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[birdie-in-arcadia]

Always

This was an anon request, and I honestly had a lot of fun writing this despite the subject matter. Thank you for such a great ask anon, and I hope I did it justice! Enjoy <3

CW: angst, verbal fight between Vessel and fem!reader, reconciliation, fluff, and suggestive content at the end

Word Count: 5.3k

It started in the little ways. The late replies, the sidelong glances that never quite land. The way he pulls his hands or lips away just a second too early, almost like warmth and love has become something he doesn’t yearn for the way he did before. 

You’ve been trying not to notice, to shrug it off. You tell yourself he’s tired, and that tour wears on everyone, which is inevitably true. That if you give him space, he’ll come back to you in his own time. But it’s been weeks, and that quiet ache in your chest is getting harder to ignore. Every time you reach for him, literally or metaphorically, it feels like his edges are sharper than they used to be. Not angry or anything, just… untouchable and distant. 

And even now, back at the hotel, he barely looks up when you speak. You’re perched on the end of the bed, arms wrapped around your knees, watching him dig through his overnight bag. Your hair falls over your arms, tickling you occasionally as if to say, “lighten up”. But you can’t, no matter how hard you try. 

“Did you want to get breakfast downstairs in a bit?” you ask, gently. Not needy or clingy, just hoping he’ll want to be with you. 

He hums noncommittally. “Maybe. I’m not sure I’m up for it.” His tone is flat, yet loaded. You simply nod and take a deep breath before replying quietly, “Okay. I can bring something back up if you’d rather stay in.” 

“Maybe.” Another one-word response. You want to rake your nails through your hair and rip it out at the roots in frustration. You don’t understand what you’ve done to deserve such... silence. It’s all maybes with him lately. No certainty, no weight or sincerity. Like every answer is a placeholder for the thing he wants to say, but won’t. 

You try not to show your disappointment or frustration. Instead, you stand and stretch, offering a faint smile. “I’m gonna go see if the band lounge has that ginger tea again. Might help my throat.” 

“Yeah,” he says absently, his gaze now cast on his phone. “Good idea.” 

No offer to come with you. No kiss goodbye. Just the rustle of his joggers as he reclines in the corner chair and the low hum of traffic outside the window. 

You step into the hallway and let the door click quietly shut behind you, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. Your gaze is fixed on the floor beneath you as you wrack your brain, attempting to think of anything and everything you’ve ever done wrong or said sideways that could’ve hurt his feelings or pushed him away. You mentally ask yourself, “Am I too much? Do I need or ask for too much from him? Is he tired of me, or has he found someone better?” Nothing makes sense. You’ve loved him as much as he’ll let you, you give him space when he requests it, and you give him your undivided attention all the same. 

It was such a perfect relationship up until about four weeks ago. You try as hard as you can to think of something that could’ve been pivotal enough to warrant such distance. Was there an argument or a disagreement of any kind? Any harsh words or slammed doors? Absolutely nothing comes to mind, and it’s driving you mad. What did I do? 

You blink hard and shake your head, turning your focus to the elevator you’re approaching. You click the down arrow button and stare at its flickering orange glow, letting your mind run wild with what ifs and circumstances and possible answers to an impossible equation. 

The lift doors opening brings you back to reality and your eyes dart up as you see yours and Vessel’s dear friend II standing near the front of the lift, bracing himself on the handrail along the side. He smiles at you as you step in the rig, standing opposite him. You lean against the wall as you hear II’s Welsh lilt ask you which floor you’re going to. “Lobby, please.” you answer simply, your tone too deflated to hide. His face drops from friendly to concerned as his brows furrow slightly. 

He turns and jabs the button with a calloused thumb, and the doors close, trapping you in this space with him, and you just know he’s gonna ask what’s wrong. It’s in his caring nature. Like clockwork, you hear that same voice ask, “You alright, babe?” He’s called you that platonic nickname since he first got to know you nearly six months ago, and you’re used to it by now. It holds the same endearment as “buddy” or “pal” or even “dude”. 

You sigh as you turn your gaze from the dingy steel walls of the moving rig to meet II’s, and you can see the concern on his features. You quickly decide how much you wanna tell him, and you reply, “Yeah, just... I dunno, Ves seems so distant lately and I don’t understand why. I’ve been thinking all day for the last few days about what I could’ve done to upset him or push him away, and I got nothing.” You shrug as you finish, and II’s face goes from an expression of concern to one of sympathy as he nods his head along to your words. 

“Sorry, love. Ves just gets like this sometimes when he’s got something on his mind. He was like this right before him and his last girl broke it off, for example.” II says before he realizes his implications. As your eyes go wide and your brows arch on your forehead, you feel your stomach drop through the floor of the lift. His own eyes widen, and he immediately backpedals. “Uh, no wait, I uh- shit- I didn’t mean- that's not what I-” he splutters, his hands flailing in front of him as if he’s physically grasping for the words. You chuckle lightly at the sight. 

He sighs and runs a frustrated hand over his face before dropping it limply to his side. “I didn’t mean that’s what’s gonna happen with you two. It was just an example, and a horrid one at that. Sorry about that.” he says, his tone heavy with embarrassment. His cheeks are red as his gaze fixes on his Nikes. You chuckle again as you reply, “It’s alright man, my heart only stopped for a couple seconds.” He lets out a nervous yet relieved laugh as he runs a hand over his hair, and the rig comes to a stop. 

He steps out first, and you follow behind as you ask, “You thirsty too?” He turns back to glance at you over his shoulder, and he slows down to walk beside you. “Nah, just wanted to grab more of those Lifesavers gummies. Fuckers are addicting.” You hum in agreeance as he asks, “What’re you gettin’?” You point to the coffee and hot water bar a few feet away and reply, “Hopefully one of those ginger teas if they still have any.” He hums again as he makes his selection and pays the clerk behind the counter. 

“I was actually headed up to talk with him about tomorrow’s gig after I grabbed these. D’ya want me to talk to him about what you told me?” II asks as you both walk back toward the lift. You ponder for a moment, hands comforted by the warmth of the paper cup in your grasp. After a few steps, you reply, “No, that’s okay. I’ll talk with him about it tomorrow on the flight back. I appreciate it, though.” II simply smiles at you and nods once before you both step back into the lift. 

You make small talk about venues and light rigging and sound systems as the lift takes you back to your floor. Eventually, it comes to a stop and you both bid your farewells as you step off, leaving II, as his room is another floor up. 

Your mood slowly falls back down into “what did I do to upset him” the closer you get to your room. As you approach the door and unlock it, a pit forms in your stomach as you open the door and step in, finding Vessel gone. 

You pull out your phone instantly, nearly dropping your fresh tea, and you check your messages. Did you miss the chime of a text message? Apparently you did, because you have one new message from Vessel. 

It reads, “Grabbing drinks with III. Don’t wait up.” 

What the fuck? Your face screws up as you reread the message three times over, incredibly confused as to why he’d want to grab drinks considering he’s recovering from addiction. Worry and guilt sweep through you as you wonder if he’s drinking again because of you. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, but you blink them away in frustration. 

Wait. Didn’t II say he was going to talk with Vessel about concert shit? Did II lie to you or is he just misinformed? You sit your cup on the counter nearest you, and you frantically pull up Find My iPhone. You zoom in on his location, and it indicates that he’s still in the hotel, and so is III. 

A bone-chilling realization washes over you, and your stomach churns something nasty as your mind flies through all the possibilities. III’s still in the hotel, and so is Vessel. Are they together? Is Vessel in another member’s room? Or is he in someone else’s room entirely? 

A myriad of emotions flood through you as your veins fill with fire and ice and your heartrate catapults. There’s no way, right? Vessel has been cheated on in the past, so he’d never... right? You aren’t certain of that, and it makes you vehemently nauseous. However, you are certain of one thing: you have to find him now. 

You storm out of the room, emotions in a whirlwind as you stare down Find My iPhone, stomping in the direction of his location. Your brain is a tsunami of thoughts and possibilities. What if he’s just in one of the guys’ rooms? What if they’re just relaxing and maybe gaming, and you storm in there like a bat outta hell for no reason and embarrass yourself? 

You shake your head, and one thought lingers: regardless of who’s room he's in, you’ve been lied to. Your chin trembles, but you deny your eyes any release of salt; not until you know for sure. His location leads against a wall in between two rooms. Huh? You refresh the app, and it still shows the same place. Maybe it’s up or down a floor? 

You turn confusedly and head for the lift you were just in with II. You press the up-arrow button since II said he was going to talk with Vessel, and you're kind of banking on him being up there with II. You tap your foot lightning fast as the rig moves slowly upward, the gravitational pull downward not helping your nausea in the slightest. 

Once the door opens a few moments later, you step out and follow his location directly to II’s room. Okay, this checks out, but why did he say he was getting drinks with III? You form a fist, knuckles forward as you raise your arm, but just before you knock, you hear your name.  

Their voices are low but still audible in the quiet of the room. You freeze, not intending to eavesdrop, just… uncertain. The way he’s speaking is different; tense. 

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Vessel mutters. “It’s like… the closer she gets, the more I feel like I’m going to fuck it up.” II doesn’t respond right away. 

“She’s everything. Sweet, steady, and forgiving. And I can’t even hold a conversation without it feeling like a lie.” Vessel continues. You blink as the words land, your heart dropping into your stomach. 

“Every time she looks at me like I’m the moon and stars in her skies, I just feel like a fucking fraud. Like she’s in love with someone who doesn’t exist anymore. I feel like I’m living in someone else’s skin when I’m with her sometimes,” he continues. “Like I have to pretend to be this perfect version of myself or I’ll lose her.” He lets out a shaky breath. “But the worst part? I think she’d be better off if I did.” 

You don't hear the rest. Your ears are ringing and roaring with your blood. But you don’t need to hear it, nor do you want to. His voice cuts through you like a razor, sharp and brutal. The weight of it lodges in your lungs, and suddenly you can’t breathe. You stumble back a step, hand pressed to your chest, mouth slightly agape. Your heart pounds in your ears as you catch yourself on the wall across from II’s door. 

I feel like I'm living in someone else's skin when I'm with her sometimes. She’d be better off if I did. He can't be fucking serious.

You turn, quick and quiet, and walk straight back to your shared room. Your hands are trembling when you unlock the door. 

The air in the room still smells faintly like his cologne; amber, smoke, something earthy. You shut the door behind you and lean against it for a moment, the silence loud and suffocating. Your brain immediately goes to war with your heart.

He doesn’t love you. He’s been pulling away because he’s already gone; emotionally checked out, just waiting for the right moment to say the words out loud. You’d been holding on to hope that it was in your head. That maybe he was just stressed. Maybe he was trying. But you heard it. Not from a text, not from a rumor. From his own mouth. 

No, you know he loves you. From the way he clings to you at night like you're his lifeline. The way he always checks in on you no matter the scenario. He brings you along on every tour, to every show just so you feel included. All the times he's held you while you cried and put you back together with just his voice and vocabulary.

She'd be better off if I did. His words ring through your head again, shattering any semblance of logic or hope that he still wanted you around.

You cross the room in a haze and start pulling your things together. Toothbrush, charger, whatever clothing you could find strewn over the floor haphazardly. That hoodie you always wear to bed that still smells like him catches your eye, and you feel your throat nearly close up as a sob threatens to tear from it.

You step over to the end of the bed where the hoodie lays, and you pick it up and take a deep inhale of its scent. Agony surges through your chest like a knife to the heart and your knees nearly buckle as your combined smells lilt through your sinuses.

You clutch the hoodie with white knuckles, your face contorting into a mixed expression of anger and grief, and a sob pummels its way up your throat and past your lips. You throw the hoodie onto the floor and turn from it, picking up what's left of your belongings on the floor and surrounding tabletops.

You divert your eyes from the article one last time and deny yourself the relief of fully crying. Not yet. You stomp into the bathroom and grab your toiletries from the shower wall, knocking down one of his bottles in your wake. You groan as it tumbles down, echoing through the bathroom. You leave it where it lies as you rush back to your bag and stuff it all in with shaking hands. 

In a last ditch effort to feel in control of something, anything, you make the bed. As you finish, you hear the familiar crinkling of a small aluminum packet underfoot. You wince at the sound, at the memory, and you bend to pick it up and discard it in a nearby waste bin.

You bend and hover over the desk and tear a page from the hotel’s notepad. You pick up a nearby pen, then pause, staring at the blank paper. A single tear falls onto the sheet, wrinkling it. And then you write: 

"If you wanted me to leave, you didn’t have to disclose it secretly to II. I wish you’d just said it to my face." 

You fold it once and place it on the bed. You give the room one last look, and then you’re gone.  

_______________

“…I think she’d be better off if I did.” Vessel’s voice trails into silence. II says nothing at first, he just lets the words of his struggling best friend settle. Vessel had been waiting outside II's door as II returned from grabbing his snack in the lobby with you. He'd let Vessel in without a word once he saw the helpless look in his eyes.

Vessel leans against the wall, head tipping back, eyes shut. The room smells like lemon floor polish, burnt coffee, and old carpet; cheap and forgettable. A fitting backdrop, he thinks bitterly, for the way he’s been acting lately. 

“I mean, fuck,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “She gives me everything. Patience, kindness… all this love I don’t know how to process. And what do I do? I shut down. I shut her out. I can feel her slipping away from me and I just keep letting it happen.” 

II sighs, arms crossed. “So talk to her, man. Don’t let your head run the whole show. If you’re scared, tell her. If you love her, and I know you do, show her.” 

“I do,” Vessel breathes. “God, I do. I’ve never-” His voice catches in his throat. He clears it, blinking hard. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone. Not since... you know. It’s terrifying, being vulnerable again. But I don’t want to lose her. I’d rather die trying to let her in than watch her walk away thinking I didn’t care.” 

II rests a hand on his shoulder, solid and grounding. “Then go. Tell her that, all of it. Before your silence speaks louder than your words ever could.” Vessel nods, heart thudding against his ribs, determination coursing through his veins. “Yeah, you’re right. Thank you, man. I’m going now.” 

He turns, heart already racing, and opens the room door. The hallway stretches ahead of him, silent, like it knows what's coming. His feet move rapidly toward the elevator, and he jams the button. He all but jumps inside when the doors open, and he mashes the floor number until the rig is moving again. He’s grinning as he descends at a slow pace, ecstatic that he’s about to go fix everything with his girl, and maybe even make love to you if you’d let him. 

The door clicks open with a familiar sound, the keycard light flashing green. He steps inside, voice low but warm. 

“Baby!” His cheerful greeting rings through the small room. 

He’s met with silence. He frowns as he notices that the bathroom door is open, and the lights are off. 

“Baby?” he tries again, this time laced with a hint of confusion. Still nothing. The room is quiet, way too quiet. His eyes scan the space. The bed is made, the chair in the corner is empty, and the closet door is slightly ajar. 

And then it hits him. Your things are gone. The tote bag that always slouches beside the dresser? Gone. Your travel case of skincare and scrunchies that typically adorn the counter? Missing. The sweater you wore this morning, cream colored, soft, probably still faintly scented like you? No longer tossed over the arm of the chair where you always leave it. 

His blood runs cold. “No…” he breathes, stepping forward. He checks the bathroom, heart lurching. Nothing. Your soaps are gone, even your microfiber hair towel. 

His hands start trembling as he crosses back to the bed, eyes darting over the blankets, the table, the floor, anything. “Maybe she just ran out for food”, he thinks. “Maybe she-” 

Then he sees it. Folded once, an unpinned grenade on the center of the bed, his given name, not the moniker, not a pet name, in your handwriting unmistakably on the hotel paper. He picks it up slowly like the bomb that it is. His eyes trace the words. 

If you wanted me to leave, you didn’t have to disclose it secretly to II. I just wish you’d said it to my face. 

The paper trembles in his hand. He rereads it.  

Once. Twice. A third time. 

“No, no, no- fuck, no-” His voice breaks. 

His knees give, and he sinks onto the edge of the bed, the note still clutched between trembling fingers. The breath leaves his lungs like he’s been punched. His chest burns. His vision blurs. 

You must’ve come looking for him and overheard. Dammit, his plan of diverting your attention by telling you that he was going out with III did the exact opposite. Go figure. Regardless, you heard him. But you didn’t stay long enough to hear what came after. Didn’t hear him say he loves you. Didn’t hear him say he wants to fight for you. You think he wanted you to go. 

He drops his head into his hands, shoulders shaking as a raw sound escapes his throat; half anguish, half pleading. The pain slams into him like a wave, unforgiving and cold, clawing its way through every part of him. He presses the note to his chest like it might somehow undo the damage, but it doesn’t. It just hurts. 

“Fuck,” he gasps again, standing suddenly, stumbling, frenzied, and searching for anything that could give him an answer. He grabs his phone from his front left pocket, and he opens your thread. His thumbs hover, trembling, then he types: 

“Please come back. I didn’t mean it like that. Please.” 

“I love you. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you heard. Please just tell me you’re okay.” 

No “... is typing...”, no response. He hits the call button. 

Straight to voicemail. 

He calls again. 

Two rings, then voicemail. 

“Pick up, baby, please,” he whispers to the static. “Please, just... fuck, just talk to me. Let me explain. I swear to God I didn’t mean it like that…” 

He’s pacing now, chest heaving, phone in a death grip. And then, a miracle. He swipes down with shaking fingers and opens the location-sharing app. Your dot is still live, still glowing. Looks to be approximately three blocks down. A little boutique hotel near the edge of the shopping district. You must’ve forgotten to turn it off amid all the emotions and taxi-hailing. Otherwise, you definitely would’ve turned off your location. You don’t want to be found. 

Without a second thought, he bolts for the door. 

Rain pours against the sidewalk as Vessel sprints down the street, dodging passersby, lungs burning, the cold biting into his damp skin. He doesn’t feel any of it, not really. The only thing he feels is you. The absence of you, the shape you leave behind, like a phantom in his chest. 

The GPS dot blinks steady on his screen, his lifeline. He turns a corner and sees it, small and quaint, tucked between a florist and an antique shop. The boutique hotel you chose in the heat of heartbreak. 

He’s there in seconds, breath ragged, soaked to the bone. The front desk blurs past as he races up the stairs, skipping steps, heart pounding so hard it makes him nauseous. He follows your beacon of hope to the very door you’re hidden behind. 

He knocks once, three light sounds against the wooden door. He’s met with nothing. He knocks again, another three times, but a tad bit louder this time, in case you’re sleeping. 

“Please,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to the wood, rain dripping from his hair and trailing down the door, his fingers clenched into fists. “Please let me in.” 

Still nothing. He swallows down a sob and knocks one last time, louder this time. “I know you don’t want to see me. I know I hurt you. But baby I swear, I didn’t mean it like that. You left before you could even hear the rest.” Silence on the other side. He breathes hard, trembling hands travelling upward to brace himself as he leans on the door, and he fights the urge to break it down to get to you. Your silence completely unnerves him. 

“I was talking to II because I didn’t know how to talk to you,” he confesses, voice cracking. “I’m scared all the time. That you’ll realize I’m not what you need. That you’ll wake up one day and see what a fucking mess I am and walk away and-” 

The lock clicks, and his head shoots up to look for your face, regaining his balance and lowering his hands to his sides. The door opens just enough to reveal you; eyes red and glassy, hair tied back in a loose bun, gray hoodie zipped to your throat. You don’t say anything at first, you just look at him like he’s something wild and foreign. 

You cross your arms tightly over your chest as you prop the door open and turn, walking away from him, the sights of the city momentarily capturing your attention as you approach the window in your room. You hear the door click shut, and you feel his presence in the room as you turn to face him. He’s standing about a foot from the door, his hands at his sides, his face drawn down, his big, beautiful puppy eyes focused solely on you. 

“You lied to me,” you say finally, breaking the silence, your voice quiet but sharp. “You told me you were going to get drinks with III when you were just upstairs talking shit about me to II.” 

“I wasn’t-” he steps forward, then stops, hands raised like you might bolt. He exhales and checks his tone before continuing. “I wasn’t talking shit. I was spiraling, alright? I was telling him that I’m scared of how good you are to me... how I keep messing it up.” He finishes, and he takes a small step toward you as if you’re a feral cat he’s found outside. "And I said I was going out with III because I didn't want you worrying and wondering where I was. I couldn't just tell you I was going to talk to II because I didn't wanna risk, well... this happening..." He trails off and you mull over his explanation. You know mentally that he was right. You would've definitely insisted on going with him. You decide leave that part of the argument to be discussed later.

“You said I’d be better off without you,” you snap. “How the hell was I supposed to take that?” You punctuate your question by unfolding your arms and gesturing toward him, your brows furrowing in frustration. 

He flinches, the realization of how bad that would’ve sounded from your perspective washing over him. “I know how it sounded,” he says honestly, voice breaking again. “But that wasn’t the end of the sentence. I was saying I didn’t want to lose you. That I was going to talk to you. That I love you. I’ve just been- fuck, I’ve been so in my head lately, and I didn’t want to put that weight on you.” 

You shake your head, eyes shining. “You think lying was protecting me?” you ask exasperatedly, your arms out to your sides, forefingers pointing inward toward yourself. “But I didn’t lie about that,” he says, his tone serious. You point as accusatory finger at him as you spit, “It was lying by omission, Vessel.” His face drops. 

“I didn’t mean to lie,” he breathes. “I just… I thought if I told you I was falling apart, you’d start seeing me the way I see myself. And then you would leave.” You step back, arms crossed tightly, and your frustration is evident on your face. “And the distance? The coldness? Was that supposed to be protection too? Because it felt like punishment.” 

His face twists in anguish as the truth in your words pelts him like bullets. “I know,” he says. “I know I’ve been distant. I’ve been awful. And I hate how I’ve made you feel. I hate that I made you doubt yourself when the only failure in this relationship has been me.” He looks at you through defeated eyes, tears beginning to brim again. 

Your voice wavers now, anger giving way to hurt. “You made me feel like I wasn’t enough, or maybe I was too much. Like I was annoying you just by existing. You’ve been pushing me away for weeks, Vessel.” You feel your tough exterior cracking as the look in his eyes peels you apart layer by layer. 

He steps forward again, slower this time. “I didn’t know how to let you in without showing you all the worst parts of me.” You look at him, eyes searching, still guarded. “Ves, you already have. Remember when your family cut you off because they don’t agree with your new lifestyle? Or when we first got together and you were so anxiety ridden you practically bolted for the bedroom anytime you heard your doorbell ring? I was there through all of that, and I never batted an eye. It’s my job as your partner to see you through every chapter of life, no matter how scary or unbecoming. You know this, love. You just have to let me in.” You finish, your arms falling to your sides as a tear marks its own trail down your face, dripping from your jaw. 

His expression crumples. “And you’re still here, still talking to me, even with me coming to find you like some sort of headcase,” he says quietly. You blink fast, biting the inside of your cheek. “How the hell did you find me, by the way?" You ask him, suddenly reminded of the blaring question.

He lets out a short, breathless sound. Almost a laugh, almost a sob. “You didn't turn off your location, lovey." he replies, a slight hint of amusement in his eyes. You chuckle and run a hand over your face as you're taken aback by your own lack of attention to such a major detail. "Christ... Well, I'm glad I didn't," you reply, looking up at him through long lashes. A long silence passes between the two of you as you both take in what the other has said. Then, with trembling hands, you capitulate and motion him forward, and you move toward the bed. “C’mere.” 

He wipes his face with the back of his hand as he approaches you slowly. He perches at the edge of the bed like you might dissolve if he touches you too soon. Vessel looks over you after a few seconds, taking in your disheveled appearance. His chest aches with the knowledge that it’s his fault you fled in such a hurry, and that you’re so forlorn. You meet his gaze and allow your eyes to take in the sopping wet cat of a man next to you. Rainwater drips from his hair onto his lap below, but he doesn't seem to notice, and he looks like a man who’s been through war just to get to you. 

“I love you,” he says again, steadier now. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. And I’m sorry for every time I made you question that.” You look at him, eyes glossy, heart swelling in your chest. “I love you too, Ves. That’s why it hurt so much.” 

He moves to kneel in front of you, hands reaching for yours. You let him take them slowly, like it's a test she’s not sure he’ll pass. “I’ll do better,” he whispers. “Not just today. Every day. I’ll keep choosing you.” You swallow hard, the lump in your throat rising again. “Don’t shut me out again, please,” you whisper to him, eyes blurring with tears. “I won’t,” he says, forehead pressing to your hands. “I swear it.” 

Your breath shudders as you exhale through the sadness leaving your body. You pull him up and into your arms, holding him tightly, like you’re afraid if you lets go, he’ll vanish again. You stay like that for a long time, just holding each other, letting the fear bleed out. Eventually, you whisper, “Let’s go home.” Those three simple words wash over him like a cool wave of relief, and he didn't realize how badly he craved to hear you say them until you did.

The walk back is quiet, but your fingers are laced the entire way. Once inside the room, Vessel closes the door behind you with a soft click. The lights are low, the hum of the city a dull throb beyond the shaded windows. You turn to face him, and he just stands there for a moment, eyes soft yet unsure as they flicker over your form. 

You step toward him, hands reaching for the hem of his soaked hoodie. “Let me,” you say. He easily acquiesces and lifts his arms, letting you peel it away slowly, reverently. His shirt comes next, and it hits the carpeted floor with a dull, wet slap. Your hands glide over the bare skin of his chest; cold from the rain but warming beneath your touch. He watches you like you’re shaping the skies before his eyes; like you’re the only thing anchoring him to earth. 

He undresses you slowly, hands lingering, fingers and lips exploring, and you move together like water, slow and unhurried. There’s no urgency now, just the deep ache of reunion. He lays you down with such care, like you’re thin glass. 

When he enters you, it’s with soft gasps and a whispered, “I missed you.” Your bodies meet in a rhythm that speaks more than words ever could. Not rough, not desperate. Just homecoming. Every thrust, every touch, every sigh is an apology, a promise, a thread sewing you gently yet thoroughly back together. 

He presses his forehead to yours as you move in tandem, voice trembling. “You terrify me,” he whispers, “Because I want you, all of you, forever. I want to bare my entire soul to you, my beautiful girl.” You whine as you pull his face to yours and you kiss him slowly, deeply, and so lovingly. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper as he moves above you. You wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders as you approach your peak. 

When you both reach your climax, it’s a beautiful release of emotions and endorphins. Your shared moans and heavy breaths curl through the room around you. You’re breathless, your eyes are locked with his, and your fingers stay intertwined. 

You lay like that long after cleaning up, curled into each other beneath the sheets, skin to skin, heart to heart. You sport only Vessel's hoodie, the same one which broke your heart earlier, and a pair of knickers, and Vessel lays comfortably in only his underwear. His nose is buried in your hair, arms locked around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he loosens his grip.

His voice is low, barely a breath against your ear. “You smell like me, love.” You laugh softly, eyes fluttering closed. “That’s because I'm wearing your hoodie, you goof.”

“Oh,” he murmurs delightfully. “Then I guess I like me better on you.” You groan playfully and swat at his chest. “That was horrendous. I rescind all affection.”

He grabs your hand and kisses each knuckle with dramatic flair. “Forgive me, my darling muse. I’ll compose better lines on the morrow.” You hum, feigning pretentiousness. “I’ll be expecting a full sonnet.”

“Only if I get paid in kisses,” he jokes, smiling against your cheek. You open one eye. “You drive a hard bargain, Mister Vessel Marie.”

He smiles wider and chuckles before taking on a more serious tone. “I missed you. Even when you were still next to me I missed you so fucking much.” Your heart tightens, full and aching. “Don’t do that again, please. Don’t pull away like that. I am always here for you, sweetness,” you assure him, rubbing over the tops of his knuckles with your thumb.

“I won’t,” he promises. “You’re stuck with me now. I’m basically your emotional barnacle,” he finishes, and you can hear the cheeky grin shaping his words.

You snort. “Sexy.” He pulls his hand from yours and he licks the tips of his pointer and pinkie finger before smoothing over his eyebrows with them. "I try," he says, waggling his brows down at you. "You are such a dork," you say to him as you giggle. You turn in his arms just enough to kiss the tip of his nose. “I love you,” you tell him, and you've never been so serious about anything else in your life.

“I love you more,” he whispers. “Even when I’m an idiot. Especially then.” He kisses your cheek as he pulls the duvet higher around you both, your legs tangled, his thumb brushing soft circles into your hip. The steady rhythm of his breathing lulls you closer to sleep. How would you ever be able to live without this?

And when you’re nearly unconscious, he whispers to you, “Gonna stay with me, sweet girl?” You squeeze his hand as you whisper your reply, and it’s the last thing said for the night. 

“Always.” 

@deathcapbunny @yourgirlisa @houseofsleeptoken @wormm-mom @lynzeequitlollygagging @blackcherrywhiskey @thedemonofsodom @mysticmorning1 @xnikix02 Here you go! If you'd like to be added here, let me know :) I really hope you enjoyed this, anon <3<3

[gf2bellamy]

HI!! LOVE YOUR WRITINGS YOURE INSANE!!! could i please request angst/fluff for spencer reid (later seasons) where spencer kinda gets mad at reader and she leaves his place thinking he’s super upset at her and something happens idk she gets in a fender bender or gets sick for a few days and has to go to the hospital but doesn’t answer when he calls bc she thinks he’s so upset he wouldn’t want to know and at some point he finds her in the hospital after he’s been going crazy because he couldn’t get a hold of her i’m so sorry this literally makes no sense i fear this came to me in a dream😣

accident — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: established relationship , reader gets into a small accident, mention of a forehead injury / blood and a headache ( reader is fine though ), reader ends up in the hospital , argument between spencer and reader a/n: hai hai !! hope you like this <3

The silence in Spencer’s apartment was suffocating.

“I said I’m sorry,” you mumbled again, your voice barely above a whisper, fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of your sweater. The words felt hollow, even to you, but you didn’t know what else to say. Spencer let out a slow breath, his long fingers raking through his already disheveled hair

It had been such a small thing, really. A misplaced book. His book.One he had lent you weeks ago, one you had cherished, only to accidentally tuck it away in the wrong stack of papers. When you’d finally found it, relief had flooded you, until you handed it back, and instead of the soft smile you expected, his lips had pressed into a thin line, his words sharper than you’d ever heard them.

“You could have been more careful.”

The words stung. You hadn’t meant to be careless. You loved his books, loved the way his eyes lit up when he talked about them, loved the way he’d underlined passages just for you to find. But today, his patience was thin, his tone clipped, and now you stood there, feeling smaller than you had in a long time.

Spencer turned away, his back to you as he carefully slotted the book back into its place on the shelf. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t say another word.

Swallowing hard, you grabbed your bag from the couch, your jacket slipping silently over your shoulders. “I’m going home,” you murmured, unsure if he even heard you.

But the sound of the door closing behind you? That, he definitely heard. The sound made him freeze.For a long moment, Spencer stood there, staring blankly at the spines of his books, his breath uneven. Then, with a heavy sigh, he sank onto the couch, dragging a hand down his face.

What was wrong with him?

It wasn’t about the book. Not really. It had been a long day, no, a long week, of dead ends and sleepless nights on the case, of too much coffee and too little patience. And instead of dealing with it like an adult, he’d taken it out on you. The one person who had done nothing but be kind to him. Guilt settled deep in his stomach, cold and nauseating.

Outside, the engine of your car rumbled to life. You were leaving. Because of him. Because he couldn’t keep his frustration in check.Spencer’s throat tightened.He should call you. Should run after you. Should fix this.But his pride, or maybe his shame, kept him rooted in place.

Meanwhile, you gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, the streetlights blurring as you blinked back the burn in your eyes. You didn’t want to leave. You hated leaving things like this. But you hated upsetting him even more, and right now, space seemed like the only option. You just hoped he knew you hadn’t meant to let him down.

An hour later, you were in the hospital.

It wasn’t anything serious, just a fender bender, a stupid accident born from exhaustion and bad luck. The woman behind you had been just as distracted, just as worn thin by the day, except she hadn’t braked in time. The impact had been sudden, your seatbelt locking as your forehead struck the steering wheel. You’d assured the other driver you were fine, even as warm blood trickled down your temple.

And now here you were, lying on a stiff hospital bed, the antiseptic sting of the air making your nose wrinkle. The lights overhead were too bright, drilling into your already pounding head, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

What a night.

Your phone buzzed against the bedside table. You didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

Spencer. Of course it was Spencer.

You stared at the screen, his name flashing insistently, the call vibrating through the hospital room. Part of you wanted to answer, to hear his voice, even if it was still edged with frustration. But the other part, the stubborn, bruised part of you, hesitated.

He’d had a hard enough night already. You weren’t going to add to that.So you didn’t decline. Didn’t accept. Just let it ring.The call eventually went to voicemail.You exhaled slowly, pressing the heel of your hand to your forehead, gently, careful of the fresh bandages, and tried to ignore the hollow pang in your chest.

Time dragged. The hospital was busy tonight, understaffed, overworked, and what should have been a quick check-up turned into an endless wait. You stared at the ceiling, counting the speckled tiles, listening to the distant beeping of machines and the muffled voices of nurses rushing by. Your phone sat silent beside you. You wondered if Spencer had given up. If he thought you were ignoring him on purpose.

"Which one?" A voice cut through the noise of the ER.

His voice.

A nurse murmured something in response, and before you could even sit up properly, the curtain around your bed was yanked aside with too much force, the rings screeching against the metal rod.

Spencer stood there, breathing hard, his hair even more disheveled than before, like he’d been running his hands through it the entire way here. His eyes locked onto yours, then dropped to the bandage on your forehead, the dried blood at your hairline that the nurses hadn’t quite wiped away.

His expression did something complicated, guilt, fear, anger (at himself, always at himself), before settling into something painfully soft.

You swallowed. "Fender bender," you mumbled lamely, as if that explained everything.

His throat worked as he swallowed. "You should've called me immediately," he whispered, taking another step closer. The lights caught the dark circles under his eyes, the way his cardigan was buttoned wrong , one side higher than the other. He must have thrown it on in a hurry.

You shrugged, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at the bandage. "You had a bad day. I didn't want to make it worse."

Spencer made a wounded noise in the back of his throat, his hands finally lifting to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing feather-light beneath your eyes. "That doesn't matter. You matter. You're bleeding in a hospital and I—" His voice cracked. "How could you think I wouldn't want to know?"

A beat of silence. Then, because you had to know: "How did you even find me?"

The ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Garcia."

Of course.

"When you didn't answer... I may have panicked. Slightly." His fingers traced the edge of your bandage with heartbreaking gentleness. "She tracked your phone. I owe her approximately twelve favors now."

You huffed a laugh, then immediately regretted it when your head throbbed. Spencer's expression darkened with concern.

"Hey," you said softly, catching one of his restless hands. "I'm okay. Really."

He didn't look convinced. "You're in a hospital bed."

"And you're here," you countered, squeezing his fingers. "That helps."

Spencer exhaled shakily. "Never do that again," he murmured. "Walk out, not call me, take the blame for my bad mood... Any of it."

You closed your eyes, breathing him in , the scent of old books and that terrible cheap coffee he loved. "Only if you promise to talk to me next time instead of biting my head off over a book."

A pause. Then, quiet you almost missed it: "Deal."

The discharge papers took forever.

You sat on the edge of the hospital bed, swinging your legs slightly while Spencer hovered, reading every line of the doctor’s instructions twice before reluctantly letting you sign them. His fingers kept twitching toward you, adjusting the collar of your jacket, brushing imaginary lint from your sleeve, as if he needed constant proof you were really there, really okay.

The nurse handed you a packet of aftercare instructions with a knowing smile. “Someone’s eager to get you home,” she murmured, nodding toward Spencer, who was already holding your bag and car keys like a man prepared to carry you out of here himself. You smiled.

The ride home was quiet. Spencer drove with one hand on the wheel, the other clasped firmly around yours, his thumb tracing absent circles against your skin every time you hit a red light. You watched the way his jaw clenched whenever you shifted in your seat, how his eyes flickered to you every few seconds like he needed visual confirmation you were still there.

"You're staring," he murmured, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

"Am not," you lied, even as your fingers tightened around his.

The apartment was dark when you arrived, the book still sitting innocently on the shelf where he'd placed it earlier. Spencer hovered as you toed off your shoes, his hands fluttering near your elbows.

"Sit," he ordered gently, nudging you toward the couch. "I'll make tea."

You wanted to argue, you weren't an invalid, just a little banged up, but the way his voice cracked on the last word had you sinking obediently into the cushions.

Through the kitchen doorway, you watched him move frantically: boiling water, selecting chamomile (your favorite), digging through drawers for the honey bear he kept just for you. His hands shook when he poured. When he returned, he didn't hand you the mug right away. Instead, he knelt before you, his knees hitting the carpet.

"I was an idiot today," he said, pressing the warm ceramic into your hands. His eyes were liquid in the low light. "Not just about the book. About everything."

You cradled the tea between your palms, letting the heat seep into your skin. "You were stressed."

"That's not an excuse." His fingers brushed the bandage again, so light it barely registered. "I hate that I made you feel like you had to leave. Like you couldn't—" His voice broke. "Like you couldn't come to me when you were hurt."

You set the tea aside.

Spencer didn't resist when you tugged him up onto the couch, didn't protest when you maneuvered him until his back was against the armrest and you were curled into his chest, your ear pressed over his heartbeat. His arms came around you immediately, one hand cradling the back of your head, careful of your injury.

"Next time," you murmured into his sweater, "I'll call."

He exhaled, long and shuddering, his lips pressing to your hairline.

"Next time," he negotiated softly, "I'll do better."

And when you woke the next morning, his arms still wrapped around you, the book was open on his nightstand, a new passage underlined, just for you.

[asxgard]

Heartbeat | [1/3]

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x pregnant wife!doctor!f!reader

| Next

Summary: You get called in to assist with the mass casualty event on your day off and you’re grateful to be there when your husband finally breaks.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: episode 13 hurt a lot so I wrote this to cope. Likely will write more specific stuff after I’ve fully processed.

