#Smart Vending Lock

[theishare-ab]

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[mw00nie]

extra credit

you first see him on a tuesday.

10 a.m. political science. long, cold, fluorescent-lit misery. you only took it because the professor was rumored to be easy. except, twist, he now isn’t, and your attendance is locked in for the semester. brutal.

you always sit in the back. fake typing on your laptop, tabs full of shit you’ll never afford, pretending you’re gonna relisten to the lectures on your phone. spoiler: you won’t.

so, naturally, you start people-watching. it becomes your sport.

guy in front of you sexting someone at 10 a.m. on a tuesday? disturbing. girl next to you writing color-coded notes on an ipad that costs more than your rent? pretentious. two girls giggling over tinder and ranking guys like they’re judging cattle at a state fair? iconic.

then you see him.

front row. every single class. white hair, slightly too long, messy like he cut it himself or forgot to. hoodie with a bleach stain on the sleeve. glasses he keeps pushing up with his middle finger. backpack covered in pins that look suspiciously like anime.

the kind of guy who probably owns a sword. the kind of guy who turns in essays early and apologizes for formatting mistakes. the kind of guy who definitely gets hard when girls yell at him.

you watch him answer a question once, voice so quiet, you can barely hear it from your seat, and it hits you like a truck:

this guy is such a loser. i want him in my bed immediately.

you don’t do anything about it at first. just move closer, row by row, like a predator slowly circling.

he doesn’t notice. he’s too busy actually doing the readings.

every class, he types with those long fingers, hunched over his laptop like he’s coding the next great american novel. he frowns when the professor gets something wrong. he wears wired headphones. wired, for god’s sake.

you can feel it building in you every time he pushes his glasses up. every time he mutters a “yeah, i think that’s actually covered in the assigned paper by—” before trailing off, embarrassed.

you want to climb into his lap and ruin his academic career. you want to know if he’s as nervous with his hands as he is with his voice. you want to see how red his ears can get.

three weeks in, you finally snap.

you catch him right after lecture, halfway to the vending machines, headphones still hanging around his neck. his fingers are tangled in his hoodie strings, backpack slung over one shoulder, like he barely remembered to exist outside of class.

he stops in his tracks when you say his name.

“satoru gojo, right?”

he blinks. once. twice. like you’ve just pulled the fire alarm in his brain.

“…yeah?”

he’s taller than you expected. awkwardly so. broad shoulders slouched like he’s trying to make himself smaller. glasses sliding down his nose. messy white hair that looks like he towel-dried it and called it a day. he smells faintly like clean laundry and caffeine. you hate how much that does to you.

you lean in a little. tilt your head. smile like you know something he doesn’t.

“you’re smart,” you say. “painfully. the kind of smart that corrects the professor mid-lecture and then apologizes for it.”

he flushes, stammers. “i– only if they’re, like, wrong? sometimes?”

adorable.

you step closer. just enough to watch his pupils blow out a little. he’s blinking at you like he’s buffering.

“i need help studying,” you say sweetly. “and you seem.. helpful.”

his mouth opens. closes. “uh– sure?”

“great.” you tilt your head. “library at seven?”

he nods, slow and stunned.

you smile wider. “and if you’re good,” you say, voice low enough to make him swallow, “i might let you kiss me.”

you don’t wait for a response. just turn and walk off, backpack slung lazily over your shoulder.

when you glance back, he’s still standing there. frozen, mouth slightly open, entire brain fried like a cheap motherboard.

you laugh to yourself.

this is going to be so much fun.

he shows up to the library that night. you weren’t sure he would. he seemed like the type to overthink it until he got hives. but there he is 6:57, laptop in hand, adorned in what looked like a bunch of different stickers. the etsy type.

“hey,” you say, flashing a smile as he slides into the seat next to you.

he nearly fumbles his bag off the table. “hey,” he replies, voice quiet. “so… what’re you stuck on?”

you don’t even bother pretending to know. just hand him your notes with a shrug and start watching him instead.

he’s so earnest. brows furrowed. lips pressed together. squinting at your writing like it personally offended him.

you’re supposed to be learning about political theory, but all you can think about is what his mouth would feel like on your neck. how red his ears would get if you sat in his lap right now and pulled on his hoodie strings.

by the end of the night, he’s explained two chapters, drawn a chart, and unconsciously flexed his hands at least a dozen times.

you lean back, stretch, and smile at him sweetly. “you’re a really good teacher.”

he turns a little pink. scratches the back of his neck.

“…thanks?”

“don’t thank me yet,” you murmur. “you’ve got office hours again tomorrow.”

he swallows.

you don’t kiss him. not yet. you let him walk home in a daze, probably questioning whether he imagined the whole thing.

you make him wait.

over the next two weeks, you meet him three more times.

once in the library, once at a coffee shop, and once after class in an empty study room.

every time, he gets a little bolder. not much. just enough for you to notice.

his knees brush yours under the table and he doesn’t pull back. he teases you when you mess up a definition. he looks you in the eye a little longer than he did before, until you’re the one who has to look away.

“you’re learning,” you hum one night.

he just shrugs, smirking softly.

“you said if i was good, i’d get to kiss you.”

his voice is low. deeper now. like he’s starting to realize he has some kind of effect on you.

you smile, sweet and lethal.

“maybe next time.”

you invite him over on a thursday night.

you claim it’s for a “final review session” before the quiz. you text him your address, and tell him to wear something comfortable.

he shows up in another hoodie and sweatpants. his glasses are clean for once. his hair still a mess, but in a way that almost looks intentional.

you pretend to study for fifteen minutes.

fifteen.

after that, you crawl into his lap, straddle his legs, and tilt his chin up.

“still wanna kiss me?”

he doesn’t answer. just leans in and kisses you like he’s been thinking about it for weeks.

and god, he’s so warm. so eager. he kisses like he means it, messy and deep, hands hovering just shy of your waist like he’s scared to hold on too tightly.

you grind down once and he chokes on a moan.

“shit– wait–”

you pull back and grin.

“don’t tell me this is your first time.”

he goes red, but his eyes are sharp now, glinting under the low light of your room.

“…why would you think that?”

you laugh, breathless. “because you’re a loser. you raise your hand in lectures. you wear anime pins. you fumble your phone when i look at you.”

“so?” he murmurs, licking into your mouth, voice rough. “i can still make you cum.”

you blink. stunned.

he grins, slow and devastating. glasses slipping again, hands sliding up your thighs.

“wanna bet?”

you don’t even make it five minutes into the “study” session before he’s got you pinned to the couch.

your laptop’s open on some political science quizlet. long forgotten.

your panties are shoved halfway down your thighs, hoodie thrown on the floor somewhere, one of his hands gripping your jaw while the other is buried deep inside you.

“what happened to all that attitude?” he mutters against your mouth, voice low, breath warm. “thought you said i was a loser.”

you gasp, try to buck your hips, but he holds you still. his fingers curl just right and your entire spine arches.

“fuck– satoru–”

“say it again,” he growls, licking into your mouth like he’s starving. “say i’m a loser.”

you whimper. “you’re– fuck, you’re not–”

“hmm?” his thumb circles your clit, lazy and cruel. “what was that?”

you choke on a moan. it’s disgusting how wet you are. slick dripping down his knuckles, pooling under your ass on the cushions.

he’s still got his glasses on. slightly fogged. his hair’s messier than usual, sleeves shoved up to his elbows. he looks deranged. brilliant. completely in control.

and all you want is more.

“please,” you breathe. “just– fuck me– please–”

he pulls his fingers out and sucks them into his mouth like he’s tasting you.

“you ask so nicely,” he hums, grinning like the devil. “but i think you need a little warm-up first.”

you expect him to drop to his knees.

you don’t expect him to pull you by the hips and throw you over his face.

he lays back on the couch, one arm hooked under your thigh, and drags you down onto his mouth.

“oh– fuck–”

his tongue is obscene. messy. insistent. his nose brushes your clit every time he moves, and he groans like he’s the one getting off.

you’re gasping, grinding against his face, grabbing fistfuls of his hair like a girl possessed.

he pulls back once to breathe and licks his lips, eyes half-lidded, voice wrecked.

“sweetest i’ve ever had in my life,” he mutters. “could stay here all night.”

you cum on his tongue twice.

by the time he lets you down, your legs are jelly. your voice is half-gone. and he’s hard. painfully hard. under his sweatpants.

“c’mere,” he mutters, voice rough. “you owe me something.”

you drop to your knees without hesitation.

he’s thick, flushed, leaking at the tip, and way too big for the loser nerd image he gives off in class.

“god,” you whisper, wrapping a hand around it. “you’ve been hiding this from me?”

“was waiting for you to find out,” he says, pushing his glasses up, totally smug.

you stroke him slow, spit-slick and teasing, then lean in and drag your tongue up the underside.

his breath stutters. “f-fuck–”

you take him in deep, hollow your cheeks. he groans and grabs the back of your head.

“god, you’re good,” he mutters, hips twitching. “knew you’d suck cock like a slut.”

you whimper around him, moan at the taste, the weight, the way his thigh tenses under your hand.

he fucks your mouth slowly. not too deep, not yet.  just enough to make your eyes water.

when he pulls you off, you’re panting, spit dripping down your chin.

“get on the couch,” he says, voice dark. “hands and knees.”

you scramble up, bend over, and he groans.

“fuck– look at that.”

he presses himself up behind you, drags the head of his dick through your folds, and leans forward to whisper against your ear.

“you’re gonna let the virgin loser fuck you like this?” he murmurs, kissing your neck.

“yes,” you whine. “please– satoru, i need it–”

he thrusts in all at once.

you gasp, your eyes rolling back.

he’s so deep it makes your stomach flip, one hand digging into your hip while the other presses between your shoulder blades, pushing you down.

he starts fucking you like he’s been waiting years. filthy, relentless, fast and hard and deep enough you can barely think.

“not such a brat now, huh?” he pants. “still think i’m just some nerd?”

you’re moaning, crying out, face smushed into a pillow as he hits your g-spot with every thrust like a bullseye

he leans down, wraps a hand around your throat, and groans when you clench around him.

“tight little pussy,” he mutters. “knew you’d be like this. couldn’t stop thinking about it. mmph– gonna ruin you–”

he pulls out and flips you over ignoring your whine of protest. pushes your legs up to your chest, and drills into you.

you cum again, shaking, sobbing into his mouth as he kisses you through it.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, sweat on his brow, pupils blown.

“you want it inside?” he grunts, hips stuttering. “want me to fill you up?”

“yesyes– fuck, please–”

“god, you’re filthy,” he groans. 

he cums hard. deep, slow thrusts, hips grinding into yours, breath hot against your throat as he empties inside you.

you’re both panting. ruined. bodies tangled on your shitty dorm couch.

he pulls out slow, watches his cum leak out of you, and smirks.

“extra credit,” he says, breathless. “you definitely passed.”

[lkfarrout]

So we all collectively agree that Stan is smart. I mean, to be able to fix the portal he had to be. However, I think everyone skips over another very obvious example of Stan's genius: the vending machine

The vending machine definitely wasn't something Ford had around. Stan bought it for the gift shop as a way to hide the entrance to the basement while also making a little money from it.

How many weeks, months, or years did Stan just have a normal ass vending machine over the doorway that he had to physically move every night to get down there? How many times did someone shake the thing trying to get their snack out and almost see the doorway before Stan realized just covering it wasn't enough?

So he rewired the damn thing to have a secret code and some kind of, idk air lock release? And a way for it to open on its own? Without any journals, manuals, and (knowing Stan) probably without the internet too.

All while making sure it still worked as a fully functioning vending machine.

Stan is so smart you guys.

[01zfan]

contact

ex!shotaro x ex!reader | 11k words

i unfortunately went crazy with the backstory on this but i love economics major shotaro so i had to write about him. also the ex that comes to help you without hesitation is SOOOO him. this was fun to write i hope you guys have fun reading heh. how this ended up being 11k words is beyond me.

contains: college setting, mommy issues mentioned in passing, a funeral (purely just for the setting), reader is tipsy (they talk about it), unprotected sex (shotaro pulls out)

contact: part 1 | part 2

Anyone who passed by the library could feel the collective anguish of the students trapped inside. By no means were they preparing last minute for their assignments and tests that were coming up, in fact they were ahead of their peers. The students that were smart and disciplined enough to spend their Saturday nights locked away in study rooms still suffered the same, they just did it before everyone else. 

That’s what Shotaro was doing currently with his study group. They were currently seven deep, occupying the biggest table the main room of the library had to offer. Even if no food or drink was allowed in the study space, this late into the night there was an unspoken rule that you could have a snack and an energy drink on the condition you cleaned up after yourself. Shotaro’s group took full advantage of this rule—plastic wrappers from the vending machine snacks were spread across the table. Crumbs from chips and cookies were on top of keyboards and condensation from iced coffees and chilled energy drinks made the pages of their notebooks wet. Despite the mess all of them were locked into their screens or their journals, going over assignments and final projects like their lives depended on it.

“Hyung, whats the four types of labor in economics?” Anton, the only non-declared economics major in the group looked across the table to Eunseok.

Despite being a labor economics major Eunseok still sarcastically looked up to the sky like he didn’t know the answer. Shotaro took a break from typing his economic theory paper to lightly push into Eunseok’s side. He had the habit of picking on Anton, but that seemed to come with the territory of being the youngest. Anton always took it in stride, purposefully grumbling out loud to illicit a reaction from his hyungs. When Eunseok was done teasing Anton he went back to his notebook, writing something from a lecture he was watching on his laptop.

“There’s skilled, unskilled, semi-skilled, and—” Eunseok looked expectantly to Anton. 

Anton’s question broke the stretching silence of the group. Hearing two humans interact with eachother in God knows how long caught everyones attention. Sohee lifted his headphones from his ear waiting for the answer. Everyone waited for anton to answer with bated breath, like it was a game of jeopardy. 

What is traditional labor? Anton asks with a smile that tells everyone he already knows he’s wrong. 

There’s a collective groan at the table. Eunseok puts his head in his hands at the wrong answer and Sungchan just laughed in his face. The late night was making everything a little more funny, and Anton’s terrible attempt at knowing about economics made the serious atmosphere of the study group crumble.

“You are shit at economics.” Wonbin delivered his insult with sincerity, complete with a slow shake of his head.

“What the hell is traditional labor anyways?” Sungchan asked, looking around the table for an answer.

Anton even laughed about his terrible attempt to know about labor economics. He smiled to himself and shook his head before letting it hang. 

Shotaro felt for the youngest, he really did. He was still a freshman with so much time to decide on his focus in economics—or to switch his major all together. Shotaro almost reminded Eunseok how bad he was at economics before someone’s phone started vibrating against the table.

Aftershocks of Anton’s wrong answer fizzled as they tried to figure out who was the culprit. People who were sitting at other tables had already lifted their heads from their assignments due to Sungchan’s loud laugh, but they were laser focused on the table that was defying the strict no sound policy. 

Shotaro reactivated the sleeping screen on his laptop to get back to work. He was in the middle of rereading the details of an incentive program for a fake company to evaluate the opportunity cost. The contacts he wore felt uncomfortable on his eyes as he focused back. Shotaro leaned back in his uncomfortable creaking chair and let his friends scramble to find the buzzing phone, but when he readjusted his headphones back on his ears he heard the automated voice of his phone saying an unknown number was calling him. Shotaro quickly grabbed his phone that was beside his notebook to decline the call.

For a moment he thought that he forgot to activate the study mode option on his phone. But he remembered his impenetrable do not disturb was null and void if someone cared to call him more than once. Just as Shotaro saw the notification for a separate missed call and a voicemail his phone started ringing again. 

Receiving a call this late into the night was odd. Receiving it from a phone number he didn’t recognize was even more odd. Shotaro examined the area code, wracking his mind for another number in his contact list that started with the same digits. He noticed that there wasn’t a spam likely hanging near the number either. 

When everyone realized who the culprit was, they started looking one by one. Sungchan looked first, peering from the side of his laptop to stare at Shotaro staring at his phone. Wonbin who sat next to Sungchan was second, and then Eunseok who sat on the other side of Shotaro looked next. Within seconds everyone at the table was looking at Shotaro’s phone. The only thing that pulled Shotaro away from his still vibrating phone was Wonbin calling out to him.

“Hyung, are you gonna answer it?” Wonbin asked.

“Who is it?” Sohee asked.

Everyone shifted in their seats at Sohee’s straightforward question. The thing everyone in the nosy friend group wanted to ask but were too scared to. Sohee couldn’t be bothered, moreso annoyed with the fact that the phone was still vibrating.

“It’s a number I don’t have saved.” Shotaro said as the screen on his laptop timed out again.

Shotaro heard his friends at the table shift in their seats. He could feel all of them trying to inconspicuously exchange looks, trying to remain neutral. Anton went back to looking at his assignment after making a face that was entirely too obvious. 

After Shotaro’s phone was finally done ringing and he looked at his friends he noticed all of their sullen faces. He ran his fingers over the trackpad and focused on the potential return of giving hypothetical loyal customers a discount on goods.

“It’s not her you guys.” Shotaro assured. I have her number memorized, and that’s not it.

Instantly Shotaro felt the rest of his friends avert eye contact to focus back on their assignments. Silence fell over all of them, one that was so awkward Shotaro had to clear his throat.

Shotaro couldn’t really blame his friends walking on eggshells. The relationship lasted a majority of college, starting from freshmen orientation and ending exactly twenty-two days ago; ironically around the same time this study group was created. Shotaro and you were likened to the parents as the friend group, and his friends were definitely handling it like a divorce.

Shotaro appreciated the concern, but at the same time he didn’t understand why they were so squeamish and almost scared to bring it up. Yes Shotaro announced the breakup suddenly, just by saying casually yeah we broke up when they asked where you were. Yes Shotaro locked into his academics a little too hard, and yes he has been picking up extra shifts at his job. But that was in no way related to his recent breakup. You two ended things amicably. You even met in a neutral setting with your friends needlessly close by while you gave eachother your belongings back. 

Shotaro still thought about the stone table in the park in front of one another when you slid a cardboard box of his belongings over to his side.

“Let me know if I missed anything, but I think I got it all.” You said quietly.

After nodding, Shotaro did the same. Your box had more things in it, he remembers looking at the ring you gifted him still on his index finger as he pushed his cardboard box across the top of the table to you.

“Thanks. I think I got everything too.” He said.

You two texted eachother that gifts were okay to keep, but Shotaro noticed your eyes settled on the ring a little too long. His eyes went to your necklace that no longer had the gold S charm attached to it. He knew better than to expect you to wear something that essentially told everyone you were his, but he wondered if you still had the tiny dolls he gifted you dangling from your backpack or if that would also be in the box of things that were technically his but basically yours. The hoodie that smelled like you now was neatly folded on top and covered everything else. Like the worst mystery box of all time, Shotaro would eventually have to go home and find out what was his now. But he swallowed that forming stone in his throat that had been there for the past week and smiled to you.

“I’ll still be here. If you ever need me.” He said.

The two of you were sitting at that table while life went on in the park for what felt like centuries. You were handling the situations like adults—so overwhelmingly respectful and understanding that your friends thought you two were freaks—so why did it hurt so bad? Why were you both gripping your belongings like you didn’t want to take them back?

“If you need anything, call me.” He said.

He let his promise linger in the air as you smiled and nodded. You looked up to Shotaro one last time before walking off to your friend that was sitting at the park bench. He still felt your hand that clasped over his for a split second as he watched you and your friend leave together. After you were out of his line of sight Shotaro felt Sungchan finally approach him. His friends hand that clasped over his shoulder reminded him that the world was in fact still spinning, and he still had a class to attend. 

The work from that class was what he should’ve been focused on now. The awkward silence of the study group finally shifted back to what it was before as everyone locked back into their work. Shotaro was the only one who wasn’t focused—his chin wasn’t in his hands from thinking about the graphs in front of him but from wondering who that was calling him. His mind racked through the list of people he had recently given his phone number to. That group project in Statistics was through email, and he never gave that girl at the bar his number. His eyes cut to his phone beside his laptop, face down again as he thought about the voicemail notification. 

He felt an itching in the back of his mind, the urge to rub at his eyes only made him feel more restless. He heard the sound of the clocks ticking further into the night. Before he knew it, Shotaro was pushing his chair out from the table and grabbing his phone. He grabbed the attention of other people in the library and his study group again as he pushed his chair back into the table.

“Gonna go get more snacks.” Shotaro preemptively spoke seeing the looks of confusion and Sohee’s lips part. “Text me if you guys want anything.” He whispered.

Shotaro walked away from the table, and when his back was facing his friends he took his phone out. He cleared past his lockscreen, settling onto his call log. He switched to the ten second voicemail when he was past the quiet zone of the library, and when he was in a space alone he pressed play and brought his phone to his ear.

For a split second, Shotaro thought it would just be white noise on the other end of the line. Another spam bot that surpassed the spam likely warning and was talking to the void of his mailbox waiting for a human reply. 

But then he heard a shaky inhale of breath and his eyes widened.

“Taro?” 

You were the one trapped in his voicemail box. Shotaro almost said your name back in the same confused tone before his mind registered it was a recording, but as soon as you were there, you were gone. As if you had realized it was a voicemail, you ended the call only to hopelessly call again. Shotaro held his phone to his ear still in shock before hearing the sounds around you abruptly cut off. He pulled his phone from his face and went back to the call logs, not hesitating to press on the unsaved number.

Shotaro walked around in the empty space in front of the large wooden double doors leading to the library as the line rang. He couldn’t stop his mind from drifting to the worst. As the line continued to ring he replayed the hopelessness in your voice as you called out his name and what he thought was a sniffle beforehand. His stomach was in knots as he closed his eyes, trying to will you to answer the phone.

“Taro?”

Shotaro froze in place. His fingers went to the volume button on the side of his phone. They pressed up, up, up while he stood there in shock.

“Taro? Are you there?” 

The bibimbap from the dining hall churned in his stomach as your weak voice filtered through the phone. You were so loud but so quiet at the same time. The background noise of the call almost overtook your voice. He heard what he assumed to be yelling until the receiver of the phone focused back on you.

“I’m sorry to call but I’m at a wake and I drank too much,” You paused and Shotaro could hear you sniffle again. He perked up from his hunched position, eyes getting even wider. “and now I can’t stop crying and I’m so embarrassed and I just want to go home but my phone died and I—.”

“Where are you?” Shotaro asked quickly.

For a moment, the sound of yelling and music on the other end of the line made him think you were at a party. But you sighed deep into the receiver, ending the white noise with a tiny embarrassed laugh.

“I’m at my Mom’s?” You said it with lift at the end, like you couldn’t believe you were in this situation either.

