to Lily. He told you in the past that, when he was raising Alaina, Hailie and Stevie, he was more of a disciplinarian than Kim but, if you were being honest, you had trouble imagining him like this. Maybe it was because he adopted Lily when she was two, or because you had never had trouble scolding her yourself, but he was always so soft with her and, in fact, he had never raised his voice to her. He was very much the « cool » parent, to her. That being said, you could tell he was adamant on her respecting that rule - as he should because you were very much in agreement.

A couple of weeks went by and you didn’t catch your little girl swearing again, much to your relief. On a Saturday afternoon, you went for some shopping and Marshall had to pop by the studio to work on a beat he produced for some artists signed to the label and he took Lily with him. She was used to being in the studio and always had fun. She had her little habits, some toys and usually played peacefully while Marshall was able to work. She was on the couch, drawing when she saw that her marker had left some stains on her fingers.

- Fuuuuck, she whined.

Marshall immediately looked in her direction and sighed. He already hated what was about to happen but it had to.

- Lily, come here ! he said sternly.

- What Daddy? She asked in an annoyed voice.

- Quit the attitude, he sighed. Come here.

« She’s three » he thought. « she can’t start acting like an edgy teen when she hasn’t even started preschool yet ! ». He had her sit on the chair next to his and look her in the eyes.

- What did you say ? He asked.

- I said what, she repeated.

- Before that, he asked. What’s that word you used ?

- Fuck, she mumbled.

- That’s right, he said sternly. And what did I say about using that word ?

- That… I… shouldn’t, she said as she avoided his gaze.

- Right, he said. So now, you’re taking a time out.

- But Da-

- No buts, he scolded sternly. If you can’t draw without swearing, you don’t get to draw at all. And look at me when I talk to you, Lily.

She looked at him with tears welling in her eyes. It was the first time he scolded her like this, using his « big voice ». Her look immediately made him feel guilty and all he wanted was to hug her and apologize. It took everything in him not to, and he had her sit in the chair in silence for three minutes while he kept on working. She was looking down, her lip quivering. After a couple of minutes he looked at her. She had one minute left but he gave up. Toddlers don’t have a great time notion anyway and he was a ready feeling guilty for scolding her.

- Ok, bug, time out’s over, he said.

- Ok Daddy, she said in a sad voice that immediately guilt-trip him.

- You don’t like time outs, do you ? He asked with a raised eyebrow.

- No, she said.

- And I don’t like scolding you either, he explained. But I’m your Dad, and it’s my job to put you on time out when you do or say bad things. And if you use that word or any other swear word, you’re taking a time out. Ok ?

- Ok, she said in an almost inaudible voice.

- Now, I understand that sometimes, you’re frustrated, but we don’t use words like that, he said in a softer voice. You can groan, you can sigh, you can use normal words, but not this. Now, I want you to apologize.

- I’m sorry, Daddy, she said as tears welled up in her eyes again.

Guilt got the best of him and he pulled her in for a hug. Scolding her broke his heart and he was thankful that you were the one who did most of it because he wasn’t able to handle seeing sadness in the eyes of his princess. How he had managed to handle scolding the older ones over and over when they were growing up (mostly because his ex didn’t), he wasn’t sure. Had he always been so soft ?

- Don’t cry, baby, he said. It’s fine. You’re forgiven.

- But I don’t like it when you’re mean, she whined.

- I’m not mean, he chuckled. I still love you very much. Just because I scold you doesn’t mean I don’t, you know ?

- Ok, she sniffled.

- You want to go back to drawing ? He asked as he put her down.

- Will you draw with me ? She asked.

- I can take a little break, he said.

They went to the couch and started drawing together. They heard Royce and Denaun come inside the studio.

- So I told her to fuck off, you know ? Denaun said.

- Shit man, that bitch is a fucking- oh hey guys ! Royce said as he saw them.

- Time out, Lily said in a stern look.

Marshall immediately covered his mouth so that she wouldn’t see the smile he failed to contain.

- First of all, you say hello properly to Ryan and Denaun, he said. Also, you don’t get to put people on time out, Lily. I do.

- Hi, Uncle Ryan, Hi Uncle Nauny, she said as she went to hug them.

- What’s that time out thing ? Denaun asked as he picked up Lily to carry her.

- We’re learning not to use colorful language, Marshall chuckled.

- Oh, Royce said. Yeah, we shouldn’t have said that, Lily, you’re right. Sorry.

- Do they get time out, Daddy ? She asked as she looked at Marshall.

- Hell no, Denaun said. We’re grown ups, we don’t get time out.

- But you said the words, Lily argued.

- Yeah guys, time out, Marshall said with a grin.

- Seriously, man ? Royce asked.

- Yeah. Time out, Marshall said. Rules are the same for everybody.

He went to the kitchen area with the guys while Lily kept on drawing. They failed to contain their laughter. Ever since Marshall had adopted Lily, they enjoyed teasing him on his « Dad » demeanor, and how he was on a different mode when she was around.

- She’s got some attitude, Royce said.

- Probably got that from her Mom, Marshall chuckled.

- Wait until I tell Y/N you said that, Denaun grinned.

- Don’t, Marshall said. Otherwise I’m getting a time out.

[gyorouis]

𐙚 BIGGEST PLOT TWIST - CBG.

— it takes you a moment to register who you're looking at, but when you do, your heart skips a beat, it was choi beomgyu.

genre: angst, romance, slow burn (?), fake dating, crack

pairing: playboy!beomgyu x afab!reader

warning: mild language, emotional tension, mentions of avoidance and regret (if i missed anything, pls lmk!)

wordcount: 14.4k (now what...)

now playing: silent sanctuary — kundiman ୨ৎ

“who?” you ask your friend as you hurry to the next class, adjusting the strap of your bag that’s slipping off your shoulder. “who were you talking about again?” you repeat, a bit more impatiently this time, your mind still half-focused on the upcoming quiz.

“beomgyu,” your friend replies nonchalantly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “i think he’s interested in you.”

you stop dead in your tracks, nearly causing a traffic jam in the hallway as students swerve around you. “choi beomgyu?” you ask, voice tinged with disbelief. “that choi beomgyu?”

your friend just nods, her expression suggesting she’s surprised you hadn’t noticed sooner.

“no way,” you mutter, shaking your head as you start walking again, though your pace is slower now, thoughts racing. “why would he—”

before you can finish the thought, you crash into something solid. something very solid. you stumble back, muttering a quick apology as you bow your head, but the words catch in your throat when you hear a low, almost lazy voice.

“meet me at the field later.”

you look up, startled, and find yourself staring into a pair of dark brown eyes, the kind that seem to see right through you. it takes you a moment to register who you’re looking at, but when you do, your heart skips a beat. choi beomgyu. the choi beomgyu.

he’s taller than you expected, his messy hair falling over his forehead in a way that’s almost annoyingly perfect. headphones hang around his neck, the kind that scream ‘i’m too cool to care about anything.’ you’re too busy taking in the details of his face—sharp jawline, slightly upturned lips, a faint scar on his eyebrow—to realize he’s still waiting for a response.

“so?” he prompts, raising an eyebrow.

“so?” you echo, still trying to wrap your mind around the fact that choi beomgyu is standing in front of you, talking to you.

“meet me at the field later,” he repeats, his voice dropping to a lower, more serious tone that sends a shiver down your spine.

“why would i?” you manage to say, though your voice doesn’t come out as confident as you’d hoped.

he just shrugs, like it doesn’t really matter to him whether you show up or not. then, without another word, he starts walking past you, his presence as overwhelming as the scent of his cologne lingering in the air.

“beomgyu!” you shout after him, more out of frustration than anything else. in a fit of impulse, you grab the nearest thing—your book—and throw it at him. it hits him square in the back, but he doesn’t even flinch. he just glances over his shoulder, smirks, and keeps walking like nothing happened.

“no way… you’re his target for this month?” your friend whispers, eyes wide as she watches the scene unfold.

“what the fuck is wrong with that guy?” you grumble, stomping over to pick up your book, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and anger. you clutch the book to your chest and head to your room, already dreading whatever chaos beomgyu is about to drag you into.

after a day of mentally wrestling with the absurdity of the situation, you find yourself standing in the middle of the field, arms crossed, glaring at beomgyu who’s leaning casually against a tree. the late afternoon sun casts a warm glow over the grass, but you’re too irritated to appreciate the scene.

“all right, i’m here,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady despite the anger bubbling under the surface. “let’s get this over with. what do you want?”

beomgyu straightens up, a lazy smile spreading across his face as he saunters over to you. “i’m glad you came,” he says, his tone almost too cheerful for your liking.

“don’t get used to it,” you snap back. “just tell me what you want so i can get on with my life.”

“well,” he starts, dragging out the word as if he’s savoring the moment, “i want you to be my girlfriend.”

you stare at him, blinking once, twice, as if you misheard him. “what?”

“you heard me,” he says, leaning in closer, his smile never wavering. “you. girlfriend. me.”

you can’t help but burst out laughing, the sound echoing across the empty field. “hell no! why would i do that? you can use any other girl on campus, why me?”

beomgyu’s smile fades slightly as he sighs, a sound that’s surprisingly genuine. “because if you don’t, i’ll tell your mom that you smoke.”

your laughter dies in your throat as the threat sinks in. “you wouldn’t.”

he raises an eyebrow, that infuriating smirk returning to his lips. “oh, i definitely would. you know how much your mom loves her position at the church. i see you every sunday, acting all sweet and innocent. i don’t think she’d be too happy to find out her little angel has a rebellious streak.”

your mind flashes back to that afternoon a few weeks ago. you were behind the campus, hidden by the trees, sneaking a cigarette to calm your nerves after a particularly rough exam. you thought you were alone—until you heard footsteps and turned to see beomgyu standing there, watching you with a knowing smirk. you had cursed under your breath and quickly stubbed out the cigarette, but the damage was done. he had seen you. and now, he was holding it over your head.

“you’re blackmailing me with this?” you ask incredulously, trying to wrap your head around the ridiculousness of the situation.

“desperate times call for desperate measures,” he says with a shrug, as if this is the most normal thing in the world.

“why?” you demand, crossing your arms tighter as you glare at him. “why do you even need a fake girlfriend?”

he sighs again, running a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. “i want to win her back,” he admits, his voice dropping slightly as if he’s embarrassed to say it out loud.

“who?” you ask, though you already have a sinking feeling you know the answer.

“mari,” he says, confirming your suspicion.

you scoff, remembering the campus gossip from a few weeks ago. everyone was talking about their breakup, how mari had dumped beomgyu out of the blue. some said she had grown tired of his playboy ways, others whispered that she had found someone better. you hadn’t paid much attention to it at the time—beomgyu’s love life was the least of your concerns—but now, it’s coming back to bite you.

“and you think dating me is going to make her jealous?” you ask, still incredulous at the audacity of his plan.

“exactly,” he says, a hint of desperation in his voice now. “she’s insecure about you. she’s envious of your achievements, your grades, how everyone seems to think you’re perfect. i know she’ll want me back if she thinks i’m dating you.”

you stare at him, mouth slightly open in disbelief. “are you fucking kidding me? why the hell would she be insecure about me? she’s mari. the girl who dumped you because you couldn’t keep it in your pants.”

beomgyu winces at your bluntness, but he doesn’t deny it. “look, i know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. she always felt like she couldn’t measure up to you, and if she sees us together, it’ll drive her nuts.”

you shake your head, backing away from him. “no way. i am not getting dragged into your drama. go find someone else to be your fake girlfriend, because i’m not interested. fuck off, beomgyu.”

you turn on your heel, ready to march off and leave this ridiculous conversation behind, but beomgyu calls after you, desperation creeping into his voice. “please. you’re the only one who can make this work.”

you pause, not because you’re considering it, but because you’re genuinely baffled by his persistence. “why me? why does it have to be me?”

he hesitates, then mutters, “because you’re the only one she’s ever seen as competition. if she thinks i’ve moved on to you, she’ll come running back.”

you blink at him, then let out a disbelieving laugh. “are you seriously asking me to pretend to date you just to win back some girl who’s insecure about me? you realize how insane that sounds, right?”

“i know,” he admits, looking genuinely frustrated now. “but it’s the only plan i’ve got. please, just think about it.”

“no,” you say firmly, shaking your head. “it doesn’t even make sense. i don’t know you, and you definitely don’t know me. there’s no way anyone would believe we’re actually dating. it’s just not going to work.”

you turn away from him for good this time. “i’m not going to be your pawn in some stupid game. you can deal with your own problems, beomgyu.”

and with that, you walk away, leaving him standing alone in the field, still trying to figure out how his plan went so wrong.

you walk away, determined to end this bizarre conversation, but beomgyu isn’t one to give up so easily. the next morning, you find him waiting for you outside your first class, leaning against the wall with a smug grin on his face.

“good morning, girlfriend,” he greets you, loud enough for a few students nearby to hear.

you glare at him, refusing to dignify his greeting with a response. instead, you push past him, but he quickly falls into step beside you, still grinning.

“so, did you think about it?” he asks, as if you’ve been considering his ridiculous proposal.

“not for a second,” you reply flatly, quickening your pace, but beomgyu easily keeps up with you.

“come on,” he coaxes, his tone almost teasing. “it’s not like i’m asking for much. just a little fake dating, a few hand-holding sessions, maybe a staged kiss or two...”

you stop walking and turn to face him, your patience already wearing thin. “beomgyu, do you honestly think that’s going to convince me? i have no interest in being part of your weird love triangle.”

“it’s not a triangle,” he corrects, as if that’s the main issue. “it’s more of a... strategic partnership. we both get something out of it.”

“and what exactly do i get out of this?” you ask, folding your arms. “other than a headache and a reputation i don’t want?”

“i’ll make sure you never have to stand in line at the cafeteria again,” he offers, grinning like he’s just proposed the deal of a lifetime. “plus, you’ll have the most popular guy on campus as your boyfriend. that’s gotta be worth something, right?”

“you mean the most annoying guy on campus,” you mutter, shaking your head. “no thanks, beomgyu.”

“okay, okay,” he says, raising his hands in mock surrender. “how about this: i’ll do all your homework for a month.”

“you can barely do your own homework,” you point out, continuing to walk.

“true,” he concedes, quickly catching up to you, “but i can get someone else to do it for me. i know people. you’ll get straight A's, guaranteed.”

“beomgyu, do you seriously think i’m that desperate?”

“desperate? no. smart? definitely,” he replies, that infuriating grin never leaving his face. “i mean, who wouldn’t want a personal assistant to take care of all the boring stuff?”

you stop again, turning to him with a deadpan expression. “do you hear yourself right now? do you really think any of this is convincing?”

he shrugs, not the least bit deterred. “i’m just trying to make it worth your while. besides, think about all the fun we could have. we can prank mari together, stage a dramatic breakup when it’s all over. i’ll even let you be the one to dump me in front of everyone.”

“tempting,” you say sarcastically, “but still a no.”

“you’re really making this difficult,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “what do i have to do to get you to say yes?”

“nothing,” you say firmly. “because it’s not happening. i’m not interested in fake dating you, or real dating you, or anything that involves you.”

he’s silent for a moment, his usual cocky demeanor slipping just a bit. “you know, i’m actually a decent guy when you get to know me.”

“i’m sure you are,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “but that doesn’t change the fact that i don’t want to be involved in your plan. besides, i don’t even know you, and you don’t know me. there's no way it would make sense that we would date.”

“then let’s get to know each other,” he says, a spark of determination in his eyes. “who knows? maybe you’ll actually like me.”

“highly doubtful,” you retort, turning to walk away again. “find someone else, beomgyu. i’m not interested.”

“but you’re the only one who can pull this off!” he calls after you, but you don’t bother responding.

you keep walking, determined to put as much distance between you and beomgyu as possible. but as you head to your next class, you can’t help but wonder how long he’s going to keep this up—and just how far he’s willing to go to get what he wants.

it’s a friday morning, and you’re already running late for your first class. the last thing you need is another encounter with beomgyu and his relentless pursuit of your agreement. as you swing open the door to your dorm room, ready to dart out, you freeze.

there he is. choi beomgyu, standing right outside your door with a bouquet of slightly wilted flowers in his hand. you groan inwardly, ready to tell him off again, but then you notice something—mari, the girl of his dreams, is also there, coming out of the room next door.

beomgyu straightens up immediately, his usually confident expression tinged with nervousness. he steps forward, holding out the flowers like a peace offering. “mari, these are for you,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

but mari doesn’t even glance at him. she just walks past, not even sparing him a second look. the flowers droop in his hand, along with his hopeful expression. he watches her walk away, the defeat so clear on his face that you almost feel bad for him. almost.

you find yourself stuck in place, watching this whole scene unfold. beomgyu’s shoulders slump, and he looks down at the flowers as if they’ve personally betrayed him. for a moment, he just stands there, staring at the empty hallway where mari disappeared, looking more lost than you’ve ever seen him.

against your better judgment, you feel a pang of sympathy. maybe he’s not just the arrogant playboy you’ve pegged him for. maybe he’s just a guy who got his heart broken and is trying desperately to fix it.

before you know it, you’re walking toward him. “beomgyu,” you call out, and his head snaps up, surprise flashing in his eyes when he sees you.

“hey,” he says, quickly trying to mask his disappointment with that familiar smirk. “come to finally say yes?”

“no,” you reply, but there’s less bite in your voice than usual. “i came to talk.”

his eyebrows shoot up, clearly not expecting that. “talk? about what? because if it’s about how ridiculous my plan is, i’ve already heard it.”

you roll your eyes. “no, idiot. i’m reconsidering your offer.”

he blinks at you, completely thrown off. “wait, what? you’re... considering it?”

“don’t make me repeat myself,” you snap, though there’s no real heat behind your words. “but before i say anything, we need to lay down some ground rules.”

beomgyu’s smirk returns, and he looks like a kid who just found out christmas came early. “oh, i’m all ears. name your terms.”

you cross your arms, trying to ignore the weird flutter in your chest as you meet his gaze. “first of all, no public displays of affection unless it’s absolutely necessary. and by necessary, i mean only when mari’s around.”

“deal,” he agrees instantly, like he’s already won.

“second, you keep your hands to yourself. no holding hands, no random hugs, and definitely no kissing.”

he holds up his hands in surrender. “got it. i’ll be on my best behavior.”

“third,” you continue, “this ‘relationship’ ends the second mari comes running back to you. no strings attached, no drama, we’re done. understood?”

“crystal clear,” beomgyu says, his grin widening. “so... does this mean you’re in?”

you hesitate, glancing down at the sad bouquet in his hand. it’s clear how much this means to him, even if it’s for the most ridiculous reason. you sigh, knowing full well you’re going to regret this.

“fine,” you mutter, avoiding his eyes. “but this is strictly business, okay?”

“of course,” he agrees, though you can see the glint of amusement in his eyes. “strictly business... with maybe a little bit of fun on the side?”

“no fun,” you correct him, trying to stay firm.

“right, right,” he nods, though his playful grin suggests otherwise. “so, when do we start, girlfriend?”

“don’t call me that,” you grumble, already regretting your decision.

“too late!” he singsongs, spinning around with a dramatic flourish. “oh, this is going to be so much fun.”

you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “what have i gotten myself into?”

“don’t worry,” beomgyu says, turning back to you with a wink. “you’ll thank me later. just wait till you see how jealous mari gets. she’s going to be begging me to take her back.”