Word Count: 4.4k+

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content

Warnings: age gap (16ish years, I have a problem okay? The age gap trope feeds me), established relationship/marriage, hospital/medical inaccuracies, hurt/comfort, panic attack, foul language, angst (it’s who I am), gore/gun violence (Pittfest), vague details from ep. 11-13, pet names (baby, my love), non-graphic shower scene, fluff at the end because we deserve it after that episode???

not beta read

You had met Dr. Robinavitch when you started in the ED as an attending. While your love blossomed slowly, it bloomed into so much more than you were expecting. It had been a bit of a whirlwind, from dating secretly to Dana and Jack finding out only a month after, to getting engaged just a year later.

You had done what you could to keep it from the hospital administration, but the time came where you got married and paperwork needed to be filed. You kept your maiden name to ensure there was no confusion, plus it added to your privacy. Everyone you worked with knew you were married, just not to each other, but it was more of an open secret to some of the nurses and other attendings.

Gloria nearly moved you to a different department. She tried separating you by shifts, maybe hoping you would leave and find work in a different hospital. Michael was technically your boss, after all. In her reports, however, she found that when you two were on shift together, it was seamless. Like you two operated on a frequency that no one else was even aware of.

Despite the bumps in the road, and Michael’s aversion for talking about his feelings, you made it work. Some shifts could be frustrating, and that sometimes got carried home, but you respected each other immensely. Michael was not keen on letting such a good thing in his life go that easily, and eventually opened up about Adamson and the toll the pandemic had taken on him.

After that hurdle, everything else was easy. Eventually, you decided to grow your family, and you got pregnant not even five months later.

—

On the fourth year anniversary of Adamson’s death, you were surprised to find Michael preparing for a shift.

“Didn’t you take off?” You asked, watching him dress into his scrubs.

“Yeah,” he said, not looking at you. “Peterson had a family thing, and I know they’re short staffed.”

You frowned, “You could’ve asked me.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” He said, turning to look at you and his heart swelled at the sight. “I don’t want you to cancel your appointment.”

You sat on that for a moment. For as busy as you both were, Michael had made time for every appointment you had after finding out you were pregnant.

“I know, I know. I promise I won’t miss the next one.”

That satisfied you. For all Michael was, someone to break his promise was not one of them.

“I was hoping to find out the gender today,” you said with a tiny smile. “But a little anticipation never hurt anyone.”

He looked grateful at your words, moving to kiss you. He tasted like mint, holding your head so gently in his hands. Your hands moved to his chest, wanting to hold him against you, but you released him.

“Jake know yet?”

He smiled, “Yeah. He asked to take his girlfriend instead.”

You raised an eyebrow and grinned, “Oh?”

You and Jake had gotten close slowly, him being like a step-son to Michael, but now you loved the kid.

“If you need anything, just call, alright?”

He nodded, grabbing his coffee, giving you one last lingering kiss before heading out the door.

—

Your day was mildly uneventful, taking your time with a handful of chores before sitting out on the balcony to have lunch. Your OB appointment had gone well, and you got a recording of the heartbeat, knowing Michael might need to hear it after his shift.

As time moved, you missed that Michael had not been able to be there with you. You missed his touch and his presence beside you. Dinner came with a takeout box of your latest craving, before your phone rang.

Jack Abbot’s name flashed on your screen. You still worked a few shifts with him from time-to-time, but Michael had you mostly scheduled for days, with him.

“Hey,” you said when you answered.

“Did you hear?”

“That’s so specific, Jack,” you said, opening the fridge to scan your snack options.

“There was a shooting at Pittfest, unknown number of casualties. Closest trauma center is PTMC.”

Your heart stuttered to a stop, “What?”

“Heard it on the scanner. You’ll likely get an alert that it’s all hands on deck, but I wanted to give you a heads up before traffic got too bad.”

Despite not being super close with Jack, you were still friends and you knew he had your back. While you hated being treated with careful hands at work now that you were pregnant, part of you still appreciated the gesture of it. It was like something unspoken had happened between Michael and Jack months ago, both of them moving to take the more combative patients whenever you were around.

“Shit, Jack.” You breathed out, rushing into your bedroom to grab your scrubs. “Fuck, Jake is at Pittfest. Let me try to reach him.” You fumbled through your drawers, taking a deep breath through your nose. “I’ll be in. See you soon.”

“Drive safe!” He said before the call disconnected.

After changing, you moved to grab a few odd snacks and water bottles, stuffing them into your lunch bag, along with your cell phone charger. Who knew how long this was going to take, or if Michael had had the chance at any point today to eat. He hadn’t texted or called, but that was not uncommon. The Pitt never made it easy, which was why you were grateful that you worked most of your shifts with your husband.

You tried reaching Jake, leaving a voicemail and a text message before reaching out to his mother. You briefly explained the situation and asked for an update as soon as she heard anything, before you promised the same.

When you got into your car, you took a deep breath to steady your heart before beginning your way to PTMC.

Michael called you, your phone ringing through the car’s Bluetooth.

“Hey, don’t have much time, but I need you.” He told you, his voice quiet but full of so much emotion.

“I’m already on my way. Abbot called ten minutes ago. Tried calling out to Jake, too, he didn’t answer. Told his mom to reach out to either of us if she heard anything.” You said in a rush, coming to a stop at a light. Almost there.

He let out a breath that almost sounded like relief.

“I’ll see you in a few minutes, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The mass alert came through your phone as soon as he hung up. Thank fuck for Jack.

You made it into the parking garage, waving at the security guard now posted at the entrance. You sat in your car for just a minute to get your bearings, knowing tonight was going to be a shitshow.

As you entered the Emergency Department, you saw patients leaving, escorted by nurses and admin staff — and you moved quickly into the back. It was a circus, but you spotted Michael and Jack and beelined for them.

Michael’s brown eyes caught you as you approached and his face relaxed, though his shoulders were still tense. Dana was beside them, and her usual quip of “Oh I get Dr. R squared today?” did not fall from her lips, but she was sporting a black eye. You looked at her in alarm, but she waved it off.

“Just another happy customer.” She said, but you only frowned at her.

Michael spoke next, introducing you, and then quickly running down the new faces to you: Dr. Mel King, an R2, Dennis Whittaker, an M4, Victoria Javadi, an M3, and Dr. Trinity Santos, an intern. You tried to remember their names, but knew you would not likely remember them in the chaos.

You went to quickly put your stuff down, and when you turned around, Michael was standing there. To everyone else, he appeared neutral, controlled, normal. To you? He was wearing his shift all over his face and you could see plainly that it had not been a good one.

“This is going to be stressful, I should’ve let you stay home—”

While you appreciated his concern, you would have come anyway. “I promise, if I get too stressed out, I’ll let myself take a few minutes. But you have me. What can I do to help?”

“I need you in pink zone.” He told you, moving right back to business. “You’ll be with McKay and Javadi, and incoming night shift. But I need you at the head of it.”

“You got it.” You said, honored he was trusting you to run point on your zone.

—

While the victims did not stop coming, you found yourself moving mostly on instinct. Assessing, treating, moving along — trying to do your best to teach when you came across any of the new faces. You flitted into red zone when there was a particularly bad patient and then moved to triage so Dr. Shen could take a quick bathroom break.

When you assisted Michael, you moved together like a well oiled machine — and despite the tragedy, it came to you both naturally. You only barely registered the tension between Michael and Dr. Frank Langdon — a senior resident, and someone Michael had taken under his wing. You would have to remember to ask about it.

Time moved by in a blur, but you were painfully aware of every minute, every patient that came under your care. All the blood, all the death, all the tragedy.

It only got worse when Jake arrived, thought were thankful he was alive. He was asking about his girlfriend when you approached.

“Jake?” You got his attention as you began to take in his appearance. Jesus Christ, he was covered in blood.

“It’s mostly her blood,” he told you blankly, eyes moving around the room at the carnage. “It’s mostly her blood.”

You called for a wheelchair, your gaze searching for Michael. He was working on a patient, giving CPR from the look of it, the patient blocked from your view by the charge desk.

“Take a seat, Jake.” You told him softly, gently touching his shoulder. “Let me take a look at you, yeah?”

He sat down, his head swiveling around to locate his girlfriend. “I think—I think I got hit in the leg.”

You nodded, moving him into the yellow zone so you could bandage him up. You were not related and there were no official familial ties, so there were no problems of ethics — at least that was what you told yourself.

He moved to stand, and you pushed his shoulder back down.

“Let me assess you and then I promise I’ll go check on your girlfriend, okay?”

Jake nodded numbly and moved onto the gurney so you could look at his leg. His injury was not as bad as you had feared, and while you knew he would need stitches, you made do with some bandages for the time being.

“What’s her name?” You asked, trying to bring his attention back to you.

“Leah,” he told you, voice heavy with emotion. “I need to see her.”

While you did not understand the full panic he was experiencing, you knew Leah was in good hands.

“She’s with Robby, Jake. Leah is getting the best care.”

He was still not looking at you, and you got him set up with an IV antibiotic drip.

“Jake? Jake, can you call your mom for me? Cell service might not be great right now, but can you try? She’s worried about you.”

He took that information in slowly, before nodding.

The call did not go through, but you made him promise to keep trying while you assured him you were going to check on his girlfriend.

By the time you reached Michael, he was calling time of death and your heart constricted. You wanted to scream. By the look in his eyes, you can see he wanted to as well. You could feel Jack’s gaze on you and when you turned, he simply shook his head at you. You easily translated that to ‘your husband is not doing good’.

“I couldn’t save her.” Michael whispered, and only you caught it.

You gave his hand a subtle squeeze.

Jack was there then, reading the situation perfectly, “No one could have saved her. Maybe if this was a normal day, but it tore right through her heart. There was not much we could do.”

Fuck, you thought, she’s so young. You hoped she did not suffer.

Michael moved to find Jake and you followed him, but he stopped you.

“Can you take over for me in red so I can let Jake know?”

Every part of you screamed to go with him, but you nodded, turning to step back into pace with the work. You tried to push away your emotions, packaging them away to deal with later, but compartmentalizing was tough. You felt guilty for never meeting this girl, someone Jake had so obviously cared a lot about.

You attempted to get lost in the work, but you caught sight of Michael wheeling Jake out of Peds — the current place they have been putting the deceased — and the look on your husband’s face made your heart plummet. He had moved back into the room, leaving Jake just outside and you quickly gestured to a passing nurse to get him back to yellow.

The security guard did not make any comment when you walked into Peds, and you were devastated at what you found. Aside from the deceased, the number of them slowly ticking upwards, it was the sight of Michael on the floor in tears that truly struck you.

After ripping the curtain closed behind you, to block the view into the hall, and give you both just a small amount of privacy, you moved back toward Michael. It had been a long time since you had seen him like this. He had broken down when he told you about Adamson and the weight of his choice, and once he had even broken down after a particularly bad argument, but nothing like this.

“Baby, baby, hey,” you crouched down beside him, but you did not move to touch him.

His breath caught in his throat, but his sobs continued, hyperventilating with his arms pulled across his bent knees.

“Michael,” you tried, a name you had never called him when within the walls of the hospital.

His watery gaze met yours for just a moment, before his eyes were back in his lap, face scrunched. His ears were red, as well as his face, with red rimmed eyes that broke something in you.

“Michael.” You stressed again, moving so your hands hovered just above his arms. “Can you look at me?”

“I—I—I couldn’t—fuck—I didn’t save her.” His breaths came in short bursts, in in in out, in in out, tears coming down his face, his cheeks red.

You found yourself at a loss on how to help him — you knew none of his thoughts were rational at the moment, and anguish rushed through your veins, feeling so helpless. So useless.

An odd idea struck you, and you pulled out your phone before you could doubt yourself. You flipped through a few of your apps before settling on the one you had used to record your baby’s heartbeat.

“Can you take a deep breath with me?” You asked gently. You took a deep breath in through your nose and then out through your mouth.

You didn’t give him time to respond before you were pressing play on the recording. The sound of it filled the room with something other than Michael’s panic, and he quieted just enough to listen to it.

“That’s our baby.” You told him, though the sound of it was obvious enough, racing steadily like hoof beats.

His eyes found yours, and while he was still breathing quickly, he seemed to have returned to the reality around you, rather than stuck in his head. Relief took a bit of the weight from your shoulders.

“Can you breathe with me?” You asked again, finally touching his arm.

His hand found yours immediately and squeezed, but he nodded. You took a few more deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth, watching as he mirrored you.

Aside from the quick beats of your baby’s heart, the deep breaths you both took filled the room. You desperately tried to ignore the dead around you, trying to solely focus on the man in front of you. When the recording came to a stop, Michael’s hand twitched toward your phone.

“Can you play it again?”

You nodded, pressing play and handing him your phone. The fast heartbeat filled the space again, and he cradled your phone like it was a lifeline. Maybe it was.

“Very active today.” You told him. “Wouldn’t sit still.”

A ghost of a smile passed over his lips, but it was gone in a moment.

“I have a video file that they sent me from today, but I didn’t want to look at it without you. Figured if either of us looked long enough, we’d be able to tell the gender ourselves.”

“Can we?” He asked, looking at you with tears still in his eyes.

You smiled, moving to sit next to him. You did not know how long the moment was going to last — sooner or later, someone was going to come looking for either of you. You tried to ignore it, trying to center yourself in this moment with Michael, forgetting about the outside world for just a moment.

Clicking on the video you had saved, you both sat quietly watching your baby move. Michael grabbed your hand in his and held it close to his chest. This was only going to be a bandaid, but any distraction was a welcomed one in that moment.

“They’re healthy. Measured 6.6 inches, 11 ounces.” You rattled off, moving your other hand to his head and running your nails along his scalp and through his hair. Any time in the past that he had had a panic attack in your company, you found that at the tail end of it, he enjoyed the feeling of your hands on him. Like it was grounding.

Michael’s hyperventilating had fully stopped, though a handful of tears still slipped through. His face was still scrunched in pain, but he watched the video attentively.

“You did all you could, my love,” you whispered. “No one could have saved her. Not even if it was all of us and just her. I’m so sorry.”

“Jake—”

You hushed him, “Jake is still in shock. He’s grieving. Whatever he said to you, he didn't mean it.”

“No, no, he does. I didn’t save her. I told him I would. I told him.”

You brought your lips to his temple, closing your eyes and willing no tears to come. You couldn’t, not now.

Michael tapped on the video again, watching as your baby moved, kicking against your womb like it was their job.

“It’s not your fault.” You told him, moving across the floor until you met his gaze. “I would never lie to you, you know that. I promise. If anyone could have saved her, it would have been you.”

His face scrunched again like he was going to cry.

You held him in your arms, squeezing him tight to your chest, hoping perhaps the more you squeezed, the more he would believe you.

You held his face in your hands, and willed him to look at you. “I love you so much, Michael. This was not your fault. Blame the shooter, they caused this whole thing. Jake will see that eventually, you haven’t lost him.”

Brown eyes held steady on yours, searching them with a gaze that nearly made you shy away. But you hold strong, wiping away the tears on his cheeks with your thumbs.

“Robby! Robby!” Dana’s voice came through the curtain, before it was pushed aside.

Dana only blinked at the sight of you, you knelt in front of your husband, both of your faces twisted and pained.

You found your voice, “Just two minutes, Dana. Please.”

She only nodded, closing the curtain again and disappearing.

“I can’t promise the rest of this is going to be any easier, but,” You paused. “Fuck it, if you want to leave, we can blame me right now. Say I have high blood pressure and you want to make sure I get home safe. I don’t care. Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”

You remembered all the times he covered for you when your morning sickness made you late, or when he had taken time away from the hectic flow to talk you through a bad case, or a death. When he shouldered the weight of an abrasive family member or aggressive patient, even before you were married. The times he let you leave early when you were having a bad day, or encouraged you to take breaks even when he didn’t.

“Let me try to take care of you right now. Please. Whatever you need.”

Michael took a long breath, rubbing his eyes. “Let me just splash some water on my face. After…stay by my side?”

“Done. If you need a minute, tell me to take a break and come with me. I can shoulder that right now.”

You did not say it because you thought he was weak, but simply because you felt you had the capacity to bear the brunt of the remainder of this shift. People knew he was going to worry about you regardless of the situation, so him ‘checking in’ would not phase them.

“Michael,” you started as you both moved to stand, him offering a hand to help you, “You’ve always been so great with Jake, just give him some time.” You paused, “You’re going to be an amazing father to our child.”

Tears flooded his eyes again and you felt like you had just made it worse while trying to make it better.

“You’re the best thing to ever happen to me. How on earth did I—”

You cupped his cheek and hushed him again, bringing his face to yours until your foreheads touched. “I’m the lucky one.”

He kissed you softly, before bringing you into a hug, careful of your growing bump.

When you parted, he took one last deep breath before facing the chaos that awaited you both out in the ED. You knew the heavier parts of your conversation were going to have to be shelved until you got home.

Michael moved toward the closest bathroom and you rushed back to red zone. There were no words to exchange with Jack, but with a knowing glance at him, he seemed to understand.

“Robby’s moving me to red. Bilal’s got pink covered.” You told him, referencing the night attending.

Abbot only nodded.

When Michael returned only a minute later, you watched him — had you not known him that well, you might not have been able to guess what had just transpired. You were thankful no one else in the hospital knew him as well as you did.

You got back to work, busying your hands to try to stop your mind from worrying too much. Whatever he had done in the bathroom, he had clearly thrown his panic attack into a bag and stuffed it deep inside his mind. It made your heart ache, but you would help him unpack it once you were both in the safety of your home.

Michael still made sound decisions, and not once did you feel the need to question his judgement. Jack was steadfast with you both, and you were grateful for him.

—

It was 10pm by the time the dust began to settle and the situation finally simmered to a more controllable level. You were beat and you had only been there a few hours, Michael encouraging you to take a seat and have some water while he checked on a handful of things. You took that moment to find Jake — who now had been stitched up and was with his mom.

“I’m so sorry, Jake. I really wish I could have met her.”

He nodded numbly, “You would’ve really liked her.”

A sad smile formed on your lips, “I’m sure I would have.”

You wanted to tell him to go easy on Robby, but the words did not form on your tongue. It was still too soon, and while you did not want Jake to blame him, you knew it wasn’t the time or place.

You parted from them sadly, before going to check on the med students and finally finding Michael with Jack.

It was a half hour later that you both finally left, Michael following you silently to your car. You were still digesting it all, wondering how the hell you were even going to begin processing it.

At home, you both quickly discarded your scrubs to the floor and made your way to the bathroom. It went unsaid that you both needed to wash this shift off, more so mentally than physically, but being clean would certainly make you feel better.

It was amazing how well you had learned to read each other, and you held onto him under the warm water for a long moment. He kissed the side of your head before grabbing the soap, sudsing up his hands and gently cleaning your skin. You relished in the feeling of him.

Once you rinsed off, you returned the favor. You moved your hands over his arms, his chest and then his back. You added a kiss here and there, knowing he enjoyed your touch just as much. He held your belly in his hands, eyes faraway again — but you brought your hand to his face to get his attention.

You kissed him, holding onto him and trying to translate all the things you felt into it. He returned the kiss and you felt yourself sigh in contentment.

It was quiet, but cathartic.

You both dried off, and changed before collapsing into your bed, Michael immediately pulling you close. You rested your head on his chest to listen to the calming sound of his heart.

Moving off his chest, you pulled him close to you and let him rest his head on you, his hand going to your belly. His breathing was slow and controlled, but you knew his mind was racing. You held him tight, your fingers going to his hair.

“I’d like to talk about today.” You said. “Not right now. Maybe not even tomorrow, or this week. But eventually.”

He was quiet, fingers absentmindedly drawing shapes on your stomach. “We can do that.”

“I’m here when you’re ready.” You told him.

He moved to press his lips to yours, peppering your face with kisses, before bringing you back to his chest. He held you for a long time and you did not even dare let go.

“I saw what it was.” He said.

“Oh?” You questioned against his chest, leaning your head back to look at him.

“Our baby.”

“Well don’t leave me in suspense.”

He grinned and kissed you deeply. Truth was, it didn’t matter. And as you held each other, you knew it was all going to be okay.

[ Next ]

All Dr. Robby Content: @cherriready

I need to give him a hug

[thecherrypittttttt]

SOLID WORK; dr jack abbot x dr!reader

words: 4,700+

content warnings: my minimal medical knowledge, doctor humor, abbot’s filthy mouth, some smut, fluff <3

notes: i am so beyond new to this fandom and to tumblr so please stick with me but i couldn’t not write this🫶

・❥・

”Solid work.”

My breathing slows as I start to process the complexity of the procedure I had just performed. I’d probably be blushing at Dr Abbot’s praise if it weren’t for the adrenaline coursing through me.

“That was your save. Not mine.”

Trust me - I am never jumping to credit a man with my work but that was the truth. I may have physically done everything but the idea and the instructions that made it possible were all Dr Abbot.

I look back down at the patient. I tell myself it’s to make sure this is all real. That I really just did that. But if I am being honest it’s to avoid Dr Abbot’s unwavering eye contact.

“Hey-“

He is not gonna let me. I look up to meet his gaze. So rock solid but somehow so warm all at once. He may as well be staring right through me.

He lightly rests his hand on my forearm to stop me from going for the suture. To stop me from giving him anything other than my undivided attention.

“-you are the smartest person in here. Take the win.”

I can’t help the exasperated smile that spreads across my face. He’s right. I’ve only got a couple months left of residency. I should just take the fucking win for once in my life.

Abbot, much to my surprise, smiles back. And he has dimples because of course he does.

He’s calm under pressure, he lies on official paperwork to get a teenage girl the abortion she has every right to, he’s the actual smartest one here, he’s kind to everyone in this ED regardless of the stress he is under, and…he still has his hand on my arm.

His hand. The veins there don’t hurt the eyes either.

We must both realize his lingering touch at the same time because he is clearing his throat and pulling away. He reaches for a surgical instrument he doesn’t need. Picks it up and then puts it down.

I swear there is a faint blush on his cheeks but if I think about that too long one will appear on my own.

“Let Whitaker stitch this up. Go home - get some rest. Your shift ended hours ago.”

“I love Whitaker but he is so slow we may as well let the wound heal all on its own.”

Dr Abbot laughs. Genuinely, truly laughs as we exit out of the trauma bay. So loud that Robby looks over and asks if he’s okay.

Don’t get me wrong. Dr Abbot has a wonderful sense of humor. A wicked one, actually. But it’s one of those dry, witty kinds. Not the animated, giggly kind.

I tell myself it’s not a bad thing that I’m proud to have gotten a good laugh out of him. That it’s not a bad thing that it gave me butterflies. That’s it’s not a bad thing that I am laying in bed wondering how the hell I am going to get him to do that again.

・❥・

Jack lets out a low moan as he recovers. His eyes are dazed, his head slightly tilted back but not so much so that he can’t keep eye contact with me.

His hand that held the makeshift ponytail in my hair starts to massage my scalp as the other hand reaches for my chin and tilts my head up to meet his strong gaze.

Once he’s got me where he wants me, his thumb travels from my chin to my lips, swiping what’s left of his release off of it.

“My good girl. So good for me, yeah?”

My thighs involuntarily clench together at his words. He knows it too. I nod as his thumb presses further into my mouth, my lips wrapping around it.

His mouth quips into a smirk, “Solid work, doctor.”

I roll my eyes and bat his hand away. Standing up from my knees on my own. Ignoring his arms trying to gently guide me up instead.

“That! That is exactly what I am talking about!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, baby.”

Jack just laughs as he grabs my wrist, turning me back towards him. He’s quick to have me pinned up against our shower wall - his strong thigh spreading my own apart as he plants long slow kisses across my neck.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Back when I was a resident, otherwise known as a couple months ago, Jack consistently praised what I was doing by saying “Solid work.”

The way he did always made me dizzy. His voice would drop an octave and he’d look me straight in my eyes while he said it. There is nothing inherently sensual about the phrase but it took me a while to realize he was not complimenting the other residents like that.

Him saying it during sex started as a joke. Harkening back to when, as he puts it, I was so painfully oblivious to his flirting. To which I responded, “That was flirting?”.

He said it again to me at work the next day. Being completely and utterly genuine. I don’t even remember what I did but I did it well and he is always the first to acknowledge that. So he was confused when I just huffed in annoyance and peeled out of the room without so much of a glance at him.

I wasn’t annoyed at him. I was annoyed that now all I could think about was him. His hands, his biceps, his tongue. Everything. And I still had six hours of my shift to go.

He followed me into the on-call room I was going to find some refuge in. He locked the door behind him - closed the curtain for good measure.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

And then I felt bad. He thought something was actually wrong. That no way I’d ever brush him off like that when he was just trying to compliment me unless something was seriously wrong.

His eyes bored into mine, genuine concern and love pouring out of them. And here I was just being a brat.

I tried to be sly about the way my eyes trailed the veins bulging out of his biceps. I tried to be sly about the way I was imagining my hands tugging on his salt and pepper curls that were just slightly askew from a couple hours work. Unfortunately for me, Jack can read me like a book.

“Did you just stomp out of the ED because you’re needy?” Jack couldn’t contain the grin that spread across his face at the realization.

“Well maybe if you weren’t always going Mr Christian Gray on me with the praise-“

“I don’t even know who that is but all I said was ‘Solid work’-“

Jack stops himself as he remembers the past couple nights. When he was saying the same thing in a much different context.

I can’t say I’m entirely innocent. Or innocent at all really. I love throwing in a ‘sir’ every now and again at work to tease Jack. So he does the same to me with other phrases - constantly.

And he said the same thing in that on-call room that he is saying to me right now, “But what I do know is how fucking wet you are for me. So stop pouting and let me taste you, yeah?”

He swipes a finger through my soaked folds before he’s the one sinking down to his knees as I try to keep mine from buckling.

・❥・

“Solid work, Dr Abbot.”

I smile down at my sparkling new engagement ring and then up at the love of my life.

“Seriously? You can tease but I can’t?”

“What’s that saying again? Happy wife, happy life?”

Neither of us can wipe the huge grins off of our faces. No one knows we’re engaged yet. Just how we wanted it.

A couple of months ago, right after I had taken an attending job at The Pitt, Jack had broached the topic of marriage. We’d talked about it before. We both knew we were spending the rest of our lives together. But we hadn’t actually talked about the timeline of it all - the logistics.

Jack was always extremely hyper aware about how our relationship affected me. He didn’t want it to interfere with my career or all of my hard work. So as much as he would’ve walked down the aisle six months ago, he wanted everything to be on my terms.

“Hypothetically - if I were to propose, say within the next month - would you say yes?”

“Hypothetically - if I ever say no to a marriage proposal from you - please get me a psychiatry consult.”

Jack laughed - in an airy way where you could tell he was relieved. I kissed him. There was no universe in which I ever said no to a proposal from him.

He pestered me with questions. He wanted direction but not so much so that I wouldn’t be surprised when the time came.

I told him I didn’t want anything fancy. No big party although I did want to have a small gathering with our friends and family at some point afterwards. A nice sized diamond but not gaudy. No grand gestures - just him being him is all that I wanted.

And he executed perfectly. Because when does he not. It was our first night in the new home we had bought. He said we could get a hotel while we waited for our furniture to be delivered. But I wanted to do one night with no furniture, an air mattress, some candles, and a pizza delivery.

“Like camping.” I had said.

“You hate camping.”

I laughed because he was right but he obliged me anyways. He carried me over the threshold and I made a joke about how he’s got to be careful - being old and all.

Then he carried me right over to the air mattress, said something like “Can an old man do this?” and went on to coax four orgasms from me - one from his fingers, one from his tongue, one from his thigh, and finally one from where I wanted him most.

When we were done, I threw on one of his old tshirts and a pair of boxers. He just had on an old pair of sweats and a white tee. We stared into each others eyes like two lovesick teenagers until he said “Come here - I gotta show you something.”

“Babe, the house is empty.”

“Get over here smart ass.”

Jack picked up a candle and lead us over to the fireplace. He set the candle on the mantle as I read what was now engraved into the stone ‘The Abbots - Est 2025’

“So this is why you were getting all of those random tools from Amazon.”

Ever the handy man he is. Then he was on his knee. His bad one. To which I told him he didn’t have to do that. And then he said he would even if it killed him. And I think I said something stupid like “Not on my watch.”

I don’t even remember what he said after that. He doesn’t either. We both blacked out from sheer happiness. All I really remember is him asking me to do him the honor of being his wife and me pulling him up off of his knee and saying ‘Duh!’ as fast I could before kissing him. Over and over and over again until that air mattress was just a deflated extension of the wood floor beneath it.

・❥・

Dana’s hand rests on my thigh gently. My leg stops shaking. My mind doesn’t stop racing though.

I'm not an anxious person. If anything, I can be relaxed to a fault. But I am an intuitive person - and something is wrong.

Where is he?

“Relax. When is that man ever late?”

“That’s why I’m worried.”

You would think I didn't have my own license or car the way Jack insists on driving me everywhere. He tells me it is to keep our insurance from being sky high. I may or may not be a bit accident prone when behind the wheel. I tell him it's because he's obsessed with me. He always huffs a laugh and murmurs something about two things being true at once.

The Pitt makes sense. Ever since Jack started taking on more day shifts to balance out our conflicting schedules, a lot of times we are arriving and leaving here together. But on the off chance we are not, he is still picking me up. Always with some kind of treat in hand - usually a McDonalds Diet Coke much to Jack's dismay.

Jack takes the saying 'If you're not early - you're late' far more seriously than anyone I have ever met. The day shift typically gets off at 7 PM which means he is usually here to gossip with Robby on the roof by 6:35 PM.

“Go - take a case! He’ll be here to pick you up before you know it.”

My dissents are quickly met with Dana shooing me from the nurses station and personally squaring my shoulders to the board.

I haven’t even read the first name when Robby appears at my shoulder.

“Where is your fiancé?”

“Say that any louder and you’re going to be my next patient.”

“Yeah because you two are so inconspicuous with the whispering and the giggling and the big honking rock on your finger and the-“

“-disappearing to 'clean' the on-call room.” Dana finishes Robby’s sentence as they both double over in laughter.

Dana, Robby, and Collins are the only people in the ED that know about Jack and I’s relationship.

Collins knew I had feelings for Jack before I even let myself go there. Robby knew Jack had feelings for me before he let himself go there. So they took matters into their own hands.

Collins had a $100 on Jack breaking first. Robby $100 on me. And he had an extra $100 to spare when he bribed Dr Ellis to ask me to take her night shift for a week. Oh, how that backfired on him.

Three shifts later and Robby was $200 in the hole.

Six months later, I was moved out of my city apartment and into Jack's house.

Dana offered to drive me home after shift one night. Because it was cold and rainy and my apartment was close by. My apartment that I no longer lived in.

Jack wasn’t picking me up - he was out of town at a conference. I insisted on taking an uber, the bus, walking - anything that meant not explaining to Dana why my new address was the same as Dr Abbot's. She wouldn't take no for an answer and yelled "Oh, I knew it! Bridget owes me $100!" when I finally fessed up.

One year later, almost to the day that Robby had to pony up on his bet with Collins, I had an engagement ring on my finger.

Tonight, after he picks me up, Jack and I are going to pilates together.

It was only a matter of time before Robby and Collins gave it another go and I bet Jack that Robby would fold before Collins.

What's the point in betting money when we share a bank account? Seeing Jack in the pink pilates grippy socks he does not know I got him will be priceless.

“Well, when you find him please tell him that he is late for our date on the roof."

"Stop dragging him up there - you already have a date tonight!"

"Yeah, one in which I need his advice on."

"Oh please, you're talking to the wrong Abbot if you need advice on how to woo Collins." Dana interjects. Not everyone in the ED knows about Jack and I but they do know Heather and I are best friends.

"Oh, I wasn't aware you two had tied the knot already. Do you want me to change your name on the board? I can do that right now actually. Does HR know? It'll just take a moment-" Robby teases.

I grab the remote out of Robby's hands as he laughs, "Okay fine - go have your little roof date but do not take long!"

"Well, we'd already be done if he wasn't late. Where is he by the way? He is never late for anything.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me.”

I step forward, my elbows on the counter of the nurses station and my head now in my hands as I groan.

“Relax. It’s Jack - we couldn’t keep him away from this place even if we wanted to. Especially with you in here.” Robby squeezes my shoulder and is off to what I assume to be the roof.

I check my watch before I stand back up to scan the board for real this time - 6:50 PM.

Where is he?

I pull my phone from my pocket. There’s no new message from Jack lighting up my home screen but I open up our conversation anyways.

From Jack: I miss you

From Jack: I can’t believe Langdon is getting to hang out with you right now and not me

From Jack: If you stay at that damn hospital any longer we’re gonna have to start forwarding all these packages you order there

Little does he know one of those many packages holds his new pilates socks.

To Jack: Oh please - as if more than half aren’t all your little go bag gadgets

To Jack: And to think our colleagues think I’m the drama queen

“Incoming - Trauma 1!”

I’m happy for the distraction. I’m gowned, gloved, and ready to go before the patient is even rolled in.

The doors to Trauma 1 fly open - but not with a patient. Just Dana.

“I’m going to get Robby! You should not have to do this.” Dana is staring pointedly at me before she’s off. I don’t even get a chance to respond.

Weird. I know I’ve only been an attending for a couple months but Dana had more confidence in me on my first day as an intern than she did just now.

I now understand why as the patient is rolled in front of me.

There he is.

Unconscious. Cold. Clammy. And slightly bloody from a small cut on his forehead.

My world stops.

“Heart attack.” Langdon is here.

Somehow all I can think of is Jack’s text from earlier. I want to laugh but I can’t. What if I never get one again? I’m supposed to see him in pink pilates socks tonight. Not in a body bag.

“CLEAR!”

Suddenly all the pieces from the past couple days are coming together and I cannot believe I didn’t catch it sooner. Can’t believe he didn’t catch it sooner!

“CLEAR!”

His dizziness. The increase in massages of his amputated leg. The quick heart beat. The rash.

I hear the commotion around me. But I’m not processing any of it until it’s directed at me.

“I said CLEAR! Move!”

This cant be happening. So I decide that it’s not going to.

“No!” My voice comes out way more feeble than I meant. Way more feeble than anyone in this ED has ever heard me.

“Well I hope you enjoyed being Abbot’s favorite because you’re going to kill him and your career in one go.”

“Langdon - he is not having a heart attack.”

“Yes he is!”

“No he isn’t - take off his leg!”

“Take off his leg?! Okay, you’re literally going insane. And I’m supposed to report to you?! I know I went to rehab but oh my gosh - CLEAR!”

“I’m going to clear you out of this trauma bay if you do not get out of my way.”

You know how they say a new mom could lift a car off of her new born baby? I’m pretty sure that’s the phenomenon I am experiencing right now. I don’t exactly know what other worldly force is taking over me right now but I do not question it. I am watching myself from outside of my body as I spring into action.

I shove Langdon to the side as I lift up Jack’s pant leg to remove his prosthetic. The prosthetic that noone else in this room would’ve known he had.

He doesn’t keep it a secret but he doesn’t exactly advertise it either. Especially when he refuses to sit down on a double shift. Ironically enough, that’s probably why he is on this table.

I spot what I’m looking for immediately but Langdon is the one who speaks it out loud, “Pressure ulcer - he’s in septic shock.”

“Thanks for finally using your brain Dr Langdon but we’re going to be using mine from here on out.”

“Blood ox is 91.” Someone yells. I don’t know who. What I do know is that 91 is dangerously low.

“Scalpel.” I demand.

“What are you going to do?”

“We need to drain this fluid before his organs start to fail.”

The first and only time Jack taught me this procedure it was his save. Now it has to be mine.

I tell myself that one day we will be sitting in front of our engraved fireplace. Old. Like, actually old. Not the fake old that Jack tries to pretend he is. With kids and grandkids - telling them the story of how Jack saved his own life through the transitive property. So I better get to work.

“Scalpel. Now.”

Langdon slams the scalpel into my hand. I ignore the looks around the room. The looks that say ‘The only person qualified to perform something like this in an ED is the patient’.

“Your funeral. And his.” I ignore Langdon.

I must have cut the most perfect incisions of my life. Performed the most flawless procedure anyone has ever seen from me. I don’t remember any of it.

The loud beeping slows. His blood pressure rises. Then his blood oxygen. Then the bag I drained is full and being disposed of by Dana.

When did she get here?

Robby’s hand is on my shoulder, trying to pull me away.

When did he get here?

I hear him tell Whitaker to get a suture and close up the wound. Oh, the irony. Credit where credit is due - Whitaker has gotten much quicker under Jack’s patient teaching. Thank fucking goodness.

I think of the first real laugh I got out of Jack. My eyes start to tear up but I stop myself. I will hear that laugh again. Over and over and over again. So much so that I would get sick of it if that was even possible.

Robby is apologizing profusely into my ear. He has nothing to be sorry for. But I can’t manage any words. So I just let him move me out of Whittaker’s way but I do not leave Jack’s side.

I can’t seem to register anything beyond Jack’s face that I’m seemingly trying to force into consciousness with my stare alone.

“Where the hell did you learn that?”

My head turns to Whitaker at his question but it swivels so fast back to Jack I think I give myself whiplash. Because I don’t speak - he does.

“Solid work, doctor.”

I’ve never been happier to hear those words come out of his mouth.

“Oh my god.” My hand clamps over my mouth as my head dips to Jack’s chest, my arms wrapping around his shoulders.

My adrenaline tank plummets to zero and I am absolutely sobbing into Jack’s chest. Whatever was coursing through my veins during that procedure is coming out in what feels like gallons of tears and hiccups.