Just like that, everything clicked. Shotaro suddenly understood the gist of your situation, just like he did with any situation involving your Mother. His hand reached for the keys in his pocket, trying hard to remember the exact address of your Mom’s house. If he looked back to your texts he should’ve deleted a long time ago he was sure he might be able to find it. He knew you were twenty minutes by train and speedwalking, but ironically thirty minutes by car with the traffic if he was lucky. Shotaro already started thinking about his route to get to you as he peaked inside of the library through the small windows.

“Is this her phone?” Shotaro asked, still looking through the window.

Shotaro looked at his stuff sitting at the table while his friends worked on whatever they were doing. He could leave without going back inside, he had his phone, wallet, and keys already on his person.

“No. It’s my cousin’s.” Shotaro imagined you adjusting your body to bring the phone closer to your face. “I just took it and walked outside.” You said.

“Just stay there, I’ll be there in like twenty minutes, okay?” Shotaro said.

He put his hand on the large wooden door of the library to go back inside, already coming up with an excuse as to why he has to leave early.

Shotaro goes to the table and begins packing his things as calmly and quickly as possible. 

Sungchan notices what he’s doing first, taking his headphones off and leaning towards Shotaro.

“You’re leaving?” He asks.

“One of the people i tutor needs help with an assignment.” Shotaro says.

Shotaro spoke in a normal volume, but put things in his bag at a normal pace to seem as casual as possible. Despite his calm demeanor the image of you crying riddled his thoughts. The more he thinks about you, the more rushed he becomes. He starts putting his things inside his bag haphazardly, not caring about his normal order of operations. He still tries hard to seem even keeled to his friends, waiting patiently for one of them to ask the question.

“This late?” Anton asks the question first, eyebrows raised as he checks the time on his phone.

The rest of the table follows Anton’s lead, checking the times on their devices before looking to Shotaro. With all the eyes on him he tries his best to remain neutral, shrugging his shoulders as he puts on his backpack.

“Last minute assignment.” Shotaro adjusts the straps of his backpack and checks his phone again  to seem nonchalant. “If you guys are still here I’ll come by.” He says quickly.

If the members of the study group were skeptical, they do not show it. They only nod their heads, Anton and Sohee even talk about heading home soon. Shotaro is quick to bid his friends a farewell, pushing past the large wooden doors of the library to head straight towards the train station.

When Shotaro stood from his seat on the train and waited in front of the doors he checked his messages again. His i’m losing reception, just stay there was still left unread. When the doors finally opened he pushed past them before people could flood into the train car. Shotaro nearly ran out of the station, feet clearing two steps at a time as he made his way back to the street. When Shotaro finally exited the station he searched the walking directions on his phone. 

When Shotaro made it to the street he had to reorient his phone a million times, and for the first time in forever he uncharacteristically lost his patience seeing the compass on the navigation app twist and turn. Eventually he was forced to look up to the street signs, pausing for a moment as the flow of car traffic continued around him. When Shotaro remembered walking this path with you he started heading in the general direction, hoping that his phone would eventually catch up. 

Each time the traffic lights and cars would stop him from crossing the road, he would go back to his messages. You still hadn’t responded, his delivered message sitting at the bottom of your conversation made him more anxious than it should have. When he was finally able to walk he nearly ran down the path his phone told him to take.

Finally Shotaro turned down a residential street to the road your Mother lived on. The quiet residential area was so different from the busy streets he wanted to illegally cross minutes ago. Now he was looking down the lined rows of cars on the side of the street, looking for anything that was familiar. He sent you another message, one telling you he was close and would be there soon. He looked to the houses, trying to find the number you had sent him before.

He finally recognized your Mother’s car first, all the times she let only Shotaro drive it when you two would go on dates. He only had to keep walking a few steps before he was in front of the house, directly in front of the walkway that would lead him to the door. Shotaro looked for a moment at the house that had all its lights on and music bleeding out of the doors and spilling onto the streets. He swore he could hear your Mother laughing inside and other people having a good time. Shotaro wondered where in that big house were you locked away crying. 

He put his heel on the curb, getting ready to call you and tell you he was coming.

“Taro?” A voice sniffled behind him.

Instantly Shotaro turned around. His phone that illuminated his face was forgotten when he saw you sitting on the curb opposite of him. Your body was tucked neatly between the gap of two parallel parked cars. You were almost underneath the streetlamp, but in the dark of night and in his haste Shotaro would’ve never seen you if you didn’t say something.

His feet moved first to close the distance, almost like he was floating towards you. The heel of his dress show scraped the paved road and he was sure he got dust and dirt stuck to his pants as he crouched down to you. Your wide eyes followed him, head tilted upwards as he came in front of you before coming down.

Shotaro was eye level with you in an instant, filled with worry as you looked down at the ground. He didn’t hesitate to situate himself in front of you and put a hand on your shoulder, even when you froze and parted your lips.

“What happened?” He asked.

Your gaze was immediately fixed downwards, fresh tears leaving tiny drops on the pavement. You shook your head trying to remember how you got here.

“I was fine in the beginning.” You started.

Shotaro came even closer when you your cries racked through your body. He pulled you in by your shoulder, then wrapped his other hand around your body when you grabbed his arm. He had you in an embrace, it was shaky as you two leaned side to side but he still held on tight. He almost lost his balance from leaning forward and your clammy hands grasping at whatever you could to soothe yourself. Your sobs echoed in the space between your bodies, your forehead pressed into Shotaro’s collarbone as your tears continued to fall. He didn’t speak as he let you cry, but his hand ran up and down your back let you know it was okay. At one point you sat up from the curb to burrow further into Shotaro’s chest, and your hand held his shoulder like it was your anchor.

He didn’t know how long you two were there for in embrace underneath the streetlamp before you pulled away. Your eyelashes were clumped together as you sat back down on the curb, your body still shaky and hot to the touch. Even when the flush in your face decreased and your cries turned into sniffles Shotaro did not pull his hand away from your shoulders. He only squeezed them gently, silently letting you know you didn’t have to be embarrassed to look at him.

“Do you want to go back inside?” Shotaro asked.

He knew the answer, but still nodded sympathetically when you instantly shook your head. His eyes went to the phone that belonged to your cousin still sat beside you. Shotaro watched your eyes flick from your tear stains on the ground to the phone.

“I have to give my cousin her phone back.” You said, voice still weak.

Shotaro watched you stand up on your shaky heels and wipe the tears away from your eyes. He could see how daunting the prospect of going inside was, the worrying written all over your face. He couldn’t stop himself from grabbing the phone gently out of your hands before smiling up at you. You held onto the device, letting it tug slightly between the two of you.

“I got it, don’t worry.” He said.

You hesitated for a moment before letting the phone go. Shotaro crossed the street in a hurry before heading up to the porch of the house. Shotaro felt sympathy for you as he approached the house, the sound of festivities even made him feel nervous. The sound of laughter boomed and music was even more prominent now, it sounded as though someone was right on the other side of the door. Shotaro looked back to you quickly, seeing your defeated stance next to the curb as he put the phone down. He pulled the sticky notes from his backpack and wrote on it quickly, placing it on the rocking chair next to the door.

You didn’t bother asking what the note said when Shotaro came back to you. You assumed it was along the lines of how you weren’t feeling well and he was going to take you home as you got into the backseat of the cab Shotaro called. He helped you into the car after opening the door for you but made sure to keep his distance once you both got inside. He made a point to sit on the side opposite of you but still held your bag, the black strap clutched in his hand as his backpack sat in his lap. 

You watched the lights of your Mom’s house disappear when the driver turned down the road. In the dead silence of the car the situation you were in started sinking in and that rock formed in your throat again at the sight of your ex-boyfriend. You tried picking at the end of your black dress to distract your mind, you tried counting the dancing lights down the road as the car headed back towards campus. Nothing could take your mind off Shotaro right beside you and his hand that tapped on his mid-thigh. You wanted to reach across and hold him, you wanted him to scoot across the chasm between your bodies and let you lean your head on his shoulder. You kept your thoughts to yourself, trying hard to focus on anything else besides the fact that Shotaro was your knight in shining armor. He still had his backpack on, so clearly coming from that study group that seemed to be taking up all his time these days. You wish you had something to distract yourself that same way he did instead of ignoring your emotions until they boiled over at funerals.

When the cab drove off and you were left in front of Shotaro’s apartment you couldn’t define the feeling in your chest. The feeling pulled you towards Shotaro’s apartment, you imagined his hand on the small of your back guiding you up the stairs. The feeling made you push open his front door and walk into the space like you owned it, the feeling brought you to his room as you dug through his drawers looking for clothes you could wear. Shotaro didn’t object, in fact you could’ve sworn you saw a smile as he watched you take off your heels and make a beeline for his bedroom.

Shotaro set his bag down first in his kitchen before following the path you made to his bedroom. He was shocked that when he opened the door he saw your bare back as you shimmied out the your dress. He let out a gasp the same time he turned around, your bag still clutched in his hand. 

He stared straight ahead, not daring to turn around even when he heard the sound of you losing your balance and giggling when you regained it. Even if he had seen it all the idea of watching you get undressed didn’t feel right. He knew he lost the privilege of seeing you like that a long time ago, so now he was forced to stare straight ahead at the wall where a picture of you two used to hang. When he heard you stumble again his eyes traveled to the cardboard box in the corner of his room. He kept his space tidy except for that corner, where dark energy hung over like a storm cloud. On days where Shotaro was especially busy that was his designated spot to put dirty clothes and other things he didn’t want to deal with. He was grateful he had the right mind to clean yesterday, but it left a full view of his things that he still believed were yours on full display. He hoped that you wouldn’t notice the cardboard box, he could already hear your sound of surprise if you discovered it. Shotaro would not be able to come up with an excuse as to why he never unpacked the box; he could lie to his friends but he absolutely couldn’t lie to you.

Shotaro heard your occasional grunts when your dress wouldn’t cooperate and your sudden rushed movements when you’d lose your balance. He distracted some more by looking down to our bag in his hand. He saw your legs in his peripheral, but his gaze was caught on the S charm that still hung off of your purse. He had the bag in his hands for God knows how long, but never noticed the swinging silver charm that he bought you all that time ago. It still caught the light the same way as it dangled in his hand. 

“Does your family know we broke up?” Shotaro asked, still looking down at the charm.

“You were the only part they liked about me.” Shotaro heard the sound of his bed creak behind him. “So no.” You huffed.

Shotaro still didn’t turn around as he shook his head. He could admit that he hit it off with parents well. He had a killer smile and a personality they could trust, and it didn’t hurt that he was a STEM major at the top of his class. Your parents were doting on him while they looked to you with a scowl on their face. Why haven’t you shown Shotaro where the bathroom is? Why haven’t you served him a plate yet? Why aren’t you saying anything? The night progressed to the point that had to tell your Mother and Father in his soft meet-the-parents voice that he was able to get his own food and didn’t need to be served by you. 

From that point and on, Shotaro became a pawn in the constant bickering between you and your Mother. He never knew which side to choose, always going the route of the meditator, but he could only talk himself out of so many tense situations. Eventually he would make a temporary enemy out of you and by the end of the night when you two would head home he would be punished with the silent treatment as you tried to gather yourself.

So maybe it was the truth that your Mom came between the two of you, and maybe being in that house without Shotaro made you realize you couldn’t handle it on your own. Maybe the realization that you couldn’t do anything or hide behind your boyfriends smile made you drink, and the drinks made you so vulnerable that you stole your cousins’ phone and stumbled outside to sit on the curb to call your him.

But what did he know? You were the psychology major not him. He only knew that you moved the S charm that used to hang on your necklace to your bag and your parents still believed you two were together. Shotaro also knew that if he had known you were going back to that house alone he would’ve gladly been your fake boyfriend for the night without a second thought—which could mean nothing.

“I’m done changing.” You said quietly behind him.

Shotaro turned around and was forced to face the sight of you head on. You swam in his t-shirt, the end of it making it down to your mid-thigh. He’s had this exact same view before, of you sitting down looking up at him at this time of night. He didn’t even reach out a hand to assuringly tap your shoulder or pat your head. He only walked past you to his dresser, ignoring the way you followed him as he grabbed his clothes off the top.

“I’m going to change.” Shotaro pointed to the door like you had forgotten. 

Before he could circle around his bed to go to the bathroom he heard the bedsprings creak quickly.

“Wait.”

Shotaro turned to you quickly, trying to be hospitable and oblivious to your hand and how it reached out to him. You looked like a memory, his black sheets made it seem like you were stranded in the middle of the ocean. You still had your hand reaching towards him like he was your life life. You crawled to the edge of the bed closest to him and Shotaro stayed planted, trying not to look at the way his shirt fit on you. He watched you reach behind to his contacts case before holding it out towards him.

“You forgot to take out your contacts.” You stuttered.

Shotaro did have the terrible habit of leaving his contact in at night. In fact, it was so terrible caused you to develop the habit of reminding him to take them out. You usually had a smile when you reminded him, you took your job very seriously. But there was no smile on your face as Shotaro’s feet moved him closer to the bed and closer to you, You almost seemed worried as you looked up to him. You silently put out your hands to hold his change of clothes as he took the contacts out. As soon as he reached for his glasses you were already handing them to him, moving quickly but so hesitant at the same time.

He remembers you would always cringe and look away at the sight of Shotaro messing with his eyes, but you stayed alert and focused on him. You didn’t look away even he pinched his fingers together and started touching the surface of his eye. Shotaro watched you come closer until your feet went over the edge of the bed. 

“You must be tired.” He said.

Shotaro put his contacts in the solution that you held out politely. He wanted to reach out and hold you like he did outside your Mother’s house. He found it was hard to touch your ex if they weren’t in visible emotional distress, but it tugged at him all the same. He settled for putting a hand on your shoulder and giving it a gentle shake, trying to seem as friendly as possible despite the air becoming volatile.

“It’s not even late.” You respond.

Shotaro only laughs when he hears the bite in your voice. Your phone that finally turned back on says it’s barely past 8PM. He can hear the notifications start to come in, missed calls from your Mother and a text message that says how nice it was to see Shotaro, even if it was through the ring camera on the front door. 

“You’re usually nicer when you’re drunk.” Shotaro jokes.

Shotaro takes the solution from your hands and puts it on his bedside table. He starts massaging your shoulder and instantly the crease in your forehead softens. You’re still alert, eyes focused on him and his hands that start slowly working down your arm. He feels the muscles in your arm loosen each time his fingers dig a little deeper. Already you seem more relaxed, there’s a different tension that fills the air. 

“I’m not drunk.” You deadpan, but your voice gets softer when you can see Shotaro’s hand on your bicep. “And my friends say I actually get pretty mean when I’m drunk.”

Shotaro is completely silent when he curls his hand around your wrist briefly before moving to your hand. 

“I don’t think so. Your eyes become really wide like you’re trying to see everything.” Shotaro takes extra time massaging the back of your hand with his thumb so he can feel your soft palm against the rest of his fingers. “You end every sentence with please and apologize for everything.” He smiles wistfully to himself as he moves his hand to the first knuckle of your index finger. He watches the tip of your finger twitch as a reflex.

“You compliment everything that comes into your line of sight too.” Shotaro is pulled away from your hand when you laugh lightly with him. he looks to you in an instant, and ironically you’re the one that starts looking at your own hand. “You’re always nice, but something about alcohol in your system makes you incredibly—”

“Vulnerable?”

You turn your head and look up at him. Something pulls Shotaro towards you, not just your hand that pinches the fabric of his basketball shorts. 

“I was going to say sweet.” Shotaro laughs and brings his hand back to your shoulder. He watches you lean your head to the side until your cheeks rest on top of his knuckles. Shotaro lifts his fingers and rubs his fingers against your cheeks lightly. “Are you feeling vulnerable? Is that why you called me?” He asks.

Shotaro knows you’re lying when you shake your head. He sees that you’re already pretending the first part of the night never happened, that you just found yourself in his bed with his clothes hanging off your body. 

“I called you because you know me best.” Shotaro watches you pause to swallow thickly. “And you’re the only person I wanted to call.” You say while scooting closer to the edge of the bed.

You had the phone numbers of your friends etched into your mind from years of contact. You could’ve called any of them, but you had Shotaro on the other end of the line in seconds. When he didn’t pick up the first time you had the chance to ring one of your friends instead. But for some reason you rang him again. And again. You would’ve spent the whole night calling him, until the sun came up and your cousin’s phone died. You knew he would come. Even if you broke his heart and he broke yours. You knew Shotaro would drop everything to come to your aid because that’s just who he was.

“Shotaro.” You whispered, so pitifully.

Shotaro realizes a moment too late that he’s gotten himself into a situation he won’t be able to get out of. He avoids your eye contact suddenly, instead focusing on your thin gold necklace that disappears underneath the collar of his shirt. His efforts were thwarted when he felt your hand clasp around his forearm. Everything in him that screamed not to look at you turned to a whisper when he caught your eye.

He hesitated for a moment, and when he didn’t move away in time you traveled your hand down his arm until you reached his palm. Everything else in the world fell out as Shotaro caressed your cheek and your hand moved to clasp over his.

“Please.” You continued. “You’re the only one I wanted to call.”

He watched your hand cover the ring you gifted him as your grip tightened around his fingers. 

Even if you didn’t explicitly say what you were asking for, Shotaro already knew. He unfortunately had your habits engraved so deeply into his mind he believed he’d never forget. Your defense mechanism of sarcasm that bordered bullying melted down and left you looking for closeness in any form possible. The proximity after a prolonged period of no contact made Shotaro believe you were looking to find that tenderness you so intensely craved from him. That’s why he knew that even if you stopped staring at him you were far from done. He patiently waited for your next attack while he continued to hold your cheek.

“I told you I’d always be here for you.” He said.

Shotaro watched you close your eyes, the view from above let him see your eyelashes fan your cheek. When you opened your eyes again they were blown wide, pleading for something more.

“Can you touch me?” You asked.

Shotaro already expected another one of your subtle hints. He nodded and started caressing your cheek again to emphasize what he was doing for you.

“I am.” He answered.

Shotaro could tell you were getting frustrated. He waited for your next hint as you continued staring at him. His other hand went to the perplexed crease in your eyebrow. The crease only deepens when you close your eyes and let out a deep breath.

“Can we have sex?” You ask.

He stops completely at your question. He could count on one hand the amount of times he heard you ask for sex explicitly. Usually you told him through pulling at his shirt or pinching his skin. Hearing sex fall from your lips, albeit hesitantly, was so was foreign to him. Usually you opted for a shy it in place of the word but most of the time you never said it at all. It took a full three seconds for Shotaro to recover before shaking his head.

“You’re drunk.” He said.

“I’m not drunk,” When you pulled your hand away in defiance Shotaro didn’t react. He only pointed towards your other arm. You had it propped up on the edge of his bed while your massaged arm moved to do the same. You dug your hand deeper into the edge of the mattress, but a second later it was lifted and floating towards Shotaro’s hands. “I sobered up during the walk and the cab ride.” You reasoned.

Shotaro was speechless again. He wondered how long you had your rebuttals lined up, ready to defend yourself at any moment. But he remained steadfast remembering the state he found you in, avoiding the streetlight and slinking into the darkness like a nocturnal animal while you closed in on yourself like a collapsing star. He swore he could still see the remnants of tear stains smeared across your eye bags and the tip of your nose was still irritated by sniffling and rubbing. Shotaro found the strength to deny you again, shaking his head with a small smile to offset the look of disappointment that settled across your face.

“Having sex with me will not make you feel better.” Shotaro said gently.

Shotaro felt your hand stiffen in his hold. He could tell you felt the frustration, he tried to distract the both of you by driving his fingers deeper into your palm. When you normally would’ve winced you only stayed still, your eyes fixed on his hand holding yours.

You admittedly felt frustration from not getting what you wanted. Having Shotaro deny you anything—much less sex—felt so alien it nearly placed you out of your body. Having him tend to you in every way he did as a boyfriend over the course of the evening left you searching for the last thing. You wanted him to take care of you in that final way, you needed him to. There seemed to be no better way to cope with the overwhelming wrong in your life than to have morally ambiguous sex with the ex you couldn’t get rid of.

“Being with you has always made me feel better.” You say.

You don’t try to sound teasing. You have lost entirely too much of your mystery tonight to be anything but upfront. You let the desperation come from you in waves and you don’t try to hide how pitiful you feel. 

Your lack of shame and overwhelming vulnerability is rewarded when Shotaro looks from your hand to your face. You pray he can see the desire you don’t try to hide and the way you look up at him so pitifully. Shotaro’s hand cradles your face and you can tell he’s looking at you a little closer now. With your free hand you clutch at the bottom of his shirt. It’s soft in between your fingers. You wrinkle the fabric even more when Shotaro holds eye contact with you.

“You were stumbling out of your clothes.” Shotaro said matter-of-factly.

“You know i’m clumsy.” You responded quickly.

Before Shotaro could say anything else your hand clasped over the wrist that cradled your cheek. Shotaro let your hand guide his lower and lower down your body. You let his fingers graze the exposed skin of your neck before pushing it further down to your chest. Shotaro didn’t dare move his hands, he only watched you with a titled head and even expression as you arched your back into his outstretched palm. 

“I’ll do all the work.” You emphasized your point by clasping your hand over Shotaro’s, molding his hand against your chest. He felt your hardened nipple press against his palm as you leaned even further forward. “You can stop at anytime. Just need a little.” You said.

Shotaro exercised his strength by pulling away from your chest. He stayed in the same spot by his bed, looking down at your defeated expression. He tried to think about how long it’s been since you had alcohol in your system, how you didn’t have that far off look in your eye like you usually did when you drank.

He almost found the strength to turn you down again. But you looked up to him with your big blown out eyes and pouty lips. He crumbled when he felt you pull at the belt loop of his jeans weakly.

“Tell me what this is before we go any further.” Shotaro said sternly.

Your hands stopped pulling at his belt loops and you nodded quickly. You sat up with perfect posture on the bed to show Shotaro you really were in the right state of mind to be doing this.

“I always feel better when I’m with you.” You started hesitantly backing towards the center of Shotaro’s bed as you kept your eyes on him. “Just take care of me a little bit. That’s all I need.”

You leave Shotaro’s hold to settle in the center of his bed. You wait there for him, playing with the bottom of his shirt to occupy yourself. You keep your eyes on him—because shame is completely foreign to you now—as he stands next to the bed. He continues to stand there unmoving and you let out a tiny breath, something between sinking disappointment and stubborn hope. 

You can’t stop your smile and your eyes from widening when Shotaro puts his knee on the bed. You stay on your spot of the mattress as Shotaro slowly brings his other knee to rest on the edge. You already feel excitement bubbling across your body when you move your body towards his. You rake your eyes down his body, settling on his waist. 