“you’re delusional,” you mutter, but there’s no denying the tiny thrill of excitement that courses through you. maybe this won’t be so bad. or maybe it’ll be an absolute disaster. either way, you’re in for a wild ride.

“let’s get one thing straight,” you say, stepping closer to him, “i’m only doing this because i feel bad for you, not because i think it’s a good idea.”

“oh, i know,” beomgyu replies with a cheeky grin. “but by the end of this, you might just find out that fake dating me isn’t the worst thing in the world.”

“we’ll see about that,” you retort, but there’s a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “just don’t mess this up, okay?”

“me? mess up? never,” he declares, puffing out his chest like a cartoon character.

you shake your head, already wondering how you’re going to survive this ridiculous arrangement without losing your mind—or worse, your heart.

you’ve barely had time to wrap your head around this whole fake-dating scheme when beomgyu drags you to meet his friends. the walk to their usual hangout spot is filled with his relentless chatter, and you try to mentally prepare yourself for the chaos you’re about to walk into.

“okay, remember,” beomgyu says, stopping just outside the door to the coffee shop. “just act natural. they’re going to love you.”

“they better,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “if this blows up in our faces, i’m blaming you.”

he just grins, as if your words are a challenge he’s more than ready to take on. “don’t worry. you’ll be fine.”

before you can reply, he pushes the door open, and you’re hit with the sound of laughter and the smell of coffee. the coffee shop is cozy, filled with a mix of students and locals, but your attention is immediately drawn to the group of guys at the back, who are currently in a heated debate over something that sounds like video game stats.

“yo, guys!” beomgyu announces with an exaggerated flourish as you walk in beside him. “look who i brought!”

you’re greeted by a chorus of surprised, then curious, expressions. soobin is the first to speak, his eyes widening as he takes you in. “whoa, beomgyu, did you finally bring someone who isn’t a disaster?”

“hey!” you protest, though you’re more amused than offended.

“don’t worry,” beomgyu says, nudging you with a smirk. “she’s definitely not a disaster. this is y/n.”

yeonjun squints at you, then at beomgyu. “wait, you’re dating now? i thought this was all just a bad joke.”

“it’s not a joke,” beomgyu says smoothly. “we’re officially... pretending to be a couple.”

hueningkai blinks at him, then bursts into laughter. “oh, this is going to be good. you two look like a sitcom couple.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“don’t worry about it,” taehyun says with a grin. “it’s just hueningkai being hueningkai. so, what’s your story, y/n? what made you agree to date our resident playboy?”

you start to explain, but soobin cuts you off, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eye. “i bet you didn’t know beomgyu is a world-class procrastinator, right? he’s probably going to forget to call you or something.”

“hey!” beomgyu protests, looking genuinely offended. “i’m not that bad!”

“so, tell us,” yeonjun asks, his gaze shifting between you and beomgyu. “what’s the deal with this fake dating? is it a revenge scheme or something?”

“more or less,” you say, giving them a quick rundown of the situation. “beomgyu wants to make someone jealous, and he’s roped me into it.”

taehyun snorts, shaking his head. “classic beomgyu move. always the dramatic one.”

“hey!” beomgyu says again, though he’s trying to hold back a smile. “i’m not dramatic. i’m just... creative.”

“creative?” hueningkai asks, looking genuinely puzzled. “is that what we’re calling this?”

“let’s just say,” you say, deciding to join in the fun, “it’s been an interesting experience so far.”

as the conversation continues, it becomes clear that beomgyu’s friends are a lively bunch, each adding their own flavor of chaos to the mix. there are jokes, random interjections, and a lot of laughter. by the end of the meal, you’re starting to feel like part of the gang—or at least, like you’re not completely out of place.

as you and beomgyu leave the cafe, you find yourself laughing more than you expected. “your friends are... something else,” you say, shaking your head.

“they’re the best,” beomgyu says with a grin. “you did great, though. handled them better than i expected.”

“don’t get used to it,” you reply, though there’s a hint of warmth in your tone. “i’m just here to do a job.”

“sure, sure,” beomgyu says, nudging you playfully. “but i bet you had fun.”

“maybe,” you admit, smiling despite yourself. “just don’t make me do this every day.”

beomgyu's plan to make mari jealous starts to take on a life of its own. what began as a strategic move to win her back morphs into something more complicated as you and beomgyu spend more time together.

you two are in the library, ostensibly studying, but the moment mari walks by, beomgyu wraps his arm around you, pulling you close. you pretend to be engrossed in your notes, but you can’t help but notice the satisfied smirk on beomgyu's face as he leans into you.

“this spot is really quiet,” he says, his voice low. “better for studying together, don’t you think?”

“sure,” you reply, trying to sound disinterested but feeling the warmth of his closeness. “if you say so.”

mari glances over, her eyes narrowing slightly before she walks away. as soon as she's out of sight, beomgyu lets out a dramatic sigh and releases you.

“that was exhausting,” you say, rolling your eyes. “i’m pretty sure we were laying it on thick.”

“hey, we have to sell it,” beomgyu says with a grin. “besides, you did great. mari’s definitely jealous now.”

later that week, you find yourselves at the campus cafe, where you and beomgyu have a standing routine of grabbing coffee after class. beomgyu is, as usual, trying to make you laugh with his ridiculous anecdotes, while you’re genuinely enjoying his company.

“so,” beomgyu says, leaning across the table with a mischievous grin, “what’s the verdict? are you having fun pretending to be my girlfriend?”

“oh, definitely,” you say sarcastically. “it’s like living in a sitcom where i’m the unwilling star.”

“hey, i’m not that bad,” beomgyu protests. “i can be quite charming when i want to be.”

“sure,” you reply with a smirk, “just make sure you don’t charm yourself into a real relationship. i’d hate to see you fall for me.”

“not going to happen,” he says, shaking his head. “but thanks for playing along. mari’s definitely noticed.”

beomgyu starts driving you home after class, a gesture that feels almost normal by now. he’s blasting music and singing along, much to your amusement.

“do you always sing like you’re auditioning for a reality show?” you ask, laughing as he hits a high note.

“only when i’m with you,” he says with a wink. “keeps things interesting.”

when you arrive at your place, you both linger outside your door, chatting casually. but as soon as beomgyu’s car is out of sight, you find yourself glancing at your phone, half expecting a text from him.

one day, you’re waiting outside your last class for beomgyu to show up, and you spot him walking towards you with a bouquet of flowers. it’s all very cliché, but it’s also kind of sweet.

“seriously?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “flowers? is this part of the act?”

“yep,” beomgyu says with a grin. “i figured it might add a nice touch.”

you take the flowers, laughing despite yourself. “thanks, i guess. though i’m pretty sure this just makes us look like we’re in a rom-com.”

“yeah, whatever works,” beomgyu replies, shrugging. “besides, you look cute holding them.”

the more you two spend time together, the more natural it starts to feel. one day, you’re both in the middle of a heated debate about which pizza topping is superior. as you argue, you realize that you’re genuinely enjoying his company, and maybe you’re even starting to forget that this is all supposed to be fake.

“pineapple on pizza is a crime against humanity,” you declare, laughing as beomgyu tries to defend his preference.

“you’re just not cultured enough to appreciate it,” he says, rolling his eyes. “i bet you don’t even like pineapple in general.”

“it’s not about liking pineapple,” you reply. “it’s about the fact that putting it on pizza is just... wrong.”

“you’re wrong,” beomgyu says with a smirk. “and i’m right. end of story.”

“we’ll see about that,” you say, sticking out your tongue playfully.

as the weeks go by, the lines between fake and real start to blur. you catch yourself feeling excited when you see beomgyu, and you even start to look forward to his antics. one day, taehyun catches you and beomgyu in one of your usual playful arguments.

“so,” taehyun says with a smirk, “how’s the fake dating going?”

you and beomgyu exchange a glance, and beomgyu shrugs. “it’s going well. why do you ask?”

“just curious,” taehyun says, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “it looks like you two are having more fun than you let on.”

“we’re just getting into character,” beomgyu says with a grin. “nothing more, nothing less.”

“uh-huh,” taehyun says skeptically. “i’ll believe it when i see it.”

beomgyu’s plan to win mari back is working better than expected, and the fake dating is starting to feel oddly real. you and beomgyu have settled into a rhythm of constant interaction, and your fake relationship has begun to blur with reality.

one afternoon, you’re hanging out at a local park, where beomgyu has suggested you both go for a “romantic stroll” as part of your act. it’s a beautiful day, and you find yourself genuinely enjoying the time spent together.

“i have to admit,” you say, smiling as you walk side by side, “this isn’t half bad.”

“see, i told you,” beomgyu says with a grin. “it’s all about making the best of it.”

you’re both casually chatting about your favorite movies when you spot mari walking towards you. immediately, you cling to beomgyu, leaning into him with exaggerated affection. beomgyu plays along, draping his arm around you and pulling you closer.

“hey, did you miss me?” he asks with a playful wink.

“oh, absolutely,” you reply, looking up at him with faux adoration.

mari’s eyes flicker with annoyance before she quickly walks past. as soon as she’s gone, you and beomgyu burst into laughter.

“that was something,” you say, trying to catch your breath.

“yeah, she definitely noticed,” beomgyu agrees, still chuckling. “good job.”

sometimes, though, you both forget about the act entirely. one evening, you’re lounging on beomgyu’s couch, the room dimly lit by the flickering glow of the TV. the movie is playing softly, but neither of you are paying much attention to the plot. instead, you find yourselves more engrossed in the warmth of each other’s presence.

beomgyu is sprawled out comfortably, and you’re leaning against him, your head resting on his shoulder. the fabric of his hoodie feels soft and comforting against your cheek. you both shift slightly, trying to find the perfect angle that makes the moment feel even more intimate. his arm drapes over your shoulders, pulling you closer. the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each breath creates a soothing rhythm, and the scent of his cologne is faint but pleasant.

“wait,” beomgyu says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. he glances over at you with a mischievous grin. just as you were about to shift away, he gently cups your face in his hands, his palms warm against your skin. you freeze for a moment, your breath catching as his fingers lightly brush your hair away from your face. beomgyu’s touch is tender and surprisingly intimate, and he adjusts himself to make you more comfortable, guiding you back into a position where you can both settle in.

“you’re not going anywhere,” he murmurs, his voice low and soft. his touch lingers just a bit longer than necessary, and you can feel the warmth of his hands spreading through you. as you look up at him, his gaze is steady and affectionate, making you feel unexpectedly cherished. the room seems to shrink around you both, leaving only the gentle hum of the movie and the comforting presence of each other.

when taehyun sees you two like this, he can’t help but tease.

“hmm…” he murmurs with a smirk, “looks like the fake dating has become a bit too real.”

you and beomgyu exchange a glance, and beomgyu shrugs with a grin. “maybe. or maybe we’re just really good at this.”

“sure,” taehyun says, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “just remember, i’m watching.”

the night was comfortably cool, the perfect backdrop for a sleepover at soobin’s place. the living room was strewn with blankets and pillows, snacks scattered on the coffee table, and the remnants of a half-finished pizza sat in a greasy box nearby. the boys—yeonjun, soobin, beomgyu, taehyun, and hueningkai—were lounging around, their limbs tangled in a mess of relaxed exhaustion. they’d spent the evening playing games, arguing over who had the best strategy, and yelling at the screen during the latest action movie they’d decided to watch. the room buzzed with the warmth of camaraderie and the occasional burst of laughter.

“i’m telling you, that boss was a complete cheat,” yeonjun groaned, stretching out on the floor with a hand thrown dramatically over his eyes. “like, how are we supposed to beat something that can regenerate every five seconds?”

soobin chuckled from where he was sitting against the couch, a game controller still in his hand. “you just have to be good, yeonjun.”

“says the guy who died like five times before i even got to the boss fight,” yeonjun shot back, making the others snicker.

“hey, i was figuring out the strategy!” soobin protested, but even he was laughing now.

“yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that,” taehyun added with a smirk as he sprawled out on the other side of the couch, idly tossing a pillow in the air and catching it.

hueningkai, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for a while, suddenly piped up, “so, beomgyu, how’s the whole fake dating thing going with you and y/n?”

at the mention of your name, all eyes turned to beomgyu, who had been absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. he looked up, a slightly startled expression on his face, before a casual smile spread across his lips.

“oh, it’s going pretty well, actually,” beomgyu replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “we’ve been doing our thing, you know, making sure mari sees us together and all that. she definitely seems to be noticing.”

“is she jealous yet?” yeonjun asked, leaning in with a mischievous glint in his eye.

beomgyu hesitated for a moment before shrugging. “i think so? she’s been giving us weird looks every time she sees us together. i’d say the plan is working.”

“but how’s it working for you?” soobin asked, an eyebrow raised. “like, do you actually enjoy spending time with y/n, or is it just all for the show?”

beomgyu opened his mouth to respond, but hueningkai beat him to it, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched his friend. “you seem to be enjoying it a lot,” hueningkai said, his voice light but pointed. “like, when you were just talking about it now, you looked… happy.”

beomgyu blinked, caught off guard by the observation. “what? no, i mean, yeah, it’s fun. y/n’s cool to hang out with and all, but it’s just for the plan, you know? to make mari jealous.”

“is it, though?” taehyun asked, tilting his head with a curious expression. “because you seemed way more into talking about y/n than you did when you mentioned mari.”

beomgyu frowned, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “what are you talking about? of course i’m focused on mari. that’s the whole point.”

“but are you?” soobin chimed in, leaning forward with a thoughtful look. “because from what we’ve seen, it looks like you’re more focused on y/n these days.”

“you even stopped mentioning mari’s name in the group chat,” yeonjun added with a teasing grin. “but you bring up y/n all the time. and don’t think we didn’t notice you humming that song she likes the other day.”

beomgyu’s mouth opened and closed, struggling to find the right words. “okay, maybe i’ve been spending a lot of time with y/n, but that’s because of the plan. we have to make it convincing, right?”

hueningkai shook his head, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “you’re convincing someone, all right. but i’m not sure if it’s mari.”

“oh, come on, guys,” beomgyu said, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his tone. “you’re reading way too much into this. i’m just playing my part.”

“sure,” taehyun said, his voice dripping with skepticism. “but here’s the thing—sometimes people get a little too into character, if you know what i mean.”

beomgyu’s gaze flickered between his friends, his mind racing to come up with a counterargument. but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that they might be onto something. lately, he had found himself looking forward to spending time with you, even when it wasn’t necessary for the plan. he enjoyed your banter, the way you laughed at his stupid jokes, the way you leaned into him when you were watching movies together. but surely that didn’t mean anything… right?

“i’m not… i’m not falling for her, if that’s what you’re trying to say,” beomgyu finally said, though his voice lacked the usual confidence. “i’m just… having fun with the whole thing. it’s all part of the game.”

“hmm,” yeonjun hummed, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “if you say so, but don’t be surprised if you wake up one day and realize you’re actually into y/n.”

“that’s not going to happen,” beomgyu insisted, crossing his arms over his chest. “we have an agreement. we’re just helping each other out.”

“whatever helps you sleep at night,” soobin said with a chuckle, shaking his head. “just don’t come crying to us when you realize you’ve caught feelings.”

“i’m not catching feelings,” beomgyu muttered, though his voice sounded less convincing by the second.

the conversation drifted to other topics, but the doubt lingered in beomgyu’s mind. he replayed his interactions with you, trying to convince himself that it was all just part of the act. but as his friends continued to laugh and joke around him, beomgyu found his thoughts drifting back to you, to the warmth of your smile, the comfort of your presence.

and for the first time, he wasn’t so sure if he was just playing a part anymore.

as the week went on, the lines between what was real and what was pretend began to blur for beomgyu. it started subtly, with small moments that seemed insignificant at first but gradually became more difficult to ignore.

the first time was when you both were walking home from campus. the sun was setting, casting a warm glow over everything, and for once, you weren’t paying attention to whether mari was around. beomgyu had his hands shoved in his pockets, trying to act casual, but then you stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk. without thinking, beomgyu reached out and grabbed your hand, steadying you. instead of letting go, you kept your fingers intertwined with his, and you both walked the rest of the way like that, your hands swinging gently between you. neither of you said anything about it, but beomgyu couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at his lips.

a few days later, you invited beomgyu over to your place to help with some studying. you had an important test coming up, and beomgyu had offered to help you review the material. you both sat on your bed, textbooks spread out in front of you, but as the hours passed, the studying slowly turned into something else. you started playfully quizzing each other, turning the most boring facts into jokes that had you both laughing until your sides hurt. at some point, beomgyu’s head ended up on your lap, and you absentmindedly started running your fingers through his hair while you talked about everything except the test. it felt natural, easy—like you’d done this a thousand times before. neither of you even noticed the time passing until it was late, and beomgyu found himself reluctant to leave.

another day had passed, you and beomgyu are slumped at your place again for another study session. the day had been long and exhausting, and you both needed a break from the relentless grind of academic life. you set up in your room, where you both sank into the comfortable chaos of textbooks and notes strewn about.

as you worked side by side, the air between you felt charged with a different kind of energy than usual. your conversations had taken on a more personal tone, and you found yourselves laughing and teasing each other more frequently. the proximity of being so close, sitting on the edge of your bed with barely any space between you, felt oddly intimate.

eventually, you found yourselves lying back against the pillows, the study session long forgotten. the room was dimly lit by the soft glow of your desk lamp, casting shadows on the walls. you were discussing something trivial, your faces only inches apart, when the conversation started to drift away from the mundane and towards something more personal.

beomgyu’s gaze dropped to your lips, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite place. he reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, and the touch was surprisingly gentle. your breath caught, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause around you.

he moved closer, and you felt the warmth of his breath against your skin. it was as if the entire room had shrunk to just the two of you. his lips were so close to yours that you could almost feel the softness of them, but just before the kiss could happen, you instinctively pulled back.