I don’t care who’s in the room. I don’t care that everyone is slack jawed and staring and so beyond confused. I don’t care that out of the corner of my eye I see Perlah slapping a $100 into Princess’s palm.

All I care is that Jack’s hand has found its way into my hair and when I place my shaking hand on top of it to make sure it’s real - it is. Even better - it’s warm and dexterous and alive.

He’s alive and he’s here.

He gently guides my head out of his chest. I lift my chin up to look at him - give him the eye contact I know he is seeking. That we both are.

“Baby - I’m okay. I’m okay, I’m safe, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His voice is as steady as ever. His heart beat matching it. The beat that was so faint what seems like moments ago.

I let it calm me down. I place a kiss to his chest and lean up to do the same to his forehead. My hand tangles in his salt and pepper curls as I hold his sweaty forehead to my lips and then bring my own forehead down to meet his. I close me eyes and breath him in.

He’s alive and he’s here.

“Welcome back, brother.” Robby manages to choke out through a couple tears of his own.

“Just wanted to make sure you guys weren’t getting lazy at the end of your shift.”

We all crack a smile but only Robby speaks, “Does this mean I have to work a double?”

“Not if you go park my car. It’s in the ambulance bay.”

I speak a full sentence for what feels like the first time in days, “You drove here?”

“We had a date. Plus, I wasn’t feeling quite right.” Jack nods down towards his amputated leg like it’s nothing but a minor inconvenience.

I dig into his pocket and toss Robby his keys. Robby calls for a CT and a room with a bed before ushering himself and everyone else out to give us some privacy.

“And how are you feeling now?”

“I’m feeling like I’d like to make the woman who just saved my life my wife.”

My hand immediately flies to the small cut on his forehead. The blood dry and crusty, “How hard did you hit your head? We’re already engaged.”

Jack chuckles, places his hand on mine and squeezes, “I barely hit my head when I fell out of the car. I’m fine - I just really don't want to live another moment without being able to call myself your husband.”

So we don’t. Not really anyways. I make Jack get every fucking scan in the book that I think we hit our insurance deductible in under an hour. He humors me by lying in the bed in one of the ER rooms as I pump a myriad of fluid and antibiotics into him.

After a few hours his blood oxygen is perfect. So is his blood pressure and his heart rate. I don’t think I’ve taken my eyes off of him once. Or my hands. Running my hands through his hair, caressing his forehead, squeezing his forearm. Just to reassure myself he is here.

He understands what I’m doing. Hears what I cannot say. He grabs my hand on its next pass through his hair and presses a kiss to every single knuckle before speaking, “Baby, I’m sorry I scared you. I scared myself honestly. But I promise, I am not going anywhere. Ever. And I am so sorry you had to go through that. You should have never had to operate on me. I don’t know how you did that. I mean if it was flipped. If I saw you come in like that-“

His voice falters, his bottom lip quivers and he pulls me into the tightest hug as we both begin to cry. I think if we could crawl into eachothers skin, we would.

We stay there like that for a while. Until Jack grabs my face, kisses every single part of it, then whispers “I love you so much but I think if you pump anymore fluid into me you’re going to water board me.”

As if on cue, Robby whips the curtain open, “To the roof we go!”

“You can’t be serious.”

Robby holds up some kind of certificate as Collins and Dana round the corner.

In the hours I spent nursing Jack back to health, I went to the bathroom one time. And only because I hadn’t gone the last four hours of my shift and I own a huge water bottle.

In that one bathroom break, Jack had managed to get Robby ordained online and enlisted Dana and Collins to ‘decorate’ the roof.

We’re still gonna have our wedding ceremony and the reception and the whole ordeal. But I agree with him - I can’t go another second not married to him. Not after today.

So we go up to the roof. Jack still in his hospital gown and me in my scrubs. Robby officiates, Dana sings because she can’t help herself, and Collins ‘witnesses’ which really means crying.

Jack is kissing me before Robby can even say, “You may kiss your bride.”

When we come up for air, Robby claps both of us on the back and says, “Solid work, you two.”

I just kiss my husband again. Because he is alive and he is here

[atrirose]

⠀⠀( ⠀⠀치클 ⠀⠀) ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ GRWM ⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀⠀💭 ! ⠀⠀ enha

⠀⠀ s : GRWM to break up with my boyfriend oops ! ᆼᆽᆼ enha ! bf x f ! r .. tiktok 𝓈eries ⠀⠀⠀ㅜㅜ warning : kissing + FLUFF wc 1.2k ꒰ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ꒱ seiu : tt update after 300 yr

— HEESEUNG LEE

you sat on the bed with a phone sat up, recording you with heeseung in the background not paying attention, lost in his phone “get ready with me to break up with my boyfriend” heeseung’s eyebrows furrowed as he turned towards you, your back faced him, “what are you talking about?” he questioned “not now babe i’m trying to film a tiktok”

“no i can see that but would mind explaining yourself real quick yn” he scooted closer to you, grabbing your shoulders to make you face him “it’s a get ready with me video hee” you said rolling your eyes “yeah i know that but what do you mean ‘to break up with my boyfriend’?” he said, you try not to laugh but it’s impossible seeing how serious heeseung is “god you are so cute” you said as you cupped his face and gave him a quick peck “i was just joking”

“it better be joke, we aren’t ending ever”

— JONGSEING PARK

“what are you doing?” jay asked as you set up the camera “just a tiktok” he hummed going back to his song writing “hi guys ! get ready with me to break up with my boyfriend” you peered over jay from the camera, he didn’t even move an inch, still busy with his notepad writing, “so me and my boyfriend have been dating for 3 years now and honestly he is the best you could ask but i just don’t feel like it anymore so i decided to break up with him” you did your skin care as you blabbed nonsense but jay still remained stoic.

you switched off the phone as you stomped your way towards him, he looked up with a smirk “what’s wrong darling? are you done with the tiktok?” this cheeky bastard “you…” you are pouting trying to find the correct words but instead of you getting a reaction out of him he has you all bothered “me?”

“meanie” you said walking away only to be pulled by him, you landed on his lap, he hugged you tightly “we are not breaking up ever so these pranks won’t work on me, why don’t you find another one hmm?” he said pressing you against his chest

“you and me have to grow old together”

— JAEYUN SIM

“get ready with me to break up with my boyfriend” jake looked “what?” he questioned hoping he heard wrong “jake not now im filming a tiktok”

“i’m pregnant” you whipped your head towards him in disbelief “that’s not how it works jake” you said doing your mascara while he fiddled with your jacket trying to think of some excuse “yn stop i will cry” you giggled at him, cupping his face and pulling him for a long peck “say you are joking” his face still being squeezed by your hands “it’s a prank jake sorry baby” your his nose while he glared at you “not funny, im afraid you have no humor, the police going to get you”

“i accept cuddles and kisses to forgive you for what you did”

— SUNGHOON PARK

“you’re recording?” sunghoon said as he flopped behind you on the bed watching some video on his phone “yeah” you said setting up the stuff “okay, i will turn off the volume” he said getting up to kiss your cheeks before you hit record

“hi guys, i know it’s been so long since i posted anything but get ready with me to break up with my boyfriend” sunghoon paused the video as he got up sitting next to you, his eyes scanning your face as you “babe do you need some-”

“unless you have other boyfriends you are breaking up, but you obviously don’t thus stop lying to them and start recording again” he said, he deleting the recording “you can’t do that” you said as sunghoon laid back down on the bed again “i can do anything” he said pulling you down with him, he kissed you holding your waist down while your hands travelled down his biceps “wouldn’t be able to kiss me if you break up yn” he said smirking, kissing your cheeks all the way down to your collar bone.

“you’re mine forever”

— SUNWOO KIM

“get ready with me-” sunoo enters the washroom in confusion “babe tiktok? without me?” sunoo fake pouts “sorry sun, next okay” you pecked his lips “okay but remember we have to leave soon” he said sitting down at the bed leaving the door open “okay ! so get ready with me to break up with my boyfriend” a loud voice came from outside so you went out to check what it was “sunoo are you okay?” you went over to look if he got hurt “yeah i’m fine and you can take your time yn. no rush” hearing your name instead of babe or honey made you gulp.

“i should call the restaurant and let them know we can’t make it too” he said unlocking his phone and you thought its better to say it’s a prank before he starts crying “sunoo it’s a prank babe, im sorry” he turns towards you with a smile “oh good for a second i thought we need to get on” he put his phone up and records himself while you look at him confused “get ready with me to break up with my girlfriend” you hit him as he laughs “stop”

he kissing your forehead “i can never lose you, it will break me, never joke about it”

— JUNGWON YANG

“babe this one?” jungwon asked passing you a face mask “yes thank you” you hit record as he sat on a sofa opposite to you, so he can be out of the frame, admiring his pretty girl “get ready with me ! breaking up with my boyfriend edition” his eyes quickly went from admiring to shocked big boba eyes, he looked like he was frozen “what do you mean?”

“not now won, i’m filming” he didn’t care he sat beside you peering like a cat “if this is a way to engage with audience or just rage bait, i do not care, your not do such a thing please” he said turning off your phone “saying please when i know you are giving an order” he smiled “cuddles please” — “that’s another order with an unnecessary ‘please’ i have face mask on now won” you rolled your eyes, he hugged your waist and made you lay with him.

“i do not care” he said snuggling into your neck

— RIKI NISHIMURA

“get ready with me to break up with my boyfriend-” a loud choking noise “you have other boyfriends because you sure aren’t getting ready to break up with me”

“so you are cool with me having other boyfriends but not breaking up with you” you put on your hair band to get your hair off your face “absolutely not but-” he stumbled with his words trying to find the right thing to say while you hummed and did your skincare, watching him confused “wait how did it get to me having to give an explanation when you are the one in wrong” he huffed

you giggled at his pouty face, twisting from confusion to frustration, you kissed his cheek “i was joking riki” he glared at you trying to prove he is still angry but of course that didn’t last long when you showed up with his favorite food.

“better not pull this again or you will on time out”

[ama3003]

A Pawn Once More (3)

Character: Haymitch Abernathy

Requested: Again Sorta??? Lol I've been seeing all the love it's been getting and had to continue. Plus I love this story.

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: The final moments leading up the 75th Hunger Games.

Part 1: Here

Part 2: Here

I'm not going to lie, this was the most fun I had writing, and I'm lowkey very proud of this. Let me know if you wanna read her her being in the games.

A.N: I haven't read Sunrise on the Reaping, so please, No Spoilers. It's a Female!Reader. Age Gap: Haymitch is 41 and Reader is in her 20s (preferably 25)

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

Your nerves hit like a wave the second you stepped into the waiting room.

The air was tense—heavy with the kind of silence that only comes when everyone is pretending not to be afraid. The tributes were scattered around the room, each lost in their own thoughts, their own strategies, their own quiet dread.

You felt your stomach twist.

Last time you were in this position, you scored a seven. Clean, precise knife throws. It wasn’t spectacular, but it got the job done—just enough to earn some sponsors without making you a threat. It kept you safe.

But this wasn’t like last time.

This time, you were older. Sharper. Tired in a way you didn’t know how to explain. And despite all of it, you had no idea what you were going to do in there. No plan, no performance. You hadn’t let yourself think too hard about it, because thinking meant caring—and caring meant fear. And you were so tired of being afraid.

The Capitol had already taken everything. Your home. Your peace. Your sense of self. And now they were back for what little was left.

Your gaze drifted across the room and landed on the District 12 pair, sitting quietly in the far corner. They weren’t speaking, just watching. Watching you. Their expressions were unreadable—somewhere between wary and curious. You offered them a small nod and the faintest smile. They didn’t return it, but they didn’t look away either. That felt like enough.

Then, you saw him—Mason, cutting through the room with that quiet steadiness he always carried.

He slid into the seat beside you without a word, his presence warm and familiar.

“Hey,” he said gently, his voice low. “You ready?”

You nodded automatically, but your fingers betrayed you—tapping anxiously on your leg, tense and restless. Mason noticed. He always noticed.

Without saying anything more, he reached over and placed his hand on top of yours. It was steady. Grounding. You immediately stilled.

“You’re going to be alright,” he said, soft but certain. “We both are.”

You looked at him—and just like that, something inside you loosened.

Those eyes. You remembered them. The same ones you met when you were sixteen, standing awkwardly at your Victor’s party, trying not to be seen. He hadn’t mentored your Games, but he found you anyway. Quiet, lost, and not ready for any of it. He’d seen you for what you were—another broken kid trying to survive something you weren’t built for.

He knew that look. He’d worn it once, too.

And from that night on, Mason became something steady in your life. Maybe even something safe. He couldn’t stop the Capitol from throwing you into another nightmare, but if you had to go back in, you were glad it was with him.

“It’s going to be fine,” you murmured, offering a small, tired smile. And for a moment, you let yourself believe it. Mason would follow you anywhere. You didn’t have to question it. His loyalty wasn’t loud or showy—it was just there. Unshakable.

“Y/N. Mason.”

You turned at the sound of your names and saw Cashmere and Gloss approaching, their movements smooth and practiced like they were walking a red carpet instead of waiting to face death again. Behind them, Enobaria and Brutus stood from their seats, joining the group.

Cashmere slipped her arm around your shoulders like it was second nature. “You ready to make some jaws drop?” she asked with that signature smirk. Confident. Stunning. But under it, you could see the flicker of something else. That same tension that lived in all of you now.

“Always,” you said, letting the corners of your mouth lift. “I think I’m just gonna wing it. Do whatever feels right.”

Cashmere raised an eyebrow. “That’s either brilliant or reckless.”

“Maybe both,” you replied.

“As long as you scare them a little, you’ll land at least a nine,” Enobaria said, cracking her knuckles and flashing her sharpened teeth. “I’m thinking of stabbing a dummy and barring my teeth at the Gamemakers.”

Brutus rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and they’ll send you straight to the Capitol psych ward.”

Enobaria grinned wider. “Sounds like a vacation compared to what’s coming.”

You huffed out a quiet laugh before turning to the siblings.

“What about you two?”

Gloss shrugged, arms crossed over his chest. “Spear work. Something fast and clean—show them I haven’t slowed down. I’m not there to impress them. Just remind them what I can do.”

Cashmere spun a knife lazily between her fingers. “Knives, obviously. Hit the vitals, maybe throw in a flip or two if I feel like showing off. Nothing too wild—we’re aiming for tens, not twelves.”

She looked at Mason, nudging his leg with her foot. “What about you?”

Mason tilted his head, thoughtful. “Not much I can do solo. Might ask to use the moving targets—simulate a real fight. Or…” he glanced sideways at you, smiling faintly, “maybe someone here’s brave enough to volunteer.”

You rolled your eyes, smirking. “Keep dreaming.”

But before anyone could say anything else, a sharp voice echoed through the room:

“District One, Gloss Tanner. Report for individual assessment.”

Silence fell instantly. All eyes shifted to Gloss.

He stood slowly, rolling his shoulders once, then turned to his sister. Cashmere reached out and touched his arm, her expression softening.

Gloss gave her a quick squeeze on the shoulder and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Then he looked at the rest of you, smiled like it was nothing, and said, “See you on the other side.”

And then he was gone.

No hesitation. No second glance.

The moment lingered in the air. Thick. Heavy. Real.

Enobaria was the first to break the silence. “We’ll head back to our seats,” she said, giving each of you a quick hug like she didn’t want to think too hard about it. Brutus did the same—no words, just a quiet presence—and then they were gone.

“We should, too,” Mason murmured, giving Cashmere’s shoulder a squeeze.

You turned to her and wrapped your arms around her tightly.

“He’s going to do great,” you whispered. “And so will you. Okay?”

Cashmere gave you a watery smile, blinking fast. “Good luck, Y/N.”

“You too.”

She held you for a second longer, then let go and sat down, folding her hands in her lap, eyes fixed on the door Gloss had disappeared through.

Before heading back to your seat, you squat down in front of Finnick and Mags. Grinning, you greet them with a playful, “Hello, my fishies.”

Finnick rolls his eyes dramatically, but there's a smile tugging at his lips. Mags, ever the nurturing figure, pats you on the head as if you were a child, her touch gentle and warm.

“I swear, before I die, I’m going to need a new nickname,” Finnick jokes, sounding far more serious than he probably intends. “I can’t die with ‘Fishy’ on my tombstone.”

You nudge his knee playfully. “Oh, don’t worry, Finnick. I wouldn’t do that to you. But I would say, ‘Best Swimmer in the Mighty Seas,’” you add with a wink, your tone light.

Mags laughs softly, her eyes crinkling with kindness. You turn toward her. “Ready to blow them away with your rope-tying skills?” You can’t help but tease, excited for the elderly woman you admire so much.

Mags gives you a thumbs up, her smile all the answer you need. Then she points to Finnick, mimicking the movement of a trident with her hands.

“Oh, yes. Finnick and his big fork,” you tease, ruffling his hair affectionately. You and Finnick had always been close—almost like siblings, really. You won your Games right after him, and to say you leaned on each other would be an understatement. There was an unspoken understanding between you two, born from the shared experience of surviving this hell.

You hear Cashmere’s name being called, and as she rises, she shoots you a reassuring smile before heading toward the door.

Turning back to Finnick and Mags, you see the stress hanging heavy on their shoulders. Without thinking, you rise to your feet and give them both tight hugs. “It’s going to be fine,” you say, your voice firm but kind. “I’ve never seen anyone handle a trident as well as you, Finnick. And no one—no one—can tie a knot as tight as you, Mags.”

Both of them smile up at you, their faces softening. They know exactly what you’re doing—trying to ease their tension, give them a little comfort. That’s why they love having you around.

“I’ll catch up with you two after, okay?” You give them both a final squeeze. “Good luck out there.”

They nod, their smiles a little more relaxed now. You return to your seat next to Mason, feeling a brief moment of relief as you settle beside him.

“You’re being a great motivator. I’m feeling inspired,” Mason says with a half-smile, his tone teasing as he nudges you lightly.

You can’t help but scoff, shaking your head. “These are our friends. And we’re supposed to kill them like it’s nothing?” You laugh softly, but it’s a bitter sound.

Mason’s smirk fades, and he turns to face you more seriously. “We all know how this is going to play out,” he says quietly, his voice laced with a mix of resignation and practicality. “And we promised we weren’t going to take it to heart. Quick and painless, remember?”

You exhale slowly, your chest heavy. “Doesn’t mean it’s not going to happen. And let’s say… in the off chance that we both make it to the end. Then what?” You meet his gaze, both of you silently acknowledging the truth between you. Neither of you would be able to kill the other. Not after everything.

Mason’s eyes soften, but his voice is firm as he shakes his head. “That’s never going to happen. You know that,” he says, his tone heavy with certainty. “It’ll be someone else, or… it’ll be me.”

You can’t argue with that. It’s the cruel reality you’re both facing, one that feels too dark to even consider. You drop your head into your hands, the weight of it all pushing down on you.

Mason doesn’t have any comforting words—he knows they won’t help. He just reaches over, ruffling your hair lightly before pulling you into his side. His presence, solid and steady, is the only thing that’s keeping you from shattering in that moment.

You watch the District Three pair go, followed by Finnick, and then Mags. Each one of them stepping into their fate, and each one leaving a piece of their heart in the room.

Time passes slowly. Your own thoughts are heavy, weighed down by the same unspoken question everyone in this room is carrying.

And then, you hear it.

“District Five, Mason Cover. Report for individual assessment.”

Your body freezes. Your heart skips a beat.

Mason feels it, too. The weight of the arena, the uncertainty of what’s to come, the fear—it’s all there, hanging between you two.

“Darling, it’s going to be fine,” he whispers in your ear, his voice calm, steady. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, the warmth of his lips a small comfort in the sea of tension.

You try to return the reassurance, offering him a soft smile. “Good luck,” you murmur, even though you’re not sure if either of you believe it.

He meets your gaze, his smile small but sincere. “You too,” he says, his voice softer now. He ruffles your hair one more time before standing up. “See you on the other side.” His words are light, basically mimicking Gloss. But you still teared up.

You nod, trying to swallow the lump in your throat as you watch him leave. He glances back once, offering you a final wave, and then he’s gone, heading toward the door with that same quiet confidence he always carries.

Now, the fear was real. The anxiety had a tight grip on you, and no matter how hard you tried to steady your breathing, it was a struggle. Your chest felt heavy, each breath an effort.

You closed your eyes, trying to center yourself. Ten minutes. That’s all you had. Ten minutes to somehow find a way to push past the panic, to focus, to prepare yourself.

You were so far inside your head that you didn’t even notice someone sitting down next to you until you heard a soft voice.

“Are you ready for your assessment?”

You jumped, startled, and turned to see Peeta sitting where Mason had just been. He gave you a small, sheepish smile. “Stupid question, I know. I’m sure you’ve been asked by everyone else. Should’ve said something else.”

It wasn’t what you expected—Peeta of all people sitting next to you. You glanced over at Katniss. She was watching you closely from a distance, eyes trained on both you and Peeta, her protective instincts sharp.

You turned back to Peeta, trying to shake off the unease. “I’m ready enough to just get it over with,” you replied, your voice steady, but you could feel the tension coiled deep inside you. “Are you?”

He nodded, though his smile was a little strained. “Yeah, it’s kind of crazy, you know? I was doing this exact thing a year ago. Not much has changed.”

You shook your head slightly. “Everything’s changed, Peeta. You’re a Victor now. That means something.”

Peeta met your eyes, his gaze serious. “We both know I wasn’t supposed to be one.”

“I could say that about all of us,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “None of us were supposed to be Victors, but here we are. And it’s important, Peeta, that you start believing that. It’s the only way you’re going to make it out of the arena.”

He didn’t speak for a moment, just looking at you like he was weighing your words. Finally, he broke the silence, his fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on his sleeve. “Haymitch says we should team up. I know enough to sense how important you are to him.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re trying to recruit me?” you asked, teasing but also a little touched by his honesty. You could tell he wasn’t exactly sure where this conversation was heading, but he was trying to find his footing.

He looked uncomfortable but pushed on, “I’m not saying we should be best friends or anything, but you’re important to Haymitch. I think you’re important to Katniss, too, even if she doesn’t show it.” His voice softened. “I’m just doing what I can. You know, trying to look out for her… and for us.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t think your fiancée would agree,” you said, your tone light, but there was an edge to it.

Peeta let out a small, dry chuckle. “And I don’t think your partner would be thrilled, either, but here we are.”

That made you smirk. He had a way with words, even when he was hesitant. “I’ve always been on your team, Peeta. I just need you to accept that you’re on mine, too.” Your voice was quieter now, more earnest. You met his gaze, not backing down. “I’m behind you a hundred percent. And I know Mason will be, too. But you have to trust us. Just like you want to protect Katniss, I do too. I’ll do whatever it takes to see her come out of this alive.”

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. “If you don’t trust my words, trust Haymitch’s. I’m on your side.”

Before Peeta could respond, the loudspeaker crackled, cutting through the tension.

“District Five, Y/N L/N. Report for individual assessment.”

You tensed, your heart skipping a beat, but you tried to keep your breathing steady. This was it. You stood up slowly, then turned to Peeta. With a light touch, you patted his leg.

“I’ll see you later, Peeta. Good luck to you both,” you said, your voice more confident than you felt.

Peeta watched you as you turned to leave, his eyes following you until you reached the door.

Once you were out of sight, Peeta made his way back to Katniss, who was still watching him closely, waiting for him to speak. He sat down beside her, his expression thoughtful.

“I think we should team up with District Five,” he said, his voice low but sure.

Katniss looked at him, skepticism written across her face. “Are you sure about this?”

Peeta met her gaze, his eyes steady. “Trust me.”

After a long moment of silence, Katniss finally nodded, her resolve firming. “Okay,” she said quietly.

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

You stared at yourself in the mirror, your reflection a ghost of someone you used to be. The makeup was heavy, transforming your features, and for a moment, you looked like you did nine years ago—before the Games, before all of this.

Tomorrow, you would be thrown back into the arena. Tomorrow, you’d have to fight your friends, leave your husband behind, and maybe die. And the weight of it made everything seem so much heavier.

You were scared during your first Games, but this fear—it was different. It was paralyzing. It settled deep in your chest, like something solid and cold, and you couldn’t breathe.

The sound of cheers rang out as Caesar Flickerman strutted onto the stage, his perfect, rehearsed smile beaming across the crowd. Your pulse quickened.

"There, absolutely perfection," your stylist said, patting her face to dry the tears you hadn't realized had begun to fall.

"Thank you," you whispered, blinking the haze from your eyes. You stepped onto the line between Mags and Mason, trying to steady your breath, your heart threatening to burst out of your chest.

"Breathe," Mason whispered, his voice low but steady. "You look beautiful."

A small, trembling smile pulled at your lips. "Thanks," you murmured, looking at Mags. "You look pretty," you added, hoping it would ease the tension in the air. Mags smiled, a soft, knowing look on her face. She pointed to your dress. "Thank you," you said. "It’s supposed to mimic my first Games."

You swallowed, looking around at the others, trying to block out the tightness in your chest. Nervous energy swirled around you. The others could feel it, too, but everyone was doing their best to keep it together.

You saw Gloss take his turn, then Cash, and then Brutus. One after another, they walked past you, their faces filled with the same mix of dread and determination.

"I can’t believe tomorrow is the day," Mason said, jumping up slightly, the nerves evident in his voice.

"You're telling me," Finnick said, giving a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I’m about to perform my best acting yet—pretend I’m not already dead inside—and then I’m gonna die. Sounds like a real blast."

Mags shot him a disapproving look, but you could see the faintest hint of a smile tug at her lips.

"We just have to get through tonight. Tomorrow’s a whole other day," you said, trying to sound reassuring, though the words felt hollow even as you spoke them. "We’ll figure it out then."

The others fell silent at your words, each one lost in their own thoughts, the realization of what was coming settling in.

Finnick went next, followed by Mags. Then Mason.

"Wish me luck," Mason said, winking at you before stepping onto the stage, the Capitol audience erupting in applause.

"Good luck," you said, smirking, watching him stride out with the swagger only Mason could pull off.

"It’s annoying how charming that guy is," you muttered, half to yourself.

Johanna let out a short, dry laugh. "Do you think, before I die, he’ll grant me a death-wish kiss?" she joked, her usual biting humor still intact.

You nudged her with a grin. "Hey, I think the probability of that is extremely high."

Mason’s interview went off without a hitch. He played the ‘I’m about to die, and I never loved anyone’ card, and the Capitol ate it up. The single women in the crowd swooned as he strutted off the stage, bowing to his fellow tributes.

"And now, for one of the Capitol’s favorite girls, let’s hear it for Y/N L/N!" The announcement was loud, and the crowd roared in excitement.

You took a deep breath, forcing a smile as you walked onto the stage, the eyes of Panem on you. You knew how to work a crowd, how to present yourself as the confident, charming Victor everyone adored. But tonight, it felt like more of a mask than ever before.

Caesar Flickerman’s smile was as dazzling as always, his voice smooth as silk. "Oh, my dear girl, how are you?" He leaned in for air kisses, his theatrics just a little too perfect.

"Well, I’ve had better days," you said, a soft smile curling at the corner of your lips.

"Today is so emotional and hard for all of us, isn’t it?" Caesar continued, his tone dripping with faux sympathy. "But you—good news for you—you scored an eleven! Absolutely amazing!"

"Thank you," you replied, trying to keep the flatness from your voice. "Since I’m probably going to die tomorrow, I wanted to go out with a bang, I guess."

You saw Caesar’s smile falter for a moment, unsure how to handle your bluntness. But he recovered quickly, ever the professional.

"Well, a bang you did," he said, voice still upbeat. "Now, my dear, we’ve heard so much about those waiting for you back at home. Who’s there for you? Anyone special?"

You forced your gaze to drift across the audience, your eyes scanning the sea of faces before finding the one that anchored you—Haymitch. His eyes were locked onto you, steady and unwavering, like a lifeline in the chaos.

"I have my parents back at home, taking care of my younger brother," you said, your voice a little softer now. "It was definitely a surprise when these Games were announced."

"I’m sure they’re watching you now and cheering for you back in District 5," Caesar smiled warmly, his eyes glistening with false compassion.

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening. "I doubt they will. They promised me they won’t watch. Who would want to see their child get slaughtered?" The words left your lips, cold and harsh, but they were the truth. The crowd grew silent, and Caesar struggled to regain his composure.

"Uh…" He coughed awkwardly, glancing toward the camera. "Well, that’s unfortunate, I’m sure they’ll be missing a good game. Is there anyone else waiting for you? Maybe a man? A little boy toy?"

You didn’t even need to think. The words felt right, even as they left your lips. Your fingers moved instinctively to the necklace around your neck, slipping it off with a deliberate motion, and you looked back at Haymitch. His eyes widened as your fingers found the ring you’d been wearing around your neck. The same one you’d both always kept secret.

"I do, actually," you whispered, barely above the noise of the crowd. A ripple of surprise ran through the room. "I have someone waiting for me."

You slowly slid the ring onto your finger, letting it shine under the Capitol lights. For a moment, the crowd was dead silent. The world seemed to hold its breath. And then, the cheers exploded.

You could see Haymitch in the crowd, his expression unreadable at first. But then, something in his eyes softened. He didn’t hide his emotions, even if you couldn’t hear his voice. It was in the way his hand shook as he reached for his flask, eyes never leaving you.

"You’re married?" Caesar’s voice was full of excitement now, a gleam in his eyes. "What a surprise! Tell us, who is this lucky man?"

You met his gaze again, locking your eyes with Haymitch's. "I’m afraid I’m keeping that information to myself," you replied, your voice calm but firm. "Just in case I die tomorrow, I want him to move on, to find happiness. Obviously, without all the cameras and media .That’s all I’ve ever wanted for him."

You glanced down at the ring, your fingers brushing over it gently as you spoke. "My death will not be the end of him. He will mourn, but he will live. Live for me. Live for us. Live for the world. My death won’t erase our love. Our love will live on. These Games may take everything from me, but our love? That’s something that will last forever." You blinked rapidly, tears beginning to blur your vision. "I’ve loved and been loved in these few years more than some do in a lifetime," you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. "I’m one of the lucky ones."

The audience was silent for a moment before an overwhelming wave of applause broke through the air. You could see the tears welling in Caesar's eyes, his voice shaking with emotion. "That… that was beautiful," he said, his tone sincere. "I’m sure he knows how deeply you love him. And he’s lucky to have someone like you."

"Thank you," you said softly, your heart pounding.

The audience cheered again, but you only had eyes for Haymitch now. You blew him a kiss, a simple gesture, but one that felt like it carried everything you couldn’t say aloud.

"That was amazing," Mason said, wrapping you in a tight hug the second you stepped off the stage.

You cried in his arms, the weight of everything threatening to swallow you whole. "It’s going to be okay, darling girl," Mason whispered, his voice warm and comforting. "He knows you love him, and you know he loves you."

Johanna was next to you, rubbing your back. "You really did a good job. I think all of Panem’s crying right now."

You stopped crying, and only the sound of the following interview filled the room until Johanna spoke again, her voice annoyed.

"Really? A wedding dress?" She raised an eyebrow at Katniss’s dress, which looked suspiciously like a wedding gown.

"Snow made me wear it," Katniss said, her tone flat, not caring much for Johanna, but glanced at you. Haymitch trusted you, and so did Peeta.

"Make him pay for it," Johanna smirked, causing Katniss to smile faintly.

"Come on, let’s get you cleaned up," Mason said, wrapping an arm around you, guiding you away. But then Katniss reached for your wrist, stopping you.

Mason tensed but you turned towards her.

"You did good," Katniss said quietly, nodding at your ring. "I know he appreciates it."

"Thank you," you smiled at her, though it was strained.

"Plus, I’m sure you made Peeta cry," Katniss added with a rare smile.

You laughed softly, your heart lighter despite everything. "Good luck," you said, offering her a smile before following Mason out.

"So, we’re really teaming up with District 12, huh?" Mason said, rolling his eyes.

You nudged him, a small smile playing at your lips. "Yup."

*********

You found yourself staring out the window of the living area in your suite, the stars twinkling distantly in the night sky. Mason was sitting across from you, nose buried in a book, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from the vast darkness outside.

After the interviews, you all held hands, the gesture simple but filled with power, as if, for a brief moment, the Games could be stopped. But an hour ago, Abigail had come in and crushed that fragile hope, informing you that the Games would go on as planned.

You sighed, the weight of the news heavy in your chest.

"I know you're not reading," you said, breaking the silence as you turned to Mason. "You've been on the same page for the last six minutes. It usually takes you three."

He looked up at you, a sly smirk tugging at his lips before he closed the book, setting it down on the table with a soft thud. "True," he said, the humor gone from his eyes. "But it's hard to focus on anything when death is looming over us."

You didn’t respond. Instead, you stood and moved to the window, resting your hands on the cool glass. He followed you, his footsteps soft on the carpet.

"Did Cash seem fine when you told her we weren't joining the pack?" he asked, trying to shift the conversation.

Your shoulders tensed slightly, "She wasn’t happy, but she knew," You said with a nod. "They all knew we were going with District 12. Expected it, even." Then you turned to him, your heart pounding slightly. "Are you mad at me?"

Mason shook his head instantly, his expression softening. "No. Never." He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "I just… I just hope we're not making a mistake. That’s all."

You hesitated, then spoke the words that had been in your head. "You could always go with the Careers, you know."

The words barely left your mouth when Mason shot you a glare, his eyes darkening. "Shut up," he said, his voice sharp but filled with the raw edge of care. "I've been saying the whole time—it's you and me, always. If you want to team up with the newbies, we do it. If you want to team up with the Careers, we do it. Hell, if you want us to be on our own, we’ll do that too. I’m with you, partner, okay? You can't get rid of me that easily." He paused, a small, teasing smile creeping onto his lips. "I’ve been taking care of your ass for almost a decade. I’m not about to stop now."

A lump formed in your throat at his words, and you smiled, fighting back the emotions. "You're my best friend," you whispered, and he chuckled.

"Don’t let Cash hear that or she’ll make it her mission to have my head tomorrow." His voice was light, but there was something deeply affectionate in it.

"I’m serious, Mase," you nudged him, a little more forceful now, your voice cracking. "You’re my best friend. And this… this fucking sucks."

Without another word, Mason wrapped his arms around you tightly, his grip firm and warm. "Darling," he murmured into your hair, "no matter what happens tomorrow, know that you're my best friend. You’ve always been. And, I can’t really be mad at you. They're an alright team. The girl is good with those damn arrows. Plus, we get Finnick and Beetee. It could be worse."

You stayed like that for a long while, holding onto each other, the silent comfort of a friendship that had weathered more storms than anyone should ever have to. Then you heard a soft cough from the doorway, and you reluctantly pulled away.

You turned to see Haymitch standing there, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mason rolled his eyes dramatically, his tone mockingly offended. "Dude," he said with a grin, "I just got told I’m her best friend, and you couldn’t wait five minutes to swoop in? That’s crazy."

Haymitch raised his hands in surrender, still grinning. "Ouch, I thought that was me." He turned to you with a feigned look of hurt on his face. "Sweetheart, you wound me."

You shot them both a tired, amused look. "Quiet, both of you." You turned to Mason, giving him a small, pleading glance. "Mase, can you leave us, please?"

He groaned, but there was affection in the sound. "Fiiiiiinnnneeeee." He dragged out the word in a mock pout, but then he wrapped his arms around you one more time, pulling you close. "I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I’ll find you." He kissed your forehead softly, the gesture comforting despite the weight of everything.

He pulled back, moving toward Haymitch. Before he left, Haymitch stopped and whispered, "Take care of her in there, and I’ll take care of you both out here."

Mason nodded, just slightly, so you wouldn’t notice, before giving Haymitch a firm hug. He stepped back, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he turned to leave. "Good luck, Mason," Haymitch said softly, patting his shoulder as he went.

Mason gave a small nod, trying to keep the tension from showing, and then he left the room.

The door closed behind him, and for a brief moment, the room was silent.

Haymitch walked toward you, his steps slower than usual, more weighted. You didn’t need him to say anything. You already knew.

This was goodbye.

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly like he was trying to memorize the way you fit against him. You buried your face into his chest, inhaling the scent of him—whiskey, pine, and something softer, something that always felt like home.

You wouldn’t see him tomorrow. As soon as you woke, the Peacekeepers would be there—no time for goodbyes, no time for holding each other like this. They’d tear you away from your bed, from this room, from him.

So this… this was it.

The two of you settled onto the couch in silence, your body curled into his, your face tucked into the crook of his neck, and his arms wrapped around you like armor. His hand moved up and down your back in a slow rhythm, steady and calming, though his heart beat loud and uneven against your cheek.

You could die like this, you thought.

God, you wished you would die like this.

"You know what I was thinking?" you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Haymitch hummed in response, low and thoughtful, his fingers gently threading through your hair.

"I think we were meant to be with each other. In every universe. It's always you and I,” you breathed. “And I know... I know in another universe, we got to have a beautiful, long life together."

His lips twitched into a smile, pained but sincere. "You think so?"

"Oh, I know so," you said, the corner of your mouth lifting. “We have three kids. Two girls and one boy. They're perfect—just like we always dreamed. We live in this beautiful home with a white picket fence, big porch swing. You finally grow tomatoes that don’t taste like dirt. We grow old together. We see our kids have kids. We'd be cool grandparents."

"The best grandparents," he said quietly, still stroking your hair, his voice strained and cracked with longing. “Is it weird that I'm jealous of that us?”

"No... because so am I." You closed your eyes, the fantasy a cruel comfort. It felt so real. It should have been real.

Your voice broke as the grief crashed over you like a wave. “This isn’t fair.” The words came out as a sob, and you shoved your face deeper into his neck, clinging to him like he was the last safe thing in the world.

"I know, sweetheart. I know," he murmured, holding you tighter. His hand moved slowly over your back, as if he could rub the pain away, ease the break in your heart. "But I'm going to help you. You and Mase. It's going to be alright.”