Before you can make another move Shotaro’s hands go to your shoulders, keeping you in place. You move to sit on your knees and look up at him. From down here you can’t help but bat your eyelashes. 

“I won’t hesitate to stop.” Shotaro says sternly.

Your lie of doing all the work becomes null and void in an instant. The commanding look in Shotaro’s voice takes away all your authority, the even tone in his voice makes it impossible for you to speak. All you can do is nod and swallow thickly, putting everything in his hands. So you sit on the bed completely still. You’re all eyes and parted lips as you watch Shotaro lower himself until he is eye level with you. You keep your eyes on his face, the only movement is when he rubs your shoulders down to your hands before placing them on his lap. 

Shotaro holds his thigh for a second, thinking about what to do next. He smiles at your frazzled expression, like you’re surprised he actually agreed to this. Shotaro thought that he already made it abundantly clear he could never turn you down, to not give you what you want. It was impossible to say no when you looked at him like that.

Shotaro’s fingers wrapped around the ring you gifted him. He sees your eyes dart down to his hands before your tongue darts out to wet your lips. You shift on your legs and part your lips again, already prepared for what Shotaro is going to do next. 

When he gets the ring off he brings it to your lips. He watches the metal cause a dimple on your lip as he presses the ring lightly against it. He sees you almost go crosseyed to look at the ring before your shaking pupils focus back on him. Shotaro smiles, finding it hard to be pulled from the sight.

“Hold this for me?” He asks.

You nod, and without hesitation you part your lips even further. 

Shotaro gently pushes the ring inside of your mouth, grazing the bottom of your teeth before placing it on your tongue. As Shotaro pulls his fingers from your mouth you greedily close your lips around them. You suck his fingers back into your mouth, the metallic taste of the ring mingling with the taste of him. Shotaro’s hand grazes up your arm and you paw at his forearm, looking for something to hold. You are too focused on the satisfied look in his eyes to actually pay attention at what you’re reaching for, if you’re reaching for anything at all. 

When Shotaro is satisfied he presses on the flat part of your tongue. His fingers leave your mouth and a string of spit follows it. You follow closely behind, you lean your body forward in an effort to close the gap.

“It’s okay if you spit it out.” With your tongue you move the ring from your cheek to the center of your mouth. When you nod Shotaro looks behind you on the mattress briefly before moving his other hand to your other shoulder. “Lay down for me.” Shotaro says gently.

You are taken back to the time you almost choked on the ring briefly as Shotaro guides your body backwards. Your body barely makes a sound as it hits the mattress. Shotaro continues to look down at you, his wet fingers caress your cheek and stroke your chin. His fingers go down lower and lower, non-assuming and gentle as his eyes follow the invisible trail. You squirm underneath his touch, and you squirm even more when you realize how intensely he’s staring at your body.

“How do you want it?” Shotaro sounds far away as his fingers continue down your body. You shiver, trying to find the words before he finds them for you. “Or do you want me to decide?” He asks.

“You decide.” You say meekly.

Shotaro starts by lifting your bent leg and putting it in the bend of his arm. You have been in this position with him before. You ignore the habit in your muscles to watch Shotaro build the tension. He guides your calf to rest on his shoulder, then does the same with the other leg as he comes closer to your body. Shotaro bends between your legs and kisses the spot right below your knee as his hand reaches for the bottom of his shirt.

“I’ll take care of you.” Shotaro murmurs.

You already arch your back off the mattress without him doing anything. He can see you’re driven by his words, the need to be taken care of satisfies you to no end. He has half a mind to just repeat the acts of service he did for you when he was your boyfriend. Shotaro was positive you’d be a shaking mess by the end of his long list with a few praises thrown in. But Shotaro finds himself getting excited at the ability to have you in the palm of his hand again. He plans to take his time when he finally sees your bare stomach and the trim of your panties for the first time in God knows how long.

“I know you’ll take care of me.” You lament.

The name you reserved for him in bed was so close to falling from your lips. Shotaro even watched you form the word and the affliction in your tongue to ennunciate the word. He knows its for the better that you cut yourself off, he doesn’t know who he would become if he heard you call him by that name. 

He distracts himself from the replays of you crying out the nickname by pushing his hand past the elastic of your underwear. Shotaro’s other hand moves to fondle your chest, alternating between groping and hard palming as a complete contrast from the gentle way he touches your clit.

You already were wet for him, your hole clenched around nothing as Shotaro circled your bundle of nerves. You twitched and let our labored groans, continue to scratch your nails over the fabric of his pants. You don’t know how much longer you can silently give him the hints that you need more. The feeling of his hands groping you and being so close to your slit does anything but satiate you. You’re somehow more wound up than before, you think you might tear through the fabric of Shotaro’s clothes if he keeps you waiting.

“Just one finger.” You say.

Shotaro looks to you and stills the hand in your pants. His eyebrows raise at your order you phrased as a suggestion. When you lift your hips Shotaro slowly starts rubbing your clit again, but even slower than before. His hand that palms your chest grips your supple skin harshly. 

He continues this motion, gripping your chest but touching your clit so lightly you might break. His fingers get lower and lower. Shotaro’s smirk is almost evil as he watches you become more and more pent up.

“What about two?” He suggests calmly.

You nod vigorously, your hands dragging on the surface of the bed to try and find stability.

Shotaro harshly flicks your nipple as he finally slides two fingers in. Your walls welcome him quickly, and Shotaro can feel slick gush past his fingers as he pushes them back in slowly. He reluctantly abandons feeling your body up all together to focus his energy on fingering you. He coos at each of your whines, his eyes alternate between your cunt and your face that’s contorted in pleasure.

“You still got my ring?” Shotaro asks.

“Mhm.” You hum.

He sees the sudden protrusion in your cheek and nods. Shotaro continues working his fingers, letting the lewd wet sounds fill his room. When you start lifting your hips Shotaro uses a hand to keep you pinned to his mattress. Your whines of defiance mingle with the whimpers, both sounds egg him on to move his fingers at a faster pace.

Shotaro came impossibly closer to you while he continued driving his fingers into your cunt. His head still hovered above your knees between your legs, placing kisses to either side he deemed fit. You alternated between pushing your hips down and not moving at all, your depleting energy and tunnel vision of an orgasm distracting you. When you let out a particularly weak sound that was close to a sob you felt his attention go to you.

You knew by the way Shotaro’s fingers faltered that he saw your bleary eyes. You wondered if he could see your eyelashes that were clumped together or the fresh tear tracks that were coming down the sides of your face.

“I’m crying because it feels good.” You said, eyes still closed.

Shotaro could tell you were trying to focus, to keep it together. Shotaro saw your shaky exhale rattle your chest and the pout you were fighting back. He saw your hips twitch and he felt your walls contract around his three fingers. When he took them out of you your eyes instantly opened, wide and so sad he felt his heart break. Shotaro knew better, and he knew you knew it too. His hands left your body completely for what felt like an eternity. The ambiguity was almost as cloudy as the lust filled haze that was taking over his mind. Just when a side was about to win Shotaro felt your shaky hands grip his shoulders. He felt you guide his hands to your lower stomach before your other hand pressed his palm flat against your skin. You kept burning eye contact with him as you pressed his hands deeper into you, until your body instinctually writhed against him.

“Feels good?” Shotaro huffed.

He watched your eyebrows furrow as you nodded pitifully. Your hands left his and went back to pinching and pulling at the fabric of his pants.

As Shotaro watched firsthand that he was still person you needed, pride swell in his chest. Your hips came closer and closer to his, even through the discomfort of the stretch from your calves that were resting on his shoulders. Your body language made Shotaro reminisce on all the times he exercised his control; he remembers denying you that euphoria you were hurtling towards moments ago, he remembers only tapping your chin once before you opened your mouth obediently. Shotaro knows that’s what you wanted from him tonight, to worry about nothing else besides taking it. But he was selfishly chasing after something of his own tonight, he needed to touch every piece of you like it was his first and last time. 

He continued to indulge himself in you. Each time your calves slipped from his shoulders he took a break from touching your chest to push them back in place. He pressed into your lower stomach as if the tension was materializing into something tangible and teased your nipples until they were pebbles against his hand. He was in such a frenzy fueled by you; your hips, your legs, your chest, your sounds that were becoming louder and louder and your hands that were becoming greedier.

“Shotaro.” 

Your meek voice pulled his gaze away from his hands fondling your waist and chest. Shotaro registered your shaking voice and your entire body that was shaking like a leaf. You spoke clearly, determination in your eyes underneath the tears threatening to spill. 

“Please fuck me.” You begged.

Shotaro watched you pathetically reach at the button on his pants. He looked at your hand grasping at nothing, the thing you wanted just out of your reach. He reveled in watching you struggle for a moment, a smile blossoming across his face the same time you let out a frustrated whine.

“Shotaro, please.” You repeated.

Finally he pulled away from your legs, sitting back on his ass as he unbuttoned his pants. Shotaro watched you rid yourself of your clothes. You quickly pushed your panties down your legs before kicking them off your ankles, and you propped yourself on your elbows to take off your shirt. He threw his pants off in the same general direction as you threw your clothes, then took his shirt off as he slotted himself between your legs again. His hands went to your ankles, guiding your legs back to their original place on his shoulders. Shotaro stayed focused on your face as he got closer and closer to you, seeing you let out a pensive breath as your legs stretched further.

“You still got it?” Shotaro teased.

Shotaro felt your feet settle in the crook of his neck and watched your hands hold the back of your calves to hold them in place. You nodded quickly, preening your hips to feel Shotaro’s dick press against your ass.

“I’m still flexible.” You answered.

Shotaro stretched you further by reaching down closer to you. He didn’t stop until you drew in a breath and winced. From here he could watch himself in the pitch black reflection of your eyes as he fisted the sheets on either side of you. He started slowly grinding his dick against your heat, satisfied with the slick sounds and the way you wiggled your hips against his. He was teasing himself but to you it felt like torture, having him so close but so far away. 

“Please put it in.” You whined.

You watched Shotaro catch his bottom lip between his teeth as he nodded obediently. He looks down between your two bodies, drawing his hips back until his tip prodded your entrance. When he could feel you and you drew in a breath in anticipation he looked back at you. You held eye contact through the haze, you surprisingly held eye contact as Shotaro slowly slid inside of you. The position and the feeling of Shotaro pushed the air out of your lungs. You let out a gasp when his hips kissed yours, a gasp that turned into a heavy moan when he repeated the motion.

He was reeling off the shock on your face, and he felt his entire body tighten when he pushed back into you. Your back arched off the bed and Shotaro moved his hands closer to your body, effectively caging you in. Your head turned at the same time, your closed eyes pointed towards the wall.

“Does this?” Shotaro’s skin slapped against yours and turned your face to look him in the eyes. He got closer to your body, deepening the stretch in your legs. “Does this feel good?” He asked.

You nodded weakly, you lifted your hips in tandem with Shotaro’s quickening thrusts. The angle made him hit that spot deep inside of you, the one that made you moan louder than before and had his vision spotting. You felt so familiar and warm inside, Shotaro felt like he was losing himself again. But despite the euphoria Shotaro held on tight for you, remembering the promise he made to you in the park when you gave him back your things.

“I’m taking care of you?” Shotaro asked.

“You’re taking care of me.” You answered

Your words were cut short when Shotaro gave you a particularly hard thrust. He slid in and out of you with ease, but each time you could feel your walls clamp around his dick in an effort to keep him inside of you. Your walls began spasming without your control. The feeling built up over your body again, you were teetering towards the edge once again. 

“I’m close.” You warned as you brought your feet deeper into the crook of Shotaro’s neck. 

Shotaro nodded down at you, a groan leaving his lips in place of words as he continued fucking you. You alternated between the damp ends of his hair and the focused look on his face. You could tell he was close like you were, arguably even more close to the edge than you were. But you could feel the devotion he had to taking care of you first. Watching Shotaro shamelessly put your needs before yours had you arching your back off the bed. Everything melted away in that moment, and feeling him move his hand from beside you to touch your face affectionately made tears dot your waterline again.

“I got you.” Shotaro spoke over your moans, gentle and soft despite the violent waves ripping through your body. “Go ahead.” He said.

You couldn’t speak during the fact. Even your moans ceased, the stretch and the intense feeling of Shotaro snug in your walls took away your ability to even form a coherent thought. He reduced you down to your teeth digging into your lip and the death grip you had on your legs. You dug your own fingers into your flesh, the pain only made your orgasm more intense. The more your body seized the more intense everything became. A string of words fell from your lips that only Shotaro seemed to understand; he nodded and cooed at you while his hand starting touching you all over again.

Before you knew it, your body relaxed. Your feet were limp and your legs felt loose, your entire body felt loose as Shotaro’s hips began to falter. You weakly let your hands run down his arms, saying more incoherent babbles as his own eyes started screwing shut. You pulled the ring from your cheek. The wet metal was pressed between your palm and Shotaro's arm.

“Got you.” You said, barely coming back to Earth.

Shotaro waited until he only felt the pulses from aftershock to pull out. His last bit of self control dissipated after seeing your hands paw at your chest. He was fixated on the way your skin peaked between your fingers when he leaned forward to consolidate his release on a small portion of your lower stomach. The sensation of finishing on you felt barbaric, but Shotaro knew he had to atleast attempt to be responsible. Your legs slid from his shoulder as he wrapped his hands around his dick and began pumping quickly. He treated himself harsher than he treated you. This was simply a means to an end, a way to show you that taking care of you was the only fulfillment Shotaro needed.

“Can I?” Shotaro asked quickly, looking to your flushed face as he continued pumping his dick. 

At some point you slid the ring onto your finger, the metal band loose around your joint as you held your chest tighter.

Despite being rough with himself, he still felt the relief all the same. Even if it was Shotaro pumping his dick it felt like it was you who was pulling him thin before letting him go completely. Shotaro groaned and dug his fist into the mattress beside your body as he watched you twitch from the sudden warmth on your stomach. He continued going, Shotaro wasn’t sure if he imagined your sounds egging him on, or if it was wishful thinking. He still continued to empty onto your lower stomach while he felt the coil snap in his stomach.

When he regained his senses he lifted his head to look at your stomach. He grimaced at the mess he made on you—a small mess but a mess nonetheless—and wasted no time getting up from the bed. He ignored the look of accomplishment and pure content that rested in your smile when he came back with a wet towel. He had to bite his lip when he got on the bed again to wipe you down. He was slow with the warm towel, taking a quick peak to your face to make sure it wasn’t too hot.

If the towel was scorching hot Shotaro wouldn’t have known. You only watched with a smile on your face and something more complicated in your eyes as you watched him take care of you.

[artslovergirl]

Stanford!art as a secret admirer pleaaaaase

hiii! sorry this took me literally a month to finish i am still not very good at keeping a drabble a drabble and this one really got away from me but i promise in the future that hopefully wont be the case....anywhoo! enjoy! (ty for being my first request ever!) also shoutout to diya for helping me a bit with characterizing art having a crush on someone! mwah!

admittedly, art felt like a creep. not enough to stop sneaking glances at you across the lecture hall but definitely enough to feel hot shame crawl up his neck whenever you would accidentally meet his eye contact.

he quickly glanced away and stared back at the blackboard, trying to pretend that's what he had been looking at all along.

he began fiddling with his pen, pushing the plastic end of it nervously against his lips. he could feel your eyes on him for a few moments longer before turning back around to face the professor.

great. now you probably actually thought he was a creep. which is not exactly how he planned your first form of contact to go.

...alright, to be fair, he never had an exact plan in the first place? but "make awkward eye contact" wouldn't have been a part of it. that's for sure.

he was a little out of his element here. stanford was a hell of a lot bigger than mark rebellato was.

back there, most of the girls knew him, sometimes even liked him already or he had patrick as his wingman. (or when it came to tashi, competition.) but here? he felt so unsure all of a sudden. it felt like all of the experience he had with dating seemed completely useless.

when he first saw you, he was still pretty infatuated with tashi. but that doesnt mean he didnt notice how hot you were. as more time passed the more he realized that tashi and patrick were apprently locked in (go figure the dude finally learns commitment just in time. read bitterness.) and the more he saw you, the more he heard you talk in class, the more he saw you laugh with your friends, the more you wouldnt leave his mind. not to mention how fucking smart you were. well, are.

the lecture ended and as always you were one of the first people out the door. you were always in a rush. or maybe you just had another class all the way on the other side of campus?

he wondered what your major was. he wondered if you knew he played tennis. he wondered if it would even impress you if you found out. he hoped it would.

---

art was sitting in the cafeteria stabbing his fork into his salad that consisted of like 70% veggies and 30% eggs.

he had to say, he was definitely getting sick of eggs at this point. he took a small sip of his gatorade.

usually, he drank blue, but he decided to try red today. maybe because it was patrick's favorite flavor or maybe because he needed at least a little change in routine.

unfortunately, as he went to place the bottle back down on the table, he almost knocked it over as soon as he suddenly noticed you standing by the vending machine. and then turning around. and.. walking towards him? holy shit.

at first, he thought you would just walk past him, but you stopped at his table. he didn't know if he believed in god, but at that moment, he certainly felt like a favorite.

"hey," you smiled politely, "sorry to bother you, but do you happen to have a quarter? that thing doesn't seem to take nickles." you nodded your head towards the vending machine at the entrance of the cafeteria.

"uh." his brain tried to play catch up. "um, yeah, let me check." he let out a small chuckle so he wouldn't sound so nervous, but it sounded more like he was wheezing. he pulled out his wallet, ripped apart the velcro, and checked. he silently celebrated when he noticed he did, in fact, have a few quarters. "yeah, how many do you need?" he looked up at you. his cheeks felt hot.

"oh, just one is fine." he nods, and suddenly, in front of your presence, it seems a lot harder to properly grab the quarter from his wallet. he does manage, though, and as he hands it to you, he feels your fingers brush against his palm.

as if transferred from your fingertips to his palm it felt like a surge went through his body, traveling through his arteries and sparking at the tips of his fingers and toes. you hand him your nickels in exchange. before you could turn to leave, he quickly interjected, "we're in the same class, right? english literature?"

he didnt know where he was going with this, he just wanted to keep talking to you.

your eyes flashed with recognition.

"oh, yeah! art, right? you sit behind me?" you knew his name. "yeah, yeah, that's right." he nodded, his fingers drummed against the table. there was a short lull in the conversation as he desperately tried to grasp for anything to talk about that wouldn't seem like he was hitting on you (even though he kind of was.)

"so, uh, this is actually good timing because i've been sorta meaning to talk to you anyway?" his lips pulled into a familiar charming lopsided smile.

"oh, really?" you tilted your head. "yeah." he nodded, his hand going to fidget with curls on the back of his neck that stuck out of his backwards cap.

"i, uh, need some help with some of the material, and, you know, you're so good-"

"oh, i'm not that-"

"nah, c'mon no need to be modest," there's that grin again, "i don't think i've ever seen you get a question wrong."

you huff, feeling embarrassed at the unexpected praise, "well, it's literature, so it's all interpretation, it's hard to be outright wrong."

"see, that answer just confirms it." he says.

you chuckle, finally giving in and accepting the compliment. "so..you want my help then?" he nods. he really prayed you would say yes because this was really his only plan on how to get to know you.

you mulled over it for a few seconds. then you nodded. "yeah, okay, let me give you my number and we can figure out the details later. i got another class in like-" you glanced back at the clock, "shit, 3 minutes."

you hastily ripped a piece of paper out of your notebook scribbled a number on it and left it on the table. "oh, and thanks for the quarter!" you yelled back (even though you didn't even get to use it) before booking it out of the cafeteria. guess he was right about you always being in a rush.

---

4:58 pm. 2 more minutes till you'd knock at his door. art did another once over of his room. now he wasn't exactly a messy guy but he had to admit his dorm had never been this clean before. actually maybe it was too clean...would you think that was weird? like would you think he was a neatfreak? girls probably weren't into that.

he began messing up his bedsheets just a little so it wouldnt look like he had just spent the past three hours obsessively cleaning every inch of his dorm. even though thats exactly what he did.

it was a pretty small room but you'd be surprised how long it can take to clean if you're doing a real deep clean. not to mention the pain in the ass that doing laundry in college was.

he did all of this because, keeping true to your word, you did make plans with him to help him out with some of the reading.

you : does 5pm on saturday work 4 u?? :-)

art : Yeah, I'm totally free!!

(in hindsight the two exclamation points were probably a bit much.)

just as he was about to check out his hair for the 5th time today, there was a knock on the door. he glanced at the little digital watch on his wrist. 5pm sharp. wow, you were punctual. was it weird that he found that hot?

art quickly brushes a few unruly curls that were sticking out of his backwards cap away with his fingers before moving to open the door.

---

"so, what's the exact stuff you're having trouble with?" you peered at him from his bed, which you were sitting on, which he was being very cool about.

you had asked him if it was okay to sit there after you had exchanged a few pleasantries and then chatted for about 10 minutes.

it was mostly about class at first, then turned into more personal topics. you asked him if he was on the tennis team, because of all the..well..tennis gear in his room.

he nodded and told you about his tennis scholarship. you chuckled and said you had never really watched any matches at stanford so far, but you'd like to see him play.

he really tried to not seem overly enthusiastic about that but he did tell you the exact time and date of his next match.

apparently, you thought the sport seemed "really impressive". ( i.e. you were impressed. i.e. you were impressed by him playing tennis. or that's at least how he heard it.)

then, after he found out you were an english major, which wasn't a surprise, you finally brought up the topic of studying.

he spun in his desk chair, to face you.

"just some of this..interpretive stuff...i feel like i never know what the professor wants to hear from me." he tapped the end of his pen against the book he was holding. "well.." you shifted into a cross-legged postion, you were wearing shorts and he was trying really hard not to stare at your legs.

"you probably shouldnt be thinking about that in the first place, you know, what the professor wants to hear? you should think about what you actually got from the book." he knew this was pretty standard advice but when you said it, it sounded like the most intelligent, world-changing thing he'd ever heard.

"riiight...what if i didnt get anything from it?" he smiled sheepishly, leaning his head on his hand. you scrunched up your nose and playfully rolled your eyes, "oh, come on, how can you read classic literature and not get anything from it? i don't believe that."

you scooted forward a little. a little closer to him. a nervous chuckle left his lips, his gaze swept back and forth between you and the book before settling on you.

truth be told, he was doing fine, at least grade-wise, and even if he wasn't, it wasn't like he was striving to become an english professor, he mostly decided to take this class on a whim. but the part about struggling with interpretations was true, it just maybe wasn't necessarily a dire enough situation to require your help...