“beomgyu…” you began, but your voice trailed off, unsure of how to voice the confusion and intensity of the moment.

beomgyu didn’t pull away. instead, he held your hand to the side, his fingers intertwined with yours. his eyes were searching yours, and then he slowly lowered his forehead to rest against yours. the touch was light, almost electric, and it made your heart race in a way you hadn’t expected.

he smiled, a goofy, tender smile that seemed to light up his whole face. “we should probably stop before we both do something we’ll regret,” he murmured, his voice warm and soft.

you couldn’t help but smile back, despite the whirlwind of emotions stirring inside you. “yeah,” you said, though the word felt inadequate to describe the mix of feelings bubbling up.

you stayed like that for a while, foreheads touching, hands clasped, sharing a quiet, intimate moment that felt like it was suspended in time. it wasn’t quite a kiss, but it was something that seemed to say more than words ever could. the tension between you both was palpable, but for now, this closeness was enough.

by the end of the week, you both had a habit of texting each other goodnight, a ritual that wasn’t part of the original plan. it had started as a simple check-in, a way to make sure you were both still on the same page with the whole fake dating thing. but soon, the texts became longer, more personal. you’d talk about your day, share random thoughts, and sometimes even vent about things that were bothering you. one night, as you both lay in your respective beds, you texted him about how stressed you were about an upcoming project. without thinking, beomgyu called you, his voice soft and comforting as he reassured you that you’d do great. you talked on the phone until you were both too tired to keep your eyes open, and as you said goodnight, beomgyu realized that he was looking forward to these conversations more than anything else.

each of these moments felt like something more, something real, but neither of you acknowledged it. you both continued the act, telling yourselves that it was all for mari’s sake, but the truth was becoming harder to deny. the time you spent together wasn’t about making someone else jealous anymore—it was about enjoying each other’s company, about the comfort and happiness you found in each other. and the more it happened, the less beomgyu could ignore the fact that his feelings were beginning to shift.

you’re sprinting down the hallways to beomgyu’s dorm room, the excitement bubbling inside you like a pot about to boil over. you’ve agreed to have dinner together, and for some reason, today feels different. the anticipation is almost palpable, and you find yourself grinning as you approach his door.

when you reach his room, beomgyu is already standing outside, waiting for you. as soon as he sees you, his face lights up with a warm, genuine smile. his arms open wide, and you don’t hesitate to leap into his embrace. the hug is snug and comforting, and you relish the moment, closing your eyes and breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne. it feels like a slice of normalcy in the midst of everything else.

but after a few moments, the cozy warmth of the hug starts to feel a bit too intense. you pull back slightly, your mind suddenly racing. why did you react so eagerly? and why were you so excited to see beomgyu in the first place? there’s no way in hell that mari is here, so why did you just jump into his arms like that?

you push the thoughts aside and try to focus on the dinner ahead. beomgyu chats about the new place he found for dinner, and you laugh at his enthusiastic descriptions. but the question lingers in your mind, gnawing at you throughout the evening.

as soon as you woke up the next morning, you decide you need to talk to someone about these confusing feelings. you meet up with your friend in the library, a quiet spot where you can discuss things without too much interruption. you settle into a corner with a stack of textbooks and a cup of coffee, you spill everything. you recount the moments with beomgyu, the playful arguments, the unexpected intimacy, and the recent realization of your growing attachment. you talk about how he’s started to feel like more than just a partner in a fake relationship.

your friend listens intently, her expression shifting from curiosity to something more knowing as you speak. when you finish, she leans back, taking a sip of her coffee before giving you a serious look.

“uh… girl,” she starts, her tone a mix of sympathy and amusement, “you like him.”

the words hit you like a ton of bricks. you stare at her, feeling as if the ground beneath you has suddenly given way. flashbacks of your time with beomgyu flood your mind—his laughter, the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel. the memories you’d convinced yourself were just part of the act now seem so much more significant.

“no,” you say, shaking your head, trying to deny it, but the truth is clear in your heart. “no way. it’s just—”

“it’s not just anything,” your friend interrupts gently. “you’re not just pretending anymore. you’re feeling something real.”

the weight of her words settles over you, and you find yourself sinking into a deep realization. everything you’ve felt for beomgyu, the warmth, the excitement, the moments of genuine connection—they’re not just part of the act. they’ve become something real, something beyond the pretense you started with.

you sit in silence, trying to process the overwhelming truth. the fake relationship you thought was just a game has turned into something you can’t ignore. and now, more than ever, you’re forced to confront the fact that your feelings for beomgyu are anything but fake. your friend reaches over, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “so what are you going to do?”

before you can answer, beomgyu walks into the library, a casual smile on his face. he’s clearly lost in thought, and before you can react, he leans down and plants a soft kiss on your forehead. the gesture is so natural, so unguarded, that it makes your heart skip a beat.

your friend’s eyes widen at the sight, and you feel yourself blushing furiously. you force a smile and quickly stand up, pulling beomgyu out of the library. “hey, let’s go. we’ve got plans.”

beomgyu looks at you with a puzzled expression, but he follows your lead. as you walk down the hall, you can’t help but replay the kiss in your mind, your friend’s words echoing in your ears. you’re left grappling with the realization that your feelings for beomgyu are more than just part of the fake relationship you started. you’re walking side by side with beomgyu, your mind racing with thoughts and emotions. the kiss on your forehead from earlier still lingers in your mind, and the weight of your friend's revelation feels heavier with every step.

as you reach a quiet corner of the campus, you finally stop, turning to face beomgyu. he looks at you, his expression open and curious.

“beomgyu,” you start, trying to steady your voice, “why do you keep doing things like that? like kissing me on the forehead or hugging me? it’s starting to feel... more real, and I need to understand why.”

beomgyu’s face flushes slightly, and he looks genuinely perplexed. “what do you mean? i thought we were just playing the part. i didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“it is a big deal!” you snap, your frustration boiling over. “i thought this was just a game, but it’s like you’re crossing lines without realizing it. and now, i’m confused about everything. about us.”

beomgyu’s eyes widen in surprise, and he opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off. “you keep acting like you care, but when i try to talk about it, you just brush it off. what am i supposed to think?”

the argument escalates, voices rising as you both express your frustrations. emotions are raw and tangled, and neither of you is entirely sure how to untangle them.

just as you’re about to turn and walk away, beomgyu reaches out and grabs your hand, his grip gentle but firm. “wait,” he says quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “i… i don’t know why i do that myself.”

the simple, honest admission hits you hard. your eyes fill with tears, and you struggle to keep your composure. you were expecting something that would make you want to run into his arms, to hear something that would make sense of your feelings. but instead, his words are a confirmation of your fears—that he’s just as confused as you are.

you pull your hand away, your tears threatening to spill over. “if you don’t know why you’re doing this, then how am i supposed to understand? i need more than uncertainty, beomgyu. i need to know where we stand.”

beomgyu looks at you, his own confusion evident. “but... i thought... i thought we had something. i wanted to... i don’t know, i wanted to be close to you. is this too much?”

the sincerity in his voice makes your heart ache, but you can’t ignore the clarity you need. you take a step back, shaking your head. “well then i need to figure things out for myself, i guess. let go of my hand, please.”

with that, you turn and walk away, leaving beomgyu standing there, his face a mixture of hurt and confusion. he watches you go, the weight of the moment settling heavily on his shoulders. he’s left alone, grappling with his own tangled feelings and the realization that he doesn’t have all the answers.

as you disappear from view, beomgyu is left in a storm of his own emotions. he’s unsure of what he really wants or why he’s acted the way he has, but he knows he misses the clarity and the connection he had with you.

just like that, you were gone from beomgyu’s life. each day without him felt like a piece of you had been torn away, leaving a raw ache that settled deep in your bones. it was an emptiness that you didn’t know how to fill, a gnawing pain that woke you up in the middle of the night and made your days feel like a blur. you tried to push it away, to ignore the memories that crept in at the edges of your mind, but they were relentless. the way beomgyu had looked at you, the way he had said he thought you had something—it haunted you. it made you feel sick to your stomach, a twisting, nauseating sensation that wouldn’t leave.

this wasn’t what you had planned. none of this was supposed to happen. you were supposed to play the part, help him out, and move on. you weren’t supposed to fall in love with him.

the last day of the week finally arrived, and with it came the same dull ache that had been with you since you last spoke to beomgyu. you had been avoiding him, avoiding his friends, avoiding everything that reminded you of him. but it was impossible to avoid your own thoughts. they swirled around you, suffocating and relentless.

you hadn’t planned on seeing beomgyu again so soon, but he had tried to talk to you just a day after your confrontation. you had thought that maybe, just maybe, you could clear the air. but it had only made everything worse.

the memory of that conversation played over and over in your mind like a broken record.

“what are we, really? what do you want us to be?” you had asked him, your voice trembling with nerves. you hated how vulnerable you felt, how exposed.

he had looked down, his brows furrowed as if he was deep in thought. but to you, it felt like he was stalling, like he didn’t know what to say—or worse, like he didn’t care enough to say anything.

“you’re still in love with her, right?” the words had slipped out before you could stop them. you had forced a smile, trying to lighten the mood, but it felt hollow. “funny of me, i almost forgot why we’re here in the first place.”

he didn’t respond, and his silence felt like a knife twisting in your chest.

“well,” you had said, standing up to leave, “i guess we can let everybody know that we’ve already broken up, yeah?” you tried to sound casual, but your voice wavered.

that’s when he had finally looked up, and you had seen it—his eyes were red, swollen, like he had spent the night crying. your heart had twisted at the sight, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him about it. you had convinced yourself it was because of mari.

“what?” he had whispered, his voice cracking.

“let’s break the deal. this is where we draw the line, beomgyu.” you had forced a smile, trying to hide the tears that were threatening to spill over. “one of our deals was not to fall, right? well, it broke. i broke it.”

you had laughed bitterly, trying to brush it off, but the pain was too real, too raw.

and then, in the softest whisper, he had said, “and if i told you i broke it first?”

you hadn’t heard him clearly. the wind had chosen that exact moment to gust past, carrying his words away. “what?” you had asked, your heart pounding in your chest, desperate to understand, but at the same time terrified of what he might say.

he chuckled to himself, a bitter, hollow sound that made your skin prickle with unease. it was as if the universe had conspired against him, against the both of you, making sure that this moment, this crucial confession, was lost to the wind. the absurdity of it all struck him, and his chuckle turned into a resigned laugh, a sound that held no joy, only the weight of what could have been.

“what?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper, the situation feeling more and more surreal by the second. the laughter that bubbled out of him only deepened the confusion, as if the universe was playing some cruel joke on you both.

but he had stayed silent after that, his gaze dropping to the ground, a heavy, unspoken truth lingering in the space between you. it was like he had accepted the inevitable, that the universe had already made its decision, and fighting it was pointless.

you stood there for a moment, waiting, hoping he might say something—anything—that would make sense of this mess, but nothing came. the silence was deafening, a void that swallowed any last remnants of hope you had left.“i’m going now,” you finally said, your voice trembling as you turned your back on him, trying to keep your composure. you couldn’t bear to stay any longer, not when the weight of unspoken words hung so heavily in the air. “congrats on winning her again in advance.”

and with those words, you walked away, leaving beomgyu standing there, the echo of your footsteps fading into the distance as he watched you disappear. a part of you hoped he would call out to you, stop you, explain himself. but he didn’t, and that silence spoke louder than any words ever could. you didn’t see the way beomgyu looked at you, didn’t hear him whisper, “fucking coward…” to himself.

since that day, you had done everything you could to avoid him. but rumors had a way of finding you, and when you heard that mari had been seen with beomgyu again, it had felt like a punch to the gut. you had told yourself it was just gossip, that people were reading too much into things. but now, standing there in the hallway, frozen in place, you couldn’t deny what you were seeing.

there they were—mari and beomgyu, walking together, her arm looped around his as if nothing had ever happened, as if you had never existed in his life.

fuck.

the sight of them together sent a wave of nausea crashing over you. you barely made it to the nearest bathroom before the bile rose in your throat. you retched, your stomach heaving violently, but nothing came out. it wasn’t food poisoning or heartburn. it was heartbreak, pure and simple, tearing you apart from the inside out.

you gripped the edge of the sink, breathing heavily, trying to steady yourself. you couldn’t let this get to you. you were stronger than this. you knew these feelings would fade eventually, but right now, they felt like they were drowning you.

you splashed cold water on your face, trying to wash away the tears that had mingled with your sweat. when you looked up into the mirror, you barely recognized the person staring back at you. your eyes were red-rimmed, your face pale, and you looked… broken.

“get a grip,” you whispered to yourself, your voice shaky. “you’re more than this. you’re more than him.”

but even as you said the words, you didn’t believe them. the image of mari wrapped around beomgyu was seared into your mind, a painful reminder that you had fallen for someone who was never yours to begin with.

you took a deep breath, trying to gather your strength. you couldn’t fall apart now. not when you had been so close to moving on, to putting this all behind you. but the truth was, you weren’t ready. you didn’t know when you would be. all you knew was that the pain was still there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for any excuse to pull you back under.

as you stared at your reflection, you realized that you had two choices. you could let this destroy you, or you could find a way to move on. but how do you move on from something that was never real to begin with? how do you heal from a wound that was self-inflicted, from a love that was built on lies?

the questions swirled in your mind, unanswered and unrelenting. you didn’t have the answers yet, but you knew one thing for certain—you couldn’t keep going like this. something had to change. you had to find a way to let go of beomgyu, even if it felt like tearing your own heart out in the process.

the days passed slowly, each one dragging you further into a state of numbness. it was as if the world had lost its color, everything dull and muted in the wake of your heartbreak. and every time you saw beomgyu with mari, that numbness would briefly be shattered, replaced by a sharp, stabbing pain that left you breathless.

the first time after that hallway encounter, you saw them at the coffee shop near campus. they were sitting at a table by the window, mari laughing at something beomgyu had said. you froze in your tracks, heart pounding in your chest. and then beomgyu looked up, his eyes meeting yours. there was something in his gaze, something you couldn’t quite place. it wasn’t guilt, but it wasn’t indifference either. it was something that made your stomach twist in knots, something you didn’t want to identify, didn’t want to recognize.

you quickly turned away, pretending you hadn’t seen them, and hurried out of the coffee shop, your chest tight with the effort of holding back tears.

the next time, it was in the library. you had been trying to focus on your work, burying yourself in your studies to distract yourself from the thoughts of beomgyu that never seemed to leave you alone. and then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw them—mari and beomgyu, walking down one of the aisles, his hand resting lightly on her back as they searched for a book.

you tried to look away, to focus on the words in front of you, but your eyes betrayed you, flickering back to them again and again. and then, as if he could feel your gaze, beomgyu looked over at you. again, that look. that look that held something you couldn’t decipher, something that made your heart clench painfully in your chest.

you quickly gathered your things and left the library, your hands shaking as you tried to hold yourself together.

and then there was the time in the cafeteria, when you saw them sitting together at a table, sharing a meal. beomgyu’s eyes met yours as soon as you walked in, and for a moment, it felt like the whole world had stopped. there was that look again, the one that made you feel like you were on the verge of understanding something, but the moment you reached for it, it slipped away, leaving you more confused and hurt than before.

you didn’t stay in the cafeteria. you couldn’t. you turned on your heel and walked out, the ache in your chest growing stronger with each passing day.

it was unbearable, this constant reminder of what you had lost, of what you had never truly had in the first place. and every time you saw them together, it felt like a fresh wound, reopening the pain you had been trying so hard to heal.

but what hurt the most was that look in beomgyu’s eyes. that look that you couldn’t understand, that you didn’t want to understand. because deep down, you knew that if you tried to figure it out, if you tried to decipher what it meant, you would only end up hurting yourself more.

so you avoided him as best you could, avoided the places you knew he would be, avoided the people who might mention him. but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t avoid the memories, couldn’t avoid the thoughts that haunted you day and night.

and every time you saw him, every time you caught that look in his eyes, it felt like the ground was slipping out from under you, like you were falling all over again. but this time, there was no one to catch you. no one to stop the pain from tearing you apart.and so, you kept running, kept trying to escape the feelings that threatened to consume you. but no matter how far you ran, you couldn’t outrun the truth. you had fallen for beomgyu, and now you were paying the price.

you were tucked away in the quietest corner of the library, the soft rustle of pages turning the only sound accompanying your thoughts. you’d chosen this spot deliberately, hoping to escape into your books and leave everything else behind. but even in the silence, your mind was anything but quiet. every word you read seemed to dissolve into thoughts of him—of beomgyu, and the way he had infiltrated your every waking moment.

the door to the library creaked open, but you didn’t look up. you heard footsteps approaching, slow and deliberate, until they stopped right beside you. the chair opposite you scraped against the floor as it was pulled out. you didn’t need to look to know who it was. you could tell by the way the air seemed to shift around you, by the way your pulse quickened involuntarily.

“mari’s not here,” you said flatly, eyes still fixed on the page in front of you.

“i know,” beomgyu’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “i’m not here for her.”

“then who?” you finally turned a page, though you hadn’t read a single word.

“you. i need to talk to you.”

you clenched your jaw, refusing to look at him. “we’ve already talked.”

there was a brief pause, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer. “please?”

“what did i say?” you mumbled, your resolve wavering slightly.

he shifted in his seat, leaning closer. “can you at least look at me while you say it?” he whispered, the proximity of his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his words pressing against your heart. “fine,” you said, finally lifting your gaze to meet his. “no. i don’t want to talk to you.”

beomgyu’s eyes searched yours, as if trying to find something, anything, that might contradict your words. “come on,” he said softly, his voice laced with a kind of desperation you weren’t used to hearing from him. “one last time?”

you stared at him for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest. “say it here,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

beomgyu bit his lip, his expression troubled as he looked down at the table, gathering his thoughts. He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling as if he was about to say something that had been weighing on him for a long time. “look, i know you’ve been seeing mari and i around these past few days and—”

“and i don’t care,” you cut him off, the words coming out harsher than you intended. you looked away again, trying to ignore the sting of tears that threatened to spill.

he pursed his lips, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. “i know you don’t,” he said quietly. “but i… i care about what you think.”

his words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of your lungs. you froze, your mind reeling as you tried to comprehend what he had just said. there was something in his voice, something raw and vulnerable that you hadn’t expected. and just like that, all the walls you had built around your heart started to crumble.

panic surged through you, and without thinking, you stood up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. you didn’t care that people were staring, didn’t care about the noise you’d made. all you cared about was getting away from him, from the confusion and the pain that threatened to consume you.

you ran out of the library, your footsteps echoing through the empty halls as you made your way to the school field. the sky was already painted in hues of gray and blue as the sun began to set, but you barely noticed. you stopped in the middle of the field, doubling over as you tried to catch your breath, your heart pounding in your chest.

you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force the tears back, but it was no use. they fell anyway, hot and heavy, as you let out a shaky breath. you hated this feeling, this sinking sensation in your chest that made you feel like you were being swallowed whole. why did he have to say that? why did he have to make things even more complicated when you were already trying so hard to move on?

you exhaled loudly, swiping at the tears that kept escaping despite your best efforts. and then you heard it—the sound of footsteps pounding against the grass, getting closer and closer. you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. you could feel his presence before you even saw him.

when you finally did turn, there he was—beomgyu, panting as he stopped in his tracks a few feet away from you. his hair was slightly disheveled, and there was a desperate look in his eyes that made your heart twist painfully in your chest.

“why do you have to do this?” you asked, your voice cracking.

“do what?” beomgyu said, still trying to catch his breath.

“this,” you gestured between the two of you, your voice thick with emotion. “why can’t you just leave me alone?”

he looked at you, his brows furrowed in confusion. “what do you mean?”

“fuck, can’t you understand that i’m avoiding you?” you said, your voice rising with frustration.

“i know,” he admitted, his eyes never leaving yours. “that’s what i’m wondering.”

you let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “wondering? you’re actually wondering why i’m avoiding you?”

“yes,” he said, his voice tinged with desperation. “why? why are you avoiding me?”

before you could answer, a loud crack of thunder echoed in the distance, and as if on cue, the sky opened up, rain pouring down in thick sheets. you could barely hear anything over the roar of the storm, but you could still hear him. you could still hear the hurt in his voice, the confusion, the desperation.

“you’re supposed to be fine now,” you said, your voice trembling. “mari’s back. you have her back already. don’t break a sweat over me.”

beomgyu took a step closer, the rain soaking through his clothes, but he didn’t seem to care. “why did you stop seeing me after that day?” he asked, his voice barely audible over the downpour.

you shook your head, refusing to meet his gaze. “didn’t you hear me? go back to mari now.”

but he didn’t move. instead, he took another step closer, his eyes locked onto yours. “why did you stop seeing me after that day?” he asked again, his voice firmer this time, demanding an answer.

you swallowed hard, your heart racing in your chest. you could feel the tears mixing with the rain on your cheeks, could feel the way your resolve was slowly crumbling under his gaze. “because i crossed the line,” you finally whispered, the words barely making it past your lips.

beomgyu’s eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, he was silent, the rain continuing to pour down around you. then, he spoke, his voice soft, almost tender. “did you even ask if i crossed the line too?”

you looked up at him, your breath catching in your throat. “what?” you asked, your voice barely audible over the rain.