He leaned back just enough to look you in the eyes, his own gaze sharp and urgent. “I just need you to stay with Katniss. No matter what—stay with her.”

You blinked, confused for a moment, but nodded. There was something in his tone, something just beneath the surface. You didn't know the full story, but you trusted him. You always had.

"I promise, Haymitch. I’ll try to protect them... for as long as I breathe."

He stilled. Completely.

His jaw clenched, and his grip on you tightened again.

He hadn’t meant for it to come across like that. God, no. He never wanted you to think you owed him that—your life for theirs. That wasn’t what this was.

"I just need you to breathe," he said, his voice rough and trembling. “That’s all I need, okay? Just breathe. Protect yourself. I’ll take care of the kids. I promise. But you—you look after you. No playing hero. No playing mama bear.”

You lifted your head to meet his eyes, your heart thudding. “You care for those kids, Haymitch Abernathy,” you said, voice firm. “I’m going to protect them as much as I can. Nothing’s happening to those kids if I’m there.”

He stared at you, the pain behind his eyes shining like glass ready to crack.

"And I care about you, Y/N Abernathy." His voice hitched. “So you're going to make sure you survive.”

Your bottom lip trembled. You looked at him—at the man you loved more than anything—and whispered, “Only one comes out alive, Mitch.”

Your voice cracked like a brittle bone.

“I’m not even in the top five of who should win.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, hot and burning, and his face crumpled just slightly as he pulled you back into him, his breath stuttering.

You could see it. The way he was unraveling. The storm brewing behind his eyes. He had been holding something in, and it was clawing its way out of him, ripping him apart from the inside.

You’d been accepting your fate quietly, trying not to make it harder for him. But he needed more from you now.

He needed you to fight.

He needed you to live.

He needed to say the thing that had been killing him since the moment he knew. There was this plan. A plan to get Katniss and all the other victors out of there. A plan that could save your life. And he wishes he could tell you scream it out.

But Plutarch didn’t want you to involved because of your close relationship with the careers. He said it could compromise the whole mission. But he needed to tell you. He needed to guarantee your safety. Plutarch be dammed. You’re his wife. You’re the only thing that matters.

"I—" he started, voice hoarse, his hands twitching at his sides. Just spit it out he thought to himself.

You turned to face him fully, one brow raised. He was spinning in his own mind, fighting every instinct. You could tell he wanted to say it, to scream it but there was something holding him back.

"There's thi—well, there's this... this plan... Plutarch—" Why couldn’t he just say it? His heart was screaming at him to spit it out.

You stepped in before he could finish, your heart stalling. You knew that look, the flickering indecision, the desperation caught behind his teeth.

"You're not supposed to tell me, right?" you asked gently, already knowing the answer.

He faltered, looking at you like you’d read the last page of a book he hadn’t finished. He wanted to tell you. So badly. And that’s what terrified you.

"There's this plan—"

"Stop." You raised your hand, voice quiet but firm. A small, tired smile tugged at your lips. "Don’t tell me."

He stared at you in disbelief, his brows furrowed like you’d just spoken in a language he didn’t understand. "What...?"

"There's a reason why you can’t tell me, right?"

He hesitated… and nodded.

"Then it’s probably a good reason.”

"It can save your life," he whispered, and that was when the first tear slipped from his eye. He was screaming at himself to tell you to save you. Why the hell isn’t he saying anything?

Your chest tightened, but you held your voice steady. "But it jeopardizes Katniss, doesn’t it?"

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The silence was loud enough.

"Then don’t tell me."

"Sweetheart..."

"Don't tell me, Haymitch." You stepped closer, looking up at him with as much reassurance as you could muster. "I’m telling you not to tell me. You were going to—and now I’m saying no. So if anything happens, it’s on me. Not you. Never you."

You could already see it in his eyes—the guilt building like floodwater behind a dam. You couldn’t let it break him.

"You need to protect Katniss," you said softly.

His expression cracked as tears finally spilled freely, his voice breaking under the weight of his helplessness. "I need to protect you."

And that nearly broke you.

You had to look away, just for a second. "You’re putting her first," you said, your voice catching. "And that’s okay. You need to put her first. Always. You and I both know that. It’s for the greater cause—something bigger than just you and me."

He clenched his jaw. You both knew it was true. If the rebellion was going to work, it had to be Katniss. It had to be the Mockingjay.

"I need you safe," he said again, like if he repeated it enough, the universe would listen.

"And we need her alive." You were already shifting, already planning. Your voice quickened, desperate to be useful, to give him something to hold on to. "Both of them. Without Peeta, Katniss won’t want to do anything for the rebellion. Okay, I’ll look after Katniss and Mase can look after Peeta. Well of course I’ll also look after Peeta, but—"

You rambled, words spilling from you as your mind raced, building walls to keep the fear from crashing in. And he just looked at you.

God, he looked at you—like you were made of light and heartbreak and everything he could never deserve.

Then suddenly his hands were on your face, steadying you, grounding you. He needed to tell you. It was eating him alive.

You froze under his touch, your voice softening to a murmur. "Don’t tell me, Haymitch. I’m not mad. I won’t be mad. I’ll never make you choose between them or me. I care about them too."

He pulled you close, resting his forehead against yours, his breath trembling.

"It’s always been you," he choked, tears falling freely now. "It’s always going to be you."

You closed your eyes. If you could bottle this moment—this closeness, this certainty—you would have. You’d carry it into the arena like armor.

"This is more than just us, Mitch," you whispered. "If she survives… the districts' hope still lives."

He let out a bitter, shaking breath. "Damn it, woman, I want to tell you. I need to tell you."

You touched his cheek gently, tears stinging your eyes. "But you're holding back for her. And I'm telling you it’s okay."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and straightened your shoulders. "I told you since the beginning—I’m getting her out of that arena. Now you need to promise me you will too. Over Mags. Over Beetee. Over me."

Your voice didn’t shake this time. Not when it mattered most.

You looked into his eyes and saw the war in them—saw him silently screaming I can’t lose you.

But he knew you were right.

"I promise," he whispered, barely getting it out.

"It's going to be okay. We're going to be okay," you whispered, your voice thick with unshed tears as you pulled back, giving him a smile that trembled with hope and heartbreak. "And then one morning, you’ll wake up back in District 12… and you’re going to look out at the sky and feel it. Feel the peace. The Games will be gone. The children will be able to be children again. It’s what we’ve always wanted."

You smiled as you spoke, but he could see it—you weren’t just comforting him.

You were saying goodbye.

And Haymitch felt it. In the hollowness in his chest. In the way your voice cracked just slightly when you talked about a future you didn’t believe you’d see. You were accepting your death. Quietly. Gracefully. Willingly.

Even when the cause didn’t trust you enough to let you in.

And yet, here you were, dreaming about a life beyond the war—knowing you wouldn’t be part of it.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“I feel like I’m making a mistake,” he said, voice raw, like it scraped his throat on the way out. Damn the cause. Damn Plutarch. Damn those District 12 kids. Damn this plan.

“You’re not,” you said gently. “You’re a mentor. We give our lives for those children. If I could’ve saved my tributes, I would’ve.”

You smiled through your tears, and it wrecked him.

“You’re the best mentor known to man. And an even better husband.”

That was the final blow.

“I love you,” he whispered like a confession, like a prayer. “So, so much. More than the moon loves the stars. More than the sun loves the ocean. I love you, Y/N.”

You cupped his face like he was fragile, precious. Like he wasn’t the broken man the world always thought him to be.

“And I love you, Haymitch,” you murmured. You nestled yourself back into his chest, fitting there like you were made for him. And maybe you were.

You both stared out the window as silence wrapped around you. Not a single word for an hour—just hearts beating in sync, like this moment could stretch forever.

But it couldn’t.

Eventually, you sat up slowly, blinking back the heaviness in your eyes. “You have to go check on the kids. The elevator locks soon… and I doubt you want to walk up seven flights of stairs.”

He clung to you a little tighter. “I’ll be fine. Come back here.”

You gave him that look. The one that always shut down every argument. Soft, patient, immovable.

He sighed. He knew. You were doing it for the kids. For him. If the Peacekeepers found you both here, alone, asleep—it would be over for him. You’d never let that happen.

“Fine. Fine.”

You walked him toward the elevator slowly, each step a thousand pounds heavier than the last.

Then you paused.

“Tell Effie I say that I love her… and that she needs to take care of you. No more than three whiskey bottles a week.”

He didn’t laugh.

He didn’t even smile.

He just pulled you into his arms like he was afraid you’d disappear the second he let go.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and he meant it for everything—for the plan, for the Capitol, for the years wasted, for the future he couldn’t give you.

“I’m not,” you said softly, holding his face like a lifeline. “I lived a beautiful life… with amazing friends and a perfect husband. I meant what I said. I felt more love in the years with you than most people ever feel in a lifetime. You made me happy. You make me proud. After everything you’ve been through, we’re finally going to be at peace.”

He was breaking. He didn’t care how pathetic it looked.

“I need you,” he choked, like the words themselves were ripping something loose in his chest.

“And you have me,” you whispered, “forever.”

You kissed his cheek, pulled him close again, memorized the shape of his body, the weight of him in your arms.

“I’ll be fine,” you lied. “Remember your promise.”

You stepped back, slowly pushing him toward the elevator. Your hands were shaking, but your face was steady. Because if you faltered—if you gave in—he would stay. And that was too dangerous.

The doors slid open.

And he didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

But you gave him a little push.

Because you had to.

He stepped inside. And as the doors started to close, you saw the panic take over his features.

"I love you," he said, the words tearing from his chest like a final breath. His heart physically ached. Like it was collapsing in on itself. Like maybe, just maybe, a person could die from a broken heart.

"And I love you too," you replied, the softest smile breaking through your tears. How could you smile when you were walking into your death?

Haymitch didn’t know.

But you always found light, even at the end of the world.

“I’ll see you in the next lifetime,” you said, and your voice cracked on the final word.

The doors slid shut.

And as the elevator descended, the last thing he heard was the sound of you sobbing.

And that was it.

That was the sound that shattered him.

This felt extremely long lol anyways thank y'all for reading! I also live for your comments they actually make my day.

Let me know what you want to see!!!!

Previous Chapter

Taglist (If I'm missing you I'm sorry still new at this)

@nikki-is-a-nerd @quantumorquanta @starvedhoe @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream @andthevillainshallrises @how-am-i-serpose-to-know @honeybunnyboobear @dedicatedfangirl2001 @godwhyamionhere @yoursrosie @darylmysavior @crossfandomslut @passionkillerphil @fallout-girl219 @ramennudel @onlyrealjoy @rosieleej @narliesstuff @flornegrastuff @aylinbsx @briiiiiiiiiiizzzzzzzzzza @starkleila @fanboilingwriter @heidiland05 @escaping-reality8 @teenwolfbitches28 @notplutos @daisydark @velyssaraptor @fangirlbitch02 @needz1nk @mawwddu @chelseyyouraverageluigi

[hhhwnr]

ꨄSoft hands, steady heart — S.R

masterlist + navigation

genre: fluff/domestic word count: 675

pairing: soft!Spencer Reid x Reader (established relationship)

warnings & summary: no warnings. You never had to ask Spencer to treat you right — he just did. Maybe that’s what made him different.

author’s note: this is my second one-shot in two days and I feel so fuzzy and warm after writing this <3. I’m new to writing on Tumblr and in English (which isn’t my first language), so please be kind. I’m open to suggestions or feedback, as long as it’s respectful :)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The thing about Spencer was… he never acted like anything was beneath him.

Not the laundry he was folding right now—your laundry, by the way—or the groceries he helped you carry, or the way he always took the time to untangle the delicate necklaces you forgot in a bowl on your nightstand. He was the kind of man who remembered how you liked your tea and never needed to be reminded which side of the bed you liked best.

You leaned against the doorway of your living room, watching him sitting on the edge of your couch, a small pile of socks beside him. His long fingers moved with that careful, deliberate kind of patience as he sorted through the laundry pile—pairing socks, folding shirts, smoothing out corners like he’d done it a hundred times before. He didn’t make a show of it. He wasn’t even aware you were watching. He just did it, because it needed to be done, and because he loved you. He didn’t do it like a favor. He didn’t announce it or wait to be thanked. And that was the sort of man Spencer Reid was.

You’d dated before. Men who saw domesticity as a favor, not a shared rhythm. Men who weaponized their competence—who burned toast and bragged about it like it was charming. Men who wanted credit for being “good guys”, yet never actually were. Men who talked over you, over-explained things you already knew, and rarely, if ever, asked how your day went with the intent to really listen. Men who saw kindness as currency, not an instinct.

But Spencer?

Spencer brought you snacks when you were on your period and was never ashamed to buy feminine hygiene products. He recommended books he knew you’d like, not just ones that made him look smart. He remembered what brand of detergent you used and bought it without being asked. He helped you organize your things when you moved apartments without blinking when he came across your most personal items.

And he didn’t make you feel small for the things you didn’t know.

You were still standing there, warm and achey with the weight of all these thoughts, while Spencer was matching your socks with that little furrow in his brows like it was a math problem he wanted to get just right.

You smiled, a slow, heart-deep thing, before curling your arms around his neck from behind, resting your chin gently on his shoulder. He leaned back into you instinctively, tilting his head so your cheek could brush his temple.

“I love you,” you whispered. “You know that?”

Spencer turned his head slightly, looking up at you with a puzzled sort of warmth. “I love you too,” he said softly. “But… where did that come from?”

You kissed the crown of his head. “You’re just so thoughtful. So kind. You do things most people don’t even notice. I guess I just needed to say it.”

He smiled—one of those small, surprised ones that made the corners of his eyes crease.

“But thoughtful in a normal way? Or, like… in a ‘has three PhDs and organized your spice rack by volatility’ kind of way?”

You laughed and pressed your cheek against his hair. “No. I mean… you’re just different.”

“Different how?”

You didn’t answer at first, pausing. Your heart was swelling, mouth full of words that suddenly felt too small for the feeling. So instead, you let your thoughts flow.

You asked if you could kiss my cheek — while other men were already trying to get into my pants.

You sat beside me while I did my makeup and handed me my eyeliner, instead of telling me I didn’t need it because I looked “better natural.”

You listened like it was an act of love — like everything I said mattered, even when it didn’t.

Finally, you whispered, “Just… different. The good kind.”

And Spencer—bless him—didn’t ask again. He just reached back to squeeze your hand before going back to folding socks with the same concentration as before.

Thank you for reading ♥︎

[itzpookiepooh]

Idk if you'd be interested in writing this and it's totally ok if you aren't. My request is the guys comforting MC when she calls them drunk one night apologizing for being a "bad gf" because they haven't gone any further than kissing yet? 🥲 It's her first relationship and she's nevr had yk, and feels guilty even tho she shouldn't. Tells them it's not them bc she's def attracted to them, she's just nervous about her first time. Just comfort and fluff, no smut. Idkk, hope you're having a great day <3

Bad Lover

Caleb was use to getting a call when you went out drinking with your friends. It was like a routine so when you called this time it wasn’t any different. Well yes it was because you were crying instead of screaming about how many shots you’ve had.

Caleb immediately perks up wondering why you were crying and whose fault it was. You were a blubbering mess and he could hardly understand what you were saying. He told you to calm down and slow down. You sniffled as you did so.

“I feel like a terrible girlfriend I’m always brushing you off. I feel like you want more but I keep messing it up.” You cry rather harshly. Caleb looks at you through the camera with worried eyes.

He didn’t care about that. He never cared about that he just wanted to be with you! You were his top priority! Your comfort, discomfort, love and care are all his top priorities.

“Pipsqueak, I don’t care about that. It’s not important, being together is important to me. Both of us being ready is what is important to me. Comfort is top priority!” He rambles as you wipe your tears and listen.

“Yeah?” You sniffle as he breathes a laugh. “Yes, now go back to your friends you can’t be on the curb by yourself.” He instructed making you nod.

You exchange “I love you’s” before hanging up. You knew how to get his heart rate going, goodness.

Sylus was on the phone trying to console a weeping you. A calm night turned sour (just kidding he adores talking to you) when you called wanting to talk and it turned into something else. It gave him whiplash at how fast you changed the subject. You wailed about being a bad girlfriend which took him by surprise. You did everything right so where was this coming from?

“Sweetie, where’s this coming from?” He asks crossing his leg over the other waiting for you to answer.

“We’ve only ever kissed! We haven’t done anything else and I know you want to…” You whimper sadly making him look confused.

“Have I ever expressed the need for more?” He questions you. You pause thinking about it. “No…” You answer quietly.

“Then why are you so worried about something so trivial?” He asks waiting as the only thing making noise was you breathing.

That gave you a reality check. You always thought of what was being said around you or online. Every relationship was different so why did you think he would be like them?

Sylus tells you he needs to shower and tells you enjoy the rest of your night. He explained he didn’t want you to worry about something that doesn’t bother him in the slightest. When you were both ready you could talk about but he refused to talk about it if you weren’t in your right mind. That made you feel warm inside.

Xavier dozed off when you called. He could barely find his phone as it buzzed incessantly. He saw it was you and started glowing. He groggily answers before you completely wail in his ear. He was shaken up his messy hair sticking up as he sat up abruptly.

“I’m such a terrible girlfriend! I can’t even move onto the next step because I’m scared!” You wailed loudly making a disheveled Xavier even more confused. What are you talking about?

“I don’t understand. Next step?” He finally responds and when you explain it. He relaxes slightly, his heart still racing uncomfortably in his chest.

“I don’t care about that and I don’t want you to think that I only want you for your body because it isn’t true.” He explains in his tired voice. You try to stop crying but you couldn’t due to high emotions from the alcohol.

“Really?” You ask as he nods tiredly. “Yes.”

After he calms you down you tell him to get some sleep. You told him he’d know when you’re home. After that Xavier thought about what made you randomly think he cared about intimacy like that when he enjoyed being with you like this.

Poor Zayne working overtime but now has to console his crying lover. He doesn’t know why you’re crying because he can’t understand you. Every time you try to tell him you wail louder. He knows people are probably staring at you because of your crying. He knows if you remember this you’ll be embarrassed.

“I just don’t want you to hate me! I know I can give you what you need but—“ Zayne shakes his head taken back. Give him what he needs? What is going on?

“Wait a moment…what I need?” He questioned as you explained going further in your guys relationship.

“My love that’s not a necessity. You can build a relationship just as we are right now.” He explains as he holds a finger up to Greyson who’s trying to hand him more paperwork.

“You don’t hate me?” You whimper as he sighs with a small smile on his face.

“No I don’t. I have the rest of my life to get there with you.” He tells you as you swoon.

“The rest of your life? Zayne—“ You go to swoon over him once more before he stops you.

“We can talk more when you’re more sober. Until then go have fun and we can talk about your feelings tomorrow.” He tells you as you agree and hang up.

Zayne sighs quietly thinking back to you. He wondered what made you group your relationship with everyone else’s but that was a conversation for a more sober you.

Rafayel was taken back. Did you really think all he wanted you for was your privates? He didn’t care about how far into the relationship it was he wasn’t going to beg or force you to do anything you didn’t want to do. He himself wasn’t ready either since you made him so nervous. What if he messed up and made it terrible for you?

“Excuse me? Do you think so low of me all the time?” He asks making you stop crying.

“Of course not…” You tell him, wiping your tears away.

“So why would you ever think I’d toss you away because we haven’t moved past kissing? That’s childish.” He explains his tone clearly offended.

“I’m not dating you to get in your pants. I’m dating you because I like you.” He says putting his phone between his shoulder and ear—crossing his arms.

“I just don’t want you to regret being with me.” You mumble.

“I would never. Couples do that when they’re mutually ready. I would never push you to do something like that.” You nod at his words.

“We can talk more tomorrow. You’re not in the right place mentally or physically to remember what I say right now.” He explains and you agree telling him you love him and you’ll talk tomorrow.

He made note to seek revenge on whoever got into your head.

Another one!

[cuntyji]

MEOW OR NEVER ౨ৎ GETO SUGURU X READER

summary: when your mom told you to steer clear of men, you didn't think she meant all of them - fur, whiskers, and all. but hey, maybe naming your cat mr. pickles was where you went wrong, considering she's apparently a mrs. now. and oh, she's pregnant. great. just fantastic. enter suguru geto, your drop-dead gorgeous neighbor, who's not just good at stealing glances but also at being a reluctant father - well, kitten father. turns out, his annoyingly smug orange menace named gojo's the reason you're now an unplanned (grand)parent. is this co-parenting arrangement going to end in peace, or in pieces? or worse, feelings? spoiler alert: suguru geto's got more than just child support to offer, and he's about to prove it in ways that'll have you questioning who the real stray here is.

warnings & tags: fluff and crack, eventual romance, no angst, geto is a year older than reader, geto is an (international) law student implied to be rich, reader's college program is not specified, strangers to friends to lovers, eventual smut (oral, f & m + 69). cast: geto, catoru (gojo is a tabby cat), yaga, sukuna, choso, yuuji, shoko, brief mention of utahime and nanami.

author's note: how i feel adding a graphic after not touching any editing apps since eight grade: 🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺. first long-fic on here and it is obviously for my @norikuna <3 i had so much fun writing geto, i hope you like this, and yes i named her mr. pickles after your meet-cute fic/s. ‼️ i recommend reading on ao3, as tumblr's formatting this fic very poorly and often times the fic has long paragraphs mashed together. i'm so sorry, but please enjoy!

chapter one: guess who's expecting (hint: it's not you)

when your mother warned you to stay away from men, you didn’t realize she meant all species of men. in your defense, you didn’t even know mr. pickles was…well, a dudette. a full-fledged woman, even.

judging by her usual air of indifference toward the struggles of life—whether it be a broken mug, burnt toast, or the existential dread and fear of capitalism looming over you—you’d assumed she was male. an assumption, it seems, born of sheer hubris. after all, you’d done thorough background checks on everyone else you let into your life. everyone except the stray cat that had waddled into your overpriced studio apartment one rainy night and decided it was hers.

the truth? you didn’t mind. between cramming for your degree and surviving the post-mortem of your relationships (both romantic and platonic, because apparently humans are terrible at consistency), mr. pickles became the one reliable constant in your life. albeit a hairy, aloof constant who occasionally brought you hairballs and dead bugs as sacrificial offerings to her goddess. you, of course, were said goddess.

any normal, functioning adult would have taken her to a shelter, or maybe put up a flyer: “found: one stray cat, bad attitude included.” but you, lonely soul that you were, took her in. except, it hadn’t been that simple. no, the first night you met her was anything but serene.

you were drunk. plastered. wobbling through the door with a bag of takeout in one hand and your heels in the other, ready to collapse onto your bed and dream about a life where rent didn’t cost your soul. but instead of an empty apartment greeting you, there she was. sitting smack in the middle of your living room like some furry squatters’ rights advocate, tail flicking with utter disdain.

you froze, still holding the doorknob, as your eyes locked with hers.

"what the—" you whispered, blinking hard to confirm you weren’t hallucinating. nope, she was real.

the cat let out a long, guttural “yeowwwwwwwwwl,” like she was just as horrified by you as you were by her.

you screamed. naturally. "who are you?! how did you get in here?! security’s supposed to be good—oh my god, is that a rat?"

she screamed back, launching into an impressive round of yowls that rattled your very bones. it became a chaotic symphony of you, still holding your takeout, pointing at her with your shoe, while she darted back and forth in an apparent panic over your panic.

"okay, okay," you gasped after what felt like hours but was probably five minutes. "just—calm down! i’ll call the cops or animal control or—do i even know animal control’s number? is that a thing people know?!"

the cat paused mid-panic, tilting her head as if considering whether you were worth the hassle. then, slowly and with the grace of a self-proclaimed queen, she sat back down.

you stood there, panting, wide-eyed, and still clutching your takeout like a lifeline. "are…are you done? can i move now?"

she gave a single chirp in response.

you blinked. "was that a yes?"

another chirp.

"okay, cool. good talk," you muttered, inching toward the kitchen counter to set your stuff down. "you know, you really picked the wrong apartment to haunt, bro. you don’t wanna hang out here."

she followed you, hopping onto the counter with zero hesitation.

"oh, you’ve got nerve," you grumbled, waving a hand. "get down. that’s…oh my god, is that chicken grease? you’re gonna get salmonella. do cats get salmonella?"

the cat meowed, which you took as a very sarcastic no.

you sighed. "great. now i’ve got a cat."

let’s rewind back to the future, to the moment you found out mr. pickles had a party of tiny paws brewing in her belly. it wasn’t an epiphany that hit you like a bolt of lightning—no, it was a series of increasingly bizarre events that gradually chipped away at your ignorance until the horrifyingly adorable truth came crashing down.

first, let’s talk about “pinking up.” apparently, around 16-20 days into pregnancy, a cat’s nipples turn pinker and more prominent—a fact you learned after a very awkward google search. not that you were actively inspecting mr. pickles’ nipples. that felt…wrong. but you did notice, eventually. the weight gain started subtly, a little extra fluff around her midsection that you brushed off as the result of switching to a premium brand of cat food. "guess the organic kibble’s working," you mumbled one evening as mr. pickles sprawled on the couch like a spoiled heiress. she blinked at you, unimpressed, before rolling onto her side, belly on full display. it was… rounder than usual. suspiciously so. but denial is a hell of a drug.

then came the morning she beat you to the bathroom. literally.

you were nursing a wicked hangover, the kind that makes you reconsider every life decision leading up to the night before. groaning, you dragged yourself out of bed and toward the bathroom, only to freeze in the doorway. there was mr. pickles, perched in your shower cubicle, hurling her guts out like she’d been partying harder than you. "what the—" you started, but she cut you off with another violent retch. you just stood there, slack-jawed, your own nausea momentarily forgotten. "are you… hungover? can cats be hungover?" she ignored you, finishing her business before hopping out of the shower with a nonchalance that screamed you’ll clean that up, right?

and the sleeping? don’t even get started on the sleeping. mr. pickles, your once lively (read: temperamental) companion, now spent her days passed out in the weirdest positions. you’d leave for class, catch her sprawled upside down on the couch with her legs in the air, and come back hours later to find her in the exact same spot. the first time it happened, you panicked. 

“mr. pickles?” you whispered, crouching beside her. no response. 

"oh my god, are you dead?" you poked her back. nothing. 

just as you were about to call your landlord and have him prepare for the worst, mr. pickles let out the laziest, most judgmental yawn you’d ever heard.

then came the personality shift. the mr. pickles you knew—the one who hissed at your laptop every time you opened it, as if microsoft word had committed a personal offense—was gone. in her place was a clingy, purring ball of affection. she started curling up on your lap while you worked, purring loud enough to rival an industrial saw. “awwww, who’s a good kitty?” you cooed, melting into the moment. and then she shed enough fur on your clothes to build a second cat.

but the final straw, the one that shattered your fragile understanding of reality, was the nesting.

you came home one evening to find mr. pickles frantically rearranging your laundry basket, clawing at the clothes and dragging them into a fluffy pile. she paused when you entered, her eyes wild with an intensity you’d never seen before.

"uhh…what are you doing?" you asked, only to be met with a deep, guttural growl. "okay, that’s new," you muttered, backing away slowly. "you do…whatever that is."

it hit you then. the weight gain, the puking, the clinginess, the nesting. oh my god.

"oh my god," you whispered, clutching the counter for support. "mr. pickles is a girl."

your world tilted. memories of every time you called her sir or buddy flashed before your eyes. you were the problem.

you rushed her to the vet the next day, bursting through the door like a contestant on a reality show. "she’s been acting weird," you blurted to the receptionist. "and by weird, i mean…is she pregnant?"

one checkup later, the vet turned to you with a warm smile and uttered the words that changed everything: “congratulations, you’re a mother.”

your jaw dropped. "what? no. no, i’m not. she’s—she’s the mother!" you gestured wildly to mr. pickles, who was now lounging on the exam table like this was all very boring. the vet chuckled. “well, technically, that makes you a grandmother.”

a grandmother. you, a college student, were a grandmother.

as you drove home in stunned silence, mr. pickles stretched out in the passenger seat, her belly looking smugly round. you glanced at her, still reeling.

“does this mean i have to start calling you mrs. pickles now?”

she purred. of course she purred.

chapter 2: welcome to parenthood, kinda

the day after the vet visit, you were a woman on a mission. holding mr. pickles up like she was a fragile artifact, you found yourself wandering the corridors of your apartment building, knocking on doors and attempting to uncover the truth behind your feline’s unexpected condition. sure, your mother raised you single-handedly, but did that mean you had to take on the role of a cat grandmother solo? absolutely not.

the first stop was masamichi yaga, your landlord. you weren’t sure why you started with the most intimidating person in the building, but desperation has a way of clouding judgment. his door creaked open, revealing the towering man himself, wearing a slightly bemused expression. “uhh …good morning, mr. yaga,” you stammered, clutching mr. pickles tighter for moral support. “i—uh—wanted to ask…do you have a cat?” he raised an eyebrow. “a cat?”

“yeah,” you said, awkwardly adjusting your grip on mr. pickles. “because, um, she’s pregnant, and i was wondering if—well, you know…”

yaga blinked at you for a moment, then let out a low chuckle. “no, i don’t have a cat. the only thing i house around here is pandas.”

you stared at him, waiting for the punchline that never came. “...pandas?”

“yup. no cats.”

you decided not to press further. “right. okay. thanks, anyway.” you shuffled away, cheeks burning, as he closed the door behind you with a definitive click.

next, you made your way to choso’s apartment. you’d seen the guy a few times in the hallway—tall, always dressed like he’d just walked out of a corporate ad, with an aura of quiet exhaustion that screamed salaryman. when he opened the door, he looked down at you with mild surprise, a coffee mug in one hand. “hi,” you greeted, feeling oddly self-conscious under his gaze. “i, uh, have a question. do you happen to own a cat?”

choso blinked, glancing at mr. pickles, who let out a disinterested meow. “no, i don’t.”

“are you sure?” you pressed. “because my cat is pregnant, and—”

“i’m sure,” he cut in gently, though his tone held the same weariness you felt every monday morning. “i barely have time to take care of my brothers, let alone a pet.”

“brothers?”

“yeah.” he took a sip of his coffee. “one of them’s a high schooler. the other one…well, he’s sukuna.”

you froze. “wait. sukuna? as in, the scary guy with the tattoos who glares at everyone when he smokes in the hallway?”

choso nodded. “he’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

you had your doubts but decided not to argue. “right. okay. thanks anyway.”

your next stop was shoko’s apartment. you’d always admired her cool, no-nonsense vibe, but the dark circles under her eyes told you she probably didn’t have time for a pet. still, you knocked. when the door opened, shoko stood there, looking like she hadn’t slept in three days but somehow still pulled it off effortlessly.

“hey,” you said, trying to sound casual. “do you have a cat?”

“a cat?” she repeated, leaning against the doorframe. “no. i’m barely home enough to keep my plants alive, let alone a pet.”

you nodded, biting back a sigh. “yeah, that makes sense.”

“why?” she asked, eyeing mr. pickles. “is she yours?”

“yeah. she’s pregnant.”

shoko raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “congrats, grandma.”

“don’t remind me,” you groaned. “thanks anyway.”

lastly, you tried suguru geto’s apartment. according to the building’s handbook, he was your neighbor on the floor above. but when you knocked, there was no answer. “great,” you muttered, glancing down at mr. pickles. “our prime suspect isn’t even home. what now?”

mr. pickles responded by squirming in your arms, clearly unimpressed with your sleuthing skills.

defeated, you trudged back to your apartment, where the reality of impending grandmotherhood sank in further. with no leads and no one to pin the blame on, you flopped onto your couch, setting mr. pickles down beside you. she stretched lazily, looking far too pleased with herself.

“this is your fault, you know,” you muttered, pointing a finger at her. she responded with a purr, curling up into a fluffy ball of indifference.

great. just great. looks like you were in this alone—again.

evening rolled in, and with it came mr. pickles’s dinner time. lately, you’d been overly cautious about her diet and mood—the whole pregnancy thing and all—but tonight? tonight she was testing your last nerve. there she was, stationed by the door like her life depended on it, yowling dramatically with an almost operatic flair. her tail flicked like a metronome, her cries growing more pitiful by the second. “oh, come on,” you groaned, setting her food bowl down with an exasperated sigh. “what’s with you tonight? you’ve eaten like, three times already.”

mr. pickles, naturally, ignored you, clawing at the door with all the determination of someone who just had to get out. “fine,” you muttered, stomping toward the door. “but i swear, if there’s a stray out there, you can explain yourself, motherf—”

you flung the door open mid-rant and promptly froze.

standing in your doorway was a man. a ridiculously tall, stupidly handsome man with long, silky black hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck and bangs that framed his angular face like he’d just stepped off the cover of handsome landlord quarterly. he wore a plain black sweater, dark trousers, and an expression that was equal parts bemused and apologetic. but your attention snapped to the cat he was holding aloft—an orange tabby with piercingly bright blue eyes that were somehow both smug and indifferent at the same time. “uh…hi,” he said, his voice deep and smooth with an edge of uncertainty. “this yours?”

“that’s…not my cat,” you managed, pointing awkwardly at the tabby.

“figured,” he said, glancing past you into your apartment where mr. pickles was now peeking out, her ears perked and tail bristled like an antenna. “he’s mine. name’s gojo. found him sitting outside my door screaming his lungs out, so i thought maybe…” his words trailed off as his gaze flicked between you, mr. pickles, and gojo. then, realization dawned on his face.

“wait.” he looked at mr. pickles, then back at you. “is your cat…?”

“pregnant?” you supplied flatly. “yep. as of about a week ago, thanks for asking.”

geto—because of course you’d figured out that this very handsome man was suguru geto from the floor above—blinked, visibly processing this information. “huh,” he said finally, his brow furrowing as he glanced at gojo. “but…gojo’s neutered.”

“what?” you blurted, staring at the smug orange tabby who looked anything but neutered. “yeah, had it done ages ago.” geto tilted his head, clearly as baffled as you. “so how the hell…?” you pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache blooming. “you’re saying there’s no way it could’ve been him?”

“not unless he figured out how to reverse a neuter,” geto said dryly, his lips twitching in a bemused smile. you both looked at the cats the—gojo, lounging smugly in geto’s arms, and mr. pickles, glaring daggers from the safety of the couch. “okay,” you muttered, mostly to yourself. “if not gojo, then who? because i don’t exactly let her out, and she’s been acting weird for weeks.”

“well…” geto began, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “he did sneak out a couple of times last month, but i didn’t think—”

“oh my god,” you groaned, cutting him off. “are you telling me your supposedly neutered cat is actually some kind of feline lothario who managed to knock up my cat on one of his escapades?”

“it’s not like i planned this,” geto defended, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone. you shot him a look, but before you could respond, gojo meowed loudly, almost like he was bragging. “great,” you muttered, throwing your hands up. “just great. now i have to deal with kittens, rent, and figuring out how the hell to co-parent with the guy next door who can’t keep his cat under control.”

geto chuckled, his dark eyes twinkling with genuine amusement. “well, if it helps, i’m pretty good with kids. or kittens, in this case.” you stared at him, incredulous. “this isn’t funny.”

“oh, come on,” he teased, his smirk widening. “it’s a little funny.” you groaned again, retreating into your apartment. “this is a nightmare.”

“or an adventure,” geto countered, stepping back into the hallway with a casual wave. “let me know if you need any help. babysitting, moral support, whatever.” and just like that, he was gone, leaving you with a very pregnant mr. pickles, a smug orange tabby, and far too many questions about how you’d managed to land yourself in this ridiculous situation.

-

the realization hit you as soon as you pressed "send." oh no. oh no, no, no. 

did you really just text suguru geto—your neighbor, a man who likely had better things to do than deal with your ridiculous antics a demand for child support? for cats? you flopped face-first onto your couch, groaning into a throw pillow. “what the hell is wrong with me?” mr. pickles, lounging on the armrest, flicked her tail and let out a smug little chirp, as if she’d orchestrated the entire debacle. “you’re no help,” you muttered, rolling onto your back to glare at her.

but it was too late now. the text was sent, sitting in geto’s inbox like an uninvited guest at a party. you imagined him reading it, probably over a cup of coffee in his immaculate apartment upstairs, eyebrows raised in disbelief before muttering something like, what the hell is this?

“what was i expecting?” you asked the ceiling. “a courtroom? with gojo cat wearing a tiny tie and confessing his sins?” mr. pickles yawned, completely uninterested in your spiral.

“ugh,” you grumbled, standing up. “whatever. it’s his problem now.”

-

bleary-eyed and still half-asleep, you shuffled to the door the next morning to grab the newspaper. the universe owed you at least one boring morning after last night’s embarrassment. but as you opened the door, your sleep-deprived brain screeched to a halt. there, sitting on your front porch, was a 5kg bag of premium cat food, the kind you’d seen in the store once and immediately walked past because it cost more than your monthly grocery budget. “what the…” you muttered, crouching down to inspect it.

taped to the bag was a folded piece of paper with the words “child support :)” scrawled in smooth, confident handwriting. beneath the note was what looked suspiciously like a paw print in ink. you squinted, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. “no. absolutely not. did he—did they actually ink up the cat for this?” you glanced down the hallway, half-expecting geto to pop out from behind a corner and yell “gotcha!” but it was eerily quiet. mr. pickles, who had wandered over to investigate, sniffed the bag and let out an excited meow, her tail curling in approval. “of course you’re happy,” you said, picking up the note and reading it again. “this is like winning the lottery for you.”

you flipped the paper over, looking for more, but that was it. just “child support :)” and a smug paw print. “oh my god,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “he’s good. he’s really good.” you set the bag inside and grabbed your phone, your thumbs hovering over the keyboard. what were you even supposed to say to this? thank you? an apology for being unhinged?

before you could overthink it, a new message lit up your screen.

geto: hope this helps. let me know if you need anything else. gojo says hi.

you stared at the message for a long moment, torn between laughter and mortification.