"well, maybe youre not asking yourself the right questions before you read." you hummed, gently tapping your finger against your leg. "can i see your notes?"

art panicked a bit at that. he wasn't sure why, but suddenly someone looking at his notes felt oddly intimate. you would be able to read the bits and parts of the book he regarded as important enough to jot down. what he liked. what he didn't like. perhaps it was a little intimate.

he tried to play it casual, though, and nodded as he handed you his english lit folder. his nerves only got worse the longer you took to read through them.

then suddenly, you smiled and nodded a little bit before looking up at him again. he prayed that you couldn't see the way his heart was trying to escape his ribcage right now.

"you know, you couldve just asked me out."

before his brain could even process that sentence, his mouth seemed to go into immediate action to splutter out some kind of denial in order to salvage this, "what? i- no, no, that's not- i mean, seriously why would-"

"i mean, i wouldn't have said no. like you didn't have to pretend to need my help. you clearly don't need it-" you gently tossed his folder back onto the desk. "-plus you're cute."

he didn't move for a good few seconds until he finally caught up to what had just happened.

now, this would've been the moment where he would've liked to be really cool and smooth in his response, but instead what happened was: "um..so then are we..like are you.."

in his defense you kind of caught him off guard. like completely. he had had a plan. how the study sessions would transition into friendship, and then maybe, hopefully at some point would transition into dating. he was a patient guy, really, and you had just skipped like...everything.

"are you free tomorrow?" you asked, as you stood up to grab your bag. wow, you were really taking the wheel at this point. and he discovered that he had shockingly little problem with that.

"uh, yeah, yeah i'm free..like all day." he did have training in the morning but he truly would skip it just this once if it came down to it.

"2pm?"

"sure."

"i'll text you?"

"okay."

"so..it's a date?"

you had stood up from the bed and were suddenly already on your way out. probably because you could tell he needed a minute.

"yeah, a date." he nodded with a (almost lovestruck) smile he hadn't even noticed had snuck its way unto his lips. you reciprocated with an equally excited grin, "cool."

before he knew it, the door had clicked shut, and he was alone again. he felt warm.

"cool."

[l1v-jzn]

thesis of the damned au — geum seong je #6

pairing: geum seong je x reader

genre: psychological thriller, dark academia, slow-burn romance, supernatural mystery, alternate universe (au)

summary: you transfer to an elite private university on a prestigious academic scholarship. Everyone there seems to know each other. Secret handshakes. Closed doors. Whispers you’re not invited to.

you meet Geum Seong je—sharp-tongued, perpetually late, smirking like he knows every secret in the building. He’s brilliant, bored, and definitely hiding something. Rumors say he wrote a paper so controversial it was buried by the faculty.

you find it. It’s not just a thesis. It’s a manifesto. Buried in it… are clues. To a secret society. To a missing student. To a crime that never made it into the newspapers.

and you?? You’re the only one smart and reckless enough to keep up with him.

taglist (only for this series): @mishh2728 @ellaaa505 @heeknow @ruruyinn @yinyangcchii (please just comment here if you want to be tagged only for this series)

— Previous Part — — All Parts —

The way down wasn’t marked. There was no glowing sign. No trail of breadcrumbs. Just a maintenance stairwell behind a locked door, tucked between the west wing labs and a vending machine that hadn’t worked since midterms. Seong Je jimmied the lock with a flat hairpin—didn’t ask where you thought he learned how to do that. You didn’t want to know.

He pushed the door open. Suddenly, it was cold again. Like the hallway you just left didn’t exist anymore. Like the air shifted planes. Time knotted. Light slowed.

The stairwell wound downward—tight, concrete, windowless. The walls had a dampness to them that suggested they were either sweating or weeping. And with every step, your breath felt louder. Sharper. The only sound besides the faintest hum from something mechanical far, far below.

You reached the bottom. A heavy steel door waited. It was covered in dust—but not evenly. Like someone had wiped it clean once with their sleeve. Recently. The kind of clean that says someone came here trying not to leave fingerprints.

Seong Je glanced at you. You nodded. He opened it. And there it was. The Archive. Not a library. Not a basement. A vault.

Rows upon rows of dark filing cabinets stretched into the dim distance—lit only by old industrial lights flickering in and out of life. Some shelves were toppled. Others marked with peeling red wax seals. There were boxes stacked like coffins. Locked drawers. Burned folders. Fragments of forgotten time stacked too high.

Then you started to feel it again—that feeling. Like someone or something is watching. Like the room remembered being alive.

“This is where they kept it,” Seong Je said, voice barely above a whisper. “Before they decided it was safer to forget.”

You took a step forward. Your shoes echoed on the metal flooring. The air smelled like rust, old books, and the ghost of electricity. “What are we looking for?” you asked.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he knelt beside one of the cabinets, pulling a ring of keys from his pocket—ones that definitely weren’t university-issued.

“MJ left me a trail. Not obvious. But she knew someone would come after her. She told me… lesson three comes at dawn.”

You both looked at each other. Then at your watch—it’s 5:03. It is dawn now.

And deep inside the archive, something shifted. A drawer slid open on its own. No breeze. No mechanism. Just the soft scrape of metal against metal. Like a secret giving itself up.

And from somewhere deeper inside, barely audible, a voice recorder clicked on. “If you’re hearing this… it means it’s starting again.” Her voice was soft. Calm. A little crackly around the edges, like it had been recorded on cheap tape in a quiet room where something terrible waited just outside the door.

You froze. Not because of the words. But because of the tone.

You’d never met Myeong Joo. Not really. You’d seen her name. Her files. A photo once—faded and clipped to a report with too much red ink on it. But this… this was her alive. Breathing. Speaking. Leaving a breadcrumb trail through time like she knew you’d be here. Like she knew you.

Seong Je didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Just stared toward the source of the sound like it might break him open.

His hand brushed against yours on instinct. A flicker. Not romantic—not yet. Just human. Anchoring. As if he needed to know you were still solid beside him.

Myeong Joo continued, “This is Myeong Joo. If you're listening, you’ve made it inside the archive. That means... it’s already started. Again.”

He inhaled sharply, but didn’t let it out. You took a glance at him. His jaw was clenched, and something in his expression cracked—not wide enough to fall through, but enough for the hurt to show. Enough to say: he wasn’t ready to hear her voice again. Not like this.

“I used to think it was random…” Then she went on. The mimicry. The rhythm. The dates. The solstice.

And all the while, you felt like the light in the room had gone colder. Not darker—colder. Like the air didn’t want to be here anymore. Like it was curling away from her words.

Seong Je dropped into a crouch beside the shelf, head bowed, hands braced against his knees. Like the truth was pressing down on him physically now.

“If you’re hearing this,” Myeong Joo said, “it already knows your name.”

Your name. It struck different out loud. Like it wasn’t just about you anymore. Like it had already begun curling around you, wrapping tendrils of awareness around your memories.

You whispered, “She sounds like she knew what she was walking into.”

“No,” Seong Je murmured. “She didn’t. She only thought she did.” You stared at the recorder. “She knew,” you said. “She left this on purpose. For someone.”

Seong Je looked up at you then. And something in his eyes was shattered glass—cutting, sharp, still reflecting light. He said nothing. He didn’t have to.

You understood it now. This wasn’t just a breadcrumb trail. It was a warning.

Both of you were in silence. But not emptiness. The kind of silence that fills the room like fog. That lingers where voices just were. That clings.

Neither of you moved. Until, finally, Seong Je stood—slowly. Like he’d aged five years during those few minutes. He turned toward a sealed drawer at the back of the archive. One hand hovered over the handle.

“She left more,” he said quietly. And when he looked at you again. It wasn’t just fear anymore. It was grief. It was resolve.

It was something deep and loyal and quietly terrified to lose you. “Ready to see what she couldn’t say out loud?”

Seong Je’s fingers hovered above the drawer handle for a beat too long. Like touching it might mean something permanent. Then, in one smooth motion—click.

The drawer slid open. The air inside was colder. Like something had been sealed in there that didn’t belong to this century—or this world.

You leaned over his shoulder as he pulled the folder free. Thick. Cream-colored. Old, but not dusty. Handled, read, closed—again and again. And on the front—your initials. Not your full name. Just the initials. Like a case file. Like you were a code.

Your breath caught. “That’s not…” You reached out and flipped it open before you could talk yourself out of it.

Inside were photos of you. Sitting on campus steps. Exiting a classroom..Sleeping at your desk.

Some of them… were from angles that couldn’t have existed. High up. Obscured. Like a camera had been watching you from somewhere it shouldn’t have been.

Notes in the margins. Scribbled in tight, neat handwriting: “Doesn’t react to hallway distortion.” “No mimic event recorded—yet.” “Dream logs incomplete.” “Name keeps changing in system registry. Not just spelling—structure.”

And then… drawings. Dozens of them. Sketched in graphite. Your face. Over and over. Slightly off each time. Eyes just a little too wide. Mouth too still. Like someone had been trying to remember you from memory and failing. Or like someone was trying to match you to something else.

Your hand trembled as you turned the last page.

And there scrawled in quick, frantic black ink, MJ’s handwriting: You were never supposed to be real.

The words struck like thunder inside your skull.

You backed up, as if the folder had burned you. “What the hell does that mean?”

Seong Je stared at the page for a long time. Didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. His lips parted like he wanted to say something but the words wouldn’t come.

“Seong Je—”

He looked at you. Slowly. Like your face was suddenly a question. A riddle he hadn’t realized was unsolvable. Like he was seeing you for the first time.

“…She wasn’t talking to herself,” he whispered. “She was talking to them. About you.”

You shook your head. “But I’m not—what? Not real?”

And just then—Thump. A sound above you. From the ceiling. Then again. Thump. Thump. Like footsteps. Walking upside down. You both froze.

The folder still open between you. Your photos watching you. Then the last piece of paper in the file slipped out—

A map of the campus. But drawn in red ink. With three words circled, over and over: “Lesson Four. Rooftop.”

You stared at the folder. Then at him. The air between you had gone too quiet again. That weird static hush, like the archive itself was holding its breath.

“You knew something,” you said, voice low, barely more than a tremble. “Didn’t you?”

Seong Je didn’t answer right away. Just clenched his jaw and shut the drawer like it might bite.

You stepped in front of him, heart pounding. “How long have you known?”

His eyes flicked to yours. Torn. Sharp. Full of shadows he’d been trying not to look at.

“I didn’t know this,” he said finally. “I didn’t know about you.”

“But you knew something,” you pressed. “About the archive. About Myeong Joo. About me.”

He looked away. His hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles pale. “I knew they were watching someone. I just didn’t think it was you.”

You threw your hands up, pacing backward. “Bullshit, thanks. Comforting.”

“I didn’t mean—” He stopped himself. Ran a hand through his hair. “This place doesn’t just study patterns. It creates them. Echoes. Recursions. You show up in the data before you existed. Files on you written before enrollment. I thought it was an error, until now.”

“You should’ve told me,” you whispered.

“I wanted to.”

“So why didn’t you?”

And then he looked at you. Really looked. With that same shattering, silent storm in his eyes from earlier. Like he was afraid of you, but not in the way people fear monsters. Like he was afraid of breaking something delicate.

“Because the second I started thinking you might be part of it…” he said, voice hoarse, “I realized I’d never let them take you.”

You blinked. Whatever tension had been holding your ribs like a cage wobbled a little.

But before you could respond—THUMP. Above you again. But this time it’s louder. Then a scrape like something dragging nails across concrete. Slow. Wet.

You both looked up. And the ceiling tiles breathed. You saw them shift. Swell, like lungs. And then—crack—one of them split. A black shape unfolded. Boneless. Wrong. Hanging like a marionette that forgot gravity existed.

And in a voice that wasn’t quite a voice—like Myeong Joo’s, distorted, too high at the edges—it spoke, “You were never supposed to be real.”

Before you could say anything, Seong Je quickly grabbed your arm and ran.

Back through the archive shelves, twisting between cabinets, dodging falling papers as the lights above flickered and popped.

He didn’t stop until you hit a side door—unmarked, rusted, but unlocked—and shoved you through it.

You both we're breathless. Pressed to the wall like it might hold you up better than gravity ever could. You stared at him.

Your voice came out like something cracked. “I need to know what I am.” You hadn’t meant for it to sound so broken. So small.

But you were tired of the whispers. The files. The folder with your face, your initials, your timeline scribbled over in someone else's hand. You were tired of not knowing if you were a person or a pattern. And somehow, that truth was heavier than fear.

Seong Je didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. His eyes, storm-dark and unblinking, held you like a lifeline. There was heat in them but not the wild kind. It was steadier. Fierce. A flame that chose to burn instead of explode.

He reached out—hesitant, then sure—and touched your hand. Just the edge of his fingers brushing yours.

“Then we go to the Rooftop,” he said. “No more hiding. No more rules.”

His voice was steady. But his hand was shaking. And neither of you looked back as you left the archive behind.

You and Seong Je didn’t speak for a while after escaping the archive.

The stairwell should’ve been five turns away. Three, if you cut through the language department. But every hallway looked… the same. A stretch of linoleum, flickering lights overhead, bulletin boards warped with time and weather they never saw.

It should’ve been sunrise. But outside the windows? Night. Thick and endless. No moon. No stars. Just static black pressed against the glass like it wanted in.

You glanced at Seong Je. “Wasn’t it morning?”

“It was.” He sounded too sure. And then less sure.

You passed another door. Same as the last one. Same chipped nameplate. Same buzzing exit sign. “I think we already—” you began.

“I know.” He slowed. Turned. “We’re stuck.”

Your skin prickled. “What do you mean stuck?”

He didn’t answer. Just dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a black Sharpie. Crossed to the wall and made a quick, clean mark: X.

You both stepped past it. And walked. Two turns. Four. Seven.

And then you both stumble upon the mark again. The same mark. Same spot. Except now… it was gone.

You felt your stomach drop. “It erased it.”

“No,” he said. “It rewrote it. This place is cycling.”

The hum of the overhead lights grew louder. The kind of sound that starts as background but now felt like it was crawling under your skin. Like it was trying to nest there. You kept walking.

And then there's footsteps. Soft. Behind you. You stopped. They stopped. You turned. Nothing.

The hall was empty. The lights buzzed. And somewhere, a door clicked shut—quiet, but far too close.

Then you spun again. No one. Seong Je stepped in front of you, posture tense, listening. Another step. Behind you. Again.

This time, not in sync. At first, the footsteps had matched yours, same pace, same weight.

But now? They were catching up. Tap. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap. Your breath hitched. “It’s following us.”

“No,” he said, pulling you close. “It’s learning.”

You backed toward a classroom door, hand finding the knob. Locked.

Another step. Closer. Then a second pair. Not one set of footsteps anymore. Two.

Different weights. One light. One heavy. One… like yours. One like Myeong Joo’s..?

Seong Je tried another door. This one creaked open.nHe grabbed your wrist. “Inside. Now.” You both ducked in. Shut it behind you. Dark. Dusty.

Rows of desks stacked like bones. A projector in the corner blinked to life. The door clicked shut behind you with the soft finality of a coffin lid. The inside was dark. Not shadowed—dark. A dark that felt intentional, like it had been laid over the room in thick strokes. Dust floated in the single, thin beam of the projector light. That was the only thing glowing now. Pale and shaking like it was breathing.

You were in a classroom. But not one you recognized. The desks were wrong. Too narrow. Too many. Packed too tight. Some stacked, some overturned. Like something had panicked in here. Or tried to escape. Your breath fogged. The air was cold.

Seong Je didn’t move at first. Just scanned the walls with his body angled slightly in front of yours, the way someone might shield someone else from a car crash they saw coming too late.

Then a click. The projector whirred louder, coughing static into its lens. An image flickered into place on the wall, A hallway. This hallway. Only—not quite.

It was off. A few feet longer. A few lights missing. Like someone had tried to redraw it from memory and got the angles just wrong.

In the grainy footage, two figures appeared. You and Seong Je walking on loop.

You watched yourselves move past the same door again and again. You watched Seong Je make the mark.

Then you watched the mark disappear. Your stomach twisted as the footage kept going.

Behind your figures, something moved. Slow. Fluid. Like it hadn’t learned how to walk properly—but was doing its best impression.

At first it was a smear. A blur in the static. Then—closer. Clearer. A shape. Your height. Wearing your face. But not your face.

It was… close. But the smile was too wide. The eyes didn’t blink. The arms hung too low. And it didn’t walk like you. It copied you. Right down to the tilt of your head. The nervous shift in your weight. And then it stopped copying. And watched you. In the recording, your figure kept moving.

But the mimic? Turned to look straight at the camera. Straight at you. Even though this wasn’t live. Couldn’t be. The real you took a step back. Felt the desk behind your knees.

Your pulse was so loud in your ears you almost didn’t hear Seong Je whisper, “…That’s not playback. That’s surveillance.”

You turned to him. “How do you know?”

He didn’t blink. “Because it’s still happening.”

And sure enough, In the recording, the mimic raised one hand. And waved. Right at you.

The lights overhead buzzed like hornets. Then BOOM. The hallway door rattled like something slammed into it from the other side. Once. Twice. Then silence.

A long, unbearable silence where even the projector stopped.

And then a click. From the closet in the corner. You both turned. The handle began to twist. Slow. Deliberate.

The closet handle twisted again, this time with intent. The soft kind of sound that makes your spine stiffen, like someone dragging their nail across a violin string.

Seong Je’s hand snapped to yours. “Get down,” he breathed.

You both moved at once—low, fast, and silent. The desks offered no real shelter, just thin metal legs and battered particleboard, but your eyes caught a small gap beneath the teacher’s desk near the corner. It was half-swallowed in shadow.

You dove first, crawling, elbow scraping the floor, heart in your mouth. Seong Je followed, his shoulder brushing yours as he squeezed in beside you—barely enough room for both of you, so close you could hear the shape of his breathing.

You couldn’t see the closet now. But you could hear it. The click became a creak. Slow. Measured. Like someone opening the door for effect. Then silence. Your breath caught. So did his.

You felt it—his shoulder trembling just once, his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might snap. His hand found your knee in the dark and held it—not to calm you, but to ground himself.

Something stepped out. You didn’t see it. But the air shifted. Heavier. Thicker. Like the pressure dropped, like the room sank. You bit the inside of your cheek. You weren’t going to be the one who breathed first.

Then a step. Something touched the floor. A bare foot? A hand? It was too soft to tell. But the sound came closer. Tap. Tap. Tap. Then it stopped. Right next to the desk. Silence again. That awful, crushing silence.

“Y/n…” Your name. No—it used his voice. Perfectly. So soft. So sad. “Are you scared?” You could feel Seong Je go stone still. He didn’t respond. Didn’t breathe. The mimic knelt. You could feel the floor shift. Something moving just outside your hiding space.

And then its face. Upside down. Peering under the desk. Your face. But the eyes were black. Like ink. Like holes in a painting. And the mouth was a little too wide. A little too knowing. It smiled. And said, with your voice, “I found you.”

You would’ve screamed but Seong Je moved first.

His eyes didn’t even flinch. Just locked on the mimic’s upside-down grin with a look that said not today, you pale little nightmare.

And then—crash. He kicked the desk. Hard. It didn’t just slide—it flew.

The old metal frame screeched against the floor for a breathless second—then slammed right into the mimic’s head with a bone-jarring crunch.

The thing let out a howl—a warped burst of static, like a dying speaker blown too loud. Its smile split wider, twitching, cracking at the corners.

But Seong Je wasn’t done. He lunged, shoving the desk again, this time pinning it against the mimic’s body. You could hear it squirming underneath, bones that weren’t quite human bending wrong, limbs jerking like puppet strings pulled too tight.

He turned to you, breath ragged, voice sharp, “NOW RUN!”

He didn’t wait for you to move. Grabbed your hand and dragged you, feet slipping across the cold linoleum, out the classroom door.

The mimic screeched behind you. But it wasn’t alone anymore. Because when you hit the hallway, the mirrors on the windows were full of versions of you. And not just you. Him, too.

Broken reflections. Mouths open. Hands pressed to the glass, begging to be let out. Or let in.

One of them reached up and cracked the glass from the inside.

The hallway twisted again. The red light deepened to blood-warm maroon. The end of the corridor seemed to breathe.

And the walls began to whisper.

“Lesson three…

…Lesson three…

…ready for it?

Are you ready?

Are you ready?”

The hallway bent behind you—warping, flexing, like it was made of breath and memory. The reflections slammed their palms to the glass again, now screaming without sound. You ran past one window and your own face turned to look at you but didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t stop smiling.

And that was it. Seong Je stopped. Dead in his tracks. His grip on your wrist pulled you short, breath catching. “Enough.” His voice was low. Flat. The kind of quiet rage that comes after grief, after fear—when you’ve got nothing left but teeth and willpower.

You turned, stunned, as he let go of you. Took one step forward. The hallway shuddered. The reflections moved.

One mimic stepped out of the glass—perfectly mirroring Seong Je’s body, but wrong. Too tall. Movements too smooth. Smiling like it had just picked its favorite meal.

Seong Je didn’t wait. Didn’t hesitate. He charged. No weapons. Just fury and training and a low, wordless roar pulled from the gut.

The mimic lunged to meet him, but Seong Je dropped low, twisted, and drove his shoulder into its middle, sending it slamming into a wall with a sound like metal snapping in half.

You barely had time to breathe before another mimic stepped from the other side of the hall—your face this time, twitching like a frame skipping.

It rushed you. You ducked—just barely—its nails grazing your cheek. You grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall without thinking, raised it and smashed it making the canister hit its skull with a dull, sickening thunk. It staggered. Didn’t fall. Just laughed—your own laugh, warped and glitching.

Then Seong Je from behind you. His hand caught the mimic’s head and slammed it into the ground, once, twice, until the voice cut off. He looked at you. Face flushed. Lip split. Eyes full of fire.

“You good?” he panted. You nodded, chest heaving. But the hallway was still full of echoes.

The other mimics didn’t retreat. They started to surround. One by one, stepping from the glass, the lockers, the shadows. “You can’t fight us all,” they whispered in chorus.

Seong Je lifted his chin. Wiped blood from his mouth with his fingers. “I don’t need to.” He turned to you. “You still got that lighter?”

You yanked the lighter from your pocket. Still warm. Still a little cracked from the last fall—but it flicked to life like it knew what was coming.

Seong Je held out his hand. You slapped it into his palm.

And then he smiled. Not cocky. Not charming. But raw. Wild. That sharp, split-second smirk of a man who knows he’s about to burn down a haunted hallway with his bare hands and one lighter.

He turned to the nearest mimic—your face, bleeding static—and tossed the lighter high.