“you didn’t even ask if i crossed the line too,” he repeated, his eyes searching yours for some kind of understanding.

“why would i?” you asked, your voice wavering. “why would i ask that?”

“because i was waiting,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “i was waiting for you to ask me. until now. i was waiting, y/n.”

you stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. the rain was coming down harder now, soaking through your clothes, but you barely noticed. all you could see was him—all you could hear were his words, echoing in your mind.

“waiting for what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, could feel the way his words were slowly breaking down the walls you had built around your heart.

beomgyu took another step closer, and now he was only inches away from you. his hand reached out, hesitating for a moment before gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that had mixed with the rain. “i was waiting for you to ask me,” he repeated softly, his voice full of emotion. “because i wanted you to know that i crossed the line too. i crossed it the moment i realized i cared about you more than i ever cared about anyone else.”

your breath hitched in your throat, your mind reeling as you tried to process his words. “what are you saying?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“i’m saying that mari and i aren’t back together,” beomgyu said, his eyes locked onto yours. “we never were. we both decided we didn’t want to get back together. and do you know why?”

you shook your head, unable to speak, unable to think.

“because i realized that what i wanted—what i needed—was you,” he said, his voice breaking slightly on the last word.

you felt your heart skip a beat, your breath catching in your throat. “beomgyu…” you started, but he cut you off.

“no, listen to me,” he said, his voice urgent. “i know i’ve hurt you. i know i’ve made mistakes. but i need you to understand that this… this thing between us, it’s not something i can just ignore. it’s not something i want to ignore.”

“but i can’t…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“why?” beomgyu asked, his eyes searching yours, desperate for an answer.

“yeah, i was also wondering why?” yeonjun’s voice snapped him back to reality, breaking the heavy silence with an uncomfortable question. his arm was lazily draped around his girlfriend’s shoulder, fingers tracing slow circles on her arm like it was the easiest thing in the world.

beomgyu’s shoulders tensed. he tried to shrug it off, but the weight of the past still clung to him, suffocating. “i don’t know,” he muttered, forcing a weak smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “can we just... change the topic?”

his friends exchanged glances. the table fell into an awkward silence, the kind that makes you painfully aware of every second dragging by. beomgyu could feel the weight of their stares, each one laced with concern, curiosity... and pity. god, he hated pity.

soobin was the first to speak up, his voice soft but probing, “don’t tell us you still haven’t moved on?”

beomgyu’s jaw clenched. he didn’t answer. instead, he dropped his gaze to his phone, scrolling aimlessly through the home screen—anything to avoid meeting their eyes. the memories of you, of that night, of your final words, were like ghosts that refused to leave him alone.

“come on, gyu,” taehyun chimed in, leaning forward with that look of hesitant sympathy. “it’s been years. you can’t keep... holding on.”

but beomgyu didn’t respond. his thumb hovered over the screen, frozen. he couldn’t tell them that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t let go. that the thought of you—your voice, your smile, your scent—still haunted him.

and then, he heard it. a voice. not just any voice, but a name, your name, cutting through the low hum of the party like a punch to the gut.

his heart stuttered. slowly, he lifted his head, searching through the crowd, scanning faces. and that’s when he saw you. or rather, your back—long, wavy hair cascading down, brushing just above your waist. you were wearing a black silk dress, elegant and simple, the kind of dress that made you look effortlessly beautiful.

he blinked, trying to convince himself he was hallucinating, that it couldn’t be you. but then you turned.

and there it was. that smile. the smile he hadn’t seen in years but could still picture perfectly.

the room around him seemed to blur, the voices of his friends fading into the background. everything, everyone, became a distant hum as his eyes locked onto you. it was like the world had pressed pause, and all that existed was you.

“gyu?” yeonjun’s girlfriend whispered, gently nudging him. “you okay?”

he wasn’t. he wasn’t okay at all.

because there you were, laughing, hugging someone, completely unaware of him, and it hit him all over again. the overwhelming realization that you had moved on, that your life had continued without him in it. the years of unanswered questions, of wondering what could’ve been, came crashing down.

“is that...?” kai trailed off, squinting at you from across the room.

“it is,” soobin said quietly. “it’s y/n.”

beomgyu swallowed hard. his throat was dry, his palms clammy. he didn’t know what to do, how to react. he had imagined this moment—seeing you again—a hundred times in his head. but none of those versions had prepared him for the way his heart would ache, seeing you look so... happy.

he caught a glimpse of your face as you turned, your smile lighting up the room—god, that smile. it was the same one that used to make his heart race, the one he’d replay in his mind for years after you disappeared. but this time, something was different. you weren’t just any girl in the crowd; you were you, the one person who knew him in ways no one else ever could.

his heart pounded in his chest as your eyes flickered over to him, and for a split second, your gazes locked. there was a flash of something in your eyes—something unmistakable, like recognition mixed with longing—but then, almost instantly, you looked away, breaking the connection as if it had burned you.

beomgyu’s breath caught. he saw it, that hesitation, that tiny crack in the facade. it wasn’t just indifference; it was fear. fear of what? of him? of the past? or maybe—just perhaps—of the feelings you were trying so hard to bury.

you turned to the friend beside you, laughing at something she said, but beomgyu knew. he knew that look, that nervous shift in your posture, the way your fingers tugged at the hem of your dress as if grounding yourself. you were avoiding him—not because you didn’t care, but because you cared too much.

and that realization hit him harder than he expected.

he wanted to walk over, to say something, anything that could close the distance between you, but his legs felt like lead. the years of unresolved tension, the things left unsaid, all weighed down on him, keeping him rooted in place.

“gyu?” soobin’s voice broke through his daze, soft and full of concern. “you okay, man?”

but beomgyu barely heard him. his mind was consumed by the look you had given him, the way you’d turned away, not out of indifference, but out of fear. you were scared—just like him.

and now, for the first time in years, he wasn’t sure whether that made things easier... or infinitely harder.

you knew it was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened. after a few polite exchanges with old classmates and empty laughter at jokes you weren’t really listening to, you slipped away from the crowd. outside, the cold gleam of the moonlight bathed the night, offering a quiet escape from the chaos inside.

you leaned against the railing, the cool night air brushing against your skin, making it prickle. the muffled sounds of laughter and conversation from the party felt distant, like they belonged to someone else’s life. out here, everything seemed easier—away from the noise, away from the weight of the past. but then you heard footsteps approaching, and you knew that brief moment of peace was about to end.

you felt his presence before you even saw him. it was the way the air subtly shifted—the familiar, electric tension that always seemed to fill the space between you and him.

and now, here he was, standing just a few feet away, the same intensity in his gaze that always made your heart race. there was no avoiding it this time. this conversation, this closure—it had been hanging in the air for too long, waiting to happen.

beomgyu stopped beside you, his presence unmistakable, even without a word. neither of you spoke for a moment, both too aware of the unfinished business lingering between you. it was inevitable—you knew this conversation was coming the moment you saw him tonight. you just didn’t expect it to feel this hard.

“been a while,” he finally said, his voice quiet, like he didn’t want to disturb the fragile calm of the night.

“yeah,” you replied, eyes still fixed on the skyline ahead. “it has.”

more silence. you could sense him struggling to find the right words, just like you were. it was strange how, after everything, the words seemed harder now than they had ever been.

“i saw you inside,” he started again, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “wasn’t expecting that.”

you let out a small breath, not quite a laugh. “neither was i.”

his gaze flicked over to you, and even though you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, you could feel it—could feel the weight of it, how he was waiting for something. an explanation maybe. or maybe just permission to ask the questions he hadn’t been able to all this time.

“why did you leave?” he finally asked, the question hanging between you, unfinished and unresolved.

your grip tightened on the railing, and you stared hard at the city lights, hoping they’d provide some kind of answer. “i don’t know,” you said, though you both knew that wasn’t the full truth. “i guess… it was too much. everything. you and me, what happened… i couldn’t handle it.”

beomgyu didn’t say anything right away, and you could tell he was processing it, trying to figure out what you really meant. “but you never gave me a chance to fix it,” he said quietly, almost like he was afraid of sounding bitter.

you nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. “i know. i thought… if i left, maybe it would be easier for both of us.”

he let out a low, humorless laugh. “easier? is that what you thought?”

“i don’t know what i thought,” you admitted, finally turning to face him. the way his expression shifted when your eyes met—it was like seeing all the pieces of something broken but still sharp, still able to cut. “i wasn’t ready, gyu. i couldn’t keep up with how fast things were going, and instead of telling you that, i ran.”

he watched you for a moment, his lips pressed together like he was holding back everything he’d wanted to say for years. “and what about now?”

the question was simple, but it carried so much weight. what about now? were things really any different? had time changed anything? you wanted to say something definitive, something that would make sense of the mess you’d left behind, but the truth was, you didn’t know. you hadn’t let yourself think about it for so long.

“i don’t know,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

he let out a long breath, his shoulders sagging just a little. “you know, it wasn’t about me choosing you back then,” he said, his voice more measured now, quieter. “i chose you, but it felt like you didn’t choose me. and i get it, i didn’t know what you were going through. but you didn’t give me a chance to understand.”

his words hit hard because they were true. you hadn’t chosen him, not really. not when it counted.

“i was scared,” you admitted. “of what we had. how much it mattered. i didn’t want to mess it up, so i thought leaving would keep things from getting worse.”

he nodded, a slow, deliberate motion like he was processing the layers of it. “and did it?”

you shook your head. “no.”

the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy with everything unsaid. you both stood there, letting the moment stretch between you, the years of distance and unresolved feelings catching up.

“so what now?” he asked, the question open-ended, without any pressure or expectations behind it. he wasn’t asking for a second chance. he wasn’t asking for you to make a decision right here, right now. it was more like he was asking if there was still a way forward, whatever that might look like.

“i don’t know, gyu,” you said honestly, looking down at the space between your feet. “i don’t know what happens next. but i didn’t come here expecting… this. to talk to you. to face all of this again.”

“me neither,” he said softly. “but here we are.”

another pause. you both knew this wasn’t something that could be fixed tonight, maybe not even ever. but there was a calm in the way he was looking at you now, like he wasn’t trying to fix it. he just wanted to understand, to finally have some clarity, even if it was incomplete.

“i didn’t expect seeing you again to still feel like this,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to him.

he smiled then—not a wide smile, not even a particularly happy one, but one that showed a kind of quiet acceptance. “yeah. me too.”

you weren’t sure what to say next, if there was anything left to say. but the air between you felt lighter now, less heavy with the weight of what you had both been carrying for so long.

“maybe we weren’t ready back then,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. “maybe we needed the time apart. but if i’m being honest, i never stopped thinking about what could’ve been.”

you looked at him, really looked at him this time, and saw the quiet honesty in his expression. “me too,” you admitted.

beomgyu let out a small sigh, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, like he wasn’t used to being this open. “it’s weird, right? how time changes things, but also doesn’t. i thought by now i’d have it all figured out. but here i am, still trying to make sense of it.”

“i guess we’re both still figuring it out,” you said, offering a small smile.

he glanced at you, his expression soft but serious. “whatever happens next… i just want you to know that you didn’t mess anything up. at least, not in the way you think. maybe we didn’t work out back then, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t important to me. you still are.”

the weight of his words settled between you, but it wasn’t suffocating. it felt… freeing, in a way.

“thank you,” you said quietly, not knowing what else to say, but feeling the sincerity of his words sink in.

beomgyu’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, then he nodded. “i guess this is where we leave it for now.”

you nodded in return, knowing that this conversation wasn’t about a grand reconciliation or a definitive ending. it was just… what it was. two people who had shared something, acknowledging that they didn’t have all the answers but were willing to let the uncertainty hang between them without needing to force it into something more.

“take care of yourself,” you said softly, the words feeling right even though they were simple.

“you too,” he replied, and for a moment, you could swear there was a flicker of something more in his eyes. not hope exactly, but not closure either.

and as he walked away, disappearing back into the party, you stood there, feeling lighter than you had in years. the future was uncertain, but for the first time, that uncertainty didn’t feel so heavy.

maybe, just maybe, there was room for something new between you both—whatever that might be.

and for now, that was enough.

gyo's note: hey guys! first off, i owe you all an apology for not posting in such a long time. uni has been absolutely hectic, and balancing everything has been a bit overwhelming. i’ve missed being here and sharing my stories with you all, but i needed to focus on my studies for a bit. i hope you understand. to make sure i stay consistent without falling behind in uni, i’ve decided to post twice a month—every tuesday and thursday. this way, i can still share updates and new stories with you all without compromising my schedule too much. i hope this works for everyone!

✮ 2024 gyorouis, all rights reserved.

[just-jordie-things]

hey jordie :) can i have jjk boys when you wipe off his kisses just to see his reaction? 🤭

GOJO SATORU

if you wipe his kiss off your face, you will be attacked. hollow purple with more kisses.

you did it as a joke ofc, simpling brushing your fingers over your cheek where satoru had casually left a little kiss. and you're not surprised when he gapes at you in offense. but before you can laugh it off and tell him you were only trying to get a rise out of him, he's tackling you into the couch cushions and smothering you in kisses.

these kisses are more deserving of getting wiped off of course, they're loud and wet and he's shouting a dramatic "mwah! mwah!" between each one.

(if this happens in your shared apartment with megumi and tsumiki just down the hall, they're racing to shut their doors)

"you don't lave to like it, but you will accept my love!"

"satoru! i was only messing with you!" you screech as you try to paw him off of you.

"well i didn't like it" his kisses soften as they pepper over your nose.

"you mess with me all the time" you huff.

"yeah, well, that's okay. cause it's me"

your eyes are rolling, but when he leans in to give you a proper kiss, you can't help but reciprocate. your play-kiss-fighting definitely turns into a full and proper makeout session. ___

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

pls don't wipe his kiss away. he will not take it as a joke. he will think he did something wrong.

he'd just sat next to you on a bench in the courtyard. you were reading your book and he had nothing better to do than keep you company- which happened to be his favorite thing to do. he pecks your cheek softly and casually in greeting, and when he saw you raise your hand to wipe at the spot, his heart plummets.

you don't turn to him, opting to keep an eye on him in your peripheral, so you don't quite catch the way he's crestfallen by your action.

"everything okay, sweetheart?" he asks gently, hoping maybe you'd just had a rough day and it had nothing to do with him.

"yeah, i'm fine" you hum nonchalantly before turning a page.

megumi frowns.

"did i do something?" he asks, disappointment smothering his tone. "are you upset with me?"

you're abandoning your book then, head swiveling quickly and eyes wide as you realize he was taking your little joke all wrong.

he looks so hurt, you couldn't bear to keep up with the bit any longer.

"no- gumi i was just messing," you say, setting your book aside to scoot closer to him, laying your hands around his jaw comfortingly. "it was just a joke, i'm sorry"

he wants to scoff at your idea of humor- this one really rivaled gojo's- but he sticks with the dramatics and pouts further as he leans into the warmth of your hands.

"but you wiped my kiss away," he sighs. "you sure you haven't fallen out of love with me?"

your lips part in anguish before you're seizing forward, catching his lips with yours passionately, deeply, making sure to pour every ounce of your love for him into it. he's trying to keep up the act of pouting at you but it's a bit harder with the butterflies and whatnot. he has a feeling you've seen right through him when you give him a look for his blushing cheeks and lazy little half-grin. ___

OKKOTSU YUUTA

wipe his kiss away and he'll just give you another one real quick. because, of course, he wants his kiss to stick to your cheek for the rest of the day so you can carry it with you while he's away from you.

so loverboy kisses you a second time in the same spot. and once again, the back of your hand smears it off.

he frowns, but doesn't say anything. simply leans over a third time and kisses you again. it's difficult to keep yourself from laughing as you repeat your action.

this time, yuuta doubles down. he cups your face and turns your attention towards him so you can see his deep frown and furrowed brows. then he turns your head so your cheek is presented to him once more, and he places a soft kiss there. he can feel your skin heating up in his hands, and then he's smiling, happy to have an effect on you still.

"don't wipe my kiss away," he mumbles, placing another one there for good measure. "makes me feel bad"

you giggle, taking one of his hands in yours and squeezing it affectionately.

"i was only teasing, you know" you tell him.

he lets out a strangled, fake little laugh.

"yeah," he scoffs. "yeah, i knew that" he says, in a not very believable manner.

you try not to laugh too much at him, opting instead to press a sweet kiss to his lips to keep yourself from doing so. ___

INUMAKI TOGE

thinks it's sort of funny when you wipe his kiss off. were his lips too moisturized for your liking? did he smear a little on your cheek? he immediately assumes it's some silly reason like that, not assuming for a second that you could be upset with him.

so when you wipe at your cheek and go back to what you were intently doing without a word or even a second glance, toge's pulling his collar down again...

... and licking your cheek.

"toge!" you scold, wiping the wetness away with the back of your hand. it was annoying, sure, but you can't help but laugh at how proud his little grin is. "what was that for?"

he wipes at his own cheek the way you had previously when you wiped his kiss away. you roll your eyes and huff.

"it was a joke," you explain through a smile. "i was just messing with you, to see what you'd do. i didn't think you'd lick me!"

he brightens then, happy that you hadn't wiped away his kiss for any other reason. when he leans in and kisses your cheek a few more times, he's glad you let him, and you leave them there, too. ___

[hansensgirl]

summary. | Ransom can’t resist his innocent step-sister.

prompts. | Ransom Drysdale + Step-brother + “Don’t you love it when I touch you like this?” + Innocence, requested by Anonymous.

pairing. | dark!step-brother!Ransom Drysdale x innocent!fem!reader.

warnings. | NON/DUBCON, dubious consent, stepcest, orgasm (f), smut, pet names, innocence kink, corruption kink, both are of legal age, allusions to fingering, possessiveness, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

author’s note. | this is a part of my Dark Concepts (2023) request form. thank you for taking part in this event! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog. MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY! taglist: @hansensfics

Ransom coos at you as you lay in his bed, wearing nothing but one of his sweaters. He insisted you put it on since you’re just so pretty when you’re in his clothes. Of course, you listened to him—you love your step-brother.

And you’re a bit scared of him, too. You’ve seen how he treats his parents, but to you, he’s exceptionally kind and patient. 

You’re between his legs and watching a movie on his television, giggling at the comedic bits whenever they occur. Ransom is torn between looking at you and the film, but he settles on you ultimately. 

Ransom can’t help the way he feels about you—the darkness that takes over every time he thinks about his innocent little step-sister. He fights with the urges that spur him on, the ones that’ll wholly corrupt you and turn you into his personal plaything, despite how wrong it is.

He smoothes his large hands over both your thighs, caressing the supple skin as you sigh in delight. Your little noises are music to his ears—and he wants more. He always does.

Your step-brother slides his hands up the sweater, and he finds your panties. He plays with the lace edging and little bow on the front, making you gasp and giggle. “Ran…” you say, voice quiet and soft. He shushes you, reaching up to grab the waistband on your underwear.

Skillfully, Ransom pulls your panties off, leaving you exposed to him. Your position between his legs remains the same, except now, you open yourself up to your step-brother a little more by parting your thighs. 

Ransom’s fingers play with your folds, finding that you’re wet. He curses under his breath, wondering if you were thinking of something or someone. Was it him? It better be him. 