“what do i even say to that?” you asked mr. pickles, who was now trying to claw her way into the bag of food. she didn’t respond, obviously, but you took her enthusiasm as a sign to type out the least embarrassing reply you could muster.

you: thanks. mr. pickles says hi too. sorry about the text, was half-asleep. really appreciate this though.

a reply came almost instantly.

geto: no problem. wasn’t sure how much to get, so i just grabbed the fanciest one. figured she deserves it.

you snorted, shaking your head. “what are you, cat royalty?”

mr. pickles let out a pleased chirp, pawing at the bag triumphantly, and you couldn’t help but laugh. whatever this situation was, at least mr. pickles was happy. and, okay, maybe suguru geto wasn’t completely terrible either.

you thought life couldn’t get more ridiculous after the whole “child support” stunt. but somehow, suguru geto managed to raise the bar so high that it was practically doing pull-ups in the stratosphere. because when you stepped out of your apartment to grab some fresh air and regroup after being up all night with a cuddly mr. pickles, you realized geto had turned this entire ordeal into a neighborhood event. “did he… throw a party without telling me?” you muttered to yourself, narrowing your eyes as you spotted a small, hand-decorated sign taped to the landlord’s door. it read: "congrats to the new parents: gojo & mr. pickles!”

“new parents?” you said aloud, incredulous.

as if summoned by your confusion, choso’s door creaked open, and yuuji popped his head out, looking entirely too enthusiastic for such an early hour. “hey, neighbor! did you see the banner?” you blinked at him. “banner?” 

yuuji pointed down the hallway. you squinted and, sure enough, there it was — a banner strung across the hallway ceiling that read: "welcome baby kittens!!!" in what looked like glitter glue. “oh my god.” you pressed a hand to your forehead. “he didn’t.”

“he totally did!” yuuji grinned, stepping fully into the hallway. “he came by earlier and told me about gojo being a dad. so cool, right? i mean, gojo’s kind of an idiot, but hey, every cat deserves a shot at fatherhood.”

“yuuji,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “he’s not an actual dad. this isn’t a sitcom. it’s just…biology.” yuuji shrugged. “biology, destiny, same thing. oh, by the way, geto dropped off cookies! want one?” you looked down and noticed yuuji holding a plate of cookies shaped like tiny cats.

“what the—did he bake these?”

“nah, i think he bought them,” yuuji said, biting into one. “but still. pretty neat, huh?” you groaned, muttering, “neat isn’t the word i’d use.”

just as you turned to head back into your apartment and escape the madness, there was a loud, insistent scratching at your door. you froze. “don’t tell me…”

yuuji, still chewing on his cookie, pointed. “that’s probably gojo. he’s been making rounds all morning trying to visit your cat. i think he’s really taking this fatherhood thing seriously.” you stormed to your door and there he was—gojo cat, gojo the cat, his bright blue eyes wide and hopeful as he pawed at the doorway like a love-struck romeo. “oh, for crying out loud,” you muttered, scooping him up and holding him at arm’s length as you entered your house. “what do you think you’re doing?” gojo meowed pitifully, his tail flicking as he looked past you toward mr. pickles, who was curled up on her blanket, looking utterly unimpressed. “she’s not interested, casanova,” you told him, turning to yuuji. “can you take him back before he climbs my curtains again?” yuuji laughed, taking the cat from you. “no problem. come on, gojo. let’s give her some space.”

as yuuji disappeared down the hall with gojo, you closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a long sigh. but before you could even sit down, your phone buzzed.

geto: hope you’re enjoying the festivities. gojo’s a little excited, but who can blame him? parenthood changes you.

you stared at the message, your eye twitching.

you: i'm one sleepless night away from snapping. please stop turning my life into a hallmark movie.

geto: don’t be shy. you’re the real hero here, grandma.

you groaned, tossing your phone onto the couch. mr. pickles, who had been watching the entire ordeal with an air of feline superiority, let out a small, smug purr. “don’t you start,” you told her, flopping onto the couch. “at least it’s a long weekend.” but deep down, you knew there was no such thing as peace—not when suguru geto and his ridiculous orange menace were involved.

-

suguru geto was not having a good day.

he sighed, leaning back against his couch as the familiar hum of embarrassment settled over him. gojo cat, sprawled across the armrest, gave a half-hearted meow, probably to mock him. he’d woken up to him scratching at his front door like a lunatic, yowling for his morning ritual of inspecting the hallway for signs of mr. pickles. the normally smug and self-satisfied orange menace had been acting weird for days—restless, meowing at windows, and straight-up bolting every time geto so much as opened the front door. it had taken geto exactly one trip downstairs to realize why.

you. or more specifically, your cat.

geto hadn’t even known you had a cat until he’d knocked on your door last week, with mr. pickles in the background like some furry empress. now, not only did he know, but he also had the dubious honor of being the grandfather of mr. pickles’ unborn kittens. “how did it even come to this?” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the glittery “welcome baby kittens!!!” banner he’d put up in the hallway. he knew he was making things worse for himself, but honestly, it was better than sitting in his apartment, spiraling. he sighed, looking down at gojo, who was perched on the armrest of the couch, lazily licking a paw. “you couldn’t just chill, could you?” geto said, narrowing his eyes at the cat. “no, you had to go and ruin my already complicated life. do you know how awkward this is? do you?”

gojo blinked at him, clearly unbothered. “of course you don’t,” geto muttered. “you’re a cat.”

the thing was, geto had genuinely thought he’d be cool about this whole situation. sure, it was a little weird to be co-parenting kittens with the girl he’d had a hallway crush on for months, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t handle it. except he wasn’t handling it. he’d told yuuji. he’d told yaga. he’d even left cookies for shoko. and now half the building knew about gojo’s escapades. “what am i doing?” he groaned, leaning back on the couch and covering his face with his hands. “you know, this is all your fault,” geto muttered, glaring at the cat. gojo, unbothered, blinked lazily.

geto had been a lot of things in his years of life—student, aspiring lawyer, occasional cat dad—but one thing he wasn’t was smooth when it came to you. you, the girl from another department who lived one floor below him. you, the one who always looked like you belonged in a wes anderson movie, with your half-hidden smiles and humour. you, who somehow managed to make even the most mundane hallway interactions feel like they had a gravitational pull. geto groaned, pressing his palms into his face. he was this close to becoming a tragic cliché. 

it wasn’t like he’d never tried to talk to you before. he had. there was that one time in the campus library, where he’d psych himself up for twenty minutes only for you to leave before he could string a coherent sentence together. or the time in the cafeteria when he thought about offering you a seat at his table but chickened out because he was certain his friends would tease him for weeks. “this is what rock bottom feels like,” he muttered to himself.

he wasn’t even supposed to live in this building. as an international law major with a full schedule and internships on the horizon, he should’ve been in one of the fancier complexes closer to campus, but fate—or sheer bad luck—had landed him here. not that he could complain. not when you were his downstairs neighbor. he had always figured you were out of reach, though. you had this aura of being completely in your own world—poised, a little reserved, but not in a way that came off as unapproachable. more like you were quietly observing the chaos around you, letting it wash over you like a passing breeze. and he’d been content to admire you from afar. well, mostly content. but now? there was a knock at the door. 

geto froze.

“please don’t let it be her,” he whispered, praying to whatever higher power might be listening.

it was you. standing in his apartment building, holding a note he wrote about “child support.”

“hey,” you said, holding up a piece of paper. “you forgot this.”

“oh,” he said dumbly. “right. thanks.”

you stepped inside, looking around at the various cat-themed decorations geto had somehow acquired in the past 24 hours. “so… big fan of cats, huh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. geto felt his face heat up. “uh, yeah. something like that.” you smirked, crossing your arms. “you know, you didn’t have to go all out like this. it’s not that big of a deal.”

“not a big deal?” geto repeated, incredulous. “your cat is having kittens with my cat. that’s, like… monumental.” you rolled your eyes. “they’re cats , geto. not royal heirs.”

“still,” he said, crossing his arms defensively. “i’m just trying to be responsible here.” you looked at him for a long moment, and geto swore he saw the tiniest flicker of amusement in your eyes. “responsible?” you repeated. “is that why you’ve turned our hallway into a petting zoo?” geto opened his mouth to argue but stopped when gojo jumped down from the couch and strutted over to you, rubbing against your legs like the shameless flirt he was. “traitor,” geto muttered under his breath. you crouched down to pet gojo, a small smile tugging at your lips. “well, at least someone knows how to make a good impression.” 

geto stared at you, his brain short-circuiting. “uh, yeah,” he said finally. “he’s… he’s good at that.” you stood up, brushing cat fur off your hands. “anyway, thanks for the food. mr. pickles appreciates it.”

“no problem,” geto said, trying to sound casual. “you know, if you ever need help with… anything, just let me know.” you raised an eyebrow. “like what? cat parenting classes?”

“sure,” geto said, shrugging. “or, you know, anything else.” you gave him a long, considering look before finally nodding. “i’ll keep that in mind,” you said, turning to leave. “thanks, grandpa.”

geto groaned as the door closed behind you. “what am i even doing?” he muttered again, looking down at gojo, who had jumped back onto the couch, looking entirely too smug. the cat meowed, as if to say, you’re welcome.

chapter 3: first we stalk, then we brunch

later in the evening, you found yourself huddled under your comforter, laptop balanced precariously on your knees. mr. pickles was curled up at your feet, occasionally flicking her tail, as if silently judging you. you ignored her. tonight, you had a mission: to do a deep dive into the enigma that was suguru geto. you weren’t proud of yourself, okay? but curiosity had officially killed the cat—or at least put her temporarily out of commission. like any sensible person armed with curiosity and internet access, you turned to linkedin. not instagram, not facebook—linkedin. because nothing screams “serious investigation” like stalking someone’s professional achievements. “let’s see what we’ve got, mr. pickles,” you muttered, typing “suguru geto” into the search bar on the holy grail of professional snooping. mr. pickles perched regally at the foot of your bed, her gaze judgmental as ever. “don’t give me that look,” you muttered. “i’m doing this for you.”

within seconds, his profile loaded up, and your jaw practically hit the floor.

suguru geto wasn’t just good-looking. oh no. he was an overachiever of the highest order. his profile picture was annoyingly perfect: a candid (but totally staged) shot of him sitting at a café, holding a cup of coffee in one hand while looking thoughtfully into the distance, as if he’d just solved world hunger. his headline read:

suguru geto | international law student | aspiring global policymaker | passionate about justice and equality

“ugh,” you groaned, scrolling further. “passionate about justice? who is this guy?” his bio didn’t help matters. it was filled with phrases like ‘dedicated to fostering positive global change’ and ‘committed to bridging the gap between policy and implementation.’

“committed to being annoyingly perfect, maybe,” you muttered, side-eyeing mr. pickles. she let out a half-hearted meow that you chose to interpret as agreement. his experience section was even worse—or better, depending on how you looked at it. a summer internship at the UN where he ‘assisted in drafting resolutions and collaborated with member states on sustainable development initiatives.’ worked as a legal intern at some fancy law firm with a french name you couldn’t pronounce, where he ‘focused on international human rights cases, with a specific emphasis on refugee protection.’ not to mention being a volunteer coordinator for a charity in sri lanka, where he ‘organized relief efforts and distributed supplies to displaced families during the holiday season.’

“okay, mr. pickles,” you said, glancing at the unimpressed feline. “this guy’s either a saint or a robot.” what shocked you most wasn’t his saintly résumé, but the fact that he went to the same university as you. you stared at the screen, stunned. “how the hell did i not know this?” his “education” section confirmed it:

bachelor’s in international law | current student

active member of the debate team and global policy forum

that explains it, you thought. you were a year younger and in an entirely different department—he probably had his head buried in treaties while you scrambled through your own projects. still, the idea of suguru walking the same hallways as you sent your mind reeling. “was he in the cafeteria when i spilled coffee on myself that one time?” you wondered aloud. as you continued scrolling, you stumbled upon his posts. his posts swung wildly between annoyingly inspirational and oddly endearing.

the first was a very cheesy, slightly-too-polished “ringing in the new year” post, complete with a stock photo of fireworks and an unnecessarily long caption: ‘as we close the chapter on another year, let us remember the power of community and resilience. cheers to 365 days of growth, learning, and striving for a better world!’

“uggghhh, gag me,” you snorted, though you couldn’t help but admire how polished it all was.

then there was a post featuring none other than gojo cat sprawled on a cushion, mid-snore. the caption read: ‘cats are not just pets—they are companions, teachers, and sometimes, our greatest confidants. thank you, gojo, for reminding me to appreciate the little joys in life.’

“confidants? really?” you muttered, holding back a laugh. “what secrets are you sharing with your cat, suguru?” the pièce de résistance, however, was a post about his recent trip to sri lanka. it included a photo of him kneeling next to a group of kids, all of them smiling brightly, while he held a giant sack of rice. ‘spending christmas eve here has been a humbling experience. giving is not just about material wealth but about offering hope and kindness. #holidaygiving #payitforward’

“oh, come on,” you groaned. “who even has time for all of this?” mr. pickles let out an approving meow, her ears twitching at the picture. “not you too,” you sighed. just as you were about to close the tab, a final post caught your eye. it was from a few months ago: a blurry picture of the university quad, with a caption that read: ‘sometimes, it’s the quiet moments on campus that remind you why you started this journey. grateful for this space, these people, and this path.’

“quiet moments, huh?” you mused, leaning back against your pillows. “maybe he’s not all bad.” mr. pickles let out a disapproving chirp, as if to say, focus on the fact that he’s responsible for my current condition, thank you. and just when you thought you’d seen it all, there was his international cat day post. gojo cat lay sprawled in the background, his belly exposed, looking utterly unbothered. geto had written an almost poetic ode to feline companionship. ‘in a world filled with noise, cats remind us to listen to silence. they are the quiet guardians of our souls.’

you couldn’t help but snort. “quiet guardians? mr. pickles, your baby daddy is a poet now.” mr. pickles gave a soft chirp, as if to say, better him than some nobody. “fine,” you relented, closing your laptop. “maybe he’s not terrible. just… annoyingly perfect.” but as you lay back against your pillows, a nagging thought lingered: why had he never said anything? you’d walked the same hallways, shared the same campus, yet he’d never even made a passing hello. was he too busy, or something else? either way, you weren’t sure whether to be impressed or annoyed. probably both.

-

suguru geto prided himself on being polished and refined. and he had standards okay? he wasn’t some creep skulking around in the shadows. he was a man of composure, logic, and discipline. but all of that went out the window when it came to you. he is also an upstanding citizen who just happened to know your spotify account, which he checked semi-regularly. for research purposes, obviously. it started innocently enough—getting your instagram handle. no big deal. he hadn’t even followed you right away, worried it might seem weird coming out of nowhere. it was all very calculated: a "friend of a friend of a classmate of a third cousin" pipeline that eventually led him to your public page. a click here, a scroll there, and boom—your instagram aesthetic was forever seared into his memory.  but social media wasn’t enough. no, geto was too curious (and maybe just a bit too pathetic) to stop there. this led him to your spotify.

now, he didn’t just stumble upon your spotify profile by chance. this particular treasure hunt began at a house party at the start of the year. utahime had made a collaborative playlist for everyone, and while everyone else just added their favorite songs, geto decided to dive deep. deep as in scrolling through over 150 accounts connected to the playlist just to find yours. “there it is,” he had muttered triumphantly back then, his lips twitching into a satisfied smile. “gotcha.” and from that moment, your spotify profile became his guilty pleasure. your profile picture at the time? a blurry photo of what looked like you holding a glass of wine at some fancy rooftop bar. but the playlists were the real treasure.

your “gym rat” playlist was his favorite, with high energy tracks, peppered with one or two questionable choices. seriously, why was there a taylor swift song in the middle of your workout playlist? your “in the clerb, we all cryin’” playlist was interesting to say the least, comprising of indie ballads, heart-wrenching acoustics, and, for some reason, a single abba track. then there was “road trip,” featuring everything from funky throwbacks to an absurd number of songs by chappell roan. “you’ve got taste,” geto muttered to himself, clicking into the playlists one by one. “questionable taste in some areas, but still…” he often scrolled through your profile aimlessly, not necessarily looking for anything new, but just existing in your world, even if it was through music. tonight, he found himself back on your page, like some kind of masochistic ritual.

his eyes drifted to his chrome tabs, where your spotify was bookmarked for easy access. it was right there, sandwiched between his email inbox, an online soba delivery menu, an article titled “10 Tips for Acing Your Next Law Internship” and a tab about international trade law regulations. “no new playlists,” he murmured, leaning back in his chair. your gym playlist hadn’t been updated in six months (“what happened to your gym rat era?”), and your grwm playlist was untouched. “slacking, hm?” gojo cat, perched on the edge of the desk, gave him a slow blink. “boring night for you too, huh?” geto sighed dramatically, glancing over at gojo cat sprawled on his lap. the feline barely flicked an ear in response. “don’t look at me like that,” geto said, narrowing his eyes at the feline. “this is completely normal behavior. i’m not stalking. i’m just… maintaining a healthy level of interest.”

“it’s not creepy,” he justified aloud, more to himself than to anyone else. “it’s resourceful. i’m just staying informed.” gojo cat stretched lazily, letting out a yawn that sounded suspiciously judgmental. “oh, don’t start,” geto shot back, tapping lightly on the cat’s head. “you’re the reason i even know her in the first place.” geto’s eyes flicked to your “gym rat era” playlist again. still untouched. “what happened to that, by the way?” he asked no one in particular. “gave up? hit your personal best and retired early?” gojo cat pawed at the corner of his laptop, as if trying to close it.

“hey, no,” geto said, swatting the cat’s paw away gently. “i’m in the middle of something important.” his finger hovered over the profile picture you’d updated—something blurry and vaguely artsy. probably taken at a bar or café. he debated clicking it but stopped himself. what was he expecting? some secret hidden bio like “hey, stop creeping”? he sighed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “i’m not weird, right?” he asked the cat.

gojo, being a cat, offered no answer.

“right,” geto muttered. “this is perfectly reasonable. i’m just… interested. it’s not like i’m walking past her door at 3 a.m. or something.” a fleeting daydream crossed his mind—what if the two of you had a shared playlist? something intimate and special, where you both added songs and left little comments. “‘thinking of you when i added this,’” he mused in a mockingly cheesy tone, shaking his head. “god, what am i, thirteen?” still, the thought lingered, making him smile despite himself. just as he began to close the tab, a notification popped up.

[beef_boss_69 has followed you.]

his entire demeanor shifted. “beef boss? beef boss?” geto practically spat the name out. “who the hell—what kind of username is that?” he clicked on the profile, his eyes narrowing as he inspected the new follower. it was a faceless account, with no playlists or followers of its own. “oh, great,” he grumbled. “a bot. or worse, some guy who thinks he’s funny.” he glanced at gojo cat, who looked thoroughly unimpressed. “don’t give me that look,” geto said, pointing at the cat. “you’d be upset too if some guy named beef boss was muscling in on your territory.” gojo cat chirped, which suguru took as a sign of agreement. “exactly,” geto said, nodding to himself. “i mean, what’s next? chicken king 420? pork prince 88?” 

he sat back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “i should just send the linkedin request,” he muttered to himself. “rip the band-aid off. what’s the worst that could happen?” gojo cat let out a loud meow, almost as if to say, you’re never going to do it. “shut up,” geto shot back, though there was no heat behind his words. he closed your spotify tab, ignoring the way his stomach twisted at the thought of actually interacting with you. maybe tomorrow, he thought. or next week. or the next time beef boss made a move. as he shut his laptop, he made a mental note: tomorrow, he’d work up the nerve to send you a linkedin request. baby steps, right?

-

you weren’t even sure what had pulled you out of bed that morning. was it the ungodly racket outside your door? the growing guilt of not actually reading the paper you insisted on having delivered? or maybe just the suspiciously human-sounding yowls of mr. pickles as she nested in the corner of your room? either way, you’d dragged yourself out of bed, eyes half-closed, hair resembling a bird’s nest, and shuffled toward the door in your favorite—read: most embarrassing—pajamas. and there he was.

suguru geto, standing in front of your door in the crisp morning light, wearing an athletic jacket, sweatpants, and the expression of a man who was absolutely not ready for this level of chaos. attached to his hand was a leash, and attached to the leash was none other than gojo cat himself, strutting like he was the king of the neighborhood. “morning,” geto greeted, his tone breezy but his face clearly betraying some inner turmoil. you blinked at him. “is that… is that a harness?”

“yep.” geto scratched the back of his neck. “gojo here insisted.” as if on cue, gojo cat let out an overly dramatic meow, his bright blue eyes locking onto yours. he looked like a lion surveying his kingdom =—or, more accurately, a spoiled housecat demanding tribute. “you’re taking your cat for a walk?” you asked, still half-asleep and very much regretting this encounter. “yeah, he’s been getting a little… restless,” geto said, glancing down at the fluffball who was now trying to paw at your door. “and by restless, i mean clawing the walls like a maniac at 3 a.m.” gojo cat let out another meow, this one louder, and then craned his neck to peer behind you, as if expecting mr. pickles to emerge in all her pregnant glory. “okay, what’s he doing?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at the cat. “probably hoping to see his baby mama,” geto replied with a dry chuckle. you stared at him, your brain still buffering from the sheer audacity of that sentence. “baby mama?”

“look,” geto started, suddenly looking flustered, “i was wondering if you… i mean, if she … maybe we could —”

“spit it out.”

“do you wanna join us for a walk?” he blurted, his cheeks faintly pink.

gojo cat meowed again, clearly seconding the idea. or maybe he was just demanding that you bring mr. pickles along. you sighed, glancing over your shoulder at the aforementioned queen of your household, who was currently sprawled on her side like a beached whale. “she’s not exactly in the mood for exercise.” “please,” geto said, his tone bordering on desperate. “it might do her some good. and honestly, it might keep gojo from trying to scale your window again.” you pinched the bridge of your nose. “fine. but you owe me breakfast for this.”

“deal,” geto said immediately, his relief almost palpable.

after an embarrassingly long five minutes of wrangling mr. pickles into her carrier—complete with angry hisses and a swat to your hand—you emerged from your apartment, looking like you were about to march into battle. “ready?” geto asked, his smile equal parts charming and sheepish. “let’s just get this over with,” you grumbled, hoisting the carrier while mr. pickles glared daggers at everyone in sight. as the four of you set off, gojo cat kept glancing back at the carrier, chirping softly as if trying to woo mr. pickles through sheer persistence. “he’s really laying it on thick, huh?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “like father, like son,” geto joked, then immediately looked mortified at his own words. you snorted, finally cracking a smile. “careful, geto. i might actually start thinking you’re funny.” he grinned, his confidence seemingly restored. “well, miracles do happen.”

mr. pickles, meanwhile, let out a low growl from her carrier, clearly unimpressed with the whole ordeal. gojo cat chirped in response, pressing his face to the mesh side of the carrier in what could only be described as a show of devotion. “is he always like this?” you asked, watching the ridiculous display. “only when he’s in love,” geto replied, shooting you a look that lingered just a second too long. you pretended not to notice the way your heart skipped a beat. “well, he better not get his hopes up. mr. pickles isn’t exactly the romantic type.” geto chuckled. “guess he’ll just have to win her over.” as the morning sun climbed higher, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this whole ridiculous situation wasn’t so bad after all.

geto meanwhile, was mentally spiraling. he didn’t know what was worse—the “like father, like son” line he’d just dropped on you or the fact that you didn’t immediately burst out laughing and leave him and his ridiculous orange tabby in the dust. instead, you stayed, which only made things harder for him. literally. his heart was pounding so loudly he was sure even mr. pickles could hear it from inside her carrier. he was trying to play it cool, but how was he supposed to do that when his so-called son was busy embarrassing the hell out of him? gojo cat was living his best life, pulling on his leash like a dog on a mission. his blue eyes sparkled with excitement as he trotted beside mr. pickles' carrier, occasionally pawing at the mesh as if trying to “connect” with his beloved. mr. pickles, for her part, was clearly over it. she sat in the carrier like a disgruntled queen, her ears flat and her glare sharp enough to cut diamonds.

“your cat’s persistent,” you said, watching as gojo cat did a full circle around the carrier before flopping dramatically on the sidewalk, belly up, in what looked like a plea for attention. “he’s… special,” geto replied, attempting to reel in the leash as gojo cat kicked his legs in the air, rolling onto his side to stare mournfully at mr. pickles. “gojo, stop being weird.” gojo cat let out a pitiful meow, his paws pressing against the carrier like he was performing some romeo and juliet reenactment. “is this normal?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you crouched to take a closer look. “define normal,” geto deadpanned, tugging the leash again as gojo cat started to nudge his face against the carrier. “he’s just... enthusiastic. about life. and apparently, love.”

“mr. pickles looks like she’s about to murder him.”

mr. pickles, indeed, was having none of it. when gojo cat got too close, she raised a paw and batted at the mesh with a low growl, making geto jump. “okay, timeout,” geto said, scooping gojo cat up with one arm while holding the leash in the other. gojo cat squirmed, letting out a series of indignant chirps as if protesting his removal from the “love of his life.” “you’re really committed to this cat dad role, huh?” you teased, standing back up. “it’s not a role,” geto replied, attempting to adjust gojo cat in his arms as the feline twisted dramatically, his tail flicking with determination. “it’s a lifestyle.” you snorted, and geto decided right then and there that he would endure any amount of humiliation for the sound of your laughter.

meanwhile, gojo cat had decided he’d had enough of the timeout. with a sudden burst of energy, he wriggled free from geto’s grip and made a beeline back to mr. pickles’ carrier. he pawed at it again, letting out a chirp that sounded suspiciously like, notice me, senpai. “jesus christ, gojo,” geto muttered, scrambling to grab the leash. “can you give her some space for five seconds?”

“he’s determined,” you said, your lips twitching as you watched the scene unfold. “i’ll give him that.”

“determined to get us kicked out of the building, maybe,” geto grumbled, finally managing to wrangle gojo cat back.

mr. pickles, now thoroughly fed up, turned her back to the carrier door, her tail swishing in annoyance. she let out a loud, irritated meow, as if to say, enough of this nonsense. “looks like the queen has spoken,” you said, nodding toward mr. pickles. “yeah, well, tell that to this guy,” geto replied, holding gojo cat up like a misbehaving toddler. “i swear, he’s got no chill.”

“takes after his dad, huh?” you said with a sly grin.

geto froze, his cheeks heating up. “i—uh—he’s not my biological—uh…”

you laughed again, shaking your head. 

“relax, geto. i’m just messing with you.” but before geto could recover and try to salvage what was left of his dignity, gojo cat let out another loud meow, squirming in his grip. “great,” geto muttered. “and now i’m the guy whose cat ruins his chance to make a good impression.”

“who said it was ruined?” you said casually, your gaze meeting his for a brief, heart-stopping moment. and just like that, geto decided that maybe—just maybe—gojo cat wasn’t the worst wingman in the world after all.

honestly, when you first saw geto on linkedin yesterday—highlighted internships, connections with every fancy-sounding legal firm, and posts that made him look like a diplomatic demigod—you thought, oh, great. another rich boy who probably orders his coffee by listing ten modifications and has never eaten instant noodles in his life. add gojo cat into the mix, and you were sure this guy was going to be the embodiment of an annoying private school kid, complete with a pet who demanded bottled water and artisanal treats. but this? this was unexpected. geto was, dare you say it, fun. the man actually cracked jokes, didn’t have that holier-than-thou attitude, and seemed genuinely nice. how was he even an international law major? weren’t they supposed to be the glorified MUN kids of society?

“so, what do you think of him?” geto asked, glancing down at gojo cat, who was currently doing his best impression of an olympic sprinter, chasing a rogue leaf across the path. “him?” you asked, smirking. “i think he’s a menace to society.”

“hey, that’s my son you’re talking about,” geto said, mock-offended. “like father, like son,” you shot back, and you caught the faintest twitch of his lips. “you wound me,” geto replied dramatically, clutching his chest like you’d just dealt a fatal blow. you laughed despite yourself. “i mean, am i wrong? you’re kind of a menace too, you know. showing up with that “like father, like son” line earlier.”

“that line was gold, okay?” he said, defensive but clearly holding back a grin. “besides, it worked. you’re still here, aren’t you?” you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “you got lucky. i needed some fresh air.”

“ah, so i’m just a side quest for your morning routine. noted,” he said, looking mock-wounded again. “don’t make me regret this,” you said, though your tone was light. but then, of course, you had to spiral. because what kind of person just casually smells like bamboo? why were you even thinking about how he smelled in the first place? no, focus. you were not about to develop a crush on mr. linkedin extraordinaire.

“so, um,” geto started, scratching the back of his neck. you noticed he did that a lot when he was unsure of himself, which was oddly endearing. “did you, uh, happen to notice we go to the same university?”

“oh, i noticed,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “what i didn’t notice was how i never saw you around campus before.”

“i keep a low profile,” he said quickly, a little too quickly. 

“low profile? you? with your fifteen linkedin posts about networking events and charity galas?” you teased. he flushed, and you bit back a laugh at the sight of the ever-composed suguru geto getting flustered. “that’s professional stuff,” he said, looking anywhere but at you. “different vibe.”

“sure, mr. diplomat,” you said, grinning. “but seriously, why haven’t we crossed paths before?”

“well, you’re a year younger,” he mumbled, “and in a different department. plus… i might’ve…”

“might’ve what?” you pressed, leaning in just slightly.

“might’ve avoided you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “avoided me?” you repeated, blinking. “why?”

his face turned a shade darker. “because i didn’t know how to talk to you, okay?” you stared at him, caught off guard by his sudden honesty. for a moment, neither of you spoke, the sound of gojo cat rustling through the bushes filling the silence. “well,” you said finally, breaking the tension with a small smile, “you’re doing fine now.” he looked at you, his expression softening. “yeah, maybe.”

and just like that, the flustered energy transferred to you, because how was this guy suddenly so disarming? you quickly turned your attention to gojo cat, who had now returned, proudly carrying a twig in his mouth like it was some grand prize. “your cat’s weird,” you said, hoping the heat in your cheeks wasn’t too obvious. “takes after his owner,” geto quipped, a little more confidently this time. you snorted, shaking your head. “yeah, well, you’re lucky i don’t scare easy.”

“lucky, huh?” he said, his lips curving into a small, genuine smile.

you groaned inwardly. maybe you were spiraling. if mr. pickles could talk, you’d be subjected to a very long, exasperated lecture right now. and honestly? she’d have a point. because here you were, fumbling in front of what could only be described as a god-sent man—minus his questionable taste in cheesy pickup lines and feline companions. and judging by the way she was scratching insistently against the carrier’s mesh, mr. pickles had had enough. “alright, alright,” you muttered, unzipping the carrier. “but behave, okay? no swatting.”

the minute she stepped out, in all her pregnant, regal glory, gojo cat lost his mind. if there were an olympic event for wooing, he’d be taking home gold, no contest. he was meowing nonstop, his tail flicking like crazy, hopping in excited circles around mr. pickles. “good god,” geto muttered beside you, watching his cat’s antics with a mixture of horror and amusement. “he’s… persistent, isn’t he?”

“persistent? your cat’s acting like he just won the lottery,” you said, watching gojo cat crouch low and wiggle his butt like he was about to pounce. “mr. pickles deserves the best,” geto said with a smirk, his tone dripping with mock sincerity. “she deserves peace and quiet,” you shot back, laughing as mr. pickles calmly let gojo cat have his little moment of excitement before promptly swatting him on the nose.

gojo cat froze, blinking in shock. then, as if nothing happened, he tried again. another swat.

“he doesn’t give up, does he?” you said, shaking your head. “like father, like son,” geto said with a shrug, and you snorted.

“oh, so you’re like that too, huh?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. he froze for a second, his brain clearly buffering. then he laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “i like to think i have a bit more self-control.”

“hmm,” you said, pretending to consider. “debatable.”

“harsh,” geto said, placing a hand over his heart like he’d been wounded. things weren’t any better for geto. watching you laugh at his lame attempts at humor was doing something dangerous to his brain. you were so close, and the way your eyes lit up when you laughed…

he couldn’t help it. he felt the same urge gojo cat must’ve felt—like physically shaking, meowing, jumping, doing whatever it took to make sure you were looking at him. but he was a man with poise (he reminded himself), so instead of resorting to anything outrageous, he blushed furiously, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. “you okay there?” you asked, noticing his face had turned an alarming shade of red. “yeah, yeah,” he said quickly, waving you off. “it’s, uh… warm out here.” you glanced up at the sky. it was barely sunny with a light breeze. “sure,” you said, smirking. “totally the weather.”

“don’t call me out like that,” he mumbled, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck again. “you’re cute when you’re flustered,” you said before you could stop yourself, and the words hung in the air for a second too long. his head snapped toward you, eyes wide. “what?”

“i — nothing ,” you said quickly, suddenly very interested in the stray thread on your sweater. “no, no, go on,” geto said, leaning in slightly, his voice teasing now. “what were you saying?”

“i said nothing,” you insisted, but your face was practically on fire. he grinned, leaning back and crossing his arms. “mm-hmm. sure.”

you groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “mr. pickles, save me,” you muttered, but she was too busy fending off gojo cat’s latest round of attention to care. and next to you, geto was grinning like an idiot, his blush finally starting to fade as he realized he might not be the only one spiraling.

amidst the awkward giggles and blushes, your stomach decided it had enough of the coy flirting and declared war. a low, awkward rumble escaped, loud enough for both you and geto to freeze. “was that…?” geto began, his lips twitching.

“no,” you lied immediately, your face heating up. “that was probably…gojo.” as if on cue, gojo cat meowed loudly, almost like he was backing you up. but mr. pickles wasn’t having it, her head snapping toward you with a “you’re kidding, right?” look. geto, bless his golden heart, didn’t press further. instead, he scooped up a very indignant gojo, who was in the middle of another extravagant attempt to woo mr. pickles. 

“sounds like breakfast is overdue,” he said, grinning. “my treat, as promised.” you hesitated, watching as mr. pickles, the opportunist she was, pranced toward her carrier with the regal air of a queen boarding her royal carriage. she gave you a look that screamed, what are you waiting for? let’s go, servant.

“uh,” you started, scratching the back of your neck. “so, funny story — i didn’t bring my wallet, and even if i did…” you trailed off, remembering the bleak state of your cashapp. $27.53 stared back at you the last time you checked. it was a miracle you even had that much. “...i wouldn’t be able to afford it.” geto blinked at you, as if you’d grown a second head. “what?”

“yeah,” you said, already feeling the mortifying urge to dig a hole and crawl into it. “i’m, uh, broke. like, hilariously broke. economy, y’know?” you added with a weak laugh. “you think i’m letting you pay?” geto said, looking genuinely offended. “what kind of guy do you think i am?”

“a nice guy?” you offered, unsure where this was going. “no, no,” he said, shaking his head. “a gentleman.”

oh god, the drama. you stifled a laugh. “well, excuse me, mister gentleman. i just didn’t want to assume you’d pay.”

“assume away,” he said, already heading toward the nearest fancy breakfast café like he hadn’t just kidnapped you and the cats. “i’ve got you covered.” you glanced down at mr. pickles, who gave you a look that screamed, hurry up, i want my eggs.

the café, of course, was fancy. fancier than anywhere you’d normally set foot in. as you walked in, clutching mr. pickles’ carrier like a lifeline, you whispered to geto, “you couldn’t pick a normal place?”

“normal?” he asked, arching a brow. “what, like mcdonald’s?”

“that would’ve been perfect, ” you muttered. he just chuckled. “relax. it’s on me. besides…” he leaned in slightly, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “i have a reputation to uphold. international law guys don’t slum it, you know?” you snorted. “you’re so full of it.”

“maybe,” he admitted, grinning. “but you’re here, aren’t you?” you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling as you followed him to a table, where gojo cat immediately tried to climb onto the nearest chair, only for geto to gently push him back down. “don’t even think about it,” he told the cat, who meowed indignantly. mr. pickles, meanwhile, sat primly in her carrier, surveying the café with a look of mild disdain. she was probably judging the lack of gold-plated bowls. “so,” geto said once you were seated, his tone casual but his eyes warm. “what are you having? and don’t say something cheap to be polite.”

“how’d you know i was going to say that?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him. he shrugged. “just a hunch. order whatever you want.”

you hesitated, glancing at the menu. everything was overpriced, and you were 80% sure a single pancake here cost more than your rent. “fine,” you said finally. “but if i order the most expensive thing on the menu, i don’t want to hear you complain.”

“deal,” he said, smiling like you’d just agreed to marry him. god, he really was trying to woo you. and judging by the way your heart was doing somersaults, it might’ve been working.

the cafe was everything you imagined a “fancy breakfast spot” would be—muted beige tones, big windows letting in soft sunlight, overpriced art hanging on the walls, and tables filled with people who somehow looked like they owned hedge funds. there were plants too, the kind that didn’t seem real, and a faint jazz tune played in the background. if geto was trying to impress you, he was definitely succeeding, albeit unintentionally making you feel a little out of place. but all of that took a backseat the moment you heard that voice.

“you’re joking,” you muttered under your breath as you caught sight of none other than ryomen sukuna, towering like a goddamn villain straight out of a noir film. the cigarette smell hit first, faint but unmistakable, lingering on his dark uniform. his face twisted into a scowl the second he spotted your table. “ugh, pets,” he grumbled, eyeing the carrier with disdain. “this is why this place is going downhill. who even lets cats in here?”