You didn’t understand until his other hand reached behind his back—The broken glass bottle. Still half-full of that weird, slick oil.

He caught the lighter mid-air with one hand and in the same breath—Ignited it. The mimic took a step back. Too late. The hallway erupted in flame.

Not normal flame—blue, almost holy, licking up the lockers and sprinting down the tile like it was alive.

The mimics screamed. Not human sounds. Digital distortion. Warped metal. Howls that echoed through bone.

One dove at him—he sidestepped and slammed a heel into its back, sending it face-first into the flames.

Another rushed you—too fast, too angry. You grabbed the extinguisher again—not to put it out but to wield it. You drove it into the mimic’s stomach, then cracked it across its jaw.

It hit the floor, shrieking, writhing in sparks as the blue flame crawled over its body like recognition.

Seong Je moved like water and wrath—sweeping kicks, elbow strikes, crushing anything that came near him. Blood down his arm. Smoke rising off his sleeve.

But then silence. The hallway went still. Only fire crackled. You looked up. And saw them.

The last mimics. Only two of them. You and His. Side by side. Watching. Smiling. Then, in unison, “Lesson three… ends at dawn.” And they melted into the smoke. Gone.

You turned to him, heart still hammering. He was breathing hard. Sweat and blood and soot and something alive in his eyes.

He looked at you like you were the only real thing left in this entire building. “Still good?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded. Then smiled and whispered, “Let’s finish this.”

Avemhall East Tower — ?:??

The stairs to the rooftop felt endless. Not because they were long—but because every step felt like a countdown.

The school was silent behind you, save for the low hum that lived in the walls now. The kind of silence that followed too much screaming. Seong Je led the way, one hand pressed against the stair rail, the other still smeared with ash and dried blood. He didn’t speak. He hadn’t, not since you’d left the hallway.

The rooftop door loomed above like a gate to another realm.

When you pushed it open, it was dawn. The sky split in soft oranges and bruised pinks, the clouds slow-dancing along the horizon. Light spilled across the roof in long, golden ribbons. It should’ve felt like peace. Should’ve been beautiful. But the air was wrong. Taut. Humming beneath your skin.

You stepped onto the rooftop and saw it. The pattern. Not painted. Not carved. But grown. The tiles beneath your feet were laced with fine cracks, veins of some dark substance forming a near-perfect circle around the center of the roof. It shimmered faintly—as if reflecting a fire not yet lit.

Seong Je stared at it, eyes storm-dark. "Myeong Joo drew this,” he said quietly. “In her notes. She said this is where it ends. Or begins again.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the wind shifted. And with it came a voice. "Je...?”

Your blood ran cold. It was Myeong Joo’s voice. Soft. Familiar. Too real. Too warm.

You turned—and there she was. Standing just outside the circle. Hair falling over one eye. A flicker of a smile.

"You don’t have to finish it,” she said. "Come with me. We can go back. Pretend it never happened."

Seong Je didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His jaw clenched, but his voice was steady, “You don’t get to wear her voice.”

The mimic’s smile faltered, and then its form twitched. Shifted. The skin cracked. The eyes flickered with static.

Seong Je stepped in front of you. "I got you. No matter what this thing turns into."

The wind howled suddenly, as if the sky itself screamed. The circle began to glow—faint, then blinding. The entity dropped the Myeong Joo illusion and became… everything. Her. You. Him. All at once. All wrong. A mosaic of stolen skin and shattered voices.

It stepped forward and you stepped with him—into the circle. "Lesson Three," you whispered. "Let’s end it."

The mimic screeched—a sound that didn’t belong in any world you knew. Like static run through grief. It surged forward again, this time with a new face: yours. But wrong. Empty.

“You’re not real,” it hissed in your voice. “You’re just a rewrite.”

Seong Je spun, slamming his heel down into the rooftop tiles, forcing a shockwave through the glowing circle. The mimic stumbled. Glitched. Began fracturing. “Neither are you,” he snapped. “So let’s finish this.”

You weren’t just connecting the chalk marks anymore—you were rewriting them. MJ’s markings had been desperate. Yours were deliberate. You dragged your hand across the tiles, your breath catching as the symbols rose—not from the floor, but from you. They responded to your pulse. To your name.

The mimic lunged and Seong Je caught it mid-air, tackling it back into the circle. “NOW!” he roared.

The air cracked open with sound. You screamed the word again—the one that had surfaced like instinct. The one MJ had left buried in her notes. “REVERTI!”

Light exploded from the runes, spiraling upward like fire caught in a cyclone. The mimic howled as its stolen voices unraveled—MJ’s laugh, your scream, his curses—all ripped back into silence.

Seong Je staggered back, singed, his arm shielding his face from the heat. You ran to him, catching him by the wrist. “Seong Je!”

But he looked up at you—bloodied, grinning. “Told you. I’ve got you.”

And just as the mimic collapsed into a heap of ash and memory. The sky opened. Not in horror. Not in doom. But morning. Real morning.

The circle was nothing now. Just ash. Lines scorched into tile like an old scar that no one will believe is real.

The sky, for the first time in what felt like forever, was clear. No glitch. No wrongness. Just a soft gold cracking over the horizon like a slow exhale. Like the world had been holding its breath all night, and finally—finally—let it go.

You dropped to your knees. Not from pain. Just—over. Everything in you folding. You hadn’t even realized how much your hands were shaking until you tried to press them to the ground and missed.

Seong Je was beside you a second later. Breathing hard. Blood trailing down his temple. His clothes were torn at the shoulder, scorched at the sleeve, and his knuckles were scraped raw.

But he looked at you like you were whole. Like he could finally look without fear. “You okay?” he asked, voice rough. Quiet.

You nodded. Or tried to. “I think I—yeah. Yeah.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just stared at you. Eyes dark and unreadable—until they weren’t.

There was something else in them now. Not adrenaline. Not worry. Something gentler.

Softer than the sunrise behind him.

He reached out, slow, like asking permission even though you hadn’t said no. His hand brushed the back of yours—barely—but it grounded you like lightning to a rod. “You did it,” he murmured. “You rewrote the end.”

You looked at the sky. It didn’t flicker. Didn’t hum. Didn’t watch. For the first time in what felt like forever—you were the only ones here. “Do we win?” you asked.

Seong Je smiled. The real kind. Tired. Beautiful. “We’re still here, aren’t we?”

He leaned forward, forehead resting against yours for just a breath, just long enough to feel the heat of him and the fact that you were both still breathing.

The rooftop door groaned when Seong Je pushed it open, like even the school itself was tired. No mimic. No static. Just stairs. Real ones.

Your legs didn’t quite believe it yet. Each step down was cautious, half-expecting the loop to snap back. But the hallway didn’t repeat this time. The walls didn’t flicker. The lights just… stayed on.

Still dim. Still weirdly too-long. But they were real. Tangible. And the windows showed morning now—real morning. Sky bleeding soft blues and peaches like someone finally took the horror filter off the world.

You didn’t speak for a while. Just walked beside Seong Je, close enough to feel the warmth off his side like a tether.

He kept glancing your way. Like if he stopped checking, you’d vanish. Like that fear hadn’t quite let go of his ribs yet.

“You okay?” he asked again. Quieter this time. Like the words were afraid to echo.

You didn’t answer right away. Just nodded. Then, “Yeah. I just… I think I forgot what normal feels like.”

That pulled a laugh out of him—tired, low, but real.

He looked at you like he wanted to say something else, but didn’t. Just reached out, fingers brushing yours, then holding. You let him. Because here, in the early hush of daybreak and ash, that was enough.

Back at his room, he didn’t bother locking the door. Didn’t even check it twice.

He just kicked off his shoes, dropped the lighter on the desk, and collapsed onto the mattress like a puppet whose strings had finally snapped.

You stood there for a second—then followed.

No big drama. No words needed. Just the gravity of surviving something with someone who refused to let go.

When you curled next to him—clothes still rumpled, skin still warm from fire and fear—he didn’t move.

But his fingers found yours again. Tangled them. Held tight.

“Next time,” you mumbled, already slipping under, “we make it to lesson four.”

He smiled against your hair. Just a little. “No more lessons,” he whispered. “Just sleep.” And finally—finally—you did it.

Seong Je’s breath was steady but shallow against your skin. His fingers, still laced with yours, pressed gentle, grounding, like he was reminding you, reminding himself, that you were both still here. Still real.

You shifted closer, careful not to crush the fragile silence between you. The world outside felt miles away, like it was still caught in a nightmare you’d just escaped. “I thought…” you started, voice barely a thread, “I thought I’d never stop running.”

He tightened his grip, a whisper of a smile teasing the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” he said, “Me too.”

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved — just the soft sound of your breathing, a quiet symphony that meant survival.

Then, slow and deliberate, he tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, fingers lingering like he didn’t want to let go.

“You saved me,” he admitted, voice rough, honest. “More than I can say.”

You swallowed, warmth blooming behind your ribs. “We saved each other,” you whispered.

His eyes found yours—deep, steady pools that flickered with something fierce, something vulnerable. Without thinking, you leaned in.

The kiss was slow, tentative at first, like a question whispered in the dark. But it grew, fierce and fierce and full, like the promise of morning after endless night.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the fragile space between.

“No more lessons,” he repeated, this time with a fierce kind of hope. “Just us.”

You nodded, heart full, shadows behind you, sunrise before. And finally it ended.

FINAL PART HAHA 😩🫡🤌🏻 how are you guys feeling abt this series now that it finally ended???? mueheheee 🥀💔🙌🏻🤗🥺😁

© l1v-jzn

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

Because! I’m Jealous of Him.

Synopsis: Accidental Confession? because of jealousy!

Word Count: 571

Filipino Romcoms gives me so much idea for cheesy fluffs omg 😭

Karina X Male Reader

You were the class president—smart, composed, always top of the rankings. The kind of student everyone respected, sometimes even envied. With your neatly organized notes, perfectly ironed uniform, and quiet authority, you were everything Chosun High admired in a leader.

And Karina? She was your opposite in every possible way.

She was the school’s sunshine—radiant, magnetic, the kind of girl whose laughter turned heads and whose smile made everything else in the hallway blur. She was bold, confident, a presence too big to be ignored. And yet, no matter how far apart your worlds seemed… you always found yourself looking at her.

Somehow, she looked back.

Between the rushed greetings, the long glances in homeroom, and the messages that went from “what’s the homework?” to late-night conversations about nothing and everything—it bloomed. Quietly. Naturally.

And then he transferred in.

Minjae.

Tall. Ridiculously good-looking. That kind of smooth-talking charm that made everyone notice him—especially her. He was too friendly with Karina. Too close. He lingered near her locker, brought her snacks with dumb nicknames written on sticky notes, walked her to class like they’d known each other for years.

You noticed.

Every time.

And with every laugh she shared with him, something in you cracked a little more.

Until it all broke.

The noon bell rang. The halls emptied except for the low hum of distant lectures behind closed doors. You stood outside Karina’s classroom, hands clenched into fists deep in your pockets, heart pacing faster than your footsteps ever could.

She stepped out, brushing her bangs aside. Her smile dropped the moment she saw your expression.

“Hey…” she said, eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s wrong?”

“Let me walk you home,” you said too quickly, your voice sharper than you meant it to be.

She sighed, already weary. “Y/N, no. We’ll just fight again.”

“No, we won’t,” you insisted, stepping closer. “I just want to talk.”

She crossed her arms, her voice tight. “Every time we talk, it ends up in an argument.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is!” she snapped, frustration bubbling. “What is going on with you lately? Why are you always like this whenever Minjae’s around?! He’s just being friendly!”

You clenched your jaw, the heat rising in your chest.

“He’s not just being friendly!” you shot back. “He’s everywhere, Karina! Following you around like a damn puppy—laughing at everything you say, trying to walk you to every damn class like he’s your boyfriend—like you belong to him!”

She looked at you, stunned. “You’re being paranoid.”

“No, I’m being honest.”

She raised her voice. “So what, you think you get to decide who I talk to now? You don’t own me, Y/N!”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Then what are you trying to say?!” she yelled.

You took a shaky breath, raked your fingers through your hair, then stepped back, pacing once before facing her again.

Your voice cracked.

“I’m saying I hate seeing him act like he has a chance with you.”

Her eyes locked onto yours.

“I hate seeing you smile at him the way I wish you smiled at me. I hate feeling like I’m losing you when I never even got to have you.”

The hallway fell silent again.

You stared at her. Everything was already out in the open now. You didn’t hold back anymore

“Because I’m jealous of him,” you said, quietly this time.

She blinked, her voice softer. “Huh? Why?”

You met her eyes. “Because I love you.”

Everything stopped. The lights above, the dull hum of a vending machine down the hall, even the air felt still.

She didn’t speak.

Not right away.

Then she stepped toward you, slowly, her arms lowering, her eyes glassy with something unreadable—surprise, maybe fear, or something deeper.

“…I love you too, though.”

Silence.

The kind that feels louder than shouting. You both stood there, staring at each other like the weight of your own confessions hadn’t sunk in yet.

[belit0]

Obsessed with the High School Uchihas! I love the way you write them!

I could definitely see someone thinking Obito is the “safe” choice bc while he’s Uchiha he’s a little goofy, but can also be nice and soft (especially compared to Izuna and Shisui who are terrorizing the girls lmao sleeping with you then leaving ghosting them) but Wrong! So wrong. Obito won’t let reader go (especially after rin) reader belongs to him now, they can’t escape him, or the other Uchiha. I can see Izuna and Shisui pressuring reader into not leaving or even hinting to Obito that they would because it would ruin him. They’re like “you’re not leaving him, and if you try we’ll find you and drag you back”

Not to mention he just wouldn’t except it “we broke up? Remeber?” Obi: “I know you were mad and I gave you some space to calm down but can you stop being mean now?” He just ignores it completely

Dark Obito is my favorite type of Obito, by far. More high school au!!!!!!

The hallway was quiet, lights low, most students already gone. She hadn’t expected to see him.

But there he was.

Leaning near her locker, arms crossed, school blazer undone, tie half-loosened like he'd waited for hours. Messy hair. Unreadable eyes.

The hallway was dead silent. Fluorescents buzzing low. Everyone else was gone. She didn’t expect to see him.

But there he was.

Leaning on the lockers like he lived there. School blazer open, shirt half-untucked, red tie hanging loose around his neck like a noose he hadn’t decided to pull tight yet. His hair was a mess. His eyes were worse.

She froze mid-step, hand still hovering near the lock.

-What do you want?-

Obito tilted his head. That lazy tilt. That I'm-not-mad-just-done-playing expression he wore when he stopped pretending to be normal.

-You've been acting weird.- His voice was soft. Too soft. -Kinda figured you’d be over your little protest by now.-

-I’m not—this isn’t a protest. I told you, I’m done.—

-Yeah, I heard that part,- he interrupted, still calm. -Doesn’t mean it counts. I didn’t say yes.-

Her stomach dropped.

-That’s not how this works, Obito. I don’t need your permission to walk away.-

He pushed off the locker, took a step. No sudden moves. Nothing loud. Just steady, slow, like he was approaching a cornered animal.

-I know you're upset,- he said. -I messed up. I get that. I’m not pretending I didn’t. But you don’t throw shit away just ‘cause it got hard.-

-You scared me,- she said. Voice shaking. -You still do.-

He stopped. Blinked. Like the words didn’t compute.

Then came the smile. Thin. Crooked.

-Scared... Don’t say that like it means anything, baby. You know I’d never hurt you. You’re mine. You picked me, remember? That’s not something you get to unsign just ‘cause you’re feeling dramatic one week.-

His hand brushed her wrist. Barely there.

She flinched.

He didn’t pull back.

-You belong with me. To me. So quit this before it turns into something it doesn’t need to be. Let’s go. I’ll walk you home.-

His grip closed around her wrist. Firm. Not violent. But firm like gravity. Like it was already decided.

And the worst part?

He said it like it was sweet.

//

The courtyard felt like it should’ve been safe. People always lingered there. Groups behind hedges. Someone smoking. Laughter tucked in corners. Noise. Movement.

Not today.

Today it emptied.

Fast.

She didn’t even hear them approach. That was the terrifying part.

Shisui and Izuna didn’t walk—they glided. Like the air bent around them. They weren’t close enough to touch, but it still felt like her personal space had already been stolen.

Expensive cologne. Cigarettes. Arrogance. It hit like a scent you couldn’t wash off.

-You’ve been keeping low,- Shisui said, casual as hell, like this was a run-in at the vending machines. -Everything good, princess? You sick or just ghosting?-

Izuna didn’t speak. He just stared. Head tilted slightly. Mouth a flat line.

She didn’t answer.

Smart.

Shisui leaned back against the wall, easy, grin playing at the edge of his mouth like he wasn’t already building a trap in his head. -Obito’s been all fucked up about you. Lost, actually. And it’s not a good look on him. Makes people talk.-

-We’ve been watching him,- Izuna finally spoke, voice low and bored. -And you.-

Her chest tightened. Leaving wasn't even an option. She knew that. Instinct said stay still. Keep breathing.

Shisui nodded like they were discussing the weather. -We’re not pissed. Just disappointed. You had something good. Real. And you threw it. That’s... dangerous.-

Izuna’s voice barely carried. -For you.-

-Very dangerous,- Shisui echoed, that grin never shifting. -See, people hear things. And nobody here’s gonna cry if you say something. They'll laugh. Call it delusional. Jealous. You really think anyone breaks up with an Uchiha and walks away clean?-

Izuna’s gaze didn’t waver. -You’d be the school joke by lunch. Screaming for attention. Another clingy mess.-

-But that’s not what we want,- Shisui said gently, brushing imaginary dust off her shoulder. -We like you. Obito’s been... saner. Since you showed up.-

-Stopped breaking shit for no reason,- Izuna added. -Stopped putting people in the hospital. For a while.-

Shisui chuckled under his breath. -You’re a good influence. Be a shame if he lost that. You keep him calm. Balanced.-

-Sane,- Izuna said again. The repetition wasn’t accidental.

Her heart thundered.

And then it got quiet. The kind of quiet that stretched too long. Made the world feel like it was holding its breath.

Izuna’s stare sharpened. -So think hard before doing something dumb. There’s no going back from it.-

-This isn’t a threat,- Shisui smiled, voice full of poison wrapped in honey. -It’s just a heads-up. Between friends.-

Then they turned and left. No urgency. No warning.

Just two shadows peeling off the walls and fading back into the world like they’d never been there.

And she was left in the courtyard.

Wide open.

Nowhere felt safe.

Not anymore.

[skmhlml]

The nightshift abductor x Reader

🪓 He doesn’t just snatch people randomly. Once he noticed you, he obsessively learned your schedule—memorizing when you leave work, which routes you take, and even what snacks you buy from the vending machine. He has an unnatural knack for knowing things about you he shouldn’t.

🪓 The way he moves is eerily quiet, almost like he’s floating. His footsteps are soundless, making him appear out of nowhere.

🪓 When he takes you, it’s impulsive. He may not be smart but he's strong and hefty. He throws your ass in the same cage he would with any other victim with the tv playing.

🪓 Your freedom isn’t taken all at once. He allows small movements and privileges, then abruptly revokes them for minor infractions to keep you on edge.

🪓 if you don't struggle for a few days and eat the mystery meat he gives you get more privileges.

🪓 His preferred method of control is silence. He’ll sit in the room with you for hours, staring, saying nothing. His stillness feels unnatural, almost inhuman.

🪓 His punishments are meticulously designed to prey on your specific fears. Afraid of the dark? He’ll lock you in a pitch-black room for hours. Claustrophobic? He’ll keep you in a tight space, whispering through the walls to remind you he’s still there.

🪓 he purposely breaks a bone or twitst your ankle just so you can't get away and he can take care of you longer, therefor your close and dependent on him.

🪓 He’ll deliberately drag objects across the floor or knock them against walls just to create noise in the otherwise deafening quiet. You can’t tell if it’s accidental or intentional, which only heightens the tension.

🪓 When he stares at you, it’s not just observation—it’s dissection. His unblinking gaze feels more like an autopsy than an interaction, as if he’s mapping your vulnerabilities.

🪓 The worst punishment isn’t physical—it’s when he abandons you in complete isolation for hours or even days. No light, no sound, no hint of his presence. When he eventually returns, you find yourself relieved, even though you hate him for it.

🪓 He has a disturbing fixation on your appearance. Every day, he meticulously brushes your hair or adjusts your clothing, his touch clinical yet invasive. You can’t tell if it’s affection or a way to dehumanize you further.

[tsxkkis]

# tsukishima kei - wait

a/n = ahh i fear this might be too out of character T-T also i've been so busy with reading jjk lately i might just start writing for it too

summary = old feelings to a certain blonde resurface and are accidentally revealed by none other than tipsy you.

warnings = making out, mentions of alcohol (all characters are aged up a bit so they can legally drink), nothing else i think

his eyes were glued to you the entire night.

you noticed, obviously. the bar you decided to meet up at was just big enough for all of you to fit inside, the long-awaited karasuno volleyball team reunion finally happening. it's been a few years since high school ended for you and your friends, saying your emotional goodbyes as you all went your separate ways.

but it was the hardest thing in the world for you to say goodbye to tsukishima kei.

it wasn't a secret that you had a crush on him ever since you saw him for the first time, sitting right in front of you in your english class as you gently pat his shoulder, asking if he had a spare pencil in the quietest whisper you could let out. you were hooked from that moment on; and yet for the entirety of high school, you didn't act up on your feelings, not even once.

as cold as he was to most people around, tsukishima seemed to treat you just the slightest bit differently. he would always lend you money if you forgot yours for lunch, making sure to call you an idiot in the process as he put the coins inside the vending machine, getting your favorite drink. helping you out with studying, something other first years could only dream of, and doing all that without you having to beg him for it. a sight so genuinely rare that even yamaguchi himself was surprised.

everyone always asked one question; 'why didn't you confess?' maybe it was the fact that you were scared of ruining your perfectly good friendship. maybe you were afraid of it affecting the dynamics in your friend group, or maybe you were just terrified that he wouldn't treat you seriously.

so when you found yourself lying in his apartment, the soft pillow from his couch under your head as he hovered over you, lips attached to yours in an eager kiss, you were almost sure it was all just a dream. the few drinks you had downed earlier definitely helped your confidence in that moment, as you were the one to start all of this, but it still felt unreal to be in this situation right now.

tsukishima breathed heavily, his hand squeezing your hip, thumb lazily drawing circles on it as he used the other one to keep himself from falling with all of his weight on top of you. he was sure it wouldn't end well for you, considering how he was significantly bigger. he gasped as he felt your hand traveling to his hair, lightly tugging on it as you deepened the kiss.