You’ve long ceased paying attention to the movie, instead focusing on the screen because you don’t know what else to do. You’ve never been touched like this by anyone—not even yourself—but it’s Ransom, your kind step-brother, who has taught you so much. It feels right and so fucking good.

“R– Ransom…” you whimper when he finds your clit, rubbing it gently. “Don’t you love it when I touch you like this?” he asks, and you nod your head. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Ransom further questions. “Y- Yeah.”

He presses down a bit harder on your pearl of nerves, picking up the pace. The wet sounds of your pussy fill the room, and so do your adorable moans. Ransom’s hard cock is against your back, and he grinds it on you every now and then, desperate for some relief. 

Involuntarily, your back arches into Ransom, and he nuzzles your cheek. “Yeah, that’s it,” he urges as your whimpers become louder. He has half a mind to use his other hand to finger you, but he knows he can’t do that just yet. You’re a delicate thing, one he’ll enjoy breaking in slowly.

Instead, Ransom palms your tits through your sweater, massaging them to add to your pleasure. 

You feel as though something inside of you is building up as the tingles strengthen rapidly. You’ve never felt this way before, and you’re confused. 

“R– Ransom? Feels funny down th– there,” you tell him, voice a bit whiny. “Oh, yeah? In your pussy, princess?” he questions. “Y– Yeah, in my p– pussy,” you repeat, and he growls. “That’s normal, baby. Just let me keep touching you,” Ransom says. 

You nod and relax in his arms, limbs twitching as you approach your first-ever orgasm. You moan Ransom’s name as you come, and he realizes that he is so hard it hurts. Your step-brother makes you ride out your climax, rubbing your clit in fervour until he can tell it’s too much.

Your chest heaves as you reel from the pleasure, head lolling against Ransom’s chest. “How about we try something else, hm?” he questions, and you don’t have a chance to reply when he prods at your leaking hole. 

[lovebugism]

Hi bug!

For the domestic prompts,

#12 with Eddie?

thank u for requesting lovie! hope you like it! — you and eddie are friends with benefits, but he wants something more. you don't realize that you do, too, until he wants to see other people (fwb, idiots in love, angst, mentions of smut 18+, 1.7k)

fictober leftovers (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Sticky and still twisted in the sheets, Eddie reaches out for you.

His fingertips dance across the slick skin of your shoulder, just barely. You pull away like you always do — sluggish and dismissive, like it’s instinct to deny yourself of his affection. And even though it isn’t the first time you’ve rejected his softness (not nearly, not even half), it still aches the same.

Eddie laughs it off like he’s always had to. It’s easier that way.

“Wanna go get food, at least?” he asks with a soft chuckle. The color of the boyish sound matches the faint yellow glow of your bedside lamp — golden.

With your eyes still closed, weighed down by the post-sex honey, you shake your head into the pillow. “No, I’m good,” you mumble, then writhe and stretch beneath the blanket like a cat. 

Your eyes flutter open in time to catch the pained look on Eddie’s face. His features are blurry with bliss and exhaustion, screwed slightly like he’s flinching from your words.

“I can’t really feel my legs right now, so…” you joke with a quiet smile instead of telling him that no, you can’t go out to eat because that’s basically a date, and that’s not what this is. You think you’ve repeated that spiel enough for a lifetime.

Eddie knows this, but he appreciates that you care enough not to hurt his feelings.

A crooked grin tugs at his swollen pink lips. His pale legs swing over the side of your bed as he reaches for his boxers, left forgotten on the floor with the rest of your clothes. He stands to tug them up his hips again.

“Well, you wouldn’t happen to have any food in the kitchen, would you?” he wonders, glancing at you over his shoulder. His chocolate eyes twinkle when he flashes you a teasing grin. “Something other than chips and mac and cheese, preferably.”

“I think I have some leftover takeout in the fridge,” you answer with an absentmindedness that Eddie’s gotten used to by now. You care about him, but only so much, and not enough to make a big deal about any of it.

“Ah, leftovers,” Eddie repeats with a whimsical sigh. “The epitome of romance.”

You snort a faint laugh and prop your cheek on your fist. “Well, I’d cook for you, but I wouldn’t wanna give you the wrong idea.”

“Hey. C’mon. I’m, like, Feminist Numero Uno, alright? I’d happily be your housewife—” He cuts himself off with a laugh when you reach for a pillow. He flinches when you half-heartedly swat him with it.

“That’s what I’m talking about! We’re not dating, Eddie!” you say with a sweet laugh that only halfway lessens the blow of your words. “You’re not my housewife— you’re not my anything!”

You have to remind him of that a lot. He has these moments, where he wants to get all sweet and cuddly and play boyfriend with you. As far as you’re concerned, the affection is supposed to stop when your clothes are on. That line’s a whole lot blurrier for Eddie.

He doesn’t know when he’s supposed to stop loving you because he loves you all the time.

The stinging returns. There’s a million crackling orange embers in his chest, where he’s pretty sure his heart is supposed to be. You’ve stolen it, though, with no intentions of returning it. Eddie’s happy to let you keep the wretched, bleeding organ of his. He likes that you’re holding it. Even though your nails are digging crescent shapes into the delicate thing.

“Right,” he murmurs, then clears his throat when his voice breaks. “Yeah.”

“Maybe instead of eating my stale leftovers, you call Chrissy and invite her out to dinner?” you offer with an absentminded shrug, turning onto your stomach and kicking your feet up behind you. Your legs poke out from beneath the thin sheet, showing the faintest sliver of your ass. 

Eddie takes great care not to look at you. You’re so pretty it hurts — hurts ‘cause he can’t have you.

“I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

Eddie thinks for a moment, then nods. “Yeah. Maybe. ’S probably a better idea, huh?”

This isn’t the first time you’ve teased him about Chrissy. She’s the prettiest waitress at Benny’s Burgers — hell, all of Hawkins, even — and she’s crazy sweet on him. Any other day, he’d argue back and forth with you about it. “She doesn’t like me,” he’d tell you, “She doesn’t even exist to me when you’re around.”

No, this isn’t the first time you’ve brought up Chrissy, but it’s the first time he isn’t detested by the sheer thought of being with anyone other than you.

You falter. Just for a moment. “I mean, duh— all my ideas are better than yours.”

“You really won’t be mad if I take Chrissy on a date?” Eddie asks you, bending at the waist to tug his black ripped jeans over his long, pale legs. His chocolate eyes twinkle with expectancy. He wants so badly for you to say yes.

You won’t humor him with any of that, though. 

“‘Course not. We’re not dating, so… I don’t really have a reason to get mad.”

Distantly heartbroken, he nods. “Okay. Good.”

“It might be better, actually,” you confess, trying hard not to stare too long at his happy trail when his milky white hands button his pants. “You know, if we both start seeing other people.”

Eddie freezes. “What? Like— breaking up?”

“Well, there’s no breaking up involved.”

“Right… ‘Cause you’re not my girlfriend.” 

The words taste like vinegar leaving his mouth.

They shouldn’t sting you like they do. 

You try to smile, anyway. “Exactly. Look at you, Eds— You’re finally getting the hang of it.”

“So, what? I see Chrissy, and you see…?” he trails off, turning away from you to search for the Metallica t-shirt he wore on the way over. He finds it on your bookshelf, likely from where he’d flung it over his shoulder in an attempt to make you laugh.

“I don’t know. I guess, I can see if Steve’s free. He’s usually a reliable fuck.”

Eddie glances at you, doe eyes narrowed. He’s trying to analyze you — to gauge whether or not you’re being genuine or if you’re bringing up your ex to hurt him. Maybe it’s both. It’s sort of what he’s doing to you now, anyway.

He’s only half as genuine as he is angry about the whole thing, but he’ll burn alive before he lets you see how furious it makes him feel.

He scoffs a bitter chuckle and tugs his shirt over his head. “Well, have fun with King Steve, I guess.”

“As long as you have fun with the princess,” you tease with too sweet grin.

“Oh, I’m sure I will.” 

That’s all he says — in the place of any real goodbye. Most times, he refuses to leave your apartment until he’s smothered you in a thousand kisses. He hopes the lack of him makes you ache, that you’re grieved by his leaving just as much as he is.

You are, but you won’t let him know it.

You know you won’t have any fun without Eddie. You’re praying he won’t have any fun with Chrissy either — lest he falls for her and her pretty eyes and how kindly she treats him. But fuck, he deserves that. He deserves someone who doesn’t have a physical aversion to affection. He deserves a whole lot more than you.

He should go out to meet Chrissy, but you stop him before he’s got his hand on the rusted doorknob to leave.

“Eds, wait!” you call from the bedroom, plucking his leather jacket from the back of your desk chair and running into the living room with the thin top sheet clutched to your chest.

The boy turns around, eyes as wild as his hair. In a fleeting moment of irrational hope, he thinks you’re about to ask him to stay — to eat your leftovers with him and let him love you. But then he sees the jacket in your fist and tries to ignore the searing knife you’ve plunged into his chest.

“Can’t forget this,” you tease with a glimmer in your eye. “Cheerleaders dig the leather jacket, you know?”

Eddie squints when he takes it from you. His sly, halfway-forced smirk matches your own. “And how would you know that?”

“I don’t. It’s just a feeling.”

“Okay,” Eddie nods as he slides the jacket over his shoulders and arms. “That’s fair, I guess. Thanks for looking out.”

“‘Course,” you shrug, all nonchalant about the whole thing. You’re kissing the breath from his lungs a second later, leaning forward to knock your nose with his and smother his plush pink mouth with your own.

Eddie freezes, shocked by the sudden act of affection. 

You were never one for goodbyekisses — “That’s for people who’ve been together for two months or two decades, Eds,” you’d giggle while he’d sprinkle pecks to your nose, mouth, and cheek. “Not for people who only meet up to fuck.”

You’d always been more to him than that, but it hurt you never saw him any different.

But here you are now — kissing him stupid and staining his tongue with your taste before he’s shoving it down Chrissy Cunningham’s throat. You want him to taste you all night. You want him to remember you even when you’re not there. Because god knows this asshole’s gonna be on your mind all night.

You pull back from him after a few long moments, with swollen lips and heavy eyes. You trap your smile between your teeth and wrap your arms around yourself, keeping the sheet bunch up there even though he’s seen you in much, much less.

“Call me later, and let me know how it goes, yeah?”

Eddie, gone sufficiently dumb after being kissed so ardently, just nods for several agonizing seconds. “Yeah. Okay. Sure. Whatever,” he babbles with a rosy, freshly kissed mouth.

You turn on your heel and head back to your bedroom. Even when you disappear behind the shut door, Eddie stands in place — like he’s waiting for you to come back out and do the charade all over again.

The shower faucet hisses faintly. It knocks him from his daze, tells him he’d better take the pieces of you when he can get them instead of constantly sitting in wait for them.

On his way home, he tries to remember Chrissy Cunningham’s phone number. He knows there’s a six in the beginning, a three somewhere in the middle, and two sevens towards the end. 

He can’t think straight anymore.

You’re on his mind, on his mouth, and on his fingers.

There’s no use in thinking about anything but you.

[mypoisonedvine]

Drabble Idea: Judge Crane decides to give his obsession a third option. Death, exile, or…….

You know he would use his position in order to get his crush all to himself while Gotham burns.

YES OMG SOME LOVE FOR JUDGE CRANE he's so underrated and I actually lost it when I saw the movies in theaters and he popped up <3 like omg look it's my husband

warnings: coercion, ownership, threats of noncon, yandere vibes

"You can't be serious," you mumbled, but you knew he was-- Dr. Crane wasn't an especially humorous guy, that whole death by exile bit from earlier notwithstanding.

He still smiled at you, though; "It's your choice."

"Well, it's not much of a choice, is it?" you scoffed.

"It's a better choice than anybody else got," Jonathan shrugged, "if you do choose exile, I'm sure these guys would love to give you a nice send-off-- right, boys?"

You didn't even have the heart to look back at the thugs who had dragged you in here, but you heard them chuckling and mumbling amongst themselves. Crane had made his message clear, and you let out a sigh of defeat. "Fine," you said.

"Fine?" he repeated. "What's that mean, you'll just die?"

"No, I--"

"You know, you said once you'd rather die than marry me, do you remember that?" He laughed. But that was years ago, when your father tried to set you up with him because he was a respected doctor and you were a nice young socialite-- it was more about rebellion than anything else then, but learning about his insanity and criminal activities wasn't exactly changing your mind.

"I was wrong," you admitted, "alright? I'm sorry."

He smiled again, a little more sinister than the last time. "Then you can wait for me with the others... sweetheart."

~

The huddled mass of the 'arrested' dwindled through the day, executives and politicians dragged up the stairs to meet their fate as determined by Crane; soon it was only half or less left behind, with you simply counting the minutes until you'd be taken-- you couldn't imagine what life would be like with Jonathan, and for now, you tried not to.

He came for you at the end of the day, standing above you and smiling down as you stayed sitting on the ground, leaning against a pillar and waiting for whatever he asked you to do. "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say," he admitted as he stared at you. "Hi honey, I'm home or something?"

"You don't actually sleep here, do you?" you frowned.

"No, no-- I believe in work-life balance," he shook his head; then reached his hand out to help you up. "Come on, let's go home."

Though you hesitated, you took his hand and let him help you to your feet with a wince.

"Are you alright?" he asked, seeing the pain on your face.

"They kinda roughed me up," you admitted quietly, though your breath caught when Jonathan pulled you closer.

"Poor thing," he mumbled, petting your cheek briefly, holding your waist a little tighter. "And having to sit on this hard floor all day-- you must be sore, hm?"

You nodded slightly, though you felt strange talking to him like this-- like it was a normal conversation, and not something you had to do to keep yourself safe. If being with him could really be considered 'safe'...

"I can write you a script if you're in too much pain," he offered, "but I think you just need some rest: somewhere warm, a nice big bed..."

He leaned in closer as he trailed off, taking a deep breath beside your head as he rubbed your back. Though he must have noticed the way you tensed up and nearly pulled away, it didn't deter him.

"I'll be good to you," he promised, "if you just behave. You don't need to be so afraid of me."

But you could hear the excitement in his voice; he liked that you were afraid of him. Finally, he had the power over you that you'd denied him all those years ago. No matter how sweet he promised to be, one way or another, he was going to make you pay for that.

[happytroopers]

Pent Up // Tech x Reader

Summary: After an awkward wake up call from a rather... entertaining... dream. You spend a week trying to distract yourself from your traitorous mind. It doesn't take long for Tech to catch on.

TW: wet dream, brief mentions of erotic things, nothing outright just a lot of build up and tension

somewhere between pg13 and R, originally I was gonna write the smut but then it sat in my drafts for two years so congrats you're getting a fade to black

18+ MDNI for sure tho

A hand shook your shoulder, shaking the last sensation of your dream away and forcing you awake with a start. A whine died on your lips as your bleary eyes snapped open to meet the eyes of the object of aforementioned dream. Your already blushed cheeks went even hotter as Tech looked down at you in mild concern and heavy curiousness. He was put together, as always, still in his armor except for his helmet. Laying in your bunk in disheveled pajamas, the contrast wasn’t lost on you. You were acutely away of how warm you were, how much you had been squirming in your sleep, how your thighs were clenching, and extremely aware of the slick warmth dampening your pajama bottoms. 

As your mind reeled from the… riveting dream, it switched gears to run overdrive on how to save yourself the embarrassment of being caught having a wet dream. Caught by the one soldier you were mentally assaulting in your sleep… Under Tech’s curious gaze you wanted to melt- and not in the fun way his gaze usually made you want. How loud were you that you not only alerted the genius, but you drawn him away from his projects- something that usually took an explosion or ship crash to do? 

Of course Tech didn’t look uncomfortable in the least, simply waiting for your answer as he removed his hand from your shoulder so you could scramble up into a sitting position, keeping the blanket firmly around your lower half as you batted sleep mussed hair from your face. The only consolation was that while you and Tech hit the rack, Wrecker and Hunter were supposed to be flying while Crosshair filled out his fair share of his share of field reports. 

Tech gave you a once over as you collected yourself, eyebrows creasing as you tried to get your breathing under control. 

"Are you alright, (y/n)?" He asked slowly, watching you curiously as your knees bowed together under your blanket. If you’re eyes weren’t screwed shut from embarrassment, you would’ve seen his Adam’s apple bob at the sight. You cleared your throat to busy trying not to focus on the way his armor accentuated all of his best features in the dim light of the bunks, hoping your voice would maintain some level of propriety. 

"Y-yeah, yeah, Tech, I’m alright. ‘M Fine." You nodded just a little too quick, voice just a hair from being even, so in an attempt to feel out how much damage you did to your dignity in your sleep, you added in false casual airs, "Why do you ask?"

Tech's eyebrow went from creased to quirked, running a hand over his face, "You were tossing and turning, groaning like you were-" 

You didn’t think you could take him continuing or the thought of him watching you so you went with the first excuse that came to mind, "In pain, like I was in pain." 

Voice rushed, your own eyebrows furrowed at what you were saying. Tech looked confused as well- neither of you knew where this was heading. 

"Pain?" He repeated, voice unbelieving but worried, "Are you…injured? Why didn’t you tell me earlier." 

Well, that lie wouldn’t work either. Besides your inability to control your brain, there was nothing wrong with you. And if you couldn’t come up with something, Tech would insist on checking you over. You couldn’t look him in the eye at the moment much less let him touch you after your dream. Wait, dream! 

"Injured? No, no sir." You cringed, you had never once called Tech ’sir’ since you met him, and judging by his… reaction, now wasn’t the time to start, "I had… a nightmare. Yeah, real bad nightmare. Probably gonna talk to the Civ. Enlistment shrink about it, yep." 

Your nodding didn’t do much to convince the Tech, as he just watched your rambling, with a concerned furrowed brow. Running a hand over your face, flung your blanket off your legs quickly as you swung them over the side of your bunk- the middle one. Just high enough that you had to jump, but low enough someone tall like Tech could still look down at you if you were laying down. Too much laying in the dark room with the man (literally of your dreams) had your thoughts spiraling along with your white hot embarrassment- fight or flight was kicking in and you were choosing flight. 

Pushing off the bunk, your bare feet hit the cold floor but you weren’t prepared for how jelly-like your legs would be. Before you could even hit your knees, Tech caught you against his chest. He was warm, and the hopeless romantic in you didn’t fail to notice how you fit perfectly against him or how easily he held you steady, and his chest was firm. Oh stars, don’t let him feel how hard my nipples are. Tech was leaner than his brothers, but no less stronger than his brothers, something that slipped your mind occasionally- only now, as your palms were splayed over his chest it wasn’t so easy to forget. 

His large hands easily encased both of your arms, images flashed through your mind- but it wasn’t your arms he had been holding in your dreams. Eyes fluttering, you shook your head, backing away from the genius as soon as you were sure you wouldn’t fall over. Tech ignored your stammered apologies though you were sure cheeks were practically glowing in the dim light, "(Y/N), are you sure you’re alright? You feel warm, you might have a fever. I think I should-" 

You were pretty sure if you spent one more moment with his hands on you, you would break every single rule about soldier civilian interrelations in the books so you all but wrenched away from him, earning a confused look as you grabbed the first jacket and pair of pants you could find. 

"No time, I’m perfectly fine- hey that’s almost a rhyme-" You stammered, snatching your shoes, "Look at the time, things to fix, no fever here." 

Tech tried to protest but you were already down the hall before he could even grab a medscanner off his belt.