“good morning to you too, sukuna,” geto said smoothly, leaning back in his chair with a calmness that only pissed sukuna off further. you, on the other hand, were seconds away from panic. this is choso’s brother? you’d seen him before, sure—usually smoking in the hallway and glaring like everyone had personally wronged him. but now? here? as your server? gojo cat immediately picked up on your distress—or maybe he just didn’t like sukuna’s face—because he started growling in geto’s lap. it was the tiniest, most pitiful growl, but sukuna’s eyes snapped to him, narrowing in challenge. “what’s that thing’s problem?” he asked, jerking a thumb at gojo cat. “his problem is you , ” geto said, smiling. “can’t say i blame him.” sukuna shot geto a flat look before turning his attention back to you. “what are you having?” he asked, his tone sharp enough to cut steel.

you panicked, your eyes darting to the menu. “uh… ummm …i’ll have the, uh…” you started, struggling to pronounce the ridiculous name of the dish. “the croissant…something?”

“you mean the croissant aux truffes?” sukuna interrupted, rolling his eyes. “yeah, got it. anything else?” you shook your head furiously, feeling your face heat up. “and you?” sukuna turned to geto, clearly already over this interaction. “my usual,” geto said casually, resting his chin on his hand. sukuna raised a brow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a mean smirk. “your usual , huh? what’s that again?”

geto froze for half a second, his cool demeanor slipping ever so slightly. “you know what my usual is,” he said, his voice a little sharper. “do i?” sukuna asked, feigning innocence. “must’ve slipped my mind.”

“it’s soba,” geto hissed, his calmness now completely abandoned.

“oh, soba,” sukuna said, nodding slowly like he’d just solved the mystery of the century. “got it. soba. anything else, your highness?” geto glared at him but didn’t say anything, and sukuna walked off, muttering something under his breath about “stupid regulars.” the moment he was out of earshot, geto leaned back in his chair and let out a dramatic sigh. “i’m never coming back here.”

“really?” you asked, raising a brow. “because it sounded like you practically live here.”

“not after this humiliation,” he said, though the way his lips twitched betrayed the fact that he wasn’t as annoyed as he pretended to be. you couldn’t help but laugh, the earlier tension melting away. “for what it’s worth,” you said, “your ‘usual’ sounds pretty fancy too.”

“don’t,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “i’ll never live this down.”

from the corner of your eye, you saw gojo cat attempting to claw his way out of geto's lap, probably planning to finish what he started with sukuna. mr. pickles, ever the drama queen, merely yawned, completely unfazed by the chaos. it was going to be a long morning.

sukuna’s approach to serving was efficient, sure, but it was laced with the kind of attitude that made you question why this place hired him in the first place. he practically slammed geto’s soba on the table with a smile so forced it could rival a ventriloquist dummy, and your croissant—although perfect—arrived with a snide comment about “petting zoos” under his breath. you gave him a tight-lipped smile, muttering a quick “thank you,” while geto tried to hide his snicker behind his hand. sukuna walked off, grumbling something about “pretentious cat dads.”

“don’t mind him,” geto said, breaking his chopsticks with practiced ease. “he’s just like that with everyone. well, maybe worse with me.”

“so you’re special, then?” you teased, tearing off a piece of your croissant. “you could say that,” geto replied with a grin, feeding gojo cat a tiny bit of soba under the table. gojo, the shameless flirt, lapped it up happily, ignoring mr. pickles’ death glare from her carrier. things were calm, peaceful even—until the gaggle of women arrived.

they were the type you’d expect to see in glossy magazines: perfectly coiffed hair, subtle but expensive-looking makeup, and outfits that screamed “we brunch in designer clothes.” they made a beeline for gojo cat, cooing and fawning like he was some sort of feline casanova. and, like the attention-seeking traitor he was, gojo lapped it all up, practically preening under their praise. “oh my god, look at him!” one of them squealed, petting gojo as he leaned into her touch. “he’s so cute!”

“what’s his name?” another asked, giving geto a smile that could only be described as predatory. “gojo,” geto said, chuckling awkwardly. “you named him after yourself?” one of the women teased, clearly mistaking him for the egomaniac in question.

“uh, no, actually—”

“oh, sugurruuu!” another one interrupted, clearly recognizing him. “it’s been ages! how have you been?” you raised an eyebrow as the women began circling him like sharks. apparently, they were his seniors from a past internship, which made sense because they had that polished, professional air about them. “we missed you at the office!” one of them gushed. “you were so good at handling those client presentations,” another added, her tone a little too sweet for your liking.

you took a bite of your croissant, trying to ignore the sudden twist in your stomach. it wasn’t like you had any claim over geto, right? and yet, seeing him chuckle nervously and entertain them, even though it was clear he was uncomfortable, made you bristle. beside you, mr. pickles was practically vibrating with irritation, her tail flicking furiously as she watched gojo soak up the attention. she let out a low, guttural growl that you could’ve sworn mirrored your exact mood. “he’s such a ladies’ man,” one of the women purred, gesturing to gojo. “just like his owner, huh?”

“actually,” geto said, his voice cutting through the chatter. he looked at you, his expression unreadable but his tone steady. “this is my partner.”

wait, what?

the table went silent for a moment as all eyes turned to you. the women’s faces fell ever so slightly, their previously cheery expressions dimming as they processed the information. “partner?” one of them repeated, her voice tinged with disbelief. “yep,” geto said, leaning back in his chair with a small, satisfied smile. “we’re co-parenting these two,” he added, gesturing to the cats. you blinked, your mind racing. co-parenting? he wasn’t wrong, technically speaking, but the way he said it made it sound...a lot more serious than it actually was. the women muttered half-hearted congratulations before awkwardly excusing themselves, their heels clicking against the tiled floor as they walked away. once they were out of earshot, you turned to geto, your cheeks burning. “partner, huh?”

“what? it’s true,” he said, a hint of smugness in his tone. “we’re co-parenting.”

“you do know how that sounded, right?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.“sounded perfect to me,” he said, giving you a lopsided grin. you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. maybe, just maybe, you liked geto a little more than you thought. meanwhile, gojo cat continued basking in his stolen glory, and mr. pickles finally settled down in her carrier, clearly satisfied with how the situation had turned out.

chapter 4: he brought kibble, you brought your heart

the days following your chaotic breakfast outing became a mix of heartwarming absurdity and mild chaos, all thanks to geto and his ever-determined cat. 

it started with the pet supplies. one offhand comment about needing more for mr. pickles, and suddenly geto was at your door with an entire armful of toys, treats, and nesting materials. “you said you needed stuff,” he shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he handed you a bag that looked heavy enough to contain bricks. “this is…a lot,” you said, peering inside. “did you buy out the entire pet store?”

“nah, just the essentials,” he replied, brushing off your comment. “besides, i had to get stuff for gojo anyway.”

the “stuff for gojo” turned out to be a single can of tuna.

then came the vet visits. geto had decided, entirely unprompted, that your vet appointments were now his responsibility. he would show up unannounced, a coffee in hand for you and a carrier for gojo in the other.  “i don’t think the vet needs to see gojo,” you’d said the first time he came along. “you never know,” he’d replied, entirely serious. “what if he has sympathy symptoms for mr. pickles? he’s been sneezing a lot lately.”

“that’s because he shoved his face into a pile of dust bunnies,” you deadpanned. still, you couldn’t deny how much easier it was having him around, even if it meant enduring his occasional attempts to one-up the vet with random facts he’d googled beforehand. “you know, some studies say cats feel pain differently during pregnancy,” geto commented as the vet checked mr. pickles over. the vet gave him a flat look. “that’s…not entirely accurate.”

“huh, weird,” geto said, leaning back with an entirely too smug grin. “i’ll look into it more. it’s good to stay informed, right?”

meanwhile, gojo cat’s relentless courtship of mr. pickles had reached new, unhinged heights. every day brought a new “gift” for her nesting area, ranging from sweet (a soft sock) to outright concerning (a half-dead lizard that had you shrieking and yuuji wielding a plastic lightsaber like some kind of jedi exterminator). “gojo, no!” you’d yelled, trying to wrestle the lizard out of his mouth. “don’t hurt him!” geto shouted, entirely missing the point as he held gojo back. “don’t hurt him?!” yuuji echoed, brandishing the lightsaber dramatically. “what about me? what if it jumps at me?!”

amidst the chaos, mr. pickles remained the picture of serenity, carefully arranging each of gojo’s offerings in her nesting area like some kind of bizarre art installation. she even started tolerating his presence, which was a minor miracle in itself. “look at them,” geto said one day, gesturing to the two cats as they napped side by side. “they’re like us.” you raised an eyebrow. “one of them brings in literal trash and the other barely tolerates them. which one’s supposed to be me?”

“well, obviously, you’re mr. pickles,” he said with a grin.

“and you’re gojo?”

“exactly.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “geto, you’re ridiculous.”

“and yet, here you are,” he teased, nudging your shoulder lightly.

despite the chaos, you couldn’t deny that your little makeshift family—complete with a sock-stealing, lizard-catching cat and his annoyingly thoughtful owner—had started to grow on you. mr. pickles seemed calmer, you felt more relaxed, and even geto’s awkward attempts at affection were kind of endearing. maybe, just maybe, these two weren’t so bad after all.

but honestly, you should’ve known geto would take a casual dinner and make it look like an event. the moment you opened the door and saw him standing there, you realized just how badly you underestimated the man’s ability to weaponize his looks. he’d ditched the usual button-ups for a fitted black turtleneck that clung to him like a second skin, paired with tailored gray slacks that looked more expensive than your monthly rent. his hair was tied back in a sleek ponytail, but a few stray strands framed his face just enough to be annoyingly perfect. and then there was the smell—some cologne that was equal parts warm and spicy, making your knees wobble like a newborn deer.

“you…uh, look nice,” you managed to stutter, awkwardly gesturing him in. he chuckled, stepping inside. “thanks. figured i should dress up a little since you’re going all out with dinner.” oh, so now it’s your fault for making dinner sound like a five-star experience when it was really just some pasta and garlic bread. meanwhile, your own reflection in the hallway mirror mocked you mercilessly. you were still in your semi-formal college attire: a blazer that was slightly too big, a wrinkled blouse, and pants that had seen better days. you could have changed, but no, you thought you’d save time and effort. bad call.

dinner itself went surprisingly smoothly. mr. pickles and gojo cat managed to coexist at the food station, which was nothing short of miraculous. out of the corner of your eye, you saw gojo nudging a small portion of his food toward mr. pickles, who sniffed it delicately before accepting. “look at them,” geto said with a soft smile, catching your gaze. “sharing like that. think it’s love?” you scoffed, trying to ignore how his smile made your heart race. “or maybe gojo’s just trying to butter her up so she doesn’t swat him later.”

“harsh,” geto replied, leaning back in his chair. “you’re cynical. i like it.”

after dinner, you were about to tackle the dishes when geto, ever the overachieving law student, pulled out his macbook. the glow of the screen illuminated his face as he typed furiously, answering emails and looking like the poster boy for "i have my life together."

“work?” you asked, carrying a stack of plates to the sink. “just a few emails,” he said, not looking up. “one of the partners at my internship sent over some last-minute questions.” you blinked, watching him with mild disbelief. “it’s a friday night.”

“welcome to international law,” he said dryly, fingers flying across the keyboard. against your better judgment, you found yourself… impressed? his focus, his confidence, the way his sleeves were rolled up just enough to show off his forearms—it was annoyingly attractive. “ugh, law students,” you muttered under your breath, scrubbing at a plate. “what was that?” suguru asked, looking up with a smirk. “nothing,” you said quickly, turning back to the sink. “just saying how dedicated you are.” he laughed, the sound low and warm. “you’re bad at lying, you know.”

“and you’re bad at taking a break,” you shot back, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks.

after a few more minutes of typing, geto finally closed his laptop and joined you in the kitchen. “here, let me help,” he offered, rolling up his sleeves further. “you cooked,” he said, taking a plate from your hands. “least i can do is clean up.” you wanted to argue, but the sight of geto, sleeves rolled up, standing beside you at the sink, made your brain short-circuit. “fine,” you mumbled, handing him a dish. “but if you drop one, i’m not forgiving you.”

“noted,” he said with a grin, elbow brushing yours as he worked. as you both washed dishes in companionable silence, you couldn’t help but glance at him every now and then, heart doing a stupid little flutter each time he caught you looking. maybe this dinner wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

geto had never been one to overthink simple things. he prided himself on his ability to stay cool and collected, whether it was during an exam, an internship interview, or wrangling gojo cat after he’d somehow escaped onto a neighbor’s balcony. but here, standing next to you, washing dishes, his heart was doing its best impression of a jazz drummer—completely out of rhythm and far too loud. he tried to focus on the task at hand, scrubbing a plate with the precision of a surgeon, but his brain was too busy short-circuiting over the sheer domesticity of the moment. you, standing next to him, a faint smile on your lips as you passed him a dish. mr. pickles and gojo cat sitting like a mismatched elderly couple in the corner, their rivalry seemingly paused for the evening. this was too much. domesticity was his weakness, and you were unknowingly his kryptonite.

"you know," he started, trying to sound casual, "i’ve been working on my forearms lately. gotta make sure gojo has a sturdy perch when i carry him." your laugh was soft but genuine, and it hit him right in the chest. "oh yeah? is that why you’ve been flexing every chance you get? because i was starting to think you were just trying to flirt." he froze, plate in hand, before turning to look at you with a mock-offended expression. "flirt? me? that’s slander. i’m just a humble man with well-defined forearms doing his civic duty.”

"right," you drawled, rolling your eyes as you handed him another dish. okay, suguru, he thought. focus. this is the perfect moment. ask the question. it’s not that big of a deal. except it was a big deal. because it wasn’t just about asking if you’d like to carpool to college every day. it was about getting more time with you, sharing little moments like this. he cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. "hey, uh…you know how i drive to college every day?" you glanced at him, a little confused. "yeah?"

"and you, uh, also go to college every day?"

"correct," you said slowly, raising an eyebrow.

he could feel his palms starting to sweat despite the soapy water. this was ridiculous. why was he nervous? it was just a question! but somehow, the thought of you saying no made his stomach twist. "so," he continued, trying to keep his tone light, "i was thinking…maybe we could drive together? you know, save on gas, reduce our carbon footprint, that kind of thing." you blinked at him, clearly caught off guard. "you want to carpool with me?"

"yeah," he said quickly, nodding. "i mean, it makes sense, right? we’re both going the same way, and i wouldn’t mind the company. plus, i’ve got this playlist i’ve been dying to share." that wasn’t entirely true. his playlist was a chaotic mix of instrumental lo-fi, 90’s rock and songs gojo cat seemed to enjoy, but he’d happily curate something just for you if it meant hearing you laugh and sing along. 

"you’re serious?" you asked, and he swore he could see a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. "dead serious," he said, putting on his best poker face. "it’s a purely logistical decision, of course. nothing to do with the fact that i think you’re great company or anything." you stared at him for a moment before breaking into a laugh, and he felt his shoulders relax just a little. "okay," you said finally. "sure, let’s carpool." he grinned, feeling an almost embarrassing amount of relief. "awesome. you won’t regret it, i promise." as you turned back to the sink, he couldn’t help but steal a glance at you, his heart still doing its offbeat jazz solo. yeah, this was going to be good. better than good, even.

the last dish was set on the drying rack, and with it came the awkward silence that always followed. you and geto exchanged a glance, both of you clearly trying to decide what came next. do you send him off with a polite "thanks for the help," or do you suggest something casual? ugh, why was this so hard?

"soooo," you started, awkwardly fidgeting with a dishtowel. "uh, do you…want ice cream?" geto blinked at you, his expression pleasantly surprised. "ice cream?"

"yeah, you know, frozen dairy, sugar, flavors," you said, waving your hands vaguely like you were describing some rare delicacy. "do international law students even like convenience store ice cream? or are you more into, like, artisanal stuff churned by monks in the alps?" his laugh was low and warm, the kind of laugh that made you feel like you’d just won something. "as tempting as alps-monks-churned ice cream sounds, i’m fine with rocky road if you’ve got it."

rocky road. he’s perfect, you thought as you rummaged in the freezer, pulling out a pint. mr. pickles, ever the queen, trotted over and sat primly by your feet, tail twitching as if she expected you to serve her a scoop. gojo cat, on the other hand, had found a stray spoon to bat around the kitchen floor like it was his life’s mission. you handed geto a bowl, and he graciously accepted before pulling out his macbook and setting it on the table. "mind if i put something on?"

"as long as it’s not UN debates or a soba recipe tutorial," you teased, leaning over to peer at his screen. to your credit, you weren’t snooping—you were just curious about what kind of stuff an international law student kept on their homepage. but the minute you saw it, you froze. nestled among his neatly arranged bookmarks for email, law journals, and a soba takeout joint, was your spotify profile. your brain went into immediate overdrive. oh dear god. oh no. oh yes. wait, what?

you fought the urge to gasp, to point, to scream into the void. instead, you settled for the most nonchalant reaction you could muster. "huh. your bookmarks are so…organized." but your awkward tone gave you away, and geto, sharp as ever, followed your gaze. when his eyes landed on the offending bookmark, he paused mid-scoop, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "oh," he said, clearly trying to play it cool. "uh, yeah. that’s—uh, for convenience. you know, for when you share playlists and stuff."

"totally," you replied, nodding far too enthusiastically. "makes sense. who doesn’t bookmark their friends’ spotify profiles?" you were lying through your teeth, and you both knew it. but instead of feeling weirded out, your heart felt like it might actually burst. he bookmarked your spotify. this ridiculously attractive, smart, and funny guy has done something so nerdy and cute, and you think you might die. the silence stretched awkwardly until you couldn’t take it anymore. "so…what’s your favorite playlist of mine?" you asked, trying to keep your tone casual but failing miserably.

geto, to his credit, recovered quickly. "probably the one you called ‘in the clerb, we all cryin’.’ it’s got a lot of questionable choices."

"questionable choices?" you gasped, feigning offense. "excuse me, those are carefully curated emotional masterpieces!"

"right, right," he said, nodding solemnly but with a teasing glint in his eyes. "masterpieces like, what was it? ‘torn’ by natalie imbruglia followed by party rock anthem?"

"that’s called range, geto."

he laughed again, and you swore it was the best sound you’d ever heard. meanwhile, gojo cat had successfully cornered the spoon under the fridge, and mr. pickles let out an indignant meow, clearly unimpressed by the lack of attention directed her way. "anyways," you said, clearing your throat and desperately trying to steer the conversation away from how much your soul had ascended, "what are we watching?" he smirked, clearly enjoying your flustered state. "how about a soba recipe tutorial? you know, for research purposes."

"get out of my house," you deadpanned, throwing a napkin at him. but deep down, you couldn’t stop smiling. maybe you did like geto. just a little. or a lot. who’s counting?

-

the youtube video played on, gordon ramsey passionately dissecting the finer points of why "tiramisu supremacy" should be the law of the land, but you weren’t paying attention anymore. instead, you were hyper-aware of the ridiculously attractive man next to you, lounging on your bed, casually eating rocky road like he wasn’t a complete menace to your sanity. gojo cat had stationed himself at your feet, swiping lazily at a loose thread on your blanket. mr. pickles, in a rare display of domestic harmony, perched regally on a pillow next to geto like she was claiming him as her territory. you could almost hear her smug little cat thoughts: this one? yes, acceptable.

meanwhile, you? you were losing it. somehow—through some strange twist of fate or cosmic joke—your head had ended up resting on geto’s chest. his chest. his sculpted, unfairly perfect chest. you told yourself it was for comfort, or convenience, or whatever excuse your brain could scramble together. oh god, is this okay? what if he thinks i’m weird? or worse, what if he doesn’t care at all?

his arm was just kind of… hovering there, like it didn’t know what to do. his bicep flexed every time he adjusted, and you swore it was on purpose. it’s not on purpose, idiot. calm down. "you good there?" his voice cut through your internal spiral, warm and teasing. you cleared your throat, suddenly self-conscious. "uh, yeah. totally fine. just... comfortable, i guess."

"comfortable, huh?" he echoed, his tone light but his heart doing cartwheels. she’s comfortable. okay. don’t freak out. play it cool. meanwhile, geto was absolutely not playing it cool. this is fine. this is normal. people hang out like this all the time. friends. buddies. totally platonic. on a bed. watching gordon ramsey. with her head on my chest. oh god, i’m dying. his arm was still hovering awkwardly, and it was starting to cramp. should he just—? no. too much. but maybe? before he could overthink it further, you shifted slightly, glancing up at him.

"you can, you know," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. he blinked down at you, dumbfounded. "can what?"

"put your arm around me," you mumbled, cheeks heating up like a furnace. geto’s brain short-circuited. oh god, she said i can. she actually said i can. is this real? am i dreaming? where’s gojo? he needs to see this. wait, no, absolutely not. this is private. oh god, my arm.

"uh, yeah. sure," he finally said, his voice cracking just a little as he tried to sound casual. his arm settled around your shoulders, warm and solid, and you let out a content sigh. meanwhile, internally, he was screaming. this is the best day of his life.

"you’re stiff as hell," you teased, glancing up at him. "sorry, it’s just—i’m not used to—" he fumbled, trailing off. "chill out," you said with a soft laugh, your hand lightly resting on his chest. "it’s just me."

just you. the girl he’d been pining after for weeks. the girl whose spotify profile he’d bookmarked. the girl whose cats he’d willingly co-parented like an idiot in love. he wasn’t even sure how he was still breathing. "yeah," he said softly, his lips quirking into a small smile. "just you."

"hey, are you even watching?" you asked, gesturing at the screen where ramsey was now passionately defending the honor of cannoli. "uh, yeah. totally," he lied, having absolutely no idea what was happening in the video. "oh yeah? then what’s his stance on panna cotta?" you challenged, raising an eyebrow. geto paused for a second, then grinned sheepishly. "panna whatta?" you groaned, laughing despite yourself. "you’re hopeless."

"hopelessly charmed," he muttered under his breath, but thankfully, the loud volume drowned it out. gojo cat let out an exaggerated yawn, curling up at the foot of the bed, while mr. pickles blinked at both of you with what could only be described as approval. and for a brief moment, with you curled up against him, geto thought that maybe, just maybe, domesticity wasn’t so bad after all.

the clock on your bedside table glowed 9:30 pm, the red numbers a cruel reminder that sunday was slipping away. geto shifted slightly, the arm around your shoulders reluctantly moving as if to signal his departure. right. college tomorrow. responsibilities. but neither of you moved. instead, his attempt to lift his arm ended in a poorly executed maneuver that pulled you closer—much closer. suddenly, your face was inches from his, and you could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. his breath hitched. oh god. oh no. oh yes. what if he does something stupid? like kiss you? no, bad idea. abort. retreat. pull away. you’ll think he’s weird—

you kissed him first. his brain went blank.

your lips pressed softly against his, a tentative, curious movement that sent every coherent thought in his mind scattering like autumn leaves in the wind. your lip balm—something fruity, maybe peach?—lingered on his lips, blending with the faint taste of rocky road ice cream. his heart stopped, then kickstarted with a force that left him lightheaded. "oh," he murmured against your lips, his voice barely audible. "oh?" you pulled back slightly, a teasing smile quirking your lips. "i — i mean —" he stammered, his cheeks flushing a deep pink. "uh, wow."

"wow?" you laughed softly, your hands sliding up his chest, your fingers curling lightly into his shirt. "shut up," he groaned, but his grin betrayed him as his hands instinctively found your waist, steadying you as you moved to straddle his lap. oh god. oh god. she’s on my lap. this is not a drill. repeat, this is not a drill. "you’re awfully red, suguru," you teased, your tone light, but the way your fingers brushed against his jaw made his pulse race. "yeah, well, you’re—" he cut himself off, his eyes flickering to your lips before meeting your gaze. "you’re unfairly pretty, okay? and i’m trying not to pass out here."

"pretty?" you echoed, feigning innocence as you leaned in closer, your noses brushing. "is that all?" he chuckled, low and breathy. "pretty, gorgeous, unfairly cute. take your pick." before he could spiral into another wave of self-doubt, you kissed him again, and this time, he responded in full. his lips moved against yours, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to savor every second. his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him, his fingers flexing like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. in the background, gordon ramsey’s voice bellowed something about undercooked risotto, but neither of you noticed. this is what dreams are made of, right? he thought. her lips, her taste, the way she’s holding onto me like i’m her favorite person in the world. rocky road and lip balm and… gordon ramsey? okay, ignore that. focus. focus on her.

"you good there, suguru?" you murmured against his lips, your voice laced with amusement. "good?" he echoed, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. "i’m amazing. incredible. best night of my life, no contest."

"you’re such a dork," you laughed, your forehead resting against his. "yeah, well," he said, his smile softening as his thumb brushed along your cheek. "you like this dork."

"i do," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. his heart soared. he tightened his hold on you, his lips ghosting over yours once more as he whispered, "good. because i don’t think i’m letting you go anytime soon." the clock ticked on, but neither of you cared anymore. responsibilities could wait.

-

just as geto’s lips brushed against yours for what felt like the hundredth time that evening, a loud, synchronized cacophony of meows erupted from the corner of the bed. you both froze.

there sat gojo cat and mr. pickles, staring at the two of you with matching expressions of feline judgment. mr. pickles, her fur slightly puffed and her eyes narrowed, let out an indignant mrrrow that sounded suspiciously like "get a room." gojo cat, ever the instigator, joined in with an exaggerated meeeooowwww, his tail flicking dramatically as if to say, "seriously? right in front of us?"

“oh my god,” you mumbled, burying your face in geto’s neck as he chuckled, the sound rumbling against you. “i think we’ve offended the fur babies,” he said, clearly trying not to laugh too loudly as gojo cat began pacing in circles, yowling like a siren. “offended? they sound like they’re trying to declare war,” you muttered, pulling back reluctantly. “maybe they’re just jealous,” geto teased, his dark eyes twinkling as he reached up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. “jealous of what?” you scoffed, glancing at the cats. mr. pickles was still bristling like a wronged queen, while gojo cat was now attempting to paw at the edge of the bed for dramatic emphasis.

“of this.” geto smirked, leaning in like he was about to steal another kiss, but mr. pickles let out a sharp hiss, cutting him off. “okay, okay, time out!” you said, waving your hands in surrender. with a sigh, geto released you, though his hand lingered on your waist for a moment longer. “guess that’s our cue.” you followed him to the door, the cats trailing behind like disapproving chaperones. gojo cat let out one last, drawn-out meow as if to say "good riddance," while mr. pickles sat primly by the door, glaring up at geto with all the disdain she could muster. “she’s really protective of you, huh?” geto said, slipping his shoes on. “always has been,” you replied, your hand resting on the doorknob. “probably doesn’t help that you keep bribing her with treats.”

“bribing?” he repeated, feigning offense. “that’s called building trust.”

“sure it is, mr. international law,” you teased, leaning against the doorframe.

he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “speaking of trust, uh… i’ll pick you up tomorrow? for class?” you raised an eyebrow, smirking. “trying to make this a habit now?”

“well,” he said, his cheeks pinking slightly, “i figured i’d bring you another one of those fancy croissants. and, you know, maybe see you smile first thing in the morning again.” your chest tightened at his words, warmth spreading through you. “smooth, geto.”

“is that a yes?” he asked, his voice softer now, his gaze locked on yours. “yeah,” you said, your lips curving into a smile. before he could step out, he leaned down, his lips brushing yours in a quick but lingering kiss that made your heart race. when he pulled back, his smile was uncharacteristically shy.

“goodnight,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“goodnight,” you replied, watching as he walked away, his hands stuffed into his pockets but his stride noticeably lighter.

as you closed the door, you turned to find mr. pickles sitting side by side, staring up at you with unreadable expressions. “don’t look at me like that,” you said, pointing at her. “you’re the ones who ruined the moment.” mr. pickles let out a chirpy meep , as if to say "i’m just doing my job," before padding back to her nesting area with an air of smug satisfaction. you shook your head, unable to stop the grin spreading across your face. whatever this thing with suguru was, you didn’t want it to end. not now, not ever.

chapter 5: justin bieber and other forms of groveling

you swung the door open, expecting to find a text from geto telling you to come downstairs like a normal person. instead, you were met with him. suguru geto, standing at your doorstep, looking like he’d just stepped out of a gq photoshoot. “morning!” he greeted cheerfully, his voice as smooth as his suit. yes, a suit. a dark, perfectly tailored one that hugged his broad shoulders and slim waist just right, paired with a crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the top, exposing just a hint of his collarbone. the whole look was topped off with a skinny black tie and shiny leather oxfords that somehow made you question if you were even allowed to walk next to him. and don’t even get started on his hair—pulled back into a low bun, with a few loose strands framing his stupidly perfect face. “why—why are you here?” you stammered, gripping the doorframe for support because, honestly, this man might be a health hazard. “thought i’d save you the trip downstairs,” he said casually, though his lips curled into a smirk like he knew exactly what he was doing. “besides, i wanted to see you earlier.” great. now your heart was doing this weird fluttery thing, and you hated it. “you know you could’ve just texted me, right? like a normal person?”

“where’s the fun in that?” he quipped, his voice tinged with amusement.

ugh. 

the first thing that hit you when you slid into his car—a sleek black bmw z4 convertible with the top down—was the overwhelming scent of car cleaner mixed with him. “did you—did you just get this cleaned?” you asked, wrinkling your nose at the smell. “maybe,” he replied, a little too quickly. you glanced at the dashboard, which was spotless and gleaming. the leather seats looked freshly polished, and there wasn’t a single crumb or speck of dust in sight. well, except for the faint trace of orange fur on the passenger seat. “you missed a spot,” you teased, pointing at the fur. “gojo,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “aw, don’t be mad at him,” you said, grinning. “he’s just marking his territory.”

“yeah, well, he’s not paying for this car, is he?” suguru shot back, though the corners of his lips twitched upward. the car smelled like money, honestly. the leather had that rich, almost intimidating scent, and the steering wheel looked like it had been handcrafted by someone with a phd in luxury interiors. but somehow, there was this comforting undertone of suguru’s cologne—spicy, woodsy, and ridiculously distracting. you tried to act normal, like you weren’t suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were to him in this car that felt way too intimate for a ride to campus. “so, what’s the occasion?” you asked, nodding toward his suit as he pulled out onto the main road. “internship meeting after class,” he explained, keeping his eyes on the road. “wanted to make a good impression.”

“yeah, well, mission accomplished,” you mumbled, more to yourself than him, but he still heard. “what was that?” he asked, glancing at you with a playful smirk. “nothing,” you said quickly, your cheeks heating. as he drove, you found yourself sneaking glances at his hands on the wheel. his sleeves were rolled up just enough to expose his forearms, which looked unfairly muscular for a guy who claimed to “barely have time for the gym.” the veins running up his arms were just… there, taunting you.

“you’ve been working out, huh?” you blurted, unable to stop yourself. he chuckled, a low, warm sound that made your stomach flip. “noticed, huh?”

“kind of hard not to when your biceps are trying to break out of that shirt,” you retorted, trying to sound nonchalant. “oh, this?” he said, flexing his forearm slightly as he adjusted the gearshift, clearly showing off. “ugh, stop,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “you’re so annoying.”

“and yet here you are,” he teased, shooting you a quick grin before turning his attention back to the road. as you sat there, half-annoyed and half-smitten, you couldn’t help but think that this man was going to be the death of you.

-

the two of you sat in the car outside your campus building for a moment longer than necessary. the engine was off, but the atmosphere buzzed with something heavy, something neither of you dared to name yet. geto had one hand draped lazily over the steering wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift, but you weren’t fooled. his jaw was tense, and his thumb tapped nervously against the leather, a small tell that you’d come to recognize. he didn’t want this ride to end. neither did you, if you were being honest. “so,” you started, your voice almost shy. “thanks for the ride.” he glanced over at you, his dark eyes soft but smoldering all at once. “yeah,” he said, his voice low, “anytime.” and just when you thought he’d let you leave, he moved.

his hand—large, warm, and calloused just enough to send a thrill through you—slipped behind your neck, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that sent goosebumps racing down your arms. the touch was firm but gentle, commanding but tender.

“come here,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

you didn’t even have time to process before he pulled you in, his lips crashing against yours with a fervor that left you breathless. this wasn’t just a goodbye kiss; no, this was something deeper, something that spoke of longing and frustration and a thousand unsaid things. his lips were soft but insistent, moving against yours like he was trying to memorize the feel of you, like he didn’t care that the windows weren’t tinted enough for the scene unfolding inside. his tongue swept against your lower lip, asking, no, demanding entrance, and you couldn’t deny him. the taste of him—coffee from earlier, a hint of mint, and something uniquely suguru—was enough to make your head spin. your hand instinctively came up to his chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt as if to steady yourself. but instead of pulling away, he deepened the kiss, tilting his head to get a better angle, and you thought you might actually lose all sense of reality.

when he finally pulled back, it wasn’t abrupt. no, he lingered, his lips brushing against yours one last time, as if reluctant to let go. his breathing was heavy, his cheeks slightly flushed, and when you looked up at him, you saw the faint sheen of your lip gloss smeared on his mouth. his lips—pink, swollen, and thoroughly kissed—were enough to make your brain short-circuit.

“you’ve got—” you gestured vaguely to his mouth, your voice shaky. he raised an eyebrow, smirking in that infuriatingly confident way. “lip gloss?” he guessed, his thumb brushing over his bottom lip like he was testing the feel of it. “yeah,” you mumbled, feeling your own cheeks heat up. “good,” he said simply, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “i’ll keep it.” you wanted to scream, cry, and maybe kiss him again all at once. instead, you just sat there, dazed, as he leaned back, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“guess i should let you go now,” he said, though his tone made it clear he wasn’t entirely thrilled about the idea. “yeah,” you managed to say, though your legs felt like jelly just thinking about walking into that building. as you stepped out of the car, the smell of car cleaner and his cologne still lingering around you, you could feel the weight of people’s stares. it wasn’t like fancy cars were a rare sight, but you stepping out of that car, looking thoroughly flustered and kissed? yeah, that was something. you glanced back at him one last time before closing the door. he gave you a small wave, the smirk still firmly in place. “i’ll pick you up later,” he called out, and you swore you heard the faintest hint of smugness in his voice. “yeah, okay,” you replied, trying to sound normal even though your entire body felt like it was on fire. as you walked toward the building, your mind raced with one singular thought: suguru geto was going to be the end of you. and honestly? you were okay with that.

-

as geto shifted gears and eased into a parking spot, he let out a long breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. "oh, suguru, what a smooth operator you are," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his already-perfect hair. but as his fingers grazed his lips, he froze. oh no.

your lip gloss—that faint pink menace—was still there. he squinted into the rearview mirror, tilting his face left and right like he was analyzing evidence at a crime scene. yup, definitely there. and definitely noticeable.

“cool. love that for me,” he said under his breath, grabbing a tissue from the glove compartment. he dabbed at his lips gently, trying to erase the sheen. but no matter how much he rubbed, it refused to disappear completely. a faint tint lingered, stubborn and utterly humiliating. not that he minded, of course. secretly, he was fighting the urge to giggle like a high schooler who just got his crush’s number. she kissed me, he thought, his inner monologue doing cartwheels. and now her lip gloss is on me. does this count as shared property? do i need to buy her a ring now? he glanced at the building where you’d disappeared moments ago. a soft smile tugged at his lips, but then he caught his own reflection again, and the smile turned into a scowl.

“focus, suguru. you’re an international law student, not a lovesick teen,” he muttered, trying to psych himself up. but then, completely unbidden, the lyrics hit him: shawty’s like a melody in my head that i can’t keep out—

“oh my god, no,” he groaned, dropping his forehead against the steering wheel. “pull it together.” he sat up straight, fixing his tie like he was about to walk into court, not class. still, his thoughts wandered back to the kiss. he could still feel the warmth of your lips on his, the way you tasted faintly of coffee and lip gloss. “yeah, okay, maybe i’m a little lovesick,” he admitted to no one, sighing dramatically. a loud honk snapped him out of his reverie, and he jerked upright, eyes darting around. some guy in a beat-up sedan gave him a look as if to say, get moving, pretty boy.

“right, right, focus,” geto muttered, putting the car into park. but the distraction had already done its damage. in his daydream, he’d nearly considered driving through the building instead of parking near it. and not for the first time. last semester, there’d been that unfortunate incident where he’d been too engrossed in memorizing legal jargon to realize he was barreling toward the curb. it wasn’t his finest moment, but hey, everyone made mistakes. this time, though, it wasn’t legal jargon messing with his head. it was you.

after ensuring his car was perfectly parked (and double-checking for rogue curbs), he checked his reflection one last time. hair? immaculate. tie? sharp. lips? …still faintly pink. he sighed, leaning back in his seat. "well, if anyone asks, it’s my new look," he muttered, smirking to himself. but deep down, he wasn’t bothered. in fact, the idea of walking into his building, pink lip gloss and all, knowing it was from you? yeah, he could live with that.

-

you glance at your phone for what feels like the millionth time, the lock screen mocking you with its time: 6:45 p.m. every minute that ticks by feels like an eternity. where the hell was geto? the man who swore on rocky road ice cream and cats that he’d pick you up after class. “ugh, liar,” you grumble under your breath, clutching your phone tighter. you dial his number again, half-hoping, half-dreading, that he’d pick up. the line rings once, twice, and then straight to voicemail. “figures.”

the campus courtyard is thinning out now, with most students heading home or to their dorms. you, however, are still standing at the edge of the parking lot, looking like the poster child for loser-core chic. a group of girls you vaguely recognize from your department walk by, their giggles low and conspiratorial as they glance in your direction. one of them nudges her friend and whispers loudly, “see? i told you. you can’t trust law guys. they’re always playing games.” you stiffen, feeling your cheeks heat. okay, rude. but also…they might have a point?