"wish i've done that sooner," you mumbled lazily in between kisses, his lips quickly back on yours as his hand wandered higher, resting on your cheek gently. you were surprised to see him pull away, the faintest smile on his face as his eyes locked with yours.

"i know." your eyes widened at his response, the alcohol slightly clouding your mind seemingly dissapearing from your body entirely. "can't believe it took you five drinks and all these years of waiting to actually say it."

you immediately sat up, eyes as big as ever, face flushed a deep shade of red (from both the alcohol and the embarrassment) as you looked away from him, your hands coming up to hide your face. tsukishima still hovered over you, his signature grin gracing his face as he chuckled at your state.

"don't tell me you knew all this time." he could barely hear you mumble, your hands stopping most of the sound from coming out. you didn't want to believe it, but at the same time, tsukishima was damn smart. and he wasn't blind, either; he could probably see how you tried your best at hiding your feelings from everyone.

"yamaguchi told me at the end of our third year." he shook his head, a small laugh leaving his lips. "apparently he was 'fed up with the mutual pining', or whatever he said."

"mutual?" you whispered as you slowly uncovered your still red face, tsukishima shifting to sit down next to you. a sigh left his lips, his eyes closed for a few seconds, as if to muster up the courage for whatever he was about to say.

"you know i'm not good with expressing my emotions, and i definitely was even more shit at it in high school." he started explaining, eyes looking everywhere else but you. "only yamaguchi knew about me liking you, but when he finally told me that you actually liked me back i was..."

"scared you wouldn't be able to survive a long distance relationship since you knew i was going away for college and that it would ruin our entire friend group if we didn't work out."

he looked at you, a stoic expression on his face as if to say that you got that correctly.

"tch. you're being annoying reading in my mind like that, you know?" his words made you giggle, his hand up to gently flick you in the forehead. in reality, tsukishima was glad you finished that sentence for him; he probably wouldn't be able to express himself correctly if you didn't step in. "yamaguchi still curses me out for it."

you took a deep breath, thinking of your next words.

"you know, we could always try it." his head turned towards you, a puzzled look. "when we finish college. if you're willing to wait, that is."

tsukishima smiled, at it almost took your breath away. he didn't smile much, and even if he did, it was almost never like this. this time, it was the most genuine smile you ever saw from him; warm and gentle.

"of course i am. you don't even know for how long."

taglist: @ox1-lovesick @moonswolfie @wyrcan

[iamchildofaphrodite]

LIAR !!! | NISHINOYA YŪ

chapter [ 2 ] - unexpected meeting

tuesday, 3:00 pm.

THE BELL RINGS, signaling the end of class. at least for your classmates.

"holy cow, i wanna kill myself." you say as you choke yourself.

in the midst of your attempted suicide, tsukki pats your back.

"don't," he says, feigning worry, keeping it cool. "at least not before you come watch our practice. we're gonna stay pretty late at the gym, so just come after your classes. yeah?"

huh, you thought to yourself. why do those words seem so familiar? shaking out of your trance, which you seem to get often these days, you quickly reply. "no way. you-know-who's gonna be there."

he laughs, leaning closer to you as if your seats weren't pushed together enough. "nah. he got suspended. don't you remember?"

"...treat me to the vending machine and i'll go."

"deal, shortie."

"bruh."

he stands up, before he flashes you a smirk and gives you a wink—which you give in return—taking his stuff and walks out the classroom.

you rest your head on your arms on the armchair, mentally sighing. you thought about just ditching tsukki, but you were craving a drink from the vending machine. you also thought, well i can just buy one myself, before it gets interrupted by another thought: you had little to no pocket money. you could almost hear the buzzing of a fly in your wallet. you sigh, maybe it wouldn't hurt to stay out a little later. you hopelessly sigh again before you feel a  gentle tap on your shoulder.

kira nakamura, class president, total beauty and brains, and additionally your friend—at least that's what you think—looks down at you with a small smile on her face.

"hey, l/n," she politely greets as you turn to face her properly. "mr. ichimura wanted me to give this to you."

she hands you a few pieces of paper, which were stapled together at the top left corner.

"...what- what is this?" the paper looked like an exam paper, filled with various math problems. it seems just looking at it made you feel like it'd be the cause of your death.

"he said he couldn't meet you today, so i guess this is... homework?" she assumed with an unsure expression.

you nod in understanding, slightly glad that he wasn't able to meet you today. you glance down at the papers again. i could just do this while watching tsukki's practice.

"thanks, nakamura." you say as you pack your stuff in your bag.

kira notices you're preparing for your leave, and offers with a bright smile. "hey, let's walk together!"

"oh, uhm, okay—yeah. sounds good." you say, mentally facepalm yourself for sounding too nervous. you quickly finish putting your things in your bag, and the two of you walk side by side with each other.

the both of you walk in the hallways, only a few students left in the vicinity. an awkward silence engulfed the two of you. 

"so, l/n," she starts, "what are those papers for?" kira tilts her head in curiousity, her brown locks falling perfectly on the side of her face. she looked like a total goddess, (not saying you aren't. heh heh) only second to the popular ravenette third-year. she looked like she could be a part of a fantasy nature movie—not because she looked exotic, but her brown hair, dark eyes, and freckles on her face made her look like a tropical girl that'd offer you mangoes if you'd washed up to her island.

"mr. ichimura didn't tell you?" you asked a question in answer for her own. you were slightly surprised at the fact that mr. ichimura didn't take the opportunity to further embarrass you. 

the girl only replies with a shake of her head telling you no.

"well... it's uh..." you scratch your nape in embarrassment. "i have... supplementary classes."

she raises a brow at that. "what? but you're like, super smart! why would you need extra classes?"

you dreaded to answer that question. you didn't wanna admit that the cause of it was because you always skipped your afternoon classes. but it also made you think; doesn't she notice that you disappear in the afternoon? maybe you just didn't attract that much attention. you internally thank that possibility.

as if on cue, the hallway to your right led outside to karasuno's gym. "oh, uhm, you go ahead, nakamura! bye!"

you give her a fleeting goodbye wave and she gives you one back in return with a confused, yet amused look.

walking towards the gym, you see two boys seemingly arguing at by the vending machine. one was tall, had black hair, and had certainly good features. his frame towered on the other boy he was yelling at. this boy was distinguishably different. in contrast to the black-haired boy, his was a bright tangerine color, similar to his eyes. he was short, your height not far from his.

is that tall guy a first year like me? i've never seen him before.

you feel the taller boy glance at you, his brow raising. the orange haired boy continued yelling at him, not even noticing your presence.

"uhhh..." you start, now both of their heads turned to you. "are you guys... perhaps first-years? like, newcomers in the volleyball club?"

the black-hair boy turns to fully face you, and carefully nods with a cautious expression on his face. "yeah. and you are?"

"Y/NNN!!!"

the three of you cock your head to the sound of tanaka's voice.

your eyes brighten at your senpai's face. "hey, ryuu-san!" 

you run towards him, dapping him up. "what's gooooddd?!"

"nothin' much, what's goin' on with you?!"

the both of you exchange pleasantries and do your handshake. as cringe as it was, your senpai made everything ten times funner. when the both of you were in the same room, your energies synchronize. before you and tsukishima became close, this man was what you considered as your older brother. he was chill, understanding, and always gave his all to cheer you up.

"kageyama! hinata!" he turns to the boys. "i see you guys have met y/n! we go wayyy back. we're og's." tanaka loops an arm around your shoulders as you smile at kageyama and hinata.

"oh, so you're hinata! i've heard a lot about you!" you compliment the short boy. it was true, you've heard rumors about a newcomer with bright orange hair. walking towards him, tanaka follows you, his arm still resting on your shoulder. hinata's face turns red as he gives you a bright smile.

"n-nice to meet you, y/n-senpai!"

you raise a brow at him before kageyama hits him at the back of his neck. "she's not our senpai, idiot. she's a first-year like us," he scolds.

"yeah, uh, it's all good. we're in different classes."

kageyama sighs as he smoothens out his uniform. "nice to meet you, y/n-san.”

you give him a small smile as you look up at him. "back at you, kageyama-san."

"aw, look at our little first years getting along! i didn't know that it was you who tsukishima invited to watch." tanaka playfully—more like aggressively—ruffles your hair.

you roll your eyes at him, annoyed but your lips tugging upwards said otherwise. you comb your fingers through your hair, trying to fix it. speaking of tsukishima, you ask, "where is tsukki?"

"oh, he's inside. i'll call him—actually, nah. just come with me." tanaka leads you into the gym as he continues, "all your other senpais are all inside, kid."

you smile at that, yet your heart raced.

meeting them again—meeting them made you felt nervous. you missed them, yet you couldn't bring to show your face ever since the break-up. that feeling you had in you was embarrassment and shame. you didn't have the courage to look at them again, since it was the-name-we-do-not-speak-of who introduced you to them.

as you step in the gym, it was immediately tsukishima who greets you. "oh, hey, n/n. you're a bit early, eh?"

"Y/NNN!!!" two older boys attacks you for a group hug. you almost collapse to the ground at the surprise.

you feel gentle fingers ruffle your hair, and you could only guess who's hand it was. "i missed you too, suga-san." you sigh before acknowledging the other male. "and daichi-san." your two upperclassmen laugh. 

"it's about time you showed up." sugawara smiles at you, as he pulls away, as his hand lingers in your hair a little longer.

after the three of you catch up, you sit in a chair that daichi set up for you. the three upperclassmen walk out of the gym. you decide to answer tsukishima's question from earlier as he sits on the floor beside your chair. "mr. ichimura didn't meet me for class. he just gave me some homework."

he looks up at you. "homework? let me see."

you throw your bag at him and he just gives you a disappointed look. tsukki rummages through your bag, and takes out the slightly crumpled papers.

"yeah—just a bunch of math. don't worry though, it's not like anything i can't do. wait, hey, tsukki? why are you..."

he barely spares you a glance before he starts answering your homework for you. you were so busy trying to snatch your homework from his hands, you don't even notice kageyama giving the two of you the stink eye.

the said boy just sighs and spikes his volleyball, intending to hit the water bottle on the other side of the court. 

all of a sudden, you see hinata attempting to receive the ball. he succeeded, yet the impact of the ball made him dramatically fall over on his back.

"hinata! you dumbass, don't get in the way!" kageyama scolds. 

the ball goes over the net, giving kageyama a chance to spike it. he does so, yet it wasn't hinata who received the ball.

a boy with spiked hair with bleached bangs, a hairstyle you knew all too well, receives the volleyball like a flash of lighting.

your gaze hit his short frame, his dashing grin almost making you blind.

you only knew one person who smiles like that.

is it really yuu? standing—no, crouching there?

he doesn't notice you yet, as he picks up his jacket from the floor. you could feel tsukishima physically tense in his seat on the floor. you could feel every single, little thing in the room: the way his eyes narrow, the way his grip tightened on the papers—the way his eyebrow quirked at the scene in front of him.

hinata takes careful steps towards nishinoya yuu, nonchalantly carrying his jacket over his shoulder as if he didn't do the perfect serve receive. 

"y-you're... smaller than me!"

a few seconds of silence pass by.

"hey, what did you say?!" yuu's yell echoed all throughout the gym. hinata looked visibly startled and apologetic, while kageyama stood there, shook, mumbling about how his spike got received.

hinata apologized profusely. yuu just huffs before he turns towards you were sitting.

his gaze locked on yours, widening. it had been a few weeks since he last saw you, and he hasn't seen how much you've changed. your hair was longer, your skin paler, the way your eyes that didn't look at him the same way you did before.

but most of all—the one thing he couldn't ignore was tsukishima leaning over your chair behind you. tsukki had this intimidating aura to him, as if he was threatening him to come closer.

sugawara, daichi, and tanaka walk back in, expecting nothing less than normality, but what dawns on them was the contrary.

tanaka stops in his tracks, his eyes widening before the other two follow like dominos.

you noticed yuu didn't dare to speak a word, not when tsukishima decides to rest his arm on your head, his dark golden eyes staring daggers into his own dark brown ones.

oh, tsukki's pissed, and yuu is fuming.

back to masterlist | chapter [ 3 ] - still in drafts lol

[berberriescorner]

“Echoes of Redemption”

Characters: Jay Halstead x Black!Reader.

Summary: After a tumultuous relationship marked by Jay Halstead's absences and affairs, you begin to rebuild your life.

Warnings: A smidge of profanity, a bit of humor, angst, anger, fluff, and a lil’ smut👀😆.

Word Count: 5,000+.

A/N: This is my first Halstead fix, but hopefully you lovelies will love it🩵.

Inspired By🩵:

Adam cradled your work bag and purse in one hand, his broad shoulders carrying the weight of your exhaustion. His free hand pressed the down button for the elevator, the soft ping of the mechanism cutting through the silence. You sighed deeply, closing your eyes for a brief moment, letting the weariness wash over you.

“Tired?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

“Exhausted. I could sleep for days,” you responded, the fatigue squinting your eyes. A massive yawn escaped your lips as the elevator doors slid open. You leaned against the wall for support, stifling another yawn. “Sorry,” you murmured.

“It’s all good. I hope you can get some rest once you’re home,” he said, as his voice comforted your frazzled nerves.

“Thanks, Adam. For everything. You've all been so supportive. Even if it's a bit awkward.”

The elevator dinged, and Adam gestured for you to step out first. He spotted a nearby vending machine and asked, “Did you eat today?”

Not waiting for your answer, he walked over to the whirring machine and purchased a bottle of water and a bag of smart popcorn. You sank onto a bench, grateful for the brief respite. Adam returned, popping open the snack and handing you the bag and the beverage. The two of you continued on your journey to the parking lot.

“Maybe this can give you a bit of energy.”

“Adam, you don't have to make such a fuss. You, Kim, Kevin, and Voight have already done enough. I can't believe she made a time chart so everyone can take turns escorting me to these appointments. She even has poor Dante in on it. That baby has his hands full taking care of himself. Bless his heart.”

“Are you kidding me? You're family. That’s what you do for loved ones,” he assured you, his eyes steady and sincere.

“Is this not awkward for you guys? Hailey’s your friend too,” you grudgingly admitted.

“Yes, but we knew you first. We're not going to abandon years of friendship over drama. We support her just as we do you. J—”

“Adam, please don't. The thought of him is even more stressful. Thanks for the snack. I can finish this in the car. I'm ready to get home to my comfy bed. It's been a long day.”

You caught a flicker of emotion in Adam's eyes, but he quickly masked it. Clearing his throat, he agreed, “You’re right. Let's get you home. Kim’s making me and Mak’s favorite dinner tonight,” he bragged, trying to lighten the mood.

“You bring baby girl next time. I miss her cute wittle face,” you demanded.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The walk to the exit grew quiet and tense. You glanced at Adam out of the corner of your eye.

“You good?”

“Y-yeah. Just thinking about a case,” he lied, his voice unconvincing.

As he opened the door, you started to press about the case. But your words caught in your throat at the sight of a figure standing across the parking lot. Your gaze locked onto the face, shock coursing through you. You spun around, the question about the case forgotten. "Tell me you didn't. What is he doing here?"

Adam scratched the back of his neck, looking apologetic. “Sorry, sis. The moment Hailey found out, she said he deserved to know. It was either she’d tell him, or Kevin and I. Kim was against it all. Voight was neutral.”

“I told you I would tell him on my own time!”

“When would that have been? You've been putting it off for three months now,” Adam argued.

“You don't get it. None of you know the entirety of the situation. I'm not just some home-wrecking whore. If anything, my home was the one that took the damage. You might want to remind Hailey of that, given that she's out here giving an ultimatum based on my life.”

Your gaze fixated on the once-sparkling eyes that had the power to make your heart flutter. Now, those same eyes left your heart in ruins, a painful reminder of what was lost.

“Why are you here? Shouldn't you be somewhere across an ocean or something?”

Jay walked up slowly like he was approaching a wounded animal. He stood a few inches away from you, hands buried in his pockets, looking down. “I just want to talk,” he begged.

“Now you want to have a conversation? Why, Jay? Why are you here? You made your choice.”

“Did I make my choice?”

“Walking—sorry, running—away was a choice. Was it not?”

His eyes locked with yours as he pleaded, “I know you hate me, but please, just one conversation? I took leave as soon as I found out.”

“Are you supposed to get brownie points for that,” you snapped.

“Sweetheart—”

“You don't get to call me that,” you growled.

Adam’s hand rested on your shoulder, the turmoil between two of his dearest friends cutting deep. It reminded him of the trying times he and Kim had gone through. He held out hope that you two would find some resolve.

“You know this exchange needs to happen. Maybe you'll find clarity,” Adam said, looking you in the eyes. “I'm sure he’s come to his senses over the past couple of months. Surely he realizes he could have handled the situation better and that he was being stupid.”

"Thanks, Adam. That's incredibly helpful," Jay retorted with a sarcastic edge.

Ruzek shot him a glare. “As I was saying, this needs to happen. Do me a favor. Let him drive you home. Give him however much time you want to explain himself. Discuss the most important things. Then you can either reconcile or tell him to go to hell.”

Jay threw his hands in the air. Adam cut his eyes to him. “Being my bro doesn't give you a pass. I'm going to call you on your shit. You know that.”

“Reconcile? You must have confused me with Hailey.”

“Damn it, sis.”

“Fine,” you snarled, turning to head toward Jay's truck.

“Thanks! Love you,” Ruzek shouted as you flipped them both off.

Adam shoved your belongings into Jay’s chest. His voice dropped into a menacing, judgemental tone. “Glad to have you back, brother. Try not to leave things as messed up as you did the last time. When are you going to stop screwing her over and flipping her life upside down? You better make this right.”

“I will make it right with everyone involved.”

“No, just her. You've got to choose, and it needs to be her.”

“Who says I hadn't already tried to do that?”

“Yeah, and then you changed your mind.”

“That's not what I meant to do. You know what, Ruzek? I know I screwed up. Can we pause this lecture so I can try and rectify my mistakes?”

Adam paused for emphasis. He needed Jay to listen to the advice he was about to give, to let it sink in truly.

"You messed up, Halstead," Adam said, his voice gruff but laced with concern. "But you gotta fight for her. Show her you mean it this time." Jay clenched his jaw, the truth of Adam's words scraping at his already sore conscience.

“I hear you, brother. Truly. I’ve been stupid far too long, and it’s time I get my life in order. I just–needed to get away. To finish something I’d run from for far too long. I took that time away to figure out how to stop sabotaging the things and people I love most.

Adam nodded his head before laying into him once more, “I swear to God, Jay Halstead, if you mess this up again—if you don't manage to pull your head out of your ass—Kevin and I are going to knock you out cold.”

“It sure is good to be home,” Jay sighed, walking toward the passenger door. He unlocked it and helped you, vertically challenged as you were, into the monstrous truck.

The minute your butt hit the seat, you snatched away from him. He slid into the driver's seat, reaching across to buckle your seatbelt as he had in the past. He jumped back as you slapped his hand away.

“I’ve got it. Just drive.”

Half the drive to your apartment was filled with tense silence. Jay couldn't take it any longer. He cleared his throat, attempting to engage in conversation.

“How have you been? You look as beautiful as ever.”

Your head snapped to the side as if you had been struck. Jay kept his eyes on the road, but he could feel your piercing glare.

“Look, I'm trying not to raise my blood pressure these days. Do me a favor and keep the stupid ass questions to a minimum,” you hissed.

“Jesus, Y/N. No matter what I say, it’s going to upset you. I admit it’s well-deserved, but can't we be civil until we at least get to the house?”

“Civil? Are you trying to gaslight me right now? You don't deserve civility. How about we ride in silence? Nothing I say to you is going to be nice, Jay.”

“Silence it is.”

The sight of your driveway eased the tension in Jay's shoulders. He shut off the engine, the rumble fading into the quiet hum of the neighborhood. Stepping out of the dusty truck, his legs ached from hours on the road, but he glided to your passenger door.

"Hey there," he greeted with a hint of breathlessness in his voice. He started to reach out, but you mumbled a quick "thanks" as you slid out and brushed past him, already digging in your purse for your keys.

Jay lingered on the curb briefly, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features before the familiar puppy-dog eyes returned. You rolled your eyes playfully, the sound masking the growing unease in your stomach. "Alright, alright. I'll hear you out," you conceded, finally finding your keys. "But I swear if you—"

Your playful threat was cut short by the sudden seriousness in Jay's voice. He reached out, his fingers brushing against yours as he placed the keys inside your pants pocket. "I've got it," he murmured, his gaze dropping to the worn metal in his hand. He chewed his lip nervously a stark contrast to his usual confident demeanor.

"Why keep my spare key?" you asked, suspicion evident.

Jay hesitated, his shoulders slumping slightly. When he met your gaze again, his eyes were a storm of hidden emotions. Sadness mingled with something deeper, something you couldn't quite place. "I wasn't planning to leave," he admitted, his voice thick with regret. "Not for good, that is."

You sighed, the energy draining from your body like air from a punctured balloon. The weight of his words settled on you, heavy and unspoken. "Right," you said, your voice flat. "Just unlock the door, Jay. My feet are killing me."

As Jay unlocked the door and pushed it open, you stepped inside and felt a wave of relief wash over you. The familiar comfort of home was opposite the whirlwind of emotions you were feeling. You kicked off your shoes and trudged towards the living room, dropping onto the couch with a heavy sigh. Jay followed, lingering in the doorway as if unsure whether to stand or join you.

You looked up at him, the silence between you charged with unresolved tension. "You can sit, Jay. I won't bite your head off. I'll try not to that is."

He nodded and sat down on the opposite end of the couch, his posture rigid. "Thanks."

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet settling around you like a heavy blanket. Finally, Jay broke the silence. "I know you're angry. You have every right to be. But I need you to know that I never meant for things to get this bad. Before I get into all of that. I have to ask. It’s a stupid question, and I probably already know the answer. Why didn't you respond to any of my letters? Did you read any of them?”

“No.”

“Not even the emails or texts?”

“Nope,” you responded, emphasizing the letter p.

“If you had read them. You would've known that I tried to explain myself even if they were selfish reasons. Part of you may have understood why I did what I did.”

“Well, I didn't, Jay. You left without even saying goodbye. You didn't deserve another moment of my time. Be grateful you're getting it now.” You glanced at him, your expression guarded. "Why did you come back, Jay? Really?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes searching yours. "Because I found out you're pregnant."

Emotions crashed over you all at once. "So that's it? They tell you I'm pregnant and you come running back?"

"It's not just about the baby," he insisted. "I want to be here for you, for us. I realized that running away was a mistake. I thought I was protecting you, but I was just being a coward. I want to make things right, if you'll let me."