__

I’ve been on this ship too damn long.

You thought to yourself, splashing water on your face. If the interaction with Tech wasn’t enough to keep you from sleeping again, the lingering feelings and memories from your dream kept your skin tingling and your mind swirling around one resident genius. So you gave up sleep. 

Instead, you decided to work, preferably underneath floor panels where engine parts were thrumming with power - where Tech wouldn’t run into you unless he tried. Bonus points for being far away one of the few places on the ship your dream hadn’t contaminated. 

If he can’t see me, I can’t think about- images of lips trailing across skin, pressing into your thighs, thighs over a lean shoulder. You smacked hands on either side of your cheeks to physically halt that train of thought, What is wrong with me?!

The answer was simple, you were the only woman on a ship of five men, one of which you pretty sure you were in love with, had been on active duty nonstop for weeks and you didn’t even have your own room- no action, no breaks, no privacy. 

You worked for a couple hours straight, too embarrassed show your face again. Until, you finally surfaced top pass through the fresher. Clean face, clean thoughts, right? Growling in frustration, you ran a dry towel over your face before shoving your arms back into your work jacket. 

You were so caught up in your own thoughts, you didn’t even think twice when the fresher door swished open- it was a communal fresher, it wasn’t uncommon for one or more of the Batch to share the space with you at a time. So common in fact, you didn’t even look up from your routine- adjusting your hair, swiping cosmetics on. 

As you peered into the mirror, internally giving yourself a half pep talk, half scolding, the last face that you wanted to see appeared in the reflection behind you.

"Kriff!" You yelped, startled, spinning around so quickly you risked whiplash, instinctively your hands flew to balance yourself against the counter, the cool metal grounding your feverish skin. It was Tech behind you, in his blacks with a towel over his shoulder, watching you in confusion as you met his eyes briefly before your face went scarlet, your eyes dropped- resting anywhere but his. "Tech! Good morning- night… afternoon? No time in space, am I right?" 

The genius’s eye brows crinkled, which you would’ve noticed if you weren’t so busy staring at the floor. Tech took another step forward, bending slightly so he could look at your face and eyes narrowing. He was close enough to touch, the smell of mechanic grease, GAR issue soap, and something so inherently Tech flooded your senses as he asked, "You didn’t get anymore sleep, did you? Are you sure you’re alright, (Y/N)?" 

Another slew of images flashed through your mind, long fingers tilting your chin up, and the last time you were pressed against a counter it wasn’t from this angle, ‘is this alright?’… It was then you realized with his new position, your floor gaze had turned into staring at his abdomen, where his blacks clung to him leaving very little to the imagination. You forced your eyes up to his. 

Between his scent and your own traitorous thoughts, your throat constricted, eyes widening and nostrils flaring slightly, "‘m fine. Gotta go, things need fixing." 

With that, you ducked away from him and quite literally fled the scene for the second time in a matter of hours. Tech watched you go, head tilting to the side. 

"I don’t understand civilians."

—— 

Ridiculous, You thought. I’m an adult, I should be able to control myself. 

The bolt you were tightening popped out of the panel it was supposed to be holding together. 

“Dank Farrik!" You growled, snatching it back and attempting to shove it into place. The first time it skewed to far to the left, and next swaying to the right, and the third it was too far up. Irritated, in rapid succession, you slammed the bolt into the metal over and over- despite it never going into the hole.

 A certain part of your dream popped into your mind.

Don’t think about slamming- or holes. You quickly corrected yourself, but didn’t stop your incessant sla- jamming. 

"I thought being a trained engineer meant knowing how to do something a bit more… technical than that." A drawling voice appeared over your shoulder, the bolt getting plucked out of your fingers and plugged into the ho- opening on the first try. 

"Crosshair." You breathed in recognition, irritation still lacing your tone as you looked over your shoulder. The stir in your stomach thinking it might be Tech fading away into not quite relief, but something less… stirring. The marksman was leaning against the wall you were working on, it wasn’t surprising he sought you out. Aside from Tech, you were close with Crosshair- an odd friendship that no one really understood. "I thought you were next on nav rotation.” 

“Tech came to the cockpit with a pretty interesting concerns. He switched shifts with me, said he had too much to think about to sleep. So, he’s up top with Hunter." The marksmen shrugged, critical eyes giving you a once over as you blushed- a more and more common occurrence. 

"Yeah, we all have bad dreams sometimes." You huffed, a low blow, but if anyone could take a mean comment it was Crosshair. The nightmares were kind of a sensitive spot for most clones, but was there anyone on this ship that hadn’t already heard of your sleep... issues?

You assumed that once he got his odd version of teasing in, he would move along but Crosshair didn’t go any further than the nearest crate so he could sit down and pop a tooth pick in his mouth. You allowed him two minutes of staring before snipping, "Is there something you needed?” 

"Not me. Tech wanted you to help him with something about reverse thrust-“ 

"I’m busy." You clipped quickly cutting off Crosshair’s words, wrenching the bolt so quickly that the metal scraped. Your fingers were shaking as you tucked hair behind your ears, clearing your throat, you elaborated, "Tech can handle them himself, he’s, ah, perfectly adept. I’m incredibly busy here.” 

Crosshair lifted a single brow, looking at the squeaky cupboard panel you were working on. Clearly a bottom of the list kind of task, "You are acting weird. He might be oblivious, but he always notices you.” 

"I am not acting weird." You snapped but your voice had a quirk to it, what did Crosshair mean by that? You filed that away for later, "Unless you have something to put on my to do list, I’m busy because I’m fine, Cross.” 

"Riiiiight, completely normal, I’ll let him know.” 

You watched him go before looking at your rather shoddy wrench-bolt job. Sighing, you set to work undoing the crooked bolt, Maybe I am a little pent up.

__

So started a week of awkwardness between you and Clone Force 99’s resident genius. And it wasn’t long before the rest of the batch began to catch on. Not that you were exactly subtle about it. 

Any time Tech entered a room, your eyes would go wide and a flush would creep up your neck. If you were speaking to someone else, the moment you saw him you would start stuttering or just stop all together. Sometimes it was fluttery nervousness, and other times you just got distracted by his presence. But always, unless actively in a firefight, it would only take about five minutes before you’d shake your head and escape the room like a gundark out of hell. 

Bright side, you spent so much time avoiding Tech you had made it to the bottom of your prioritized to-do list for the first time since joining Clone Force 99. Down sides, it was getting harder to avoid him, and as mentioned earlier, the others were starting to notice- plus, even if you to do list was getting slim, all the work was shoddy at best. When you weren’t actively avoiding him, all you could do was stare at Tech like a lovesick (re: hormonal) schoolgirl.

Crosshair had caught you staring at Tech on multiple occasions, typically flicking his toothpick at you to get you to stop. He would roll his eyes but at least he was quiet about it. He’d just tease you whenever he caught you alone, constantly reminding you of your embarrassment. If you weren’t so preoccupied with Tech, you’d be glad- his teasing his own way of accepting you into the group. But you were preoccupied, so usually, you’d huff dramatically throwing (and missing) the toothpick back in his direction. 

There was the incident where Hunter himself had to order you to go with Tech on a mission, something that had never been an issue before as you usually preferred working with the genius. Subsequently, you were so high-strung that you put your complete focus on rewiring a door panel. So much focus, in fact, that Tech himself had to pull you out of the way of a super battle droid’s fire. He had pushed you against a wall and completely covered you with his body while Crosshair took care of the battle droid. Had it not been for the smoking blaster shot in the wall where you had previously been working, you would have melted when Tech so tenderly asked if you were alright. Like a helpless damsel, all you could do was stare up into the goggles of his helmet for a moment before nodding demurely. Then, so frustrated with yourself you had to walk away from the genius before you could give Hunter a reason to transfer you. 

Tech, himself, had decided you were obviously upset about something and spent more time than usual trying to get you alone. He’d sit down across from you while you ate, which resulted in an awkward silence and you abandoning your barely touched food. Find you while you brushed your teeth- it had been embarrassing when you accidentally choked yourself with the toothbrush because you’d been too busy ogling him in his blacks. And if you hadn’t been so focussed on saving yourself from any additional embarrassment, you would have noticed the worried expression start to slip into a more hurt category whenever you’d literally run away from him with a lame, short excuse. 

Then there was the time when Wrecker had been speaking to you, explaining how his helmet’s comms unit was shorting out after a hit in battle. You were supposed to be listening to him, figuring out from his description of the sound what the issue was and how to fix it. But over his shoulder, your eyes had landed on Tech and your breath had hitched in your throat as you watched him unfasten his armor. Like a teenager watching a strip tease, you shifted your weight from foot to foot, "Are you even listening to me?" 

Wrecker’s booming voice sounded more distant that it should considering you were fiddling with his helmet, but it alerted Tech who looked up from his chest piece. His eyes immediately found yours, and you looked away quickly. After promising Wrecker you’d look into it, you took the helmet before escaping down to the cargo hold, thankful Tech didn’t follow you this time.

 You might actually have too request a transfer at this rate. 

It was Hunter that confronted you about it. He’d noticed your distraction, your anxious demeanor, the decline in your quality of work, and that’s just the things he noticed outright. He saved some of your pride by not mentioning everything he could smell or hear. Instead taking the role of scolding boss. A role he played expertly, judging by the exceedingly dissapointed way he said your name before pressing further. 

"You’re better than this. What’s up with you?" He had asked, having followed you after you slipped away from Tech yet again. He had found you cleaning the brand-new air filters in the cargo hold. 

"Nothing’s up with me, Hunter." You shrugged, hoping he would drop it. He didn’t. 

"Really? ‘Cause you’ve been making rookie mistakes. You were assigned to us because you don’t do that." The sergeant reminded you, crossing his arms over his chest. You were offended to say he had a point. 

"Just going a little stir crazy, Sarge." You sighed. Hunter shook his head, clapping a hand onto your shoulder. 

"Do us all a favor and just tell him." He requested, shaking his head as he turned to leave, "It’s a small ship to be stir crazy on, and neither of you are subtle." 

You watched him go, first embarrassed at being caught- knowing what Hunter could hear, smell, and infer, that he chose not to complain about- but then your mind fixated on something else. 

"Hunter. What do you mean by ‘neither’?"

___

You were grateful for the planet’s scorching sun, some unnamed backwater (despite the lack thereof) planet that simply had been the nearest Republic friendly refuel/ maintenance station after you deduced the Havoc Marauder wouldn’t make it back to Kamino with the navigation calibration malfunctioning like they were, lest you hyper speed into a black hole. After you’d made your deduction, you had almost combusted when Tech had leaned over your shoulder, breath grazing your ear as he checked over your work at Hunter’s request. You would’ve been offended if you weren’t so busy gaping like a schoolgirl at Tech’s side profile so close to your face. 

’Neither of you are subtle.’ The sergeant’s words played through your mind for the hundredth tune. 

Like, for instance, as you sat in the cockpit, you were supposed to be running diagnostics on the rather shifty new calibrator and modifier Hunter had procured from the maintenance station’s ‘buy, sell, trade’ front room. It didn’t have to be perfect, it just had to get you from dust ball point A to rainy, Kaminoan point B. 

But instead, you were distracted. Which should really be the summary of the past week of your life. Specifically, you were distracted by Tech’s legs. Long, armor clad, muscled, his leather side holsters clinging to the white composite as they splayed out from under the Marauder’s dash. 

You never exactly forgot how tall Tech was, he towered over you even with his usually hunched posture. But, with his top half hidden underneath the console it was a reminder at just how long his legs were. Your breath caught in your throat as his hips lifted, legs tensing as metal groaned. Something snapped before Tech tossed a rusted piece of metal away from himself. The way his thighs clenched and unclenched with the effort made your entire body tense as well, you hadn’t noticed your straying focus until the electroprod zapped your hand. Fortunately, Tech’s voice drowned out your quiet yelp.

"I have found our problem." He announced, grabbing a tool off of his belt. So preoccupied with his long legs, you blinked slowly at his long fingers as they traced up his thigh to find the right tool. 

"Oh? have you?" You breathed, after realizing you hadn’t answered. You shook your head, forcing yourself back to your task. You corrected your own work, the small electro prod in your hand zapped at the calibrator, mostly to see if it could handle any sort energy current. Tech had started rambling about some Acid spitting bugs the ship had picked up on Ethesda IV, apparently the coating on the calibrator was similar to their main food source. Acid spitting bugs should’ve been a turn off, but how his voice stopped and started and strained and grunted as he periodically tore out rusted pieces outweighed the bugs.  

“And the calibrator? Is it satisfactory?” He asked, hips twisting as he continued working under the dash. Satisfactory? Nothing about the past weeks had been satisfactory but that wasn’t what he asked. He emerged just enough to hold his hand out. 

“It’ll do.” You hummed as the diagnostic ran somewhere between yellow and green. You stood, keeping a respectable distance between you as you handed him the small piece of equipment, “I could use an extra set of hands down here, would you?” 

You were digging through your mind for another lame excuse until you saw Hunter peek around the door frame of the cockpit, a look someplace between warning and scolding crossing the sergeant’s face. So, you sighed. 

“Of course, where do you need m-e?” You nodded, noticing your words as they caught in your throat. You cleared it and crouched down beside the soldier. He paused for a moment, even his feet halted their slight movement until he cleared his throat as well. 

“Beside me, I need you to hold the calibrator in place as I wired it in.” Tech answered you, staying half obscured but twisting his body so his hips stayed flat but he was laying on his ribs. You swallowed around nothing, sighing flatly as you wiggled under the dashboard beside him, “A bit closer, so I can reach around you.”

Stiff and rigid, you slowly inched closer to him until you were close enough for one of his arms to snake under your waist and pull you all the way to him. You choked out a yelp. Just as easily as he’d pulled you to him, he propped you just enough so his shoulder and chest could slot underneath your back. 

Under the dash there was barely enough room for this position, so it wasn’t possible to keep yourself propped up unless you wanted your nose pressed to the exposed wiring he was working on. So, you had no choice but to forced yourself to at least half relax against him. Your back to his chest, his face right next to yours so the light on his goggles could illuminate the slot where the calibrator belonged, one of his knees twisted under yours leaving you caged between the legs you’d been staring at for so long. His even breaths were fanning over your cheek, the two of you practically puzzle pieced together. He retracted the arm from underneath your waist and moved himself accordingly so that arm instead went under your neck, further trapping you against him.

“Apologies, though I trust I don’t need to explain to you what happens if this comes loose during light speed travel.” He explained, though you couldn’t see how his analytical eyes watched you carefully as he pressed the calibrator back into your hands and guided them to the correct spot, “Perfect, just there.” 

His fingers left your wrist and began the process of wiring the calibrator into place. You were grateful for his armor, even if your couldn’t ignore his scent and warmth all around you, you were positive if you could feel his muscles moving underneath you you’d have to stick your hand in the power source to keep from committing a serious breech of civilian-solider contact etiquette. Just a snap of his hips… placed just under the round of your ass… 

“You’re shaking, is everything alright?” Tech’s voice shocked you out of your thoughts. You flinched, almost jerking the half connected calibrator right back out of the dash. You tried thinking of a reason, but your voice seemed caught somewhere between your heart and throat. So you settled for a vague hum.

“Mhm.” 

“Would you hand me the microwelder? It’s on the right side of my belt.” 

Even your breaths were shaking as you used one hand to keep the calibrator in place, and used the other the blindly reach down between the two of you. Your fingers grazed against the composite of the armor on his thigh, overshooting your aim for his belt. For the first time, he tensed as well. Using nothing but touch, you worked your way up, trying to keep your touch as light as possible as it worked over his holsters and to the tools hanging from his belt. You put all your focus on your mechanical knowledge, deducing the tools by shape- data scomp, electoprod, multitool, electrical tape… microwelder.  You almost cried in relief, jerking your hand away as soon as you’d unclipped it. The slight graze of your finger tips against his glove palms felt the same as sticking your fingers in the power source.  Tech’s shoulders adjusted, jostling the both of you. Though he didn’t struggle to move you at all, his voice sounded ever so slightly strained as he used the microwelder to hold the wires in place, “Almost there, keep doing what your doing.” 

Kriff, what the hell was wrong with this man?

“There. That should do it.” 

You wiggled out from the dash so fast that you almost didn’t register his hands on your waist assisting you. Almost. Tech watched after you, the curiosity in his eyes turning into something more akin to understanding as you slipped into the fresher. 

— 

You had never been so grateful to touchdown on Kamino. After the longest week of your life on probably the smallest ship you could’ve been assigned to, you were ready for some much needed space. And the privacy of the usually empty civilian barracks sounded like the perfect retreat. Kamino was the one republic stronghold that didn’t have a shortage of workers, they didn’t need a civilian enlistments to lighten the load when they could hand the tasks off to Cadet’s and call it a learning experience. Usually you found Kamino to be lonely, only seeing the boys at meal times, but this time you were chomping at the bit, praying to the Force or whatever other entity out there that the bunks would be empty as usual. 

As soon as the Marauder touched down in the hangar, you were down the loading steps before it even finishing descending. You finished your debriefs in record time and skipped dinner in favor of returning to the Havoc Marauder to start fixing some of your shoddier than usual workmanship in addition to typical post-mission ship maintenance since your bunk would be the first place Tech might look for you. 

"I thought I would find you here.” 

You physically jumped when Tech’s calm voice called out from the ship’s entrance, hitting your head on the cockpit’s console you were working under. Cursing under your breath, you scuttled out from under the console. Tech was leaning against the entrance to the cockpit, watching you like a wild animal who might spook. You guessed that wasn’t too far off from the truth judging by the already rising heat to your face and the way your eyes danced around to anywhere but his face. 

"You missed dinner." He informed you when you didn’t respond, rubbing your head as you closed the panel you had been working on and pulled yourself up to your knees. 

"Oh, did I?" You asked in faux concern as if you hadn’t purposely skipped communal dinner. Suddenly, you realized you were looking up to him from your knees and your nearly choked on the recycled air your were breathing. You scrambled up to your feet, nervously smoothing out your clothes as you momentarily met Tech’s eyes before purposely pointing your own gaze else where- the blinking lights around the cockpit very interesting. In your peripheral, you saw his eyebrows furrow, face hardening as you leaned back against the console. 

"Have I done something to bother you?" He asked, suddenly. Moving a bit closer to you, he froze when you leaned even further away. 

"Not a thing, Tech. Why do you ask?” 

One of his eyebrow quirked behind his goggles, telling you he didn’t believe you for a moment. Tech might be oblivious about somethings, but he always knew when you were lying to him, "You have not looked me in the eye, much less spoken to me since…” 

He trailed off, looking to you to finish his thought. Your rose tint flashed ruby, redder than the shield button blinking on the console behind you. Yep, time to escape. 

"Listen, Tech, I really don’t-" You chuckled dryly, moving to squeeze past him. 

"Have time for this? I think you do." Tech shook his head, sidestepping so his larger frame immediately cut off your exit. Bumping into the composite chest piece of his armor, you stammered something akin to an excuse as you tried to squeeze past you again. The genius repeated his action, this time catching you by bracing his hands on either of your arms and holding them gently to your side to keep you in place. 

Now, you were forced to look up at him, trying to ignore how much skin his longs fingers managed to cover. You wondered if he could feel your erratic pulse under your skin. He observed your face for a moment, from the tint in your cheeks, the quickness of your breath, to part of your lips. He muttered mostly to himself but you caught it, "Dramatic dilation of the eyes, heightened pulse, shallow breathing, erratic behavior.” 