“poor girl,” another one says, her voice dripping with pity. “she probably thought she was special.” your jaw tightens as you resist the urge to shout back, no, actually, he’s probably just late! maybe traffic, or… or… you groan inwardly. even you don’t buy your excuses anymore. just as you’re debating whether to crawl under a bush and live there forever, your deskmate, nanami kento, approaches. ever the epitome of politeness, he clears his throat softly before speaking. “hey,” he begins, adjusting the strap of his leather satchel. “are you, uh, waiting for someone?”

you force a smile, trying to appear less like a rejected rom-com protagonist. “yeah, uh… my ride’s just running a little late.” nanami’s brow furrows slightly, and he glances at his watch. “it’s been over thirty minutes.”

ouch. okay, way to rub salt in the wound, kento.

he sighs, looking almost…sympathetic? “i could drop you off if you’d like. it’s on my way.”

normally, any sane, self-respecting woman would jump at the chance to be chauffeured home by nanami kento—a man so punctual and reliable, he’s basically a walking swiss watch. but alas, you are neither self-respecting nor particularly sane at this moment. “thanks, nanami, but i’m good,” you say, waving him off with a grin that’s probably more pained than reassuring. he nods slowly, clearly unconvinced but too polite to argue. “alright. take care, then.” as he walks away, you let out a long sigh, your earlier bravado crumbling. “ugh, geto, you’re so dead,” you mutter under your breath, kicking a stray pebble across the pavement. by now, the campus is nearly deserted, and the idea of taking the bus home looms over you like a dark cloud. with a resigned sigh, you check the bus schedule on your phone. the next one isn’t due for another 15 minutes. just perfect.

the bus ride home is as glamorous as you’d expect—fluorescent lights that make everyone look vaguely ill, the faint smell of stale chips and rubber, and the occasional bump that sends you jerking forward. you plop into an empty seat, your bag clutched tightly on your lap. a group of teenagers in the back snicker about something, and the guy across from you is humming off-key to whatever’s blasting through his headphones. yeah, this is way better than being driven home in a bmw z4, you think bitterly, rolling your eyes.

the faint scent of orange fur clings to your bag, and you wonder if it’s from gojo cat sneaking into geto’s car this morning. the thought makes you irrationally mad all over again. i bet the car is fine. he probably just forgot or something stupid like that. you lean your head against the window, watching the city lights blur past. the rhythmic hum of the bus is oddly calming, but your thoughts are anything but. what if he’s hurt? a small, worried voice pipes up in the back of your mind. but you squash it quickly. no, he’s just being an idiot.

-

geto is convinced this is how he dies—not by some massive legal scandal or a tragic car accident, but by sheer embarrassment. the moment the clock hit 6:00 p.m., he knew he was doomed. when the hands of time ticked past 6:45, panic set in. it’s fine, he had told himself, gripping his steering wheel with white-knuckled determination. she probably hasn’t even noticed yet. but she had noticed. oh god, had she noticed. every missed call and unread text was like a dagger to his heart. he could practically feel your disappointment vibrating through his phone. the sheer audacity of his internship, requiring him to sit through endless discussions about treaties and bylaws while you were out there—waiting for him like some rom-com protagonist.

and what does he find when he finally arrives at campus? absolutely nothing. a deserted lot, the soft hum of crickets, and not a single trace of you. he rubs a hand over his face, groaning as he slams his car door shut. great, suguru. really great. not only do you make law students look unreliable, but you’ve also officially cemented yourself as a clown in front of the only person who matters.

so, he does the only thing a desperate man can do: breaks every traffic law ever invented, zipping through yellow lights and cutting corners like it’s his goddamn personal mission to get to the apartment before you disappear entirely. “please don’t hate me,” he mutters under his breath as his bmw roars down the street. “i’ll get on my knees if i have to. maybe not in public, but like…if it comes to that.”

meanwhile, you’re trudging through the dimly lit hallway of your apartment complex, the bus ride home having sucked every last ounce of life out of you. your feet ache, your bag feels heavier than ever, and your faith in men has plummeted to new depths. he didn’t even call back. the audacity, you think bitterly, fumbling for your keys. wasn’t i just defending international law men this morning? god, i’m so stupid.

you’re too busy cursing geto to notice the looming figure leaning casually against the wall by the elevator—sukuna. he smells like croissants and cigarettes, an objectively weird combination that somehow works when it’s him. his uniform—a black button-down rolled up to the elbows and an apron slung lazily over one shoulder—is dusted with flour. “yo,” he greets, his voice low and gravelly as always. you freeze mid-step, praying you don’t look like a drowned rat after that miserable commute. “uh, hey.”

“late night?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow as he takes in your obvious exhaustion. “something like that,” you mumble, trying not to sound as annoyed as you feel. sukuna’s sharp eyes flick to your bag. “bus, huh? thought you were too fancy for public transport these days. what happened to prince charming?” oh great. just what i needed, you think, rolling your eyes internally. “prince charming is currently on my list,” you snap, more to yourself than him. “yikes.” sukuna lets out a low chuckle, his smirk infuriatingly smug. “guess mr. perfect isn’t as perfect as you thought.”

“okay, first of all,” you shoot back, “i’m not having this conversation with you. second, why do you even care?” he shrugs, clearly unbothered. “i don’t. just funny to see you slumming it with the rest of us peasants.” before you can muster a witty retort, the sound of rapid footsteps echoes down the hallway. you both turn just in time to see geto rushing in, his tie slightly askew and his expression one of pure panic.

“there you are,” he blurts, skidding to a stop in front of you. his eyes dart between you and sukuna, his brows furrowing slightly. “oh, now you show up,” you say, crossing your arms. “did you have fun ghosting me for two hours?”

“wait, i can explain—”

“can’t wait to hear this,” sukuna mutters under his breath, earning a glare from you.

geto runs a hand through his hair, his words spilling out in a rush. “i got stuck at my internship, and they don’t let us use our phones— stupid rule, i know—but i swear i tried to get to you as fast as i could. i even broke, like, five traffic laws. maybe six.” you narrow your eyes, unimpressed. “and that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“no! i mean, yes! i mean…” he groans, clearly flustered. “look, i’m sorry. really. i’ll do anything to make it up to you. please don’t be mad.” sukuna snickers, leaning back against the wall. “wow. anything, huh? bold move, law boy.”

“can you not?” you snap at sukuna before turning back to geto. “fine. you can start by explaining why my calls didn’t matter enough for you to pick up.”

“they did matter!” geto insists, his voice rising slightly. “i swear, if i could’ve answered, i would’ve.” sukuna snorts, muttering, “sounds like excuses to me.”

“dude, seriously?” geto snaps, finally losing his patience. “guys, enough!” you cut in, throwing your hands up. “i’m too tired for this. suguru, if you’re really sorry, you can start by leaving me alone for the rest of the night.”

geto’s face falls, but he nods reluctantly. “okay. yeah. i’ll go.” as he turns to leave, sukuna shoots you a smug grin. “guess prince charming isn’t so charming after all.” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

-

you’re sprawled out on your couch in the most dramatic fashion imaginable, mr. pickles perched on your chest like some kind of feline overlord. her tail swishes back and forth, slapping your face occasionally as if she’s judging you for your life choices. can’t even secure a law student, her gaze seems to say. and honestly? fair. lanas haunting voice croons “the other woman” from your speaker, because of course your brain thought this was the perfect soundtrack to your misery. who is the other woman, his degree? you wonder, staring blankly at the ceiling while mr. pickles kneads your collarbone with zero regard for your comfort. maybe it’s the un charter. maybe she’s prettier than me. you groan, picking up your phone to scroll aimlessly, only to see it light up with a string of notifications. it’s geto.

geto: hey. geto: i’m so sorry, seriously. geto: please don’t hate me. geto: gojo cat is crying.

and there it is, a picture of gojo cat edited with comically large tears streaming down his face. you snort despite yourself.

geto: i can explain. geto: the internship is evil. geto: satan himself probably drafted those treaties. geto: and i had to read them all. geto: sorry :((((

you roll your eyes but feel your lips twitch. the messages keep coming.

geto: look, i even made a playlist called “my apologies” to make it up to you. geto: song 1: sorry by justin bieber. geto: song 2: call me maybe by carly rae jespen. geto: song 3: i’m a fool by cee lo green.

you’re this close to laughing when another message pops up.

geto: please forgive me, i’ll do anything. geto: i’ll even let mr. pickles sit in the bmw.

now you’re grinning. typing back, you send:

you: door’s unlocked.

the next sound you hear is heavy footsteps thundering down the hallway above. you blink. “he’s running,” you mutter, barely containing your laughter. within seconds, there’s a knock at your door, and when you yell for him to come in, the door swings open to reveal a completely disheveled geto. his hair’s a mess, his suit jacket is halfway off his shoulder, and he’s panting like he just ran a marathon. “you’re serious about leaving your door unlocked?” he breathes out, a hand on the doorframe for balance. “why are you out of breath?” you ask, trying not to laugh. “you live one floor up.”

“sprinted,” he replies, straightening up. “priorities.”

mr. pickles hops off your chest with a disgruntled meow, sauntering over to sniff him. she gives a little approving chirp before settling down by his feet. “even mr. pickles forgave me,” he says, grinning like an idiot. “so, am i forgiven?” you lean back into the couch, trying to look unimpressed. “you sent me a justin bieber song.”

“a classic apology move,” he counters, stepping closer. “and gojo cat cried. that’s how sorry i am.” you roll your eyes but hold out your hand. “fine. you’re forgiven.” he takes your hand, pulling you up from the couch into his arms without hesitation. “good. because i’m never missing another ride again. next time, i’m picking you up in advance, like a whole hour early.” you snort. “you’d probably park outside my window and text me to hurry up.”

“absolutely,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “i’ll even bring coffee. and croissants.” mr. pickles lets out a loud, approving chirp. ah, love.

-

it did feel a little ridiculous, the way you were sprawled on top of geto on your couch, both of you tangled together in a heap of limbs. but neither of you seemed to care. he had one arm slung around your waist, keeping you steady, while his free hand lazily traced circles on your thigh. you were lying chest to chest, close enough to feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your cheek. "you know," he said, voice slightly muffled as he buried his face in your hair, "if i ever screw up like that again, i’m giving mr. pickles full authority to end me. claws out, no mercy." you lifted your head to meet his gaze, one eyebrow raised. "oh, she’d do it too. and with that belly of hers, she’s got some extra power now."

as if on cue, mr. pickles let out a loud, approving purr from her spot at the other end of the room, delicately grooming her very pregnant self. her tail flicked in what you could only assume was satisfaction at being included in this hypothetical revenge plot. geto chuckled, his hands tightening slightly on your waist. "there you have it. mr. pickles as judge, jury, and executioner. i’m officially terrified." you smiled, tracing the line of his jaw with your finger. "as you should be. she takes no prisoners."

“and neither do i,” he murmured, his tone dipping as he tilted his head up to kiss you. the shift in mood was sudden but not unwelcome. his lips pressed against yours with the kind of determination that made you forget how to breathe for a second. his hands slid to your hips, holding you in place as he leaned back against the cushions, taking you with him. "you’re really trying to prove a point, huh?" you teased, breath hitching as his grip tightened. "i don’t think words are enough," he said between kisses, his voice low and smooth. "actions speak louder, right?" and speak they did. his hands wandered lower, firmly grabbing the soft curve of your ass, earning a surprised squeak from you. "suguru," you warned half-heartedly, though your hips involuntarily shifted against him. he grinned up at you, the picture of smug satisfaction. "what? i don’t hear you complaining."

“yet,” you shot back, but your body betrayed you, rolling your hips again as heat pooled in your stomach. "thought so," he said, voice dipping into a near growl. his hands guided your movements, holding you steady as he kissed you again, deeper this time. it wasn’t just apologetic; it was hungry, desperate, and laced with a promise to make up for every missed second. mr. pickles, ever the unbothered queen, yawned loudly from her perch. apparently, the impending chaos was none of her business. 

things were absolutely peachy—literally and figuratively—because there you were, straddling geto on your worn-out couch like it was the most natural thing in the world. his tie had been discarded somewhere (you’ll probably find it wedged under the couch cushions next month), and his usually crisp shirt was wrinkled beyond salvation.  his hands, warm and firm, roamed over your thighs and hips, eventually settling on your ass, which he seemed determined to commit to memory with the way he kept squeezing. it was flattering, really. all those squats and lugging around mr. pickles’ oversized carrier had not gone unnoticed.

“you’re really into this, huh?” you teased between kisses, nipping at his bottom lip just to feel the soft hitch in his breath. he grinned against your lips, shameless and unrepentant. “what can i say? i’m a man of taste.” his hands squeezed again, making you jolt slightly. “and damn, this is a masterpiece.”

“oh my god, suguru,” you groaned, half-laughing, half-mortified. “you sound like a bad rom-com character.” he tilted his head back, letting out a deep, rumbling laugh that made your stomach flip. “hey, i call it like i see it. can’t help it if i’m honest.”

“yeah, well, your honesty’s about to get you kicked off this couch,” you shot back, though your hands betrayed you, sliding up his chest to cup his face. “oh, c’mon,” he said, leaning up to kiss you again, softer this time, like he was trying to remind you exactly why you hadn’t kicked him out yet. “you’d miss me too much.” and then, because suguru geto couldn’t let a moment of peace exist, he smirked and said, “besides, you’re the grandma of the house. gotta respect my elders.” you froze, pulling back just enough to stare at him with a look that could melt steel. “excuse me?”

“grandma,” he repeated, entirely too pleased with himself. “you know, since you’re mr. pickles’ mom and all. technically makes you—”

“i swear to god, suguru,” you interrupted, cutting him off with a sharp pinch to his side that made him yelp. “do you have a death wish?”

“what? it’s a term of endearment!” he tried, though his laughter betrayed him. “you’re lucky i like nerds,” you muttered, but your lips betrayed you, curving into a reluctant smile as you leaned down to kiss him again. “lucky indeed,” he murmured, hands finding their favorite spot once more. mr. pickles, meanwhile, let out a loud, judgmental meow from her perch, as if to remind both of you who really ran this house.

and geto? geto was panicking. like, full-blown, internal monologue of doom panicking. sure, he looked calm on the outside—well, except for the faint pink creeping up his neck and the way his hands were starting to tremble just a bit against your hips. but inside? oh, it was a mess.

he loves ass. he loves your ass. in fact, he loves you. and while those three facts should be enough to keep him focused and confident, they were doing the exact opposite. because—plot twist—he hasn’t exactly been in the game for a while. “okay, breathe, suguru,” he muttered to himself under his breath, trying to keep his cool as your hands idly played with the collar of his shirt. but your superwoman instincts picked up on everything , and your raised brow as you looked down at him only made things worse. “you good?” you asked, voice soft and teasing, but laced with genuine concern. “yeah, totally,” he replied too quickly, clearing his throat like that would erase the way his voice cracked. “i’m just—uh. just, you know... thinking.” you tilted your head, watching him with that infuriatingly cute little smile that made his stomach flip. “about what? you’re usually a lot smoother than this, geto.”

“oh god, i’m blowing it,” he groaned, letting his head thump lightly against the back of the couch as he finally let the words tumble out. “it’s just... it’s been a while, okay? i’m out of practice or whatever, and now i’m worried i’m gonna, like, disappoint you or something. and that grandma joke? yeah, that was supposed to kill the mood so i could avoid all of this.” you blinked at him, caught between laughter and disbelief. “are you serious right now?”

“painfully.” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, his other hand still planted on your hip. “you’re amazing, and i just... i don’t want to mess this up.” for a moment, you just stared at him, and he could feel himself shrinking under your gaze. but then, the smile that spread across your face was nothing short of wicked. “oh, suguru,” you murmured, leaning down so your lips brushed against his ear. “you have no idea what’s coming, do you?” his breath hitched as your hand slid down to the buttons of his shirt, popping one open with a practiced ease that made his heart skip a beat. “w-what do you mean?”

“i mean,” you said, voice dropping to a low, sultry tone that sent shivers down his spine, “i’m about to make sure you never, ever doubt yourself again. you’re gonna be too busy thanking me to think about whether or not you’re ‘out of practice.’”

he swallowed hard, trying to think of a coherent response, but all that came out was a strangled, “uh — okay.”

“good,” you said simply, shifting your weight and sliding down his lap. and as he looked down at you, wide-eyed and completely at your mercy, one thing became crystal clear to suguru geto: he was absolutely, 100%, in over his head.

-

diva down? diva down. the diva in question being you.  you, the self-proclaimed diva of the century, were currently on your knees, ready to turn suguru geto’s jittery, bashful energy into something far more relaxed—well, if relaxed meant completely wrecked. and honestly? you were thriving. “oh god,” geto let out a breathless laugh, raking a hand through his loose hair as he looked down at you, his cheeks pink and his eyes hazy with anticipation. “you don’t have to—”

“stop,” you cut him off with a teasing smirk, fingers already working on his belt with the precision of someone on a mission. “don’t ruin my moment, suguru.” he laughed again, that soft, breathless kind that made your stomach do flips. “right, wouldn’t dream of it.” as you slid his belt free and popped open the button of his slacks, you couldn’t help but notice how his chest rose and fell just a bit faster, the faintest hint of nerves lingering in his gaze. “you good up there?” you asked, giving him a little grin. “y-yeah,” he stammered, licking his lips. “just... uhh, taking it all in.”

“oh, you’re gonna be taking a lot more than that in a second,” you teased, tugging at his slacks. he groaned, tipping his head back against the couch as he laughed again, but he still lifted his hips eagerly to help you slide the fabric down. and holy shit.  those slacks had been doing a lot of heavy lifting, and now, with them out of the way, you were faced with undeniable proof that suguru geto was not just hot, but also packing. “damn,” you muttered, your eyes widening just a bit as you took him in. “what?” he asked, his voice tinged with nervousness, but also curiosity. “nothing,” you said quickly, though your smirk betrayed you. “just... wow.”

“wow?” he echoed, his brows lifting.

“wow,” you confirmed, leaning in closer. “you’re full of surprises, huh?”

he chuckled softly, his hand coming down to rest gently on your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a way that was almost too sweet for the situation. “i could say the same about you,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “oh, suguru,” you said with a teasing lilt, your hands bracing against his thighs as you leaned in, letting your breath ghost over him. “you have no idea.” and as you finally got to work, suguru let out a sound that was half laugh, half moan, his head tipping back as his hand slid into your hair. yeah, it was definitely going to be a long night—for both of you. and honestly?

bless men raised by their mothers. or at least men who respect women beyond a surface level, because suguru geto? he was proving himself to be a certified sweetheart even with his brain turned to mush. "god, you're...you're so good at this," he babbled, voice pitched just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "like—ohhh, fuck—you’re perfect. seriously, i don’t know how—fuck—you’re even real."

you couldn’t help but smirk around him, though the sheer earnestness in his tone was making your head spin. suguru wasn’t just moaning—no, he was giving you a running commentary like his life depended on it. and honestly? the mix of his praise, his ridiculous vocabulary, and the raw honesty of his reactions were doing more for you than you cared to admit. "shiiit, babe," he groaned, his hand tightening in your hair as his hips shifted just slightly, like he was trying to hold himself back. "you’re incredible. so... so fucking—god, you’re beautiful." you hummed against him, letting the vibrations travel through him, and the broken moan he let out in response was almost enough to make you moan.“i—fuck,” he stammered, his free hand clenching and unclenching on the couch cushion as though he was trying to ground himself. “i can’t even—fuck, you’re amazing. you know that, right? like, amazing.” 

it was ridiculous, really. this level of detailed, horny babbling shouldn’t be hot, and yet, suguru’s desperate, unfiltered honesty was doing a number on you. you’d kiss him if your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied. “you’re gonna—oh fuck, you’re gonna ruin me,” he rasped, his words punctuated by a low, shaky laugh. “like, actually. no coming back from this. you’re—shit—so perfect, babe. i don’t even know how you’re real.” you glanced up at him briefly, catching the flush on his cheeks and the dazed, almost reverent look in his eyes. he looked wrecked already, and you weren’t even close to finished. yeah, men raised right were a blessing. and suguru geto? he was living proof.

suguru was going to cry. or die. or both. maybe at the same time. because when a simple, god-loving, god-fearing man like him thought of you—his girl, his love—his mind didn’t stop at the surface. no, it wandered far, far into the future. he dared to dream big: marriage, a nice house with you, gojo cat and mr. pickles running the place with their eventual brood of kittens, and maybe, if he let himself get really carried away, a kid or two of your own. but this? this was not in the script. not the way he imagined this happening, not this soon. was he complaining, though? no, not one bit. still, suguru couldn’t shake the way his brain was short-circuiting. what if you thought this was weird? not the moment itself—because, holy shit, this moment was unreal—but the way he couldn’t control the ridiculous rambling bubbling out of him.

“god, you’re... you’re gonna be the death of me,” he stammered, his voice breaking slightly as his hand tightened on the couch cushion beneath him. “seriously. i’m done for. you’ve—fuck—you’ve got me wrapped around your finger. literally, figuratively... h-hell, every way there is.” he let out a shaky laugh, his other hand brushing the edge of your jaw, his touch featherlight like he was afraid he’d break you—or worse, wake up and find out this was all a dream. “you have no idea, do you?” he murmured, his tone softening even as his breaths came uneven. “how much i—fuck, how much i love you.”

that admission was supposed to stay locked in his chest, hidden away alongside the future house and the diary full of thoughts he would probably never admit aloud. but there it was, laid bare in the open. his throat tightened as he watched for your reaction, his heart pounding in his chest like it was trying to break free. his mind raced with every possibility—what if you thought he was moving too fast? what if this ruined everything?

you were going to die. or cry. or both. maybe not in that order, but the emotional whiplash was real. because while you were—let's face it—giving the performance of your life, suguru geto had the audacity to play the wildest card in his hand: he told you he loved you. the words hit you like a sucker punch, making your brain screech to a halt. you paused, pulling him out of your mouth with a slick, obscene pop, a strand of spit still connecting the two of you as you gaped at him like he’d just told you the earth was flat. “wait, what?” your voice was hoarse, a little breathless, and full of disbelief. your hands remained steady on his thighs, but you weren’t about to let that slide. “say that again.”

suguru blinked at you, his flushed face half-covered by the messy curtain of his hair. and yet, somehow, he still looked every bit the breathtaking dork you fell for. “i... i said i love you,” he mumbled, his voice soft, but you could see the telltale signs of his nerves in the way his hands fidgeted at his sides. oh, you knew you won now. your lips curved into a sly, wicked grin, your heart pounding in your chest for reasons that had nothing to do with what you were doing moments ago. “good,” you said simply, your voice low and teasing, before brushing your thumb over his hip bone in a way that made him shiver. “because i love you too, suguru.” the way his eyes widened, his chest hitching in disbelief, was almost enough to undo you completely. but you weren’t done. oh no, not by a long shot.

you leaned in again, doubling down on your efforts with a newfound determination, your mouth warm and eager as you took him back in. this time, you didn’t hold back, letting him feel just how much you meant those words. the soft noises tumbling out of him turned into broken, desperate moans as you let him slide deeper, letting him bump against the back of your throat with a confidence that made his hips jerk. “holy—fucck, baby, ” he gasped, his voice trembling as his hands instinctively tangled in your hair. “you’re—oh my god—i can’t—”

and just like that, he was gone. the way his body tensed, his hand gripping the back of the couch like a lifeline, was all the warning you got before he tipped over the edge, his release hitting you with an intensity that left him trembling beneath you. you pulled back slightly, swallowing and smirking as he looked down at you with dazed, love-struck eyes, his chest heaving. “you okay there, lover boy?” you teased, wiping your lips with the back of your hand as you crawled up to straddle him. he groaned, dragging his hands over his flushed face, but even through his embarrassment, you could see the adoration shining in his gaze. “you’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, but the small, lovesick smile on his lips said he wouldn’t have it any other way.

somewhere in the tangled chaos of his mind, suguru was thinking about reciprocity in customary international law—something about how states are expected to treat each other in kind. why this popped into his head as he helped you up from your knees, he had no idea. maybe his brain was short-circuiting from everything that had just transpired. or maybe it was just his nerdy coping mechanism for the sheer intensity of what was about to go down. either way, he shelved the thought because all he knew—clearly, distinctly, and beyond a shadow of a doubt—was that you needed help. erm, his girl needed help. and suguru geto? he was nothing if not a gentleman. “alright, up you go,” he said, his voice warm and teasing as he hooked an arm around you, effortlessly lifting you.

before you could even fully process what was happening, he threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, carrying you to the bed. “oh my god, suguru!” you squealed, smacking his back, but there was no real heat behind it. " shh, this is for your benefit,” he said, laughing softly as he adjusted his grip. and with a surprising amount of precision for a man who had just been thoroughly flustered minutes earlier, he tossed you onto the bed. somehow, miraculously, you landed gracefully—no awkward angles or unflattering positions. before you could catch your breath, suguru was already yanking down your pajama shorts, his movements sure and deliberate. his hair, still a little messy from your earlier efforts, framed his face as he looked down at you, his dark eyes filled with a mix of affection and hunger. you smirked, propping yourself up on your elbows. “you know, if you’re really feeling sorry, there’s one thing you could do.” his brows raised, intrigued. “oh? what’s that?”

“sit down,” you said casually, leaning back against the pillows. “because i’m sitting on your face.” suguru froze for half a second, and you could swear you saw his soul leave his body. but then he let out a low, almost reverent laugh, his hands already sliding up your thighs as he knelt onto the bed. “you’re killing me,” he muttered, his lips curving into a grin that was equal parts adoring and wicked. “but if you insist…” and as he settled himself beneath you, looking up at you with pure devotion, he thought to himself—if he had a ring right now, he’d propose without a second thought.

sit on his face? seriously? where the hell did that confidence come from? because let’s be real—have you ever sat on someone’s face before? no? yeah, that’s what i thought. so it really serves you right for hovering over suguru’s face in the most awkward, hesitant way possible after you practically tore your underwear off like a woman on a mission. and suguru, bless his sweet, sweet soul, was waiting so patiently. expectantly, even. until he let out this deep chuckle—low and warm and way too sexy for your own good—and before you could spiral any further into overthinking, he reached up and yanked you down onto his face. oh. OH. there was no time to process, no moment to think, because suddenly the same mouth that usually went on and on about laws, treaties, and whatever international nonsense was now french kissing your cunt like it was his one true calling in life.

you moaned—loud and borderline pornographic—but could you really help it? suguru groaned against you, the vibrations shooting straight through you as his grip tightened on your thighs, holding you firmly in place like he had absolutely no plans of letting you escape. you tried. god, you tried to play it cool. tried to pull a geto on him with a little bit of horny babbling of your own, figuring he’d appreciate the effort. but every time you so much as opened your mouth to string a coherent sentence together, suguru would double down on his actions—his tongue flicking or curling in ways that had you seeing stars—and whatever you’d been planning to say vanished into the void, replaced by high-pitched whines and breathy moans.

“suguru—oh my god—”

he hummed in response, the sound smug and almost teasing as he looked up at you from between your legs, his dark eyes practically glowing with amusement and pride. “you talk too much,” he mumbled against you, the words muffled but clear enough to make your face heat up. and honestly? you’d be offended if he weren’t so goddamn good at what he was doing.

geto was putting in the work. the work. and you? you were trying not to cry or completely lose your mind, but if you did, you had a sneaking suspicion he’d love it more than anything. the man had a thing for drama—especially if it was drama he caused. but in the middle of all this face-sitting, tongue-lapping, thigh-gripping madness, you noticed something else.

geto was hard. painfully so. the sight of him below you was already sinful enough, but the way his erection strained against his boxers, twitching every time you moaned his name, was almost too much. his response time to recover was unreal—maddening, even—but considering it was you on top of him, you liked to think you deserved the credit. and since a wise saying says to love your neighbor as yourself, you decided to help a man out. literally. your hand snaked down between you two, wrapping around his length with a touch that had him freezing for a split second. “what are you—oh, fuck, ” geto choked out, the sound muffled against your thighs as you yanked down his boxers and started stroking him.

he let out a garbled groan and—you couldn’t make this up—spat. he outright spat onto your cunt, the hot slickness dripping between your folds, and you? you loved it. the move earned him a sharp gasp, followed by a breathless laugh as you sped up your hand, squeezing him just enough to draw out those pretty whines you loved so much. “oh my god, suguru,” you teased, voice shaky but teasing nonetheless. “did you just—?”

“shut up,” he grunted, his words nearly swallowed by a low moan as you swiped your thumb over his tip. “you’re the one—fuck—driving me insane right now.” and judging by the desperate way he buried his face against you, tongue moving feverishly as his hips bucked into your hand, you’d say he was enjoying this just as much as you were. but the real kicker? when you came, your body instinctively pressed down against his face, your thighs squeezing tight enough to almost cut off his air supply. geto didn’t complain. not once. if anything, the muffled groan against your cunt and the way he jerked against your hand as he came told you he’d gladly die like this if it came to it. but luckily for both of you, you lived to tell the tale.

once the both of you had managed to throw on some semblance of clothing, clean up, and collapse into the bed, that’s when reality hit geto like a brick wall. what. the. hell. just happened. as he laid there, his arm slung lazily around you, your soft breathing against his chest, his brain decided now was the perfect time to spiral. he glanced over at mr. pickles, who sat perched on the counter in the kitchenette, her tail flicking in judgment. the cat looked like she was debating calling the authorities on him for defiling her beloved owner. oh god. what does this make the two of you?

no, scratch that. the real panic set in when he remembered: he told you he loved you. not in some subtle, cute, roundabout way either. no, it was the full-blown, l-o-v-e type of confession. the kind he wrote about in his secret diary he kept under his bed. the kind that implied white picket fences, shared dreams, and a life together. and judging by the way you were pressed against him, one leg draped over his, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his bare chest (because yes, the formal shirt had been entirely ditched), you were either about to let him down easy or...

oh god.

“you okay?” your soft voice snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts, your hand pausing its movements as you tilted your head to look up at him. he cleared his throat, his cheeks flushing. “uh, yeah. yeah, totally fine.” you squinted at him, your lips twitching like you were trying not to laugh. “you sure? you’re looking a little... out of it.” well, there was no way out of this now. in all his dorkus glory, he blurted out the dreaded question:

“so, uh... what are we?”

the words hung in the air for a second, and geto wanted to melt into the mattress. but instead of laughing or teasing him, you smiled, your expression soft and fond. “what do you want us to be?”

“i mean...” he swallowed hard, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. “i said i loved you, so... maybe something serious?” you grinned, pressing a kiss to his chest. “good. because i’m not letting you go after that performance, lover boy.” and just like that, geto decided he could die happy. even if mr. pickles never forgave him.

chapter 6: the class you’ll never forget

geto woke up feeling like the main character in some rom-com where everything had finally fallen into place. the sun was shining directly on his face, his skin was clear, the tension that had been tying his muscles in knots for weeks was gone, and most importantly, there was you snuggled up next to him. your soft snores were music to his ears, and mr. pickles' contented purring from her nesting area completed the picture. everything was perfect. except for the yeowling.

it started faint, like the distant sound of a car alarm, and grew steadily louder. groaning, geto rubbed his face. “what the hell...?” he suddenly bolted upright, realization hitting him like a freight train. “oh no. oh no, no, no.” you groggily stirred beside him, blinking up at him in confusion. “what’s wrong?”

“gojo,” he groaned, flopping back against the pillows dramatically. “i left him alone in my apartment last night. he probably thinks i’m dead.” you blinked, then snorted. “that’s dramatic, even for a cat.”

but geto wasn’t joking. he’d seen gojo cat throw tantrums over him leaving for ten minutes to grab milk. this? this was abandonment on a grand scale in the eyes of the overly dramatic feline. as if on cue, the voice of your landlord, yaga, boomed from the other side of the door. “keep that cat quiet, or i’m calling animal control!” you gasped indignantly, sitting up. “excuse me! mr. pickles would never—”

“it’s not mr. pickles!” geto groaned, already throwing on his pants. “it’s my overly theatrical—”

just as he was about to open the door to go upstairs, a loud thud echoed from the direction of your fire escape. the two of you froze.

“what was that?” you whispered.

geto peeked out the window, his jaw dropping. “oh my god. no.”

there, perched precariously on the fire escape outside your window, was gojo cat. his tail swished furiously, and he was glaring through the glass like he had just tracked his runaway owner down on sheer willpower alone.

“he... jumped from my window to yours.”

“that’s, like, one story up!” you exclaimed.

“i know!”

gojo cat let out another ear-piercing yeowwww! that sounded suspiciously like he was cursing geto out in feline language. “okay, okay , i’m coming!” geto sighed, sliding the window open to let the cat in. gojo cat pranced inside with all the dignity of someone who had just won an olympic gold medal, ignoring you entirely as he hopped onto geto’s torso and began aggressively kneading his shoulder. “i’m sorry, okay?” geto muttered. “i didn’t mean to abandon you.” gojo cat meowed smugly, his forgiveness conditional.

“so... how mad would you be if i told you yaga still thinks this is mr. pickles’ fault?” you asked, biting your lip to hold back a laugh. geto groaned, flopping back onto the bed, gojo cat still perched on his chest. “this is my life now. cat dad, tenant offender, and boyfriend to the world’s most beautiful woman.” you grinned, kissing his cheek. “and don’t you forget it.”

gojo cat, ever the drama queen, was about to make a grand display of his wrath, his tail swishing like an emperor preparing to deliver a royal decree. but then, he saw her.

mr. pickles. lounging in her nesting area, belly round with her impending litter, she cast him the most witheringly judgmental side-eye known to catkind. it wasn’t even subtle. her disdain radiated like heat off asphalt, and for a moment, gojo cat’s indignant rage faltered. but then, like the suave rogue he believed himself to be, he straightened up, puffed out his chest, and strutted toward her with a confidence that could only be described as delusional. it was all tail flicks and exaggerated steps, as though the very floor beneath him had the privilege of bearing his paws.

and then—smack. the grand feline tumbled, face planting into the ground with all the grace of a wet noodle.

you tried to stifle your laugh, but the sound still slipped out. geto choked back a snort, muttering, “that’s my boy.” mr. pickles, however, did not laugh. no, the dignified queen merely let out a single approving chirp, a sound that might have translated to "pathetic, but amusing." gojo cat, undeterred by his embarrassing mishap, rose with renewed determination. and with the kind of courage that made you question if he had a screw loose, he approached mr. pickles once more, his intentions clear.

“no way,” you whispered.

“he wouldn’t,” geto added, equally mesmerized.

but he did. gojo cat, in what he undoubtedly believed was the ultimate gesture of love, began grooming mr. pickles. grooming her. and she let him.

for a moment, you thought she was going to swipe at him with all the fury of a hormonal mom-to-be. but no. she actually closed her eyes, her purring like a soft motor. it was... surreal.

“did we just witness the biggest romance of the century?” you asked, genuinely baffled. “bigger than us?” geto teased, pulling you closer. “way bigger,” you deadpanned.

as you both watched the unlikely duo share their moment, you couldn’t help but laugh. gojo cat was clearly putting his all into his attempt at love, and mr. pickles? well, she looked like she was actually enjoying it.

“ah, love,” geto sighed dramatically, resting his chin on your head. “even dumber than us,” you added, shaking your head in disbelief.

-

you were on cloud nine, feeling a level of peace and contentment that only came from having a hot law nerd boyfriend and a cat with enough sass to rival gojo cat himself. geto's bmw hummed quietly beneath you as the two of you cruised toward campus. it wasn’t just the morning coffee kicking in; it was the knowledge that if this man dared to be late—even by two minutes—mr. pickles would end him. like, not even metaphorically. she’d leap on him, claws out, and make him regret. because mr. pickles loved his hair. she loved kneading it, curling her paws into his long, luscious locks as if claiming her personal throne. and honestly? you got it. if you were a cat, you’d do the same. hell, even as a human, you’d do it (and did, regularly).

as he pulled into the parking lot, the goodbye routine began. “don’t forget to text me when your class ends,” he said, already pulling you into a warm hug. “don’t forget to pick me up, or we’re breaking up,” you countered sweetly, earning a laugh from him. “you’re scary, you know that?” he teased, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “and you’re my very gorgeous, very whipped boyfriend,” you shot back, leaning up for a kiss. he wouldn’t dream of ghosting you—not when you were this beautiful, amazing, kind, and, obviously, a little unhinged. as he opened your door and helped you out like the true gentleman he was, he insisted on walking you all the way to the front entrance. his hand rested at the small of your back, a gesture that had you swooning even as you teased him.

“you do know you’re going to be late, right?”

“worth it,” he replied with a grin, bending down to kiss your cheek. but just as you were about to part ways, a booming voice shattered the moment.

“GETO! LAW STUDENTS BUILDING! NOW!”

you both turned to see a very exasperated professor waving frantically at him from across the quad. you couldn’t help but laugh as geto sighed, muttering under his breath about how “love is a battlefield.” he gave you one last kiss, muttered a promise to pick you up later (or else), and jogged off. you watched him go, smiling like an idiot as you whispered, “ah, love.”

the day started fine. better than fine, actually—you left geto’s bmw with a kiss and the knowledge that your cat, mr. pickles, was safe and sound in her nesting area, glaring at gojo cat with the fury only a pregnant feline could muster. but halfway through your lecture on post-modern feminist theories (a riveting topic, truly), your phone buzzed. it wasn’t a normal notification. no, it was the cctv feed suguru had installed as a “gift” to keep an eye on your “queen” (read: your absolute dictator cat). and there she was—mr. pickles—kneading her nesting area with an urgency that sent a chill down your spine.

“oh. oh no. oh dear god.” you whispered, staring at the screen as she let out a war cry that could only mean one thing: grandmahood was happening. you shot up from your seat so fast your desk screeched against the floor. “is everything okay?” your professor asked, startled by your abrupt movement.

“uh, yeah! just — cat emergency! she’s — uh — giving birth!” you stammered, already halfway out the door.