"Make things right?" you echoed, a hint of bitterness in your voice. "You think you can just come back and fix everything with a few words? Every time we've faced an obstacle, you've chosen everything over me. Your career, your fleeting moment of weakness for Hailey, even leaving to return to the army. How do I know this time will be different?"

Memories of your tumultuous past resurfaced. You and Jay had started dating years ago, your connection was instant and intense. Things got serious quickly, but Jay's fear of commitment led him to break things off and pursue a relationship with Erin Lindsay. When Erin left for an FBI job, Jay came running back to you, realizing he'd only gotten involved with her as a means to run from commitment as always.

You took him back, and things got serious again. Only that time his career became increasingly dangerous, and your constant fear for his safety caused a rift. He chose his job over you, and the two of you broke up. That time it hadn't hurt as much. You had no right to force him to choose between a career and the woman he loved. You took it as a sign that perhaps you just needed time apart.

After some time, you started to slowly rebuild your relationship, only for Jay to start having feelings for Hailey Upton. Though you know the responsibility lay mostly in your man. You still felt a way about Hailey deciding to pursue him anyway. She knew the two of you were amid reconciliation. Even with that knowledge, she still initiated the kiss and confession of attraction that confused Jay.

You argued over his feelings for the both of you and eventually, you broke up. Jay pursued things with Hailey, and while at first, it was just hooking up, things eventually got serious. Your weakness for him led to the two of you still sleeping together, but when Hailey discovered the two of you were still involved. Suddenly she wanted a committed relationship, Jay chose her. They got married (out of Jay’s perverse sense of loyalty and obligation to the team), and you tried to move on. But Jay's jealousy and selfish attempts to sabotage your relationships made it clear he was still not over you.

He soon realized he made a mistake getting involved with Hailey. You refused to take him back until he was a single man, and after a quick divorce, Jay struggled with wanting to serve a bigger purpose. It was as if he was in the midst of an early midlife crisis. Just as you two had started to rekindle your romance and rebuild, he up and left to rejoin the army.

As you were trying to pick up the broken pieces of your heart, you discovered the pregnancy. Jay found out from your friends and returned home to explain himself, determined to make things right this time. The touch of his fingers gliding across your cheek brought you back to the present. You tilted back from his touch.

“That's what you always do, Jay,” you began, your voice trembling with suppressed emotion. “Run and leave me to deal with the fallout of broken promises and heartbreak. At every turn, you've chosen everyone, everything else, over me. Erin. Your job. Marrying Hailey! Not to mention she's not the first wife, but the second. What is it three times a charm? You’ve already knocked me up. Now all you gotta do is marry me and run. Just like you always do. Hell, you chose the military over me, Jay! So tell me, why? Why should I let you back in and risk you breaking this baby’s heart in the future? Why do you always run, Jay?”

His expression softened, his eyes filled with regret as he listened to your words. He reached out, gently cupping your face in his hands. The pads of his thumbs swiped at the tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Because I was scared, honey,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Scared of messing things up, of not being good enough for you. But I realize now that running away only made things worse, that I can’t keep hiding from my mistakes. I want to be here for you, for our child. I want to make things right, to be the man you deserve.”

Jay met your gaze, his resolve hardening. "No more running," he vowed silently. The fear of losing you forever was a terrifying prospect, but it paled in comparison to the regret of never trying at all. He had to face his demons and fight for the future he longed for.

More tears fell as you looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of sincerity. And there, amidst the pain and regret, you saw it – a glimmer of hope, a flicker of determination.

The weight of your history hung in the air as you sat together, the past intertwining with the present. Jay reached out, his hand gently covering yours. “I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes, and I’ve hurt you more than I can ever make up for. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. I want to be a part of your life, and our child’s life, if you’ll let me.”

“I’m tired of being hurt, Jay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “But if you’re willing to try, if you’re willing to fight for us, then maybe... just maybe, we can find a way to make this work.”

Jay nodded, his grip on your face tightening ever so slightly. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes, sweetheart. I love you, and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

You looked into his eyes, seeing the pang of regret. “It’s not going to be easy, Jay. We have a lot to work through. But I want to believe that you’ve changed, that you’re here for the right reasons.”

“I am,” he said firmly. “I know I’ve chosen wrong in the past, but I’m choosing you now. I’m choosing us.”

“Okay,” you said, your voice steady. “Let’s take it one step at a time.”

Jay nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “One step at a time.”

As you sat together, the first glimmers of hope began to shine through the darkness. It was a long road ahead, but with determination and love, you knew you could face whatever challenges came your way, together.

But there was something Jay had kept from you, something he had been working on while he was away. As you looked into his eyes, you saw a hint of hesitation, a flicker of uncertainty.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” he began, his voice hesitant. “While I was deployed, I... I started talking to a therapist.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in surprise, a million questions flooding your mind. “A therapist? Did something happen while you were away? Are you okay,” you rambled as your mind raced with a thousand different scenarios.

Jay took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “Honey. Honey, relax. I'm not hurt. I realized that I needed help and that I couldn’t keep running from my problems. I needed to confront my past, to understand why I kept making the same mistakes over and over again.”

“And did it help?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, a sense of relief washing over him. “Yeah, it did. I learned a lot about myself, about the things that drove me to make those mistakes. And I made a promise to myself – and you – that I would come back a better man, that I would do whatever it takes to make things right. I'm going to continue my journey with therapy. After all the pain I've caused. I think it wouldn't hurt to do couples counseling. Only if that's something you're interested in pursuing.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, a mixture of relief and gratitude flooding your heart. “I'd like that. Thank you,” you whispered, the words barely audible.

Jay reached out, gently wiping away your tears. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. I love you and I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right.”

You leaned into his touch, feeling a sense of peace wash over you. The weight of the past slowly began to lift, replaced by a sense of hope for the future. It wouldn’t be easy, you knew, but with determination and love, you were ready to face whatever challenges came your way, together.

Things grew quiet as the two of you looked longingly at one another. The faintest gasp slipped and you whispered, “Jay, you can't look at me like that.”

His voice low and husky, he responded, “How am I looking at you, sweetheart? I haven't seen or held you in quite some time. Admittedly, I'm the one to blame for that, but there isn't any other way I could look at you right now.”

“Please,” you begged. “Damn it, Jay. Look at me like I disgust you. Just, anything but the way you're staring at me now.”

“You want me to look at you with disgust,” he questioned, already shaking his head no. “That's not possible, honey.”

“Listen to me, Jay Halstead. I'm very pregnant and hormonal right now. I need you to be the bigger person and say that what I'm thinking is a bad idea. You need to be strong for both of us. Go home, Jay. If you don’t, we may give in to temptation. Why did you have to wear that damn uniform?”

He gave you a megawatt smile, slightly nibbling at his lips as if he was embarrassed by your compliment.

“Why, Mr. Halstead, are you blushing,” you questioningly teased.

N-No,” he spluttered.

A brief silence was followed by laughter. Once it ceased, Jay spoke in a soft, warm voice, “To answer your question. This is home, sweetheart. It is in my heart.”

And then, in a moment of weakness, as the pregnancy hormones surged through your body and desire flared between you, you found yourselves giving in to the longing that had been simmering beneath the surface. In each other’s arms, you found solace, comfort, and a renewed sense of hope for the future.

Jay didn't want to ruin things, but if something were to happen. He'd not only need consent and for you to set things in motion. He'd been given a chance to make things right. Jay wouldn't risk it all by making you believe this was the only reason he had come to talk.

“Don’t make me regret this, Jay.”

Before he could answer, you surged onto his lap, kissing him with all the pent-up passion you could muster. You both sighed and moaned as your lips met. Pulling away briefly, you pressed yourself into him. "There's no time for foreplay," you murmured.

Jay groaned as his eyes snapped closed. He grabbed hold of your waist, anchoring you to his lap. Slowly, his eyes peeled open. They were filled with hunger and uncertainty. “Are you sure, honey? I'd understand if you wanted to wait.”

Your hand trailed up his back, sending shivers down his spine as it glided sensuously up his neck and into his hair. Your fingers tangled gently in his light brown locks, tugging playfully. Your other hand encircled his throat in a delicate caress, “That depends. How badly do you miss me riding your thick, veiny, co-.”

Jay's growl silenced you abruptly, shattering his composure.“Ever the little tempting brat. Aren't you, sweet girl?”

In a feverish rush, you tore at each other's clothes. Pushing Jay onto the sofa, you straddled him, reclaiming your dominance. You descended slowly, savoring the sensation. Your pants joined his symphony of groans as you moved your hips. Alternating between rocking and moving in a circular motion. Pleasure washed over you both, leaving Jay breathless.

“F-fuck. Baby, if you squeeze me any tighter, this won’t last long.”

Being the petty brat you are. You allowed your muscles to contract around him again. Jay couldn't help but shake his head from side to side and chuckle. His eyes found yours, turning dark as they simmered with heat. Jay’s hand collided with your soft, ample, flesh. He reveled in the half moan, half whine it pulled from your lips.

His hands pawed at your hips possessively forcing you up to his tip before quickly pulling you back down. You both cried out and you begged him to do it again. Jay repeated the motion as he freed one hand to toy and pinch at your bundle of nerves. With every pinch and circle of his fingers, you climbed higher. The closer you came to falling over the edge the more your walls gripped his flesh.

“Let go for me, sweetheart. Can you do that for me, sweet girl? Hmm? Yes, you can. Can't you, baby? Come for me, sweetheart. Soak me and this damn couch just like I know you can.”

Jay slammed you down one final time locking you into place as he circled your nub. Your face buried into his neck as violent shakes paired with sobs. You ground against his lap riding out the orgasm. Jay held you close as he left kisses against the side of your head. He talked you down from an intense orgasm. “You’re okay, honey. You're okay. You did so good for me.”

He tensed hearing sniffles muffle into the side of his neck. “Baby? Are you okay?”

“Promise you won't leave me again, Jay.”

He lifted your head, his eyes filled with reassurance. “I promise, baby. Never again. Okay?”

You nodded in agreement as he wiped your face. He stole a quick kiss before pulling you back against him to cuddle again.

“Jay,” your question muffled against his neck again.

“Yes, baby-.”

His response caught in his throat as you clamped down on him once more. Your lips trailed from the side of his neck up to his ear. You playfully bit his ear and moaned, “You didn’t get to come.”

“Keep doing that and it won't take long, sweetheart,” he groaned.

The morning sun streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room as you stirred in Jay's embrace. The events of the previous night played like a dream in your mind, a mixture of vulnerability, longing, and desire. You glanced at Jay, still sleeping peacefully beside you, and couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you.

As you lay there, basking in the afterglow of your shared moment of weakness, you couldn't shake the feeling of hope that filled your heart. Despite the challenges and uncertainties that lay ahead, you knew that you and Jay would face them together, united in love and determination.

With a soft smile, you pressed a gentle kiss to Jay's lips, feeling a surge of warmth and affection between you. The kiss pulled Jay from his slumber. Blinking a few times to clear the sleep from his vision, he rubbed at your small but noticeable bump.

“Oh, I see put me back to sleep so you can nap some more,” you teased. “Fine by me, Halstead.” Jay smirked and continued rubbing in circular motions. Just as you were about to drift off to sleep, there was a loud knock on the door, causing you both to jump.

Jay chuckled, planting a kiss on your forehead before pulling away. "I'll go see who it is."

As he made his way to the door, you heard familiar voices on the other side. "Come on, man. We gotta make sure Jay's still in one piece," Adam's voice rang out.

"Yeah, and see if they've reconciled yet," Kevin chimed in.

With a grin, Jay swung open the door to reveal Adam and Kevin standing on the doorstep, wearing matching grins and teasing expressions.

"Hey there, lovebirds. Just making sure Jay survived the night," Adam quipped.

Jay rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in his expression. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the concern, guys."

Kevin nudged Adam with a smirk. "Did y’all kiss and make up, or do we need to start planning your escape route? Blink twice if you need help bro."

You couldn't help but laugh at their antics, shaking your head in mock exasperation. "We're working on it, okay? Now, if you don't mind, we were kind of in the middle of something."

Adam and Kevin exchanged a knowing look before raising their hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. We'll leave you two lovebirds to it. But just remember, we're always here if you need a referee," Adam teased, earning a playful swat from Jay. Kim told me to say she expects a full run down over lunch tomorrow. She kept saying she wanted all the tea. What does that even mean?”

Kevin shook his head in disappointment. “Come on big dog. I'll have to teach you some new lingo on the way back to the precinct. Jay? Voight said you always have a job where he's concerned. Before you decline. Hailey is joining the FBI,” he finished with a wink toward you.

As they turned to leave, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the friends who always knew how to lighten the mood, even in the most awkward situations. As you snuggled back into Jay's arms, you felt a surge of passion coursing through your veins, igniting a fire that had been smoldering between you since the moment you first met.

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Jay turned to you, his gaze filled with desire. "Well, that was unexpected," he whispered, his voice husky with longing.

You couldn't help but smile at the intensity of his gaze, feeling a rush of heat spreading through your body at the thought of being so close to him again. "Unexpected, but not unwelcome," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

As Jay leaned in to capture your lips in a searing kiss, you melted into his embrace, the passion between you igniting like wildfire. In that moment, all the doubts and uncertainties melted away, leaving only the burning desire that had brought you back together.

“I’m insatiable, sorry.”

“No need to apologize. That makes two of us, sweetheart,” he responded, brushing curls from your face. His heart warmed that he was able to hold you this way. Jay had missed the feel of your skin and moving the hair from your vision. “You might want to put your bonnet on this time. I don’t want to get in trouble for ruining your hair, love.”

“Smart man, Mr. Halstead,” you giggled, leaving feathery kisses along his jaw.

And as the passion between you intensified, you couldn't help but joke, "Maybe it's just the pregnancy hormones," eliciting a laugh from both Jay and yourself, knowing that the truth was far deeper than a mere hormonal surge.

How y’all feeling about this one? I hope I did Mr. Halstead justice. Be sure to comment and reblog lovelies🩵.

Tagging a few lovelies🩵:

@darqchilddaydreamz @sunshine-flower @astoldbychae @1andonlytashae @alertyoulikeitsamber @thirtysomethinganduncensored @starrynite7114

[agoldengalaxy]

Stan wakes up to the sound of the key in the lock.

It doesn’t take long for the adrenaline to set in, but he knows the difference between the sound of a key and lockpicking, meaning it has to be Wendy or Soos. He can’t imagine why either of them would be back this late.

He stands up from the armchair, shoving his glasses on his face, and walks carefully and quietly toward the gift shop. In the dark, he squints at the silhouette, outlined by the moonlight that pours in from the window. They don’t seem to notice him quite yet, fumbling with the ladder to the roof. Stan hesitates, then flicks on the lights.

“Coming here after work hours is pretty unlike you, kid.”

Wendy whirls around, her eyes wide like a deer in headlights, her expression unlike any he’d ever seen her wear before. What’s more startling is that her face glistens with tears, which, after a mere second, she seems to remember. She turns her face away, trying to play it off. “I’m…sorry, Mr. Pines. I didn’t wanna wake you, but I had to get out of the house.”

His gaze flicks toward the ladder to the roof, which he knows she uses as a reprieve during the workday. He’s never said anything before, and he definitely won’t now. If she feels safe here, it means he’s doing his job as her boss. Despite her attitude, her dumb friends and her smart mouth, he’s really come to like her. Maybe those things aren’t all that bad, anyway.

“…I’ll grab sodas,” he says, turning to the vending machine. When she doesn’t reply, he glances over his shoulder. “C’mon. Least you can do after breaking and entering this late is let me keep you company.”

A small smile appears on her lips now. “It’s not breaking and entering if I have a key.” She ascends the ladder. Stan steels himself, grabs two colas, and follows after her. The last thing he’s gonna do is let his fear of heights or fear of talking about teenage feelings obvious.

The night air has a chill that makes him feel much more awake. They sit beside each other in silence for a few moments, with soda bubbles and quiet chirping bugs the only sounds to fill the air. “I am sorry,” she says again. “I just feel better when I’m here. I guess being up on the roof is ironically kind of grounding.”

“You’ve been watching too many of those weird movies.”

“Yeah, probably.” Wendy smiles a little, the breeze ruffling her hair and drying her face. She hesitates, looking down at her soda can. “I love my family. My dad’s doing his best, and my brothers are becoming awesome little dudes. But…”

Stan holds his breath. He hadn’t been expecting her to open up to him, of all people. “Must be hard. Being the, uh, the woman of the house.”

“Yeah.” She glances up at the moon. “You know what it’s like, when your dad is trying his best, but he focuses more on your siblings than you?” She takes a sip from her soda. “Man, sorry. I don’t even know if you have any siblings. Guess you’re not the right person to ask.”

Something in Stan’s chest burns, then freezes over, because of course he knows that feeling. He knows it more than he’ll ever tell her. He stares at the sky too. “I can imagine.”

“Things just made sense when Mom was around, and now…it’s all wrong.” Wendy sniffles, trying to play it off with another sip. “I can barely sleep anymore.”

Stan looks at her more closely in the moonlight, the way she’s trying so hard to hold it together, all of this weight put onto a young teenager’s shoulders, like any moment she might collapse. He sighs softly, putting an arm around her shoulders to pull her close. Surprisingly, she doesn’t pull away, and he pretends not to notice her quiet sobs.

They sit for a while, until her cries quiet down, and a little while after that, too. The next time he chances a look at her, he realizes her eyes are closed, breath soft and warm against his arm.

“Wendy, hey. It’s cold out here. Let’s go in.” He shakes her gently, and she complies groggily. They make it back down the ladder and he leads her to the living room, where she promptly lays down on the armchair, her legs hanging off of the sides.

He’d thought she had already fallen asleep, but as he’s placing a blanket over her, she mumbles, “Thanks, Stan.” He pauses, then smiles a little to himself, knowing no one is around to see it.

In the morning, they pretend it never happened.

[sadie-bug345]

gang as members of a group project🤓☝️

idk abt yall but i actually despise group projects when the teacher picks the groups like please let me live in peace😔

ponyboy: - he honestly seems like a chill worker - i don’t think he’d take charge and be like “cmon guys let’s get to work😃😜” - instead he’d just be like “i’ll do the conclusion or whatever” - AND EAT EM UP LIKE HE DESTROYED - lowk everyone’s happy whenever pony’s in their group like yes we have a smart kid who isn’t a total snob - pony on a bad day would definitely put his name first on the project though😭

johnny: - probably wouldn’t talk a lot if he had like no friends in his group - he’d procrastinate his part for sure but get it done by the time it’s due - either that or he just speedruns it so he doesn’t have to work with lame people anymore - honestly doesn’t care abt the other people in the group he just locks in and gets his part done -def a solid team member we’re glad to have him🫶

sodapop: - elected group leader or smth even though he just sits there - everyone’s like “uhh soda what’s the plan” and he’s just totally zoned out - it’s ok though cause he just helps whoever doesn’t have their part done yet - chill for the most part but in a group of no friends he def feels out of place and tries hard to get them to like him - stop embarrassing yourself soda i promise people like you already😔

darry: -probably unironically says “okay guys let’s knock this out😀” - it’s ok cause he makes sure the project eats - probably secretly goes on the google slides or whatever and edits other peoples stuff if it’s not up to his standards - he doesn’t fw people who just sit there - he WILL give them something to do and helicopter parent them the whole way -A+s all around ngl

dally: - in reality probably a slacker😭 - but everyone’s happy to have him there cause he fine asf - anyways he’d be the biggest procrastinator - doesn’t do ANYTHING in class but secretly takes his part home and just grinds it out - it’s pretty low quality but it’s done - after pulling an all-nighter he probably looks at it and cringes cause it’s kinda trash - so he just puts his name first and erases all evidence that he messed the project up😭 - best team player /j

two-bit: - a blast to have on the team - like when the teacher was announcing groups everyone was hype to have the funny kid - probably wrecks the project but he’s like “oh shit oh no uhhh ill buy everyone something from the vending machine after okay😔☝️” - these kids GPAs will never recover after being in a group with two😭 - but it’s just cause he’s so funny everyone gets distracted and doesn’t do any work - probably forgets to put his name on the project - which is ok cause he did like nothing LMAO

steve: - he’s usually pretty chill - but when it’s crunch time and the project isn’t finished he’s a bit of a bitch - like “are you done with your part yet?” and then the teammate is like “…no” and he hits them with the biggest eye roll - then he just does it himself - also puts his name first or claims the best part as his own - everyone side eyes him when he freaks when the teacher says there’s ten minutes left of work time - he’s goofy in a good mood though so it’s not all stress and nerves - probably gets his team a solid B

ANYWAYS hope you liked this and my requests are always open🫶😀

[shewasverynice]

Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen 

⚠️ SPOILER HEAVY ⚠️

Major Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death 

Full tags/warnings on Chapter links post

Major Characters: Original Character, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Ieiri Shoko, Yaga Masamichi, Nanami Kento, Haibara Yu, Tsukumo Yuki, Choso

‎‧₊˚✧ Chapter 78 ✧˚₊‧ (NSFW)

Sarah slumped deeper into the stiff break room couch, a half-eaten melon bread slowly flattening in her grip. Fluorescent lighting buzzed faintly above, the kind of soul-sucking ambiance that made every cup of vending machine coffee taste like the most boring existential crisis.

She yawned again, this one a full-body stretch that left her blinking at the wall like maybe it would answer her problems if she stared hard enough. It unfortunately didn’t.

“Ugh,” she groaned aloud, fingers rubbing at the corners of her tired eyes. “This sucks.”

Between helping sorcerers settle into the dorms, Equalization training with Masami, and a side quest to organize build dorms with Yaga like she was Habitat for Humanity—there were not enough hours in the day.

And then there was Haibara.

He hadn’t been cold exactly. Not cruel. But… different. Distant. And she couldn’t tell if it was just the weight of everything, or if he knew exactly what she saw. Did he know it was Suzu or not? That's all she wanted answered and yet…

She hadn’t asked. Couldn’t. Every time she thought about it, the words got stuck halfway up her throat and her chest locked down like her ribs were chained tightly together.

Besides, it wasn’t like she was blameless. She’d tried so hard to make him the only one in her heart, but she never took the real steps she needed to. She knew she shouldn't have stayed around Satoru, but she just was so trapped in her indecision that now everyone was hurt.

Maybe it was mercy not to say anything? Maybe the only thing crueler than staying was dragging it out further? But still—

“Why can’t this be easy?” she muttered to herself, scowling at her melon bread like it was the root of her emotional dysfunction.