Once he finished his list- or maybe stopped listing aloud for your pride’s sake- he cleared his throat, releasing his grip one your arms so you could take a hesitant step back. Your mind was screaming at you to create some distance, but your thudding heart made it hard to force yourself to move. Tech wasn’t finished with you yet though, his chocolate yes narrowed on you before softening as he continued, "Hunter informed me that you didn’t have a ’nightmare’, as you said.” 

Yep, you were going to spontaneously combust if the ground didn’t open up and swallow you first- either option was preferable to the turn in conversation. Hell, spontaneous separatist invasion would be less painful. 

"Listen, Tech, I really-" You started, but silenced yourself when you saw the way he adjusted his stance. Shoulders broader, chin dipping lower, one leg moving forward…. if you were any closer it would be between your legs. 

"He also had a few theories about the content of said dream, one in particular that interested me." He continued, voice dipping as he continued to stalk towards you until the back of your thighs hit the control deck, forcing you to half lean half sit on the panel. Your backside pressed a couple buttons, managing to conveniently kill the overhead lights and close the door to the bridge in one fell swoop. Whoever was in charge of the force, you wanted to have a firm talking to because you’re heart couldn’t take much more of this. "You’re in your prime, in multiple adrenaline and endorphin inducing situations, surrounded by 4 men… a healthy drive is nothing to be so embarrassed of.”

Your own voice wasn’t quite a sure, almost choked as you nodded, "Gl-glad we covered that, Tech.” 

"I also know, from my research, that the easiest way to resolve this is to act on it.”

Your mind actually went blank the moment the word sunk in. You weren’t sure, but there was a large likelihood you just stood there and gaped at Tech like a fish. He waited, eyes analyzing you from behind the goggles. One moment passed, and then two before you spoke. 

"Act on it…" You repeated slowly, butterflies melting from your stomach, pooling elsewhere, "Like.. you want to act on it with me?” 

Tech closed the distance, his hands on you again. One at your hip and one gracing your hair,  "We really were as oblivious as Hunter said.” 

The armor on his hips pressed into your soft flesh, his long diligent fingers trailing down your arm, "You can tell me to stop.” 

Your eyes had be following his fingers down, your own twitched and laced into the leather straps that held his holsters to his thighs as if that would tether him to you, "Please don’t.”

A ghost of a smile went across his face before he startled you, picking you up swiftly and depositing you in the pilots seat. You weren’t quite sure of the logistics of this decision until he knelt down in front of you, kissing your lips first and yet not long enough for your liking. You chased his mouth with yours, but he pulled back, focussing down to your belt.

“Now, tell him. How did these dreams of yours go?” 

---

as usual half edited so excuse the typos

[starmapz]

shame on me || chapter nine || peonies & carnations

gojo satoru x female vessel reader

❝gojo satoru is the strongest sorcerer. when you come along with power to match his own, his responsibility to the world gets the best of him and his first impression is poor to say the least. when he needs your help, by some miracle you're too kind to deny him. or maybe he's just manipulative enough to convince you. either way, you're stuck training his student, a vessel like you. what could possibly go wrong?❞

warnings || 18+ only. contains explicit content. enemies to lovers. extreme angst. graphic descriptions of injury and death. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. fluff. major character death. anxiety. panic attacks. extreme slow burn. eventual smut. p in v. oral (f! and m! receiving). praise. overstimulation. unprotected. fingering. mating press. slight nanami x reader. happy ending!

additional tags || gojo is a dumbass but very lovable. very very very minor love triangle, will not be a main theme. no competing. takes place after season 2. au where gojo is not sealed and the shibuya incident does not go down the same. nanami is alive. choso is around. no major manga spoilers but will contain themes and ideas touched on later.

wc || 7.5k.

edited but not beta-read.

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

“Kento?”

You shakily step forward, your shoulder tilted back under Satoru’s grip as he firmly holds you back.

Just as you had found some sort of peace, just as you had managed to bandage and lick your wounds, the world won’t let you have peace. The honeyed gaze you’d mourned for so long stands tall at the treeline staring right back at you. His skin is covered from head to toe in scarred skin, the left half of his body now with more subtle scars from the stomach acid of the curse you’d been swallowed by almost two months ago. Most noticeably, a new marking runs along the top of his head. As though it’s been sliced open and stitched back together again.

You blink, feeling as though you’re seeing some sort of sick illusion designed to make you feel ill. Because you are. The rational part of you knows this isn’t him, souls don’t get to come back from the afterlife once Miriko has escorted them onwards.

And yet he stands here before you, his eyes devoid of their regular warmth.

It’s not him. It’s not Kento.

And it tears you to pieces knowing that someone took his body from you, when Miriko might even have been able to save him.

“Who are you?” You ask meekly. Satoru’s grip on you doesn’t waver, holding you back as you try to step forward again. You pull against him but his fingers curl into your shoulder as though he has intention to bruise.

Kento’s- no- the person’s gaze narrows, a sly smirk finding its way to Kento’s lips in an expression that makes your skin crawl. It’s so uncharacteristic for him that you physically recoil at the sight.

“I see you’re keeping secrets, Gojo.” Even his voice sounds wrong, the way it seems to hold syllables in a crooked manner.

That’s not Kento. The phrase repeats itself in your mind at every turn, the only fact grounding you right now.

Gojo doesn’t give the imposter the satisfaction of the response he wants. “What do you want, Kenjaku?”

You can’t bring yourself to tear your gaze from the stolen body of your lover to look to Gojo for answers, feeling as though you’ll fall apart the moment he’s out of sight. As though his image, stolen or not, is the only thing capable of saving your sanity in this instant, equally the thing capable of making you fall apart at any moment.

“Isn’t that an interesting plan your Vessel has some up with?” He tilts his head, a cold glimmer in his gaze. Electricity runs up your spine and you shiver.

“I thought he was dead?” Yuji whispers, staying out of earshot of Kenjaku. The name feels foreign to relate to Nanami’s likeness.

“He should be,” Gojo hisses, his hand hot on your shoulder. Anger radiates from him as he responds to Kenjaku. “You have thirty seconds to explain yourself before you’re a hole in the ground.” His voice drips with venom.

“Very well. I’m here to keep you all distracted.”

A grin curls his lips, petrifying you to the spot. Anger and agony turmoil deep within you, your legs shaking.

“But it would appear my job is done,” he hums in satisfaction. “Goodbye Satoru, Sukuna. y/n,” his voice lowers as he utters your name, turning on his heel and waving as he parts the treeline.

“No!” Your cry pierces the sky as you dash forward. Whether it’s your suffering or your anger fueling you, whether you would tear him apart or beg for him back, you don’t know. One way or the other, your feet carry you to him before your mind can catch up.

Before you can reach the treeline, a pair of strong arms restrain you, pulling you back. The pads of your fingers dig into his skin as you clutch desperately against his muscles, trying with every ounce of strength to escape the arms, but they don’t relent.

“Yuji, get Kusakabe and Choso and go after him!” Gojo instructs, making a point for Yuji not to go after him alone. Your student dashes off as you try desperately to tear yourself away from Gojo.

“Please!” You cry desperately as tears start to fall and your breathing begins to falter.

“y/n, it’s not him,” he reminds you softly, his voice hushed and gentle. As your body begins to shake in his grasp, no longer pushing against him, he catches you as your knees give out. Lowering the both of you slowly to the ground, he doesn’t dare let you go.

“They took him from me,” you cry out breathlessly, your vision blurring behind your tears.

“I know sweetheart,” Satoru comforts, gently rubbing your arm.

As the realization of Nanami’s stolen likeness turns to reality in your mind, your breaths turn shallow, the edges of your vision going white. You curl into yourself, gasping desperately for air as you shake violently, unable to hold yourself up.

Satoru recognizes your pain from when you were in the hospital, his muscles tensing around you as he realizes you’re panicking as you gasp for air. For help.

In contrast to when this happened in the hospital, Satoru doesn’t feel useless as he lets go of you, only to sit down on his knees in front of you, gentle fingers tangling with yours.

“Focus on my voice darling,” he whispers, his thumbs running over the back of your knuckles as your lungs burn under the crushing weight of anxiety. Your eyes flicker to his face as a sob wracks your body.

“I- I can’t-”

He shushes you softly. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

You clutch desperately to his hand, letting him pull one of his hands from your grip as he uses it to cup your face, wiping your tears.

It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t fair that you never had a chance to try to save your boyfriend.

Your anxiety threatens to swallow you whole, to envelop you in darkness, and as it does you feel something within you slipping. The more thoughts of Kento race through your mind, the more you feel it again.

The same twisting feeling in your gut of losing yourself. Losing your humanity. You hunch forward, your stomach threatening to wretch against your will as you claw desperately at the ground.

This time, though, you’re not alone.

And as the threat of losing yourself grows deeper and darker and stronger, so too does Satoru’s resolve as he recognizes your pain and agony.

Like a hand reaching through the darkness, he finally reaches you.

“y/n! Sweetheart, c’mon. Listen to me, listen to my voice,” you aren't sure how long he’s been trying to get through to you, but as he cups your face and moves your vision up to him, you manage a breath of air. As it fills your lungs, your vision clears just a bit. “That's it, breathe for me.”

Your lashes flutter as you focus on his chest, slowing your breaths as you cling to him like a life preserver.

His voice keeps you above water, and as your breathing steadies, you look up at him through teary lashes.

“Here with me now?”

You nod slowly, lips parted as relief floods Satoru’s expression. His blindfold sits around his neck, gaze focused entirely on you, like nothing else in the world could ever matter.

Taking a deep breath, you straighten your back and pull your cheeks from the sorcerer’s gentle grip on you, taking a moment to get your bearings. Your body feels hot and there’s a faint tremor in your hands still, but the relief of feeling air in your lungs pulls any focus away from the aftereffects of panic.

As Gojo’s arms fall to his lap, your eyes trail his movements, landing on his arm where you had gripped him in an attempt to break free of him. To your horror, decay litters the back of his forearm, cracks wrapping his muscles. They extend the length of his forearm, wrapping up to the middle of his bicep.

Glancing down at your own hands, still tremoring lightly, you realize you have matching splits littered across your own skin from the tips of your fingers.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, gingerly reaching out to hold his arm. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay,” he soothes with a calm grin. To your surprise and relief you can see now that it is veeeery slowly healing. “Crazy technique though, you don’t make it easy to heal.”

You shoot him a sorrowful glance, resting your hand on the ground and transferring cursed energy from the life of the grass beneath you into both his and your arms.

“I’m so sorr-”

“Stop apologizing,” he insists before you can even get one apology out in full, flexing his hand as you heal it with ease. The ground beneath you shrivels and decays, spreading across the ground in a random root-like pattern. With his arm healed, he holds it out in front of him with a grin. “See? Good as new.”

It’s oddly reassuring and you shoot him the best lopsided smile you can manage, though it doesn’t meet your eyes. Although you both had a long way to go in understanding one another, and certainly a long way to go when it came to anger and being constantly at odds with one another, Gojo was surprisingly understanding with you at this moment. Soft, even, and it puts you at ease.

Getting to his feet, he brushes his knees off and pulls you up with him.

“Thank you, Satoru. I- I think I would have… lost it again without you.”

He hums as he runs a thumb over your knuckles. “Not losin’ it on my watch,” he squeezes your hand reassuringly, giving you a gentle tug towards him. When you follow his lead, he tucks you against his body, eyes scouring the treeline. They shine brightly and you wonder just what he can see with his Six Eyes.

He grimaces after a moment, pulling his blindfold up over his face.

“He’s gone,” he tells you, breathing out through his nose.

You follow his gaze out to the treeline. “Who was that? Who’s Kenjaku?”

“A sorcerer who seems to want us to suffer,” he starts. You glance up at him, wondering if there’s a deeper meaning behind his words than the surface level nod to what he’d taken from you here and now. “He has the ability to move between bodies,” he explains, his chest rising and falling as he lets out a breath.

“Why- Why would he…?”

“He wants me dead. He wants me to hurt, and you got caught in the middle.” He hangs his head, strands of white hair straying from their upright position to lay over his blindfold. “Fuck,” he mutters simply under his breath.

“What did you do to him?” You ask, trying to keep your voice light-hearted though it doesn’t come across as such.

“Ha ha,” he shoots you a smile, knowing you intended it as a joke despite your tone. “He just wants to watch the world burn,” he shrugs, “and I’m the strongest.”

“You’ve mentioned that,” you mumble, chewing on your lip. “Is Yuji okay?”

“He’s fine. Him and Choso are on their way back, let’s go meet with them.”

You nod slowly, but as Gojo takes a step forward and you remain cemented to the spot, your gaze on the ground, he turns to face you. His brow visibly knits together in confusion beneath his eye covering, examining your pained and confused expression.

“I’m not over him,” you tell the snowy-haired sorcerer quietly. You see the way his biceps tense, pulling the fabric of his dress shirt’s sleeves taut. “I-” you hesitate. “I guess I just feel like a bit of a mess.”

He scratches at the back of his neck, and you wish you could more clearly see his expression, but it’s half blocked. A pit forms in your stomach, twisting in discomfort.

“I-” You pause, trying to make sense of your own emotions. “I don’t mean that- that I don’t care for you, Satoru.” You bite your lip in an attempt to ease your nerves. “I just mean that… Seeing him now, again- I mean I know it’s not him but-” you close your eyes, taking a deep breath. Staring up at Satoru from beneath your lashes, you finally manage to get your point across. “Seeing him just feels like a reminder that the wounds are still fresh.”

From where he stands a foot away, he shifts on his feet as he takes a moment to make sense of your words. The gentle smile that pulls at the corners of his lips is one you recognize immediately. It’s fake. You know him all too well now that you recognize the smile he braves on his lips when he’s forcing himself to be strongest, and in that moment you’re thankful you can’t see his eyes. The guilt pooling in your stomach might just eat you alive.

“I’ll be here when you’re ready,” he assures, his tone hammering home the point that he’s not as ‘okay’ as he’s letting on, but neither are you and you’re no in any state of mind to be trying to help him. Certainly not when the guilt of leading him on eats you alive.

“Satoru…” You chew on the inside of your cheek absent-mindedly.

It’s unfair.

Unfair of the world.

Unfair to you.

Unfair to Satoru.

You can handle the world being unfair to you. It’s a familiar old friend sidling its way along throughout the entirety of your life. Living the shadows, but always there.

Yet looking at Satoru now, it hurts that it’s not fair to him. It hurts that you know you aren’t being fair to him.

It hurts even more when he still offers you his arm, and you still take it. You don’t have the strength to handle this on your own, afraid of losing everything in the face of your grief. So selfishly, you wrap your hand around his strong arm, letting him shoot you his fake smirk.

It makes you angry, though. Angry at yourself for continuing to hold him at a distance while keeping him just close enough to have him there when you needed him. Using him. Using his feelings for you.

You let out a shaky breath as your mind drowns you in doubts. Should you be so angry when he’d used you for so long? When he had done to you far worse than simply keeping you at arms’ length?

It was easier to blame him, to be angry with him, but that wasn’t fair either.

Because the truth is simple. 

You care. You care a whole hell of a lot. Because if you didn’t, then this wouldn’t hurt so bad as it twists and boils in the pit of your stomach. It wouldn’t make you feel like you’re about to wretch.

“You alright?” His voice breaks through your stupor, your eyes lifting to see his cheery smirk.

You frown, but nod.

He hums. “You sure?”

You don’t give him an answer, your brow pulled together as you questioningly narrow your eyes at him. He smirks, jutting his chin out at your fingers, your knuckles white with how tightly you were gripping his arm.

“You’re holding onto me like I’m gonna fly away ‘r something,” he laughs with a teasing lilt.

You blink down at your grip on his arm, relaxing your muscles and easing the tension around his arm, though it didn’t seem to be bothering him all that much. “Sorry. I’m okay.”

He nods in acknowledgment before letting a comfortable silence fall over you both as you make your way towards the school’s main entrance. As you approach, you’re able to make out the figures of Kusakabe, Itadori, Shoko, Yaga, and Choso. Fushiguro is a small distance from the group as well, likely keeping space between himself and Itadori.

As you grow closer, you hear Kusakabe and Yaga discussing the strength of Kenjaku’s barriers in comparison to the barrier surrounding the school, and their concern for the fact that the attacks on the school seemed to be growing in frequency.

You let your hands fall from Satoru’s arm, straightening your posture and steeling your expression as you both arrive at the group. Still, you’re met with pitying stares that only further the shame and sadness you feel.

“He got away,” Satoru comments as eyes turn to him.

Choso nods. “We went after him but he threw himself into a group of humans and we lost track of him,” he explains with a miserable tone.

“Shouldn’t he be dead?” Yaga asks as he turns to face Satoru with crossed arms and a pointed stare.

“I thought he was,” he confirms, though Yaga’s huff of irritation even brings a grimace to Gojo’s face.

“y/n, how are you doing?” Yaga’s voice softens as he turns his attention to you. The pitious tone he uses makes your stomach stir in utter embarrassment as your mouth opens and closes once, twice, words lost on your tongue.

“She’s fine,” Satoru interrupts and for once you’re thankful he’s taking the words from your mouth, but Yaga isn’t so pleased.

“Satoru Gojo, I wasn’t speaking to you. Don’t test me, you’ve done enough lately, or do you want to talk about the incident with the higher-ups now?” Despite the inherent gravity of the subject, his demeanor is that of a parent or teacher scolding a child, and it seems to get to Satoru in such a way as well.

He averts his gaze from Yaga, arms crossing over his chest. “They were asking for it,” he grumbles childishly.

A small smirk makes its way to your lips as Yaga brings a thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose, growing frustrated. He mutters something under his breath about granting him strength before raising a hand in the air, waving it dismissively. “Consider yourself lucky that I’m ending this conversation here, for now,” he warns.

Gojo’s head falls back, mouth open in a child-like silent groan that has you stifling a giggle.

“Let’s get our facts straight,” Yaga ignores Gojo’s little outburst, focusing on the task at hand.

“Kenjaku is using Nanami’s body. He was able to make his way through the barrier and straight to y/n and Gojo, telling them it was a distraction,” Yaga lays out the facts.

“But nothing is missing and no traces of any other curses or curse-users were found,” Kusakabe continues, chewing on a toothpick thoughtfully.

Leaving Gojo’s side, you make your way over to Yuji, who looks a bit shaken. He’s deep in thought, jumping when he notices you beside him. His salmon hair is more disheveled than usual, his playful demeanor replaced with a thoughtful and serious expression.

Your voice is low when you speak with him, Kusakabe and Gojo discussing some details of the encounter behind you. “What are you thinking, Yuji?”

He instinctively brings a hand up to his cheek where Sukuna usually appears. “I just keep thinking about the finger that Cho and I found,” he admits, eyes trained on the grass beneath him. “If they didn’t take it, I don’t know what they could be after.”

“How many fingers are left?”

“Not including the one here, three.”

“Could they have found the other three?”

Yuji weighs the theory against his own thoughts, shrugging. “Why distract us if they’re nowhere near the school?”

Taking a step to the side, you turn your attention to Satoru. His arms are crossed over his broad chest, soft hands rested over each bicep. His gaze is trained on Kusakabe with a serious expression. Though he doesn’t give it away, you recognize that he seems worn out, a look you’re sure you carry as well.

Focusing on the latest attack, if you could even call it that, you wonder if Yuji could be right. How far does his Six Eyes technique allow him to see? Could he in theory have stopped them from getting fingers even if they were far from the school? Why would it matter anyway? At the end of the day, whether Jujutsu Tech gathered them all or the curses did, twenty fingers will always be twenty fingers.

“What if he was lying?” Yuji’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts.

“Hm?”

“They couldn’t kill Gojo on their own in Shibuya and that was without you in the picture, right?” He glances behind you at the eyes now trained on him. “They want you gone.”

“They wanted you to transform,” Kusakabe nods in agreement, running a hand through his short brown hair. The older man huffs, fiddling with the toothpick between his teeth. “They wanted to kill ya while you’re down.”

“Guess we should consider ourselves lucky you didn’t, then,” Yaga grunts, frowning. “What kept you with us this time?”

Slowly, your eyes trail towards Satoru, quickly followed by the steady gazes of the rest of the group. He tries hard to hide it, but the blush that dusts his cheeks is obvious, at least to you. Gingerly, he scratches the back of his undercut in an effort to divert attention away from the growing heat on his features.

To think that Gojo of all people had become your rock, you’re positive no one could expect it. You certainly couldn’t have, even a couple of weeks ago. But as thoughts and memories of earlier that morning flood your mind and your cheeks heat up in a shade similar to his, you can’t help but wonder what the hell the twisting feeling in your stomach is meant to be.

Guilt or confusion, maybe both? You aren’t sure.

All you know is that it feels as though it’s eating you alive, a sickly feeling gnawing at your every limb.

With a knowing expression, Shoko finally chimes in, her finger twirling the end of her hair. “I hate to interrupt, boys, but I’d like to do an exam with y/n.”

Yaga waves his hand dismissively. You catch the way Gojo stares between you both as he watches you wave to Yuji and follow after her. Though you can’t see his expression, you can envision the intense stare behind the black blindfold.

Your shoulders slump as you follow after Shoko, your expression visibly falling.

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” she comments bluntly, shooting you a small smile behind her usual tired expression.

You blink in surprise, chewing on your lip. “Do I?”

“You’re as pale as a ghost,” she confirms, concern etched into her features. The click of a lighter can be heard as she lights a cigarette and brings it to her lips. She pauses after climbing the stairs, leaning over the railing as she takes a long drag of the cigarette. She offers you a drag as well but you shake your head.

Taking a place beside her, she casts you a sidelong glance as she lets out a puff of smoke. From this angle, the destruction to the far half of the school grounds is glaringly obvious and stirs a familiar uneasiness in your chest.

It’s easy to forget that was just over a month ago. Even easier to forget that it was you who caused that damage. Still, it was the one portion of that day you had no recollection of whatsoever. You were just thankful your memories of your final moments with Kento returned to you.

Your eyes drift to the group you’d just left, attention training on Satoru as you reminisce over the morning, which somehow felt like years ago already.

“You two seem to be on better terms lately,” she comments.

You nod slowly, gripping the railing before you. “He decided to stop being insufferable,” you agree with a breathy laugh.

Shoko smiles, her eyes closing as the corners crinkle at your comment. “No more extortion?”

“No more,” you chuckle in agreement. The exhaustion of the morning begins to catch up with you and you slump your shoulders at the feeling, leaning your chin on your arms against the railing.

Sensing your unease, Shoko stubs out the cigarette and makes a motion for you to follow to her office.

The familiar sterile walls and bright lights feel like an assault on your senses as you blink in order to acclimate yourself to the room. You follow Shoko’s silent instruction to sit on the hospital bed as she pats it.

Shoko is silent throughout her testing, eventually determining you were dehydrated and advising you to sleep, which you happily agreed to do once the IV drip had run its course. Given that you were a Vessel, being in a hospital again was a strange feeling, but Miriko insisted dehydration wasn’t something she could heal. As if Shoko’s scolding wasn’t enough, now a dragon was scolding you over your health. Great.

Sitting with her clipboard in hand, Shoko taps the back of her pen against the paper. “It was you, wasn’t it?” She thinks aloud, calm eyes observing your confused expression. “That he brought Suguru to. All those years ago.”

“Oh, Geto?” You ask softly, remembering that Yuta had mentioned he was Gojo and Shoko’s friend. She nods. “That was me,” you confirm, voice small under Shoko’s observant gaze. She bears no scrutiny or malice in her expression, but still you can’t help but feel partially as though she’s silently judging you.

Then again, that isn’t how Shoko is. “What did he go to you for?”

“He asked me to bring Geto’s soul to the afterlife.”

It takes her a moment to process your reply. “Good. I’m glad. He’s safe?” She asks, her voice strained.

“Miriko is the in-between. I don’t know, but I assume he is.” It’s not the most reassuring, but it’s the truth. At least he wasn’t trapped in his body with Kenjaku anymore. That in and of itself was a semblance of peace of mind for you with Kento.

Busying herself with more testing, you let her prod at you as she needs. Listening to your breathing through a stethoscope, you’re both startled as Satoru nonchalantly walks in, ducking through the doorway with a grin that quickly turns to concern at the sight of the IV hooked up to you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, rushing to your bedside in the most unsubtle fashion you’ve ever seen. You feel your muscles tense as guilt crashes over you again.

“You’re messing with my work, Satoru,” Shoko grumbles, lifting her head as your breath hitches at the sight of the white-haired sorcerer.

Before he has the chance to respond, you interject. “I’m fine,” you assure him.

He frowns, searching your expression for any sign that you’re lying, but when he can’t find one he huffs. “Fine,” he grumbles, turning to leave. He casts you one last glance before he’s out the door.

Shoko rolls her eyes, returning to listening to your breathing. Once satisfied, she leans back in her chair and writes your results on her clipboard. “We gonna talk about that?”

“About what?”

She smirks, leaning forward. “You know I could hear your breathing and heart when he came in, right?”

You pale, if that’s even possible. “Oh.”

“Mhmm.”

“He just scared me,” you lie through your teeth.

“Right,” she agrees, letting up far easier than you expected. She gets to her feet and turns to face the counter, washing her hands as she removes the latex gloves over her hands. “He looks at you the same way he looked at Suguru.”

Your jaw tenses as you fumble with the fabric of your dress on your lap. “Things changed a lot in the last month,” you admit quietly. Shoko eyes you over her shoulder quietly as she lets you continue. “He kissed me this morning.”

Her brow raises, arms crossing over her chest as she turns to face you. Leaning back on the counter behind her, she tilts her head curiously. “You don’t seem very excited considering your heart rate when he walked in.”

Your lips part as you hesitate. “I’m scared,” you admit. She comes to sit on the edge of the bed, her weight causing the thin mattress to dip beneath her. Her presence is oddly comforting and you realize you should have spent more time with her to begin with.

“Why’s that?”

Your chest tightens as you wonder where to begin. Things were scary with Nanami, sure, especially given that there was a decent amount of patience required on his part to ease you into your first relationship in a long time, but with Gojo everything was tenfold.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” you admit through the sea of emotions plaguing you. “I’m not over Kento yet and this morning… I know it wasn’t him but…” You trail off, eyes trained on a jar full of cotton swabs though you may as well have been staring at the wall.

“It’s not easy to lose someone you love,” she agrees to urge you on.

“I think I feel guilty. Like I’m betraying Ken by moving on so fast,” your voice is barely a whisper and Shoko has to lean in to hear you. She takes a deep breath, nodding slowly.

“He would want you to be happy, you know. He always put others before himself.”

It stings, hearing the words you know already said aloud. You know, you know more than anyone could ever tell you. It doesn’t make it any easier, though. It doesn’t make you feel any less guilty. Worse still, it brings tears to your eyes knowing he would want you to pursue things with Gojo if it meant your happiness.

Bringing a hand up to your face, you rub your temple. It almost gives you a headache simply at the thought of it.

As the IV drip finishes, she stands up from the bed, grabs one of the cotton swabs, and presses it to your arm, using medical tape to secure it. Leaving her hand on your arm for a moment, she stops you from getting up to head out.

“All I’m saying is that he looks like a puppy around you. He has for a while, actually,” she chuckles, a somber glimmer passing through her eyes so quickly you second-guess whether you even saw it. “I know he wasn’t good to you for a while, but he does care a lot.”

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat doing your tired body no favors. Thanking Shoko, you give her a small wave and move to head back to your cabin- Satoru’s cabin.

Really, it had started to feel like yours as well. If you thought about it for longer than a moment, you knew at the end of the day there was a semblance of home returning to your life, something you were certain you wouldn’t feel if not for him- for Satoru.

Where once you had considered your old cottage your home, and to a degree you still did, now your home lived within those around you. Where once your home lived within Nanami and Taro, you’d be a fool to say you weren’t warming up to the idea of Gojo being your home.

Maybe it was worth a shot. Maybe, when the time came, you would be willing to pursue something with him.

Locking eyes with him through the kitchen window of the little cabin you were heading towards, a small smile easily finds its place on your lips like clockwork.

–

The past few days with Satoru had been… odd. He didn’t seem to know what to do with himself after you had told him you weren’t over Kento. He was overbearing at times, practically attempting to drown you in water after finding that you’d been dehydrated, while other times you would catch him staring while being strangely distant with you.

Talks with Shoko helped and had become a nightly occurrence and a good opportunity to give both you and Gojo some time apart. You figured the both of you needed it, given the circumstances of your relationship.

You made an effort to try to find more time for your own hobbies as well, returning to tending your garden outside the old cabin that had once been your home. It brought with it a sense of calm which you were grateful for.

With the sun setting overhead, its warm rays leaving room for the cooler night air, you breathe out a sigh of relief at the sight of a full bed of flowers before you. Your eyes drift over the beautiful summer colors and you find yourself gently running your fingers through the petals of a gorgeous yellow peony that had bloomed far larger than the rest.

Though you’d seen him making his way towards you, you look up with a soft smile as Satoru’s long afternoon shadow stands tall over the bed of flowers before you.

“Thought I’d find you out here,” he smiles, white lashes fluttering from behind his dark shades. You preferred when he wore his shades, allowing you to see his striking blue eyes.

“Am I so predictable?” You giggle, not expecting an answer. He sits down at your side with his arms holding his knees, looking over the array before you. His gaze lands on the peony in your hand, planted soundly beside a peace lily.

“What kind of flower is that?”

“It’s a peony,” you tell him, removing your hand from the blossom. It sways back and forth in tandem with the rest of the buds in the breeze.

“Is it your favorite?”

“No,” you sigh, a bittersweet smile gracing your lips. But it was Kento’s. You don’t dare say it, but Satoru can see it in your smile.

“Which one is your favorite?” He asks, clearing his throat.

Humming, you glance over the array of summer blossoms sitting before you. Each one has a different meaning, carefully chosen to be part of the flowerbed before you for one reason or another.

“I think I like the blue Hydrangeas best,” you decide, pointing to a stem with dozens of flowers bundled at the top in a gorgeous little bouquet of their own. Blue at the top, they fade to a purple and eventually a pink at the bottom of the stem due to how you had watered them. It was a fun little trick you had learned with them that your father had taught you that he had learned from your mother. Though you knew next to nothing about her, it was one of the only things you had to hold onto from her.

“Flowers all mean something, right?” He asks, satisfied with himself when you nod affirmatively. “What about that one?” He asks, staring pointedly at the Hydrangeas.

“Beauty, prosperity, forgiveness, and good intentions.”

He tilts his head at them curiously before his gaze trails slowly across the rest of the blossoms. “What about those ones?” He points to a red blossom tucked in the back of the bed with similar petals to the peony.

“That’s a carnation. They symbolize deep love and affection,” you say softly, looking up at the way his eyes shine as he listens to you.

Sure enough, his questions devolve into a quiz. Questions about dahlias, begonias, tulips, magnolias, and finally landing on the peace lily. The first flower you always planted, which now sits proudly alongside the marigolds. The two flowers that brought you some sort of bittersweet peace.

“That’s a peace lily,” you tell him as he reaches out to gently run a single finger along the lily. They have a much different texture and look from the rest of the flower bed, and very rarely did they go with many of the arrays you put together for yourself, but nonetheless they were important to you.

Of course, Satoru asks what it means as he delicately removes his finger from the fragile bloom.

“Serenity in life, remembrance. Peace,” you tell him simply, staring at the resilient bud as it sways after leaving his fingers. You let out a small breath at the sight of the flower, averting your gaze from Satoru’s, ever watchful.

Usually you couldn’t get him to shut up, but for once his silence speaks the volumes that he doesn’t.

“What does it mean to you, y/n?”

You take a moment to consider his question, chewing on your lip. Sensing your unease at his question, he shuffles himself a bit closer to you. Despite the past few days being strange at best, his presence still gives you comfort and your heart warms knowing he’s trying to give you both the comfort and time you desire.

“I plant them in honor of the mother whose life I took. It- It was an accident,” you stammer over your words as you quickly try to explain yourself. He leans himself against you lightly, reassuringly.

“The one the higher-ups mentioned?”

You nod slowly, the memory a permanent scar on your conscience. “I didn’t know about my technique. My dad passed away and I accidentally awakened Miriko and…” you trail off, mouth opening and closing pitifully like a fish as you shake your head, staring down at your hands in your lap. Metaphorically bloodstained.

“It was an accident, it happens,” Gojo assures you, moving a hand to rub your back gently. You relax into his touch, your shoulders falling slack. Sliding his hand from your back to your shoulder, he pulls you into him. His warmth is a welcome contrast to the air that had long grown cool as the moon began to rise before you both, illuminating his hair and lashes in the most mesmerizing way.

“I know. Accident or not, I still orphaned a boy, though.”

A frown pulls at the corner of Gojo’s lips.

“I did too,” he admits. You stiffen in his grasp, turning to examine his expression but you can’t gleam anything from it. “Megs’ dad killed a girl around the first-years’ age when Megs was like… four or somethin’.” Running a hand through his hair to move it from his vision, he lets out a tense breath and you realize suddenly he’s only telling you this to ease your own guilt.

“He tried to kill me and-” he pauses. Suguru. He doesn’t need to say it. “Well, ‘tried’ might be an understatement,” he chuckles dryly. You stare up at him in shock, looking him over as though he was a ghost. No, his warmth is real.

“Wh-?”

“He killed me. Killed Amanai and her Guardian, would have killed Suguru if he wasn’t afraid of his technique. He was somethin’ else.”

Your jaw slacks at the revelation. He’d… died? Even with the Limitless technique? As much as you hated when everyone called him The Strongest, the name was fitting. It was hard to imagine a world without him, a world where he could fall.

Gojo runs his hand through his hair, this time more intently. He tilts his head so you can see the faintest hint of a scar that never quite fully healed even through his reverse cursed technique. It sits just below his hairline, in the shape of a jagged blade. You gasp at the sight, wide-eyed as you gingerly raise your hand up to his forehead. The skin is only faintly uneven beneath the pads of your fingers.

With his arm still holding you firmly to him, you feel his pulse quicken at your touch. You meet his longing gaze, biting your lip hesitantly at the sudden realization of how close you are to him. That very same longing reflects from deep within you, just barely visible beneath the cloud of guilt and uncertainty. And it’s that same haze that causes you to pull back your fingers, setting your hands delicately in your lap.

Despite your hesitance, Satoru is kind and patient. It’s not something you’d ever thought to be characteristic of him, but since the day you’d admitted to him that you weren’t over Kento, he’d remained steadfast in what he’d said.

He would wait for you. He would give you time.

“I think my favorites are the red ones,” he blurts out in an effort to spare you both of the awkward silence. He never was one for silence, after all. Parsing between the three species of red ones, you let the guilt and seriousness fade as you’re pulled back into conversation.

“Which ones?”

“The, um,” he pauses with narrowed eyes, “Dahlias?”

Your eyes light up at the choice, thrilled and maybe even a bit surprised that he remembered what they were called. “That’s a great choice!” You trill in a sing-song voice, all previous sorrows forgotten as you excitedly twirl in his direction.

“Yeah?” He tilts his head with a genuine smile as he urges you on.

Before you know it, you’re diving into the flowers’ origins, history, how to care for them, and the other colors that can decorate their petals.

“-they’re from the family of Aster flowers, native to Mexico-”

“-they come in about forty different species, and Japan isn’t a great place for them to grow, but during the summer they thrive-”

“-and they usually symbolize elegance and growth, but the red ones you like generally mean perseverance-”

Not once does he interrupt, not once does his gaze ever leave your excited face, nor does he show any disinterest. He listens through your entire excited explanation, not daring to say a word in case you might notice the endless drabble falling from your lips. He savors every moment of your genuine happiness.

As your prattle comes to a close, your cheeks redden as you realize that the Satoru you had come to know who rarely if ever shut up, is silent. If anything, you had taken his place, launching into a rave over flowers, which he surely didn’t care about-

“Tell me about those ones,” he points to a Flamingo flower, the only one to survive the unideal conditions of the Japanese summers for it, and your jaw slacks slightly as you stare at the genuine boyish grin creasing his cheeks with handsome dimples.

The sun is all but set at this point, a chill breeze pushing Satoru’s hair over his vision as he pointedly shakes his head to clear his vision, and yet here he is, asking you about flowers.

Your demeanor softens and you smile gratefully at him. Whether he does genuinely care, whether he’ll even remember a damn thing about the flowers you could barely see in the basking moonlight spreading over the horizon, you couldn’t be sure.

One way or the other, this moment felt like the only thing on earth that mattered.

Noticing your uncertainty at launching into another explanation, he tilts his chin and nods reassuringly, and so you proceed to tell him about the frail flower.

It’s strange how natural it feels to talk to him. As though you hadn’t fought for months on end over every little thing, as if you had known one another your whole lives. Like second nature.

Staring at the lone pink Flamingo flower, you realize just how serious he was when he said he would wait for you.

Here, in this fleeting moment of genuine calm and contentment, Satoru was exactly what you needed.

You smile up at him genuinely, a small jovial sigh parting your lips. “Thanks, Satoru.”

“For what?”

“Letting me go on about flowers,” you chuckle, a bit embarrassed over how long the two of you had been sitting in the patch of grass.

“I could listen to you talk all day.” His eyes are lidded, gleaming with something akin to adoration.

You purse your lips, your heart fluttering in your chest. Before you can convince yourself not to, you move forward and press a chaste kiss to his cheek, pushing yourself to your feet almost immediately.

His wide eyes meet yours with wonder as you offer him your hand. He takes it, moving to stand at your side as you chat about tomorrow’s lesson, his tall figure blocking the breeze from hitting your bare shoulders as he knowingly shields you from the wind.

As you arrive at the cabin and he bids you goodnight, you miss the way he watches you until you’ve closed the door behind you with a longing albeit affectionate look.

You don’t see the way he sneaks back out of the cabin, apologizing under his breath for picking one of your carefully tended flowers.

You miss the way he delicately and carefully pulls out a tall glass (he doesn’t have a vase, but he’s trying his best), and fills it with water.

But while you did miss all the small details, in the morning when you wake up and hear his gentle snores coming from his room, you don’t miss the way there’s a gorgeous red Babylon Carnation sitting in the center of the kitchen table.

Heat gathers at the base of your neck, spreading to your cheeks and up to the tips of your ears. Your heart thumps hard against the cage of your chest as your fingers delicately run across the crisp petals before you that hold more meaning than you’re ready to begin to unpack.

Deep love and affection.

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a/n || awhhh i had soooo much fun writing that final scene 😭 i hope you enjoyed! likes, reblogs and comments super appreciated ♡