“congratulations?” someone in the back called out, earning a round of laughter you had no time for.

you sprinted through campus like a woman possessed, your backpack bouncing behind you as you cursed yourself for not realizing mr. pickles’ morning mood wasn’t jealousy but labor. and then—because fate had to test you—geto appeared, casually strolling toward the law building with his usual unbothered grace. “babe?” he called out, watching you bolt past him like you were auditioning for the olympics. “no time to explain!” you yelled over your shoulder. he frowned, putting two and two together because, let’s face it, the man’s a genius. “is it mr. pickles?!”

“YES!”

and then he started running behind you.

“suguru!” you wheezed, already out of breath. “GET YOUR CAR!”

“why?” he shouted, effortlessly keeping pace with you.

“because we’re running across a campus that’s like thousand acres and I WILL DIE!”

he paused, muttering something about how you were so dramatic, before pivoting on his heel and sprinting toward the parking lot.

you barely made it to the main road before suguru’s bmw skidded to a stop beside you.

“get in!” he barked, throwing the passenger door open.

“i swear to god, if she starts delivering while we’re stuck in traffic —”

“she’s not gonna start without you,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“cats don’t work like that, suguru!”

“well, neither do women, but here we are,” he shot back, pulling into the driveway of your building.

you bolted out of the car, taking the stairs two at a time while suguru trailed behind with all the urgency of a man who knows he’ll be the one cleaning up whatever mess awaited. when you burst into the apartment, mr. pickles was mid-contraction, glaring at you like, finally, my useless human has arrived. gojo cat, meanwhile, looked terrified, hovering at a safe distance as if he was considering calling 911. “okay, okay, we’re here!” you panted, dropping to your knees beside mr. pickles. suguru followed, looking at the scene with wide eyes. “do...do we call a vet?”

“no! she’s got this. we just have to support her!”

“support her how?”

“i don’t know! emotional support?”

“she’s a cat!”

mr. pickles let out a low growl, silencing suguru’s protests. “okay, okay, i’ll shut up,” he muttered, backing away slightly. the door creaked open, and there stood shoko, still in her scrubs and sporting the exhausted yet curious expression of someone returning from a night shift only to walk straight into chaos. “what’s going on here?” she asked, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. you barely spared her a glance as you clutched suguru’s arm. “mr. pickles is in labor. it’s a whole thing. prayers are appreciated.”

“prayers?” she scoffed, stepping closer. “i’m a doctor. i got this.”

relief washed over you. “thank god, shoko! we could use an actual professional!”

but the moment she peeked over the edge of mr. pickles’ nesting area and caught sight of a tiny kitten halfway out, her calm demeanor shattered.

“OH MY GOD, WHAT IS THAT?!”

“what do you think it is?” suguru deadpanned, visibly unimpressed. “i don’t know! i didn’t sign up for this!” shoko shrieked, stumbling backward and holding her hands up as if warding off an unholy demon.

you blinked at her, utterly dumbfounded. “aren’t you a doctor?”

“a human doctor! this is nature gone rogue! ”

mr. pickles, clearly unamused by shoko’s dramatics, let out a low, guttural growl that sent the so-called professional scurrying back to the doorway. “you’re on your own,” shoko muttered, lighting a cigarette like the events unfolding in your living room weren’t directly her problem. meanwhile, gojo cat, always the overachiever, decided he needed to help. unfortunately, his idea of help involved attempting to paw at the nearest kitten. “don’t even think about it!” suguru warned, his voice laced with exasperation.

but it was too late—mr. pickles, mid-contraction, turned her fiery gaze on gojo cat, who froze like a deer in headlights. one wrong flick of his tail, and mr. pickles let out a feral hiss that could have sent shoko back to med school. gojo cat, realizing he had crossed the line, slinked back to the corner, tail tucked between his legs, his usual swagger replaced with what could only be described as embarrassed defeat. “well, that’s one way to keep him in line,” you muttered.

“this is insane,” shoko said, still watching from the doorway. “how do you people live like this?”

“we manage,” suguru replied, his tone completely void of humor as he massaged his temples.

the next hour was a whirlwind of cat screams, your whispered words of encouragement, and suguru pacing like an expectant father in a sitcom. “should we name one after me?” he asked at one point, earning a glare from both you and mr. pickles as she finally let out one final push, and another tiny kitten entered the world. you let out a relieved sigh, and suguru finally cracked a smile. he was crouched beside you, holding your hand as if you were the one giving birth. “you did amazing,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“she did amazing,” you corrected, motioning to mr. pickles.

“team effort,” he replied with a grin.

and as mr. pickles began cleaning her newest babies, shoko muttered from the door, “you’re all insane. call me when it’s over.”

“you’re the godmother, shoko!” you called after her, earning a muffled string of curses as she disappeared down the hall.

“we’re gonna need so much cat food,” he muttered, pulling you close.

ah, the miracle of life.

-

a few weeks had passed since d-day—delivery day, or as suguru had renamed it, “domestic chaos day.” the kittens were growing faster than you thought possible, transforming your once peaceful apartment into a battlefield. mr. pickles ruled the roost with an iron paw, while gojo cat’s ego took a daily beating as the kittens bested him at every turn. every time one managed to leap higher, run faster, or swipe his tail just right, his tail would puff up in indignation like a furry balloon. you’d managed to rehome a few of the kittens, starting with shoko.

her kitten—affectionately dubbed “roach” for her uncanny ability to survive despite zero effort—was the perfect match. low-maintenance, unfazed, and perpetually napping. shoko had initially protested, but now you’d catch her sending you pictures of roach curled up in her sink or casually perched on her liquor cabinet.

then there was yuuji. poor, sweet, persistent yuuji. he’d campaigned harder for a kitten than some politicians do for office. the boy went through hoops — begging you, suguru, choso, sukuna, and even mr. pickles. you weren’t sure how he’d pulled it off, but eventually, he was deemed worthy of a black-and-white troublemaker he promptly named “gumi.” the kitten adored yuuji and spent most of his time riding on his shoulders like a parrot, though you suspected yuuji let him get away with far too much.

sukuna, on the other hand, had reluctantly taken the runt of the litter after it refused to leave him alone. “don’t need some damn cat,” he’d grumbled the entire way home. now? the tiny kitten followed him everywhere, even sneaking into his apron pockets after he came back from work. he pretended to hate it, but the soft grumbles about “stupid runt” were always followed by careful, protective pats on the kitten’s tiny head.

but the biggest surprise of all came when suguru decided to make your relationship public—on linkedin. linkedin, of all places.

it had started as a joke. you’d teased him about not “properly asking you out” after all this time, and before you knew it, he’d crafted a three-paragraph-long post about you. “in a comitted relationship with the love of my life, and no, this isn’t a humble brag — it’s a masterpiece,” he’d typed with the fervor of a man defending his dissertation. the post included references to romantic literature, quotes from classic movies, and, somehow, a detailed analysis of how mr. pickles and gojo cat played pivotal roles in your story.

you’d wanted to die of second-hand embarrassment, but the post blew up. colleagues, professors, and even strangers commented, congratulating the two of you. “you’re insane,” you’d told him, hiding your face in his chest as he laughed. “insane about you,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

life wasn’t perfect — it was loud, chaotic, and occasionally overwhelming. but with mr. pickles, gojo cat, and your ridiculous yet lovable boyfriend, it was better than you ever imagined.

feline parenthood? best decision ever.

[oathbips]

I'm Sleeping On The Couch Pt. 2 - Gun, DG

summary: how they'll react to you saying you'll sleep on the couch after an argument

part 1, part 2

content: angst to fluff, reader x gun/dg

author's note: this took longer than i expected so there's only 2 instead of 3. it was a lot harder writing these two especially james so i apologize if he feels too ooc

You can feel your nerve rising the more this argument was dragging out but you were trying your best to not let it show. The last thing you wanted was for him to see how much he was getting to you because in contrast to you, Gun was more nonchalant than ever right now. He’s sitting there, taking hits of his cigarette while wearing this unbothered expression as he stares at you with a look that’s silently asking if you were done with whatever this was that you wanted to make a big deal out of. Which just ends up angering you even more. 

“Gun. This is ridiculous.” 

“It sure is.” 

“No, I mean how you’re not listening to me.” 

“I heard you.” 

“You’re hearing me but you’re not listening!” You finally had enough. All the effort of not trying to let him get to you failed, and he actually got to you. It has always been like this. Every argument you both had always ended up with only you being riled up while Gun on the other hand stays unfazed. It makes you feel like you’re the crazy one, always yelling and screaming at him. He never yells back or even gets angry at you for snapping at him but you honestly wished sometimes he did because that way, it’ll show that he at least cares just a little bit. The constant nonchalance and monotone replies he returns hurts you. It feels like he never takes you seriously, that he never cares. 

In response to your outburst, Gun took the last remaining hit of his cigarette before huffing out the smoke — putting it out once he was done. He then discarded it in the ashtray before finally standing up, making his way towards you but you swiftly turned away. You wanted to quickly make an escape to the bathroom as you felt tears threatening to spill out of frustration. A sigh leaving your lips as you try to collect yourself and hold back the tears.

“Whatever. Let’s just go to sleep.” You stated before shutting the bathroom door behind you. 

It was now Gun who was in the bathroom doing his night routine while you’re in the shared bedroom, finishing the last remaining steps of yours. The fight flashed through your mind as you got on your side of the bed. You sneakily avoided him when you got out of the bathroom earlier, so he couldn’t see your red puffy eyes and stained tears from crying but no doubt he will notice them once he joins you in bed. You didn’t want him to see you like this but more than anything, you didn’t feel like sleeping next to him after everything that just happened. It seems so childish and you know it is but you simply can’t help getting up from where you laid, collecting your pillow, grabbing a small blanket from the closet, and making your way down to the couch in the living room. 

You laid there, twisting and turning trying to get comfortable while the distant sound of the sink running could be heard in the background. It took a good minute or two before you finally settled, getting comfortable. All the stress and tension earlier soon follows, crashing down on you and your body gives in to exhaustion. Half lidded eyes finally close as you drift into a slumber sleep. 

A sudden jolt shook you awake from your slumber. You tried stirring around, heavy eyelids fighting to open and see what’s going on. To your surprise, you soon realize your attempted stirrings are futile once it finally kicks in that your body is currently being lifted up in the air right now, held tightly by a pair of strong arms. All drowsiness finally subsides as your widened eyes finally lay on the person causing all of this. 

“G-Gun?!” You yelped, surprised.

“You’re awake? Go back to sleep.”

“What are you doing?” 

“What are you doing sleeping on the couch?” His question made you remember the fight you guys just had earlier, why you were sleeping on the couch in the first place. 

“Oh…”

“The bed is this way.” He said before you could even find an appropriate reply to his question.

“I know that.”

“Didn’t look like you did.” A pout formed on your face from that and you decided to just stay quiet the whole way to the bedroom. When you both finally arrived at the bed, he gently placed you down on your side before going back out to fetch your pillow. Coming back, he walked towards you and placed it under your head while you stared at him longingly. You really wanted to try once more to talk it out for once instead of getting brushed off like always. 

“…Can we please talk about it tomorrow? Seriously this time.” 

He paused at the question and the room fell silent for half a minute before he finally let out a sigh. “Fine. But go to sleep first.” He stated, then plants a kiss on your forehead. 

“Okay. Goodnight, Gun.” 

“Goodnight.” He said when he finally made it to his side, laying down and pulling you towards him as he placed another kiss on your lips this time.

“I thought you said you wanted to start anew and leave your past behind you?” 

“I do.” 

“It doesn’t seem that way to me, James.” 

It’s been 30 minutes since you and your boyfriend have been going on about this. You were one of the few that knew the truth behind his identity and his life in the past. You knew that he has abandoned that old life and has been starting anew or so he said he was. Because looking at him right now, it looks like he is still very much involved in indulging his past life, and you hated it. It was dangerous and you’re not particularly proud of the choices he was making back then. When he told you before you both started dating that he wanted to forget his past, you were in full support of it. You would not have agreed to even be by his side like you are right now if that wasn’t the case. So, you’re having a hard time trying to understand why these days, you’ve been catching him in the act of meeting up with Eugune and even involving Daniel in whatever it is he’s trying to do involving his old past. You tried confronting him about this before but your attempted confrontation always ended in vain with him dodging and changing the subject. 

“It doesn’t involve you, so don’t worry about it. Just trying to clean up some mistakes in the past.”

“What mistakes are you talking about? You said you were done.”

“If I was actually done, I wouldn’t have to be doing all this would I, Y/n?” 

“Then what are the mistakes that you’re not done with, James? Why won’t you tell me?”

“I told you it doesn’t involve you so don’t worry about it.” 

You really didn’t have the energy anymore to keep continuing this argument after that statement. That’s what he always says and if you have to hear that sentence one more time, you really feel like you’ll lose it. Truth be told, it hurts you every time he would say that. You’re more than aware of how shady his past was, but if it was all behind him now, why can’t he trust you enough to tell you? 

“Okay, whatever. That’s fine. I’m going to bed now.” You stated, ending the argument there. It was no use trying to push an answer out of him when he has been avoiding it for months now. Today wasn’t going to be any different. 

From where James stood, he could see your defeated expression as you started to walk away from him. He felt a pang of guilt rising in him. Of course, he trusted you, more than anything if he were to be completely honest. It’s just he doesn’t want to involve you in his reckless past, especially this one. James told you he was a changed man and he meant it so he didn’t see the need to bring his old sins into your life. He’s about to follow you to apologize until he sees you walking out of the bedroom with your pillow and a blanket around your arms. He couldn’t help but widened his eyes in shock and confusion as to what you were planning to do. 

“What are you doing?”

“I think I’ll sleep out on the couch tonight.” You replied, deadpan. New waves of shock overtake James’ expression as he stares at you in disbelief. “...Seriously?” Was all he could ask in return. This issue was bothering you that much for you to do something so petty as sleeping on the couch instead of with him? He thought it was childish, he really did, but he felt more sad than anything that he had upset you this much. For the first time in his life, he finds himself scattering his brain to find anything he could say to reverse this. 

“Wait.” He managed. You looked at him in expectedly, waiting for him to continue on with what he has to say. You’ll be lying if you said you weren’t hoping for him to finally tell you what you’ve been wanting to hear, for him to finally open up to you. But a part of you knew better than to get your hopes up. Still, you patiently wait for him to elaborate himself as the silence continues to drag out. 

“... I’m sorry.” You stayed silent to that, expecting more than just a “I’m sorry”, but before you could speak up, he beat you to it, cutting you off.

“Just trust me. Please. Once this is all over, I’ll tell you everything you want to know but for now, just trust me. That’s all I’m asking.” 

You stood in silence, taking in what he just said. His statement held such a desperate plea and he looked more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen him right now. You’re sad he’s not telling you more, but you can tell that this meant greatly to him and whatever he’s doing must have a bigger purpose than you can understand. You finally exhaled a sigh, accepting the situation you’re in.

“Okay. I trust you but please, be careful.”

“I will, you don’t have to worry.” 

A smile finally appears on his face before he pulls you close to him, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead. “Still going to sleep on the couch now?” He said teasingly, resulting in you rolling your eyes. “And if I said I am?” 

“I can’t let that happen.” He countered and reached out to place his hands on your soft cheeks. He gently strokes them and then leans in to finally plant a deep kiss on your lips, leaving you breathless.

[soobnara]

like clockwork / c.sb

soobin x reader

summary: in a world where love is given an expiration date, you find your forever home in an unexpected place.

word count: 10.1k

tags: soulmate!au, best friends to lovers, mostly romance + fluff, fake dating if you squint, reader is afab w/ gender neutral pronouns + fem terms (noona) used

author's note: finally got around to finishing this... it's been a long while coming and i couldn't get myself to write for various reasons and i'm so happy it's all done and out there! (also for any black mirror fans out there, yes this is loosely based on the 'hang the dj' episode but way more lighthearted and with a dash of soulmate brainrot) hope you enjoy and wishing everyone a wonderful holiday season <3

For as long as Soobin can remember, he’s been counting down the days. 

To summer vacation, to the end of his shift at his part time job, to the start of a long awaited trip, to anything. But there’s something else that counts down on his behalf, something that he doesn’t particularly want to count.

That something is inlaid in a nondescript watch wrapped around his wrist. Everyone gets one once they turn 18, and as far as he’s concerned, its only purpose is to ruin relationships. The cruel hands of time assign a “best by” date to each romantic encounter, flashing on the screen from the first meeting, with each failure promising to lead the user closer and closer to their fated lover. If you ask Soobin, it’s all bullshit. How would a stupid watch know anything about fate, anyways?

It’s a typical Thursday night, and Soobin’s mindlessly scrolling through Time to Love, the government mandated dating app that all phones come with, as per usual when he can’t decide on something to watch. He has yet to meet the weekly two date quota, having only gone on one on Tuesday (important to note that he’s already forgotten his name), and he’s running out of time, and he really can’t afford to pay that 100,000 won fine this week. Well, he can’t afford to pay it at any point in time, but this week’s been especially rough on him, and he doesn’t want to shell out any more of his meager savings just because he couldn’t get a date, of all things. 

The names and faces on his phone screen are a blur as his thumb swipes left aimlessly– he doesn’t really give that much of a shit who he ends up with, because at the end of the day, he’ll say “No” when the app asks him if he’d liked them and give them a terrible review saying they were incompatible, because frankly, the algorithm seems to always be wrong when it comes to his matches. Either that, or it’s because he cares so little that he doesn’t bother properly vetting his matches.

He’s resigned himself to his fate anyways; he’ll fill up his progress bar with a bunch of shitty matches until the algorithm decides it’s time for him to settle down, then when he finds his “soulmate” (if you could even call it that), he’ll just be doomed to a loveless arranged marriage set in place by a computer and die unhappy. He can’t envision happiness ever coming out of something so lifeless, so cold, so that’s just how it has to be. At least it gives him something to do instead of rewatching the same three anime series over and over again.

Whatever– he’ll just swipe right on the next person and go on yet another unmemorable date tomorrow. Lee Saerom, the profile reads. She’s exceptionally pretty, he has to admit, and she’s an artist, (and she’s older, but don’t ask him about that) so he’ll just ask her about her work and let her ramble for the allotted two hours while he smiles and nods.

He swipes right, and a bright pink heart pattern fills his screen, signifying a successful match. Obnoxious. It’s replaced with a time and a place, and he lets out a groan. Congratulations! Your date is scheduled for 6pm, at the Coffee Shop. He was supposed to meet you at 7 tomorrow for your usual Friday night updates. 

Fuck. What if the date goes on longer than an hour?

He’s never been late for your weekly meetups, but he figures you’ll understand, since it’s completely out of his control.

Surely you won’t kill him, right?

Just in case, he recites a prayer to himself before he tucks in for the night.

You’re already nursing your third vodka soda of the night and Soobin is still nowhere to be found, which is unusual. He’s never been the most punctual person, but standing you up for an hour after your usual meeting time isn’t like him, either. He said he’d be late, but he didn’t specify how late… you’ll grill him later when he explains himself, and you’ll make him buy you a drink or two as compensation. With the comfort of a free drink in mind, you’re about to order your fourth round when Soobin finally stumbles in through the door of the bar, eyes scanning each booth until his gaze lands on you, and with an apologetic smile, he’s sliding into the seat across from you. 

He gestures to your glass, brow curled upwards, which you know means he’s teasing you. “What number is this one, noona? You always polish these things off like they’re nothing.”

“This is number three, with number four on the way, and that’s because they are. You owe me at least two for taking so long to get here, asshole.” You let out an indignant huff as you slurp the last of the cocktail through your straw, lips jutting in a comical pout.

“Okay, okay. Next one’s on me.” Soobin relents with an endeared laugh, waving down the waitstaff and ordering a beer for himself, along with another vodka soda for you. 

“Okay, now spill.”

“What? Am I supposed to have some hot gossip for you? Don’t make me guess about what drama I’ve somehow found myself in on accident.” He’s visibly confused, brows knitted together, and you roll your eyes at him.

“Obviously the only reason you would ever skip out on your dear noona was if TTL scheduled you for a date during our usual time, so spill. How bad was this one?” 

His lips part in understanding, (you can practically see the figurative lightbulb flickering on) head bobbing in an exaggerated nod before pulling his phone out, hand outstretched to show you his date’s profile. “I mean, she was okay, I guess. Pretty girl, and she was older, but she spent the entirety of our time slot babbling about her latest art project and how it’s supposedly going to blow away the industry. Which is fine, I guess, because you know I hate talking on these dates, but if she said “brush technique” and “negative space” one more time I think I would’ve tried to drown myself in my caffe mocha. The app thought so too, I guess, because when we checked our expiration date, it was exactly an hour from the start time, so it’s not like I missed out on my forever soulmate or whatever.”

Each TTL date is scheduled for an arbitrary amount of time, depending on your expiration date, which is determined from the first moment you meet– sometimes it’s just a few minutes, an hour or two, and anything longer than 24 hours is given a two hour time slot maximum. There’s supposedly an extremely rare case where you aren’t given an expiration date from the get go, regardless of your progress, meaning that you’ve found your soulmate by sheer luck, but it’s almost unheard of– most people don’t find their soulmates until they’ve completely filled up their bars, something about needing ample data to calculate optimal compatibility.

You ogle at his phone screen for a bit– she really was stunning– then guffaw at the thought of Soobin nodding halfheartedly, listening to a pretty girl talk his ear off, when most men would probably kill to be in his position. “Damn, if even an older woman that pretty can’t hold your attention, and the app confirms that, you know it’s bad… So, where does that put your progress at? Weren’t you at like, 80% last week?”

Soobin’s face practically scrunches in on itself at your remark, tapping the app once more to check his updated progress bar. “I’m going to ignore that. I’m at… 88% after I reviewed Saerom and that guy from earlier in the week. Guess it wasn’t a total waste if I got 8% closer to completion. What are you at now?”

You lift your phone to open TTL, your progress bar only having inched 2% closer to completion after your date yesterday. “75% now. I think the algorithm is personally fucking me over, or something. My last few matches have been nice enough, but I cannot keep up with their energy. It’s wringing me dry. I must be the only person in the entire world who doesn’t want a golden retriever for a partner. My date yesterday just about knocked me out for good, he was that energetic.”

“Tell me about it,” Soobin commiserates. “I’ve very clearly expressed my distaste for bubbly and talkative people who probably peaked in high school, but that’s all they’re spitting out in my for you page. No offense to them, I don’t think I’ve met any straight up assholes since that one girl from last year, but it’s like the app is purposely recommending the most incompatible people to me– wait, yesterday? And I didn’t hear about this?”

You give him a pointed look, silently conveying that he also didn’t inform you of his date today until ten minutes ago. He gets the message and holds his hands up in defeat, then gestures for you to speak, dimples peeking out as he purses his lips. You sigh, rubbing your temples as you recall the most chaotic two hours of the week, maybe even your life.

“Okay, look… for the record, he was very nice to me, a perfect gentleman, but my god, could that guy talk. He was practically falling at his knees trying to impress me, which would’ve earned him a few points in my book, but his mouth was moving maybe five miles a minute at all times without a moment of rest. It was like watching a child hopped up on sugar, to be honest. He talked for forty whole minutes nonstop about pizza. Don’t even get me started on how passionate he was about his workout routine.”

Your drinks finally come around, and Soobin hands you your frosted glass, which you gratefully take a long sip out of before continuing. “And before you say anything, no, he was nothing like Kai. Also, Kai is literally like my child, and just because I babysat him all those years does not mean I want to date someone like him.”

Soobin parts his lips to respond, then scrunches his nose in distaste as you take the words right of his mouth, opting to down his drink instead. “You’re no fun.”

“But that’s why you love me, right?”

“Sure, noona, sure.”

“That’s it, asshole, you owe me another drink.”

Sunday rolls around, which means you’ve got to start scoping out this week’s dates– you hate leaving anything to the last minute, and you like to leave the end of your week as free as possible (no one is prying your precious rest time from you, not even a beautiful person with the world’s best personality). 

Which means you’re mindlessly swiping through a sea of profiles, hoping you find someone that’s at least remotely interesting. You’re prepared for a long night of doom scrolling, but you stop cold in your tracks as you come across a familiar name and face, and a lump forms in your throat.

Choi Soobin.

The algorithm is really fucking with you now. It has to be. You’ve never once even considered your best friend as a potential suitor, not because he isn’t insanely attractive and charming (and funny, and easy to talk to, and…), but because he’s your best friend. You’ve known him for so long, you’ve seen him cry when he couldn’t get the Pokemon card he wanted when he was young enough to need allowance to buy it, and he’s seen you for long enough to know you threw the nastiest toddler tantrums over being denied an ice cream purchase– the point is that you know him a little too well, and you know from experience that that’s not always ideal in romance. 

But you have been having terrible luck with your matches for so long, and two hours of Soobin’s undivided attention doesn’t seem so bad, and it would be a good time, at least…

You kick yourself mentally for even thinking of it. He’s your best friend, for god’s sake.

Yet your thumb continues to hover over his profile, quivering as you make the motion to swipe right on him without touching the screen. The guilt and the risk of maybe ruining your friendship forever clearly isn’t enough to stop you from considering him. 

The gentle, familiar smile that he’s sporting in his profile picture pierces your heart, and you’re not sure why. Maybe you’ve always had a thing for him unconsciously, maybe you just want someone who actually gets you, maybe you’re just running out of options. Or maybe you’re just tired of chasing after something you know is futile, and you want to take a chance on something, on someone, that might actually be good for you. On someone that you know would be good to you, and for you.

And so, with bated breath, you swipe right.

[Time to Love: Y/N has liked you! Open the app for more details.]

To say Soobin is struck with disbelief would be an understatement. He’s practically gaping at his phone, and he knows you’d be laughing your ass off and making fun of him if you could see him. But it’s precisely that typical flippant attitude of yours that’s got him perplexed about this development.

He’d be lying if he said he’s never once thought of you that way– he’s always thought you were pretty and kind hearted, despite your temper, and you’ve always been there for him, through thick and thin, even when he was being kind of a dick. That definitely counts for something. But he’s never thought about crossing that boundary, because 1) he’s not allowed to pursue anyone he doesn’t match with through the app anyways, and 2) matching with you could make or break your bond forever (he’s leaning towards break, though, because like he said, the watch is bullshit). In short, he’s a fucking coward and a little too cynical for his own good. 

But here it is, an opportunity for a date with you, in all its glory, and initiated by you, no less. He should be celebrating, or at least hyped up, because maybe it’ll all work out, maybe this is the solution to all his lukewarm matches over the last few months, but instead he’s downright terrified. There’s absolutely no way that you both come out of this unscathed. There’s no such thing as a perfect forever if it’s decided by a computer. There can’t possibly be a happy ending at the end of this road.

He shakes his head, as if it would clear his head of the panicked thoughts. You’re still his best friend, at the end of the day, he tells himself, and he’s sure that you’ll fight just as hard as he will to keep him in your life. So he holds onto the tiniest sliver of hope that somehow your relationship doesn’t crash and burn spectacularly, opens the app, and swipes right on you.

Congratulations! Your date is scheduled for 3pm, at the Aquarium. 

A new notification pops up. Soobin’s heart stirs.

y/n noona: see you tomorrow ♥️

He feels guilty as a wave of excitement washes over him. He shouldn’t be feeling like this. You’re his best friend. His dear noona. He may as well be signing away your friendship for good. But it’d be worse if he didn’t match your enthusiasm.

soob: yup, see you tomorrow noona :]

It’s only 5 minutes past the scheduled meeting time, and already Soobin’s panicking that you’ve changed your mind and cancelled on him, writing this off as a mistake. He’s trying his very best to remain nonchalant, it’s just a date with his best friend, who he might have a sapling of a crush on, no big deal, right? Or maybe it is for the best if you cancel, then he’d have one less crippling fear to worry about.

He’s rethinking his outfit for the umpteenth time– he didn’t want to look like he was trying too hard, not in front of you because you’d probably think it was silly, but he also doesn’t want you thinking he shows up to dates looking like a slob. (For the record, he thinks he’s got a decent sense of fashion. He’s better than Kai, at least, though that isn’t saying much.) He’s internally debating if he should’ve gone with the navy polo shirt instead of the grey cardigan draped over his shoulders, or if he should’ve gone with the black slacks instead of the light wash jeans, but his jumbled thoughts dissipate as you tap on his shoulder, shit-eating grin and all. 

“What’s with you, Soob? You look like the fate of the universe depends on you, and you only have 5 minutes to save all of humanity.” You tease, nudging your shoulder against his. Oh, if only you knew what was really weighing on him.

He has half a mind to swat your shoulder, but he’s a little too aware that the two of you are supposed to be on a date, so instead he shoves his hands into his pockets. To his surprise, you’re more dressed up than usual, (he’s used to seeing you exclusively in oversized hoodies) and– wait, you two are practically matching, from the grey cardigan, light wash jeans, all the way down to the white sneakers. The only difference is that you’ve buttoned up your cardigan so that it functions more as a blouse, but you two clearly have definitely mastered the art of accidental couple looks.

“Okay, awkward… one of us has to change.” He teases in an attempt to ease his own racing mind, dimples peeking out as he stifles a laugh. You let out an indignant huff, pushing his massive frame with no success. He doesn’t even budge.

“Not my fault that you’re trying to steal my look. I wore it better, by the way,” You retort, but truth be told, you’re reeling at the sight of him. You’ve only ever seen him in his stuffy work attire and the worn-out, faded shirts he refuses to throw out, and seeing him in a comparably softer, more preppy look is making you see him with new eyes.

You shake your head, as if doing so will reset your perspective to factory settings and make you see him as just your best friend again. (spoiler alert: it doesn’t. Soobin is still handsome and he looks very cute, and you’re still very much affected by it.) “Okay, so. First things first. Should we check our apps? To see if, like, we’re compatible, or I don’t know.” Your voice is stiff, like you’re buffering, and you don’t think you’ve ever been this awkward around Soobin, at least not since the day you met.

Soobin turns up his nose in disagreement and covers his watch screen and yours. “Nah, that’s bullshit. It’s already all decided, isn’t it? It’s been decided from the second we stepped into the aquarium. No point in checking now, we should decide for ourselves if this is something we want to pursue, instead of letting some computer dictate that. When it’s over, it’s over, and we can just go back to being friends, right?”

“Well, I think it’s probably better to know when to give this a rest, instead of constantly wondering if my best friend is set to be my long-term romantic partner, or whatever.” You had a point. But a part of Soobin didn’t feel ready to face the fact that you might not want to see him again like this. A much smaller part of him is still fearful that you two might not be able to turn back from this.

“Okay, okay, fine. We can check it–but not now. If we make it to a third date, then we can check how long we have. But you have to be honest and not touch it whatsoever.” Soobin doesn’t make any move to mention that he isn’t interested in seeing you again, but you don’t want to just assume that he’s into you, so you test the waters.

“Okay, I promise to be honest. But why the third date? Are you really that keen on seeing me?” You’re trying to be teasing, but you feel more desperate than anything.

Soobin doesn’t answer for a moment, and you think that you’ve said the wrong thing. Just as you’re about to apologize, he replies, “If we make it to a third date… then I’ll know whether we’re actually giving this a proper shot and not just for shits and giggles or as an escape from our other failed connections.”

His sincerity both surprises and flatters you, and you can’t tell if you’re supposed to be frozen in shock or hugging him, or a secret third thing, so you just stay still, absently fiddling with your fingers.

When you look up again, Soobin’s holding out his hand, and you look at him with obvious confusion. Rolling his eyes, he takes your hand in his, lips pursed into a thin line. You want to make some clever jab at him, but his hands are warm and soft and they practically swallow up your much smaller ones, and you’re filled with a wash of emotions so intense that you can’t muster up the strength to retort.

Soobin notices that you’re still visibly perplexed, and he mutters. “We’re on a date, you know. We’ve got to act the part.” It’s a half truth at best; he does want to give this date a proper chance, but selfishly, he really just wants to hold your hand for two hours. If you catch onto his white lie, you don’t show it, but he doesn’t miss the rosy hue that colors your cheeks as you nod.

He’s right, you think– it is a date, and you’re the one who swiped on him first, so the least you can do is treat him like a possible suitor and not just your best friend. He deserves that much, at least, and you need to know whether this bundle of butterflies in your stomach is a passing feeling or a dull ache you’ve forgotten about, so you let him lead you into the dimly lit array of fish tanks.

You’re noticing a lot of things about Soobin.

You notice that Soobin’s eyes practically twinkle when he gets excited. It’s never been something you’ve taken note of, but you can’t help but notice it now, every time he points out a species of fish he recognizes. It’s cute. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to find your best friend cute, but you do.

You notice how his comically long fingers slot in between yours, and you’re really starting to like how it feels, though you’d die of embarrassment if you admitted as much. 

Not to mention he’s an absolutely perfect gentleman. He’s constantly asking you if you want something to eat, if you’re tired, if you’re cold, and you let him know that you’re fine each time. When you accidentally pull apart your shoelaces, he’s quick to kneel down and tie them up for you. When he stops to grab himself a bottle of juice, he offers one to you, too.

Had Soobin always been this pretty? So cute? And so sweet? How had you never taken notice of him like this all these years? (You know the answer to that, but you’re still surprised at what you’re noticing nonetheless.)

Soobin catches you staring at him while you’re both supposed to be looking at a school of clownfish, and you expect him to make some egotistical joke at your expense, but instead he gives you a warm smile, eyes crinkling into crescents, and god dammit to hell, you melt. 

The two hours pass by like nothing, and unlike your past few dates, you’re dreading the end of it, and you wish that the beep signifying it’s over would never come. To your disappointment, he releases your hand as you approach the entrance, and your hand is already missing his warmth. You turn to face him; well, not really, because you can’t bear to make eye contact with him, not when you spent the better part of two hours shamelessly ogling at him.

His voice cuts in between the thoughts rattling around in your head, and he sounds so apprehensive that it worries you. “Can I ask you something? No, wait, can you promise me something?”

You know how seriously Soobin takes his promises, so you’re a little scared for what he’s going to say next, but you nod anyway.

“Promise me that if this doesn’t work out, we’ll still be friends. Please.” The last word is so quiet that you almost miss it, and when you finally muster the courage to meet his gaze, he’s giving you a pleading look so earnestly that it breaks your heart a little. 

“I promise– no, I pinky promise. We’ll be friends, no matter what.”

Since he was younger, Soobin’s held the belief that pinky promises are binding, and he knows that you know this, so you hold out your pinky, hoping that this can ease whatever worries he has on his mind.

You pinky promised. Soobin knows that it’s your unspoken way of assuring him (you’ve never been the most verbally affectionate, anyways), a quiet way of letting him know that he means just as much to you as you do to him. He links pinkies with you to seal the promise, feeling just a little bit lighter as you both make your way to the subway station together, shoulders bumping all the while.

Soobin just really, really hopes that you’ll be able to keep that promise.

[How would you rate your date?]

[★★★★★]

Congratulations! Your next date is scheduled for 8pm tonight, at the Night Market.

You shouldn’t be surprised that your next date with Soobin comes so soon– you still have your weekly quotas to meet, and the app always schedules dates within 24 hours of matching or a positive rating, but truth be told, your surprise is solely because you just don’t know how to face him. You two had made that pinky promise to stay friends regardless of the circumstances, but you’d also resolved to treat him like a potential suitor while you two are seeing each other, so where does that leave you? 

Well, it leaves you in front of the closet with no idea what to wear. You want to look good (for Soobin, but you’re in denial at the moment), but it’s just a night market, and you know you’ll never hear the end of it if Soobin catches on that you went through lengths just to impress him.

Speaking of the devil, your phone flickers on to reveal a text from him, and you scoff as you scan its contents.

soob: so i hear you enjoyed our date

y/n noona: ignoring that. anyways

y/n noona: what’s the deal for tonight

y/n noona: i need to know asap

soob: aw, noona, do you want to see me again that badly? i’m excited, see you later tonight ♥️

y/n noona: shut up, you clearly want to see me again too. don’t be late or i’m stealing your wallet later 

y/n noona: i'm asking what’s the dress code, are we matching again :p

soob: i mean, if you insist… 🙄 i knew you wanted me

y/n noona: nvm you’re getting me in a hoodie and my raggedy sweats with the hole in the knee, fuck you

soob: no no i take it back i’m sorry 

y/n noona: ok fine you get spared just this once

y/n noona: [IMG_3687.jpg]

y/n noona: final outfit check. if we’re going to be matching it will be your decision so choose wisely

soob: wait that’s not fair

soob: noona come back

soob: DON’T LEAVE ME HANGING LIKE THIS

[y/n noona has “Liked” your message]

soob: you are so mean to me

You let out a sigh of relief you didn’t know you were holding when Soobin arrives, clad in a blue flannel that’s nearly identical to yours, black tee, beige cargos, and a black shoulder bag. You’d been hoping he would follow through, and there’s a small surge of pride at how you’ll be walking around the market, hand in hand, in matching outfits, but there’s something you hadn’t been counting on.

He’s wearing his glasses. 

You’ve always known that Soobin doesn’t have the best eyesight (he’s constantly squinting to see things, but so do you), but now that you’re seeing him in a new light, his usual black frames are suddenly the most attractive thing in the world, and you may as well be holding a neon sign that blares “I HEART NERDS” for him to see.

You make a painfully pathetic attempt to mask your delight by waving at him with a grin, and thankfully Soobin doesn’t notice, or if he does, he doesn’t make any show of it, and instead he simply salutes at you with two fingers and cracks a grin. As he sidles up to you, his large hand slips into yours with a little too much ease, fingers immediately interlocking with yours, and it sends your head into a frenzy all over again. As if he’s aware that your mind is going haywire, Soobin leans down towards you, and for a second you think he’s going to kiss you.

You’re frantically trying to make some motion to stop him, it’s so sudden and your cheeks are way too hot now, and he’s way too close, and your damn arms won’t budge–

“I hope you came ready to eat. I came armed with a fuck