If this were someone else—if Utahime came to her with this story, or Boe, or even freaking Nanami—she’d know what to say. “You don’t owe anyone a love that’s stopped fitting,” she’d tell them. “Just because it was right once doesn’t mean it still is.” She’d hand out wisdom like band-aids and tea and sit back with that smug therapist-looking face that said I know better because I’m not the one bleeding.

But now she was the one bleeding and nothing she said to herself sounded smart. Just tired, afraid and unfair.

She dropped her head back against the couch with a thud. “I should just break up with him.”

She stared up at the ceiling for a beat.

“…Yup. Just… clean. Simple. End it.”

She sighed, still staring and still not moving.

The door to the break room creaked slightly, and Sarah straightened automatically, slipping on a smile like armor. Her heart thudded as if it might be Haibara—but it wasn’t.

Just Rin, looking equally exhausted, holding a can of coffee and a bag of some kind of veggie chips.

“You look like you’re losing your mind,” Rin said as Sarah relaxed, slumping down on the couch again.

“Just being a coward," Sarah muttered, gesturing her hand in the aimlessly, "Y'know."

“I feel that,” Rin replied, sitting beside her and popping the chips open. “So. Are we talking about it or pretending it doesn’t exist?”

Sarah hesitated. Then she said, “…Let’s talk.”

Sarah slumped back into the couch again, her head tilted toward the ceiling like the answer might be carved into the drywall.

"It was just—so fast, Rin. I was trying the Equalization thing, like Masami taught me, and I saw these flashes. Like… memories from Yu of us together. Some of them were sweet. Some were sad—but then suddenly, I saw this one where I kissed him. But it wasn't me.”

Rin blinked, shrimp chip halfway to her mouth. “…Excuse me?”

Sarah made a helpless little sound and buried her face in her hands. “It looked like me. But it wasn’t. It was Suzu. I know it was. They were disguised as me for sure, but Yu kissed them, and he says he thought it was me, and I don’t know if he knows it wasn’t me, and I haven’t asked, and I’m literally the worst.”

Rin gasped dramatically. “You haven’t even talked to him about it?!”

Sarah peeked out between her fingers, wide-eyed and full of shame. “No, Rin, I have not!” she wailed, throwing herself sideways like the couch was suddenly a therapist's chaise lounge. “I know! I’m acting like I’m fifteen and this is a shoujo drama, but I just—ugh! I don’t want to hurt him anymore. I’ve already dragged him through so much, and I just keep pulling away because I can’t stop thinking about Satoru and I feel like trash.”

Rin crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Okay, yes. What you’re doing is wrong.”

Sarah groaned again, louder this time.

Rin continued firmly, “He shouldn’t have to be the consolation prize for someone you couldn’t have. But also—Haibara’s not exactly being fair here either. You two staying together like this and neither of you being honest? It’s just making it worse for both of you.”

“I know!” Sarah moaned, flopping dramatically. “I know, I really just need to end it. I want to. But I’m afraid. I’ve never had to do this before! No one ever taught me how to break up with someone. Especially someone who’s still in love with me.”

Rin sighed, then softened. “No one’s ever prepared. Even when things are going great. Like, I still second-guess myself with Kento sometimes.”

Sarah turned her head, looking up at her with a tired, skeptical squint. “You and Nanami? But you guys are like… perfect.”

Rin snorted. “He is the love of my life. But if he brings up proper laundry folding one more time, I swear to god I’m going to stuff his neatly ironed shirts down his throat.”

Sarah laughed and Rin grinned too.

“We all have our mess,” she said. “But this? What you and Haibara are doing? It’s not healthy. You need to break up with him.”

Sarah nodded slowly, biting her lip. “…Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I know you’re right. I’ll do it. I just…”

“And Suzu,” Rin added with a scoff. “What the fuck is their deal?”

“I don’t know!” Sarah threw up her hands. “They’re always around him like some creepy little lurking rat—and every time I try to be nice, they give me this look like they’re tolerating me. I don’t trust them at all. They’re shady, and smug, and weirdly obsessed with knowing literally everything.”

“That’s always a red flag,” Rin said dryly. “Nothing good ever comes from someone who insists on being the gossip.”

Sarah cracked a grin. “Seriously, right? I tried to compliment their outfit once and they corrected my pronunciation of some French designer's name. Who does that?”

“Suzu,” Rin said flatly. “Suzu does that.”

They both sat in silence for a beat, with the solemnity of two overworked and exhausted warriors. Finally, Rin nudged her.

“You’ve got this, you know.”

Sarah leaned her head on Rin’s shoulder with a long sigh. “…Do I?”

“Yeah. You do. It’s gonna hurt, but it’ll stop hurting eventually. And then you can start figuring out what actually makes you happy.”

Sarah nodded slowly, softly.

And then muttered, “Okay, but I’m making you come over and comfort me after."

Rin didn’t hesitate. “'Natch.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Sarah paced the apartment like a caged animal, her hands twitching at surfaces just to have something to fix, to clean or to fold. The couch pillows had been rearranged four times. The dishes were spotless. The trash had already gone out, even though it was barely half full. Still, she moved, stillness not an option—not tonight.

Every time the wind shifted, or someone opened a door down the hall, she jumped. Her heart launched into her throat more times than she could count. Every time she tried to calm herself, sbreathe in, breathe out, her nerves just coiled tighter.

She eyed the joint sitting in the ashtray, just half-smoked from the last time she couldn’t sleep. But she didn’t touch it. Not now. Not before this.

She had to be clear. She had to be sober.

She had to finally do it.

Her phone was in her hand, thumb hovering over Haibara’s contact to call and ask where he was, when the door burst open behind her.

“Hey!” Haibara grinned like it was any other day, his energy electric and clumsy, stumbling a little as he crossed the threshold. He swooped in and kissed her like nothing was wrong. She blinked. Her mouth tasted bitter—and sharp.

Alcohol?

Her brows knit. “Have you been drinking already?” she asked, stepping back slightly. “We just got off work?"

Haibara’s grin twitched and faded into a defensive scowl. “I was just about to invite you to a party,” he said, tone hardening, “With me and Suzu.”

Sarah’s stomach dropped. Her mouth opened. She started to ask—but he cut her off with a sharp, “What?” His voice cracked the air between them like a whip.

She flinched, instinctive, taking a small step back. “I just…” Her voice felt small. “I need to know. Did you know it was Suzu with you? That time at the hot spring?”

He scoffed. “No, I didn’t.”

“Then why aren’t you upset?” she asked quietly, disbelief slowly creeping into her words.

Haibara laughed. Not cruel, but not kind either. Just careless. “Well, neither of us is taking this seriously, right? Why does it matter? I'm sure you've been kissing Gojo behind my back.”

Sarah froze.

Her mouth parted again, stunned. “What—No! I woudldn't! I—I thought… I thought you loved me?”

“I do,” he said simply, peeling off his shirt as he headed to the bedroom to change. “I can love you and not be serious, right? You’ve always been that way with me anyway.”

She stared after him, her body rooted in place, trembling—not with rage, but with the cold sting of realization.

He meant it. He meant all of that. Just casual, like throwing her love into the dirty laundry pile.

He reemerged with a different shirt, running his hand through his hair with a lopsided smirk. He didn’t notice her expression. Or maybe he did and didn’t care.

“I’ll see you later,” he said, brushing a kiss against her cheek without waiting for a response. “Call me if you wanna come be cool, alright?”

Then the door clicked behind him.

And she was alone. Again.

Sarah stood there for a long moment, still half-holding the throw pillow she’d been aggressively fluffing when he walked in. Her fingers were frozen around the seam. She could still feel the heat of his kiss, still taste the sharp tang of alcohol, still hear the casual cruelty in his voice.

“I can love you and not be serious, right? You’ve always been that way with me anyway.”

Those words clanged around in her skull like a dropped dumbbell. She blinked slowly, then looked down at the pillow in her hands like it had betrayed her too.

The apartment was so quiet now. It hadn’t been five minutes since he’d left. The door still echoed faintly in her ears, like it had slammed even though it hadn’t. She let the pillow fall and pressed both hands to her face.

What the hell just happened?

She had rehearsed this. In her head, in the mirror, in voice memos she never saved. But somehow, Haibara had come in like a hurricane of cologne and liquor, and rewritten the ending of the whole story in two minutes flat.

And it wasn’t even a breakup. It was something worse!

He had just decided she wasn’t serious. That their relationship wasn’t real. Like he was giving himself retroactive permission to make it meaningless so he could shrug and invite her to a party like a friend with benefits and an open RSVP.

“Call if you want to come be cool.”

That line hit her harder than anything. Like this whole thing—the months they’d been together, the tears, the apologies, the trying—could be reduced to some hangout she was only invited to if she could just chill out for once.

She sank slowly onto the couch, her mind spiraling.

Was she overreacting? Was it fair to be hurt?

He didn’t scream. He didn’t throw anything. He didn’t cheat on her, technically? He didn’t even say anything that cruel—if she stripped it down, he just sounded… detached. Like it never really mattered to him as much as it did to her.

Or maybe it just never mattered to her as much as she needed it to either.

She blinked a few times, willing the tears not to come. Not yet. She needed her head clear. If she cried now, it would spiral. If she cried now, she might call him later, just to talk, just to try and make sense of it.

Sarah sat down heavily on the couch, hands gripping her knees like they might keep her from falling apart. Her throat felt tight. Her chest ached. Her brain was moving too fast, like a car skidding downhill with no brakes.

She tried to breathe. Tried to reason. Tried to keep it together.

“This is my fault,” she muttered aloud, voice cracking just slightly. “It’s my fault. I made it weird. I made it hard.”

Her nails dug into her legs

“He’s mad because of me. Because I kept things going when I knew I couldn’t give him what he wanted. I knew. But I just kept pretending like—like it was okay. Like we were okay.”

Her voice was rising now, but only to a whisper.

“I hurt him first. I used him. What did I think was gonna happen?”

She rocked forward slightly, elbows on her knees, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes so hard she saw sparks behind her lids.

“I always ruin it. I always make it worse. Every time someone tries to help me, they just end up hurt."

Her stomach twisted.

“I’m a burden. I’m just… this walking, talking problem everyone has to solve. I can’t even do the one thing I’m good at without dying.”

A sharp, bitter laugh forced its way out of her. Her face twisted in something too painful to be called a smile.

“That’s what I’m best at, huh? Dying for people. Not living for them. Not staying. Not helping. Just throwing myself on the goddamn grenade and calling it purpose.”

The tears finally came, hot and angry. She tried to bite them back, but they spilled over anyway.

“I’m pathetic. I’m not even useful. What the hell am I doing here? Just flopping around useless, saying yes to everything like some people-pleasing idiot who doesn’t even know what she wants anymore!”

The quiet that followed was deafening.

Somewhere, far back in her mind, something tried to fight the spiral. A voice that sounded almost like Shoko’s, or Rin’s, maybe even her own from a long time ago. It was trying to say “this isn’t true.” Trying to remind her that people loved her. That people chose to stand by her. That she was more than just a sum of her failures. But it felt too far away and muffled, like yelling through water.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and curled into herself. The couch felt too big now. The apartment too quiet. The ache in her chest too loud.

I don’t want to be like this… I just don’t know how to stop.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The next morning was an ugly gray—the kind that soaked into your bones and made even warm rooms feel cold. Sarah hadn’t slept. She’d laid in bed for hours staring at the ceiling, watching phantom shadows crawl across it like time-lapse ghosts. No texts. No calls. No Haibara.

She didn’t even cry. She just… stayed. Still and hollow.

When the sun finally rose—or more accurately, when the sky just gave up and became a dull smear of clouds—she crawled out of bed and dressed like she was clocking in for a punishment. Her limbs moved like she was underwater. Mascara barely applied. Socks didn’t match. She didn’t care.

She left her apartment without breakfast, without even brushing her hair properly, just stuffing it under a hat like it could trap the rest of her inside too.

The train ride was the longest twelve minutes of her life. Her head kept bobbing, sleep dragging at her skull. At one point, she dozed off just long enough to jolt awake and bump shoulders with the man beside her.

“Sorry,” she mumbled automatically, not even looking up.

He gave a brief nod and she stared down at her own knees the rest of the ride, trying not to let her brain be louder than the train.

She barely made it through the doors of Jujutsu Tech before slumping into the infirmary office chair like a wet coat someone had given up on. She exhaled, finally, hoping to steal just a moment of stillness. Just one. One second to pretend she didn’t feel like her skin didn’t quite fit anymore.

But the phone rang.

She just blinked at it.

Then, slowly, like the universe might change its mind if she moved slowly enough, she picked it up and mumbled a greeting.

“We need you on the training field,” the voice on the other end said, far too brisk for how close she was to disassociating into dust.

“Okay,” she whispered. Then, again, louder: “Okay. I’m coming.”

She hung up. Sat still for another moment.

Then she clapped her cheeks gently with her palms—once, twice—and stood.

“You’re fine,” she whispered to herself, grabbing her coat. “Fake it until you are.”

She headed out the infirmary doors, squinting against the overcast glare like it personally offended her. The training field loomed ahead and it was time to be useful again.

Sarah barely remembered walking to the field—just that her boots scuffed against gravel, and that her breath came in tight little puffs like she was rationing it. The students were already scattered, some sitting up and huffing in pain, others flat on their backs. Minor curse burns, sprains, fractured pride. She could handle that.

So she did.

Kneeling beside a second-year clutching his wrist, she placed her glowing hands over the bone and whispered, “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

The boy winced, then sighed in relief as the pain eased. He thanked her quietly. She nodded, already moving to the next student. Then the next. Then the next.

She didn’t stop. Not because they were all hurt—but because if she stopped, her thoughts would catch up.

The supervising teacher, a younger special grade who looked like they hadn’t slept since the Meiji era, rubbed their temple and muttered something about how today was a mess. Sarah offered a half-smile and said:

“Want some help keeping them alive?”

The teacher didn’t even pretend to say no.

After that, she stayed on the field, moving between students, whispering reassurances and patching together bruised bodies and strained muscles. When the class finally ended, she gathered the first-aid supplies, reorganized the kit, and didn’t wait for someone to ask her what to do next.

She found Yaga sorting forms in the administrative wing and asked him if he needed a hand.

He raised a brow. “Didn’t you just finish healing duty?”

“I’m fine,” she said, which was her new favorite lie.

He gave her a long look and finally handed her a stack of sealed forms and a clipboard. “Cursed object inventories. Be careful.”

“Aren’t I always?” she replied, already halfway down the hall.

The cursed object shed was… unpleasant. It always was.

Old anger and malicious energy clung to the air like static, but she didn’t flinch. She stacked the containers precisely, sealed tags with trembling hands, and double-checked the wards. She even reorganized the ones someone had clearly thrown into a bin labeled “shitty swords.”

By the time she returned to the infirmary, the sun was starting to set. She turned the lights on. Filed the paperwork she’d helped collect. Cleaned the counters. Took inventory of the painkillers. Wiped the cabinets.

Everything was clean. Everything was in its place.

And still—

She stood in the center of the infirmary with her hands held close to her chest, as if she were still carrying something. As if she might need to leap into action again. As if she were bracing for another task to appear.

But no one came and there was nothing left to do.

Just silence and sterile light, and her own body standing like an emergency in waiting. She stared at her reflection in the cabinet glass. Hair messy. Eyes hollow. Fingers trembling.

“I’m fine,” she whispered again.

But the words just hung there, unsupervised.

The door creaked open behind her, and Sarah didn’t flinch—she only half-existed in the room at that point. Not until Satoru’s voice cut through the haze:

“Hey, Shoko, you got a sec—?”

He froze. She turned, just slightly, their eyes catching like magnets.

Ten seconds.

Maybe less, maybe more. Time stretched out like taffy between them. He was still halfway through the door, one foot lingering behind him like he might backtrack. But he didn’t.

He looked at her and his usual smirk softened into something gentler, less shielded.

“Hey… how are you—?”

He didn’t get the chance to finish.

She stepped into him like the question had broken her in half. Her forehead found his chest, and the weight of her entire day, week—hell, maybe month—poured into him like water through a crack.

Satoru blinked, stunned. His hands hovered, uncertain, twitching in the air like broken satellites unsure of orbit.

“Sarah—?”

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, shaking her head against him, voice ragged and small. “I don’t know what to do.”

That was all it took.

His arms dropped around her immediately, folding her in like gravity had finally kicked in. His chin found the top of her head, and he closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath like he was letting go of something, too.

“Hey, hey, hey…” he murmured, one hand rubbing up and down her back, the other tucked protectively around her. “You don’t have to know. Not right now.”

She curled her fists into the front of his jacket, gripping the fabric tight like she might fall if she let go. “It’s just… so much,” she muttered. “Everything. Everyone’s doing so much for me and I just keep—breaking everything.”

“No, you don’t.” His voice was firmer now, quiet but grounded. “I’m so tired,” she whispered, barely audible over the buzz of the infirmary’s fluorescent lights. “I know,” he said. His voice was low and steady, but softer than usual. “Me too.” She stayed where she was, her fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his jacket, and said, “I hate everything right now.” “But not me, right?” he teased gently, trying to lift the air—not to dismiss her pain, just to give it somewhere safe to breathe. She gave a watery laugh, her head still pressed against his chest. “I could never hate you.” Slowly, carefully, he tilted his head down, brushing his cheek against her hair. “Do you really mean that?” he asked, like he needed to be sure the words were real and not just kindness on a hard day. She turned her face up just slightly. “You know the answer to that.” The blush hit him fast—rising up his neck, blooming over his ears. She felt it even with her eyes closed, the heat of it warming the air between them. She let out a breath and whispered, “Just hold me a little longer?” “I’ll hold you,” he said, so quietly it didn’t feel like a promise—it felt like a vow, “as long as you’ll let me.” And so he did. No words, no questions. Just the sound of her breathing, slowly easing back into rhythm, and the steady thump of his heart as they stood in the silence together, not alone.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The door slammed shut behind them, echoing through the house like the crack of a storm.

Satoru barely got the lock turned before Sarah was in his arms again—and this time, there was no hesitation. He pressed her back against the wall, their mouths crashing together in a kiss that didn’t ask—it demanded. His hands cupped her face, then threaded into her hair, gripping just enough to make her gasp against his lips.

She pulled him closer, tugging at his jacket, at his shirt, fingers curling into the strands of his hair like she was trying to hold herself together through him. He groaned into her mouth, low and hungry, as if the world had shrunk down to just this—her against the wall, him barely able to breathe from the way she kissed him back.

There was no confusion in it. No second-guessing. Just fire and release and years of something unspoken finally boiling over.

His forehead rested against hers for a moment, breath shallow, hands trembling where they held her.

“You sure?” he whispered, voice rough with restraint.

She nodded, eyes fierce, lips parted. “I’m not running anymore.”

His hands slid to her waist, and as he kissed her again slowly.

Satoru sucked in a sharp breath, dropping his keys and jacket at the entryway. His hand hovered down, shaking, just above the tent in his slacks.

It's wrong, right? This was wrong? So wrong. He shouldn't have been doing this.

But, well, if it was wrong then he's already been pretty damn wrong in the past. He'd jerked off thinking about Sarah the night before, and the night before that. And the night before that one too. He'd told himself it was just to fall asleep but…

She whined, tugging on his hand.

"Hurry up, Satoru!"

He ran his palm along his trapped dick, releasing a harsh shuddering breath. Nope, it had to happen, right then. He would have sprinted if he could, instead he hurried to his room, dropping clothes all the way until he stood in his underwear, panting.

"Mmn? Is that all for me, baby?" Sarah purred, laying on her stomach on his bed.

She looked back at him, her pretty green eyes just under those long fluttering lashes. She was so beautiful, propped up just enough to watch him behind her and smile at him all innocent.

"… shit," Satoru hissed, running a hand down his face.

He slammed open the bedside table draw, pulling out a bottle of lube and bright hot pink pocket pussy. He winced thinking about the name. He then cringed again thinking about buying the thing in the first place. Not that he was embarrassed about toys, no, this shame was purely because he bought it for this very purpose. That was somehow so much more embarrassing.

But damn, he just needed to fuck something.

Satoru lifted up the mattress, placing the toy between the foot of his bed and the box spring with the opening facing him. Unceremoniously he flicked open the cap on the bottle clutched in his hand and poured the clear fluid over his fingers.

"Mmn! Hurry, Satoru."

Oh, fuck, he could hear her voice in his head still as he fingered and slicked up the toy. He pushed off his underwear, free hand jerking them down enough for his foot to finish the job and kick them across the room.

"Ah! Just like that!"

As his fingers eased through the plastic folds, he slowed down. Fingers glided rather than shoved, searching for things to please her that weren't there for real, but were very real in his mind.

"Right there! Ohhh, yes!"

With a hiss through his teeth he imagined just how good this would feel if it was her. How good his poor lonely cock would feel bullying it's way through her lips right into that warm hug that was her. It had to feel good right? Everything about her felt good. Being inside her would probably kill him.

How would she like it? Slow and steady maybe? Make love to her, right? No need to rush things. Laying over her back, whispering in those ears? Biting those pale shoulders? Marking her all up for everyone to see.

He grunted, picking up the pace.

Maybe unpredictable, right? She'd like it that way too. She loved him, so she'd like it when he was fast too. She'd love it all.

"Satoru! Ohh God, baby! I'm so wet for you!"

He slapped his palm on the bed, dragging the sheets with his nails.

Satoru knew she'd like him like this. He knew she'd want him rough her too. She'd want that. She would. She definitely would like it. She would want him this bad too.

"Sarah," he huffed, his chest heaving.

"You're so big! Satoru!"

He made a choked off groan,

It wasn't the same. It wasn't enough. The stupid toy was fine and all, but it was a poor substitute for the real thing. Her body was so soft, so warm and this thing… well, it was better than a dry hand, sure, but what about her?

He wanted her. He wanted her so bad. He needed her. He needed her back home with him. He needed it. He needed it!

“…You know I still love you too.”

With a shuddering gasp, he came inside the toy. His body curled tight, forehead against the mattress so he could push his face into something as he shuddered and jolted.

"I still love you.”

Her words were spinning in his head, that last time he'd seen her before the big fight. How her voice had sounded in his ear in that moment was haunting him.

Satoru pushed himself up, still catching his breath. He looked down at the dribbling hole of the toy and swore before snatching it up in his fist and storming to the bathroom.

He didn't dare look at himself in the mirror as he stretched and spread the stupid thing, cleaning out the crevices.

"So fun," he muttered sarcastically, "Doesn't ruin the illusion at all, right? Sure."

With a wet slap, he let it drop to the counter and rolled his eyes before giving his dick a quick wipe down too, then toppled back into bed.

“…You know I still love you too.” her voice said one more time, and likely not for the last time that night either.

"Yeah, I know you do," he groaned. "I know."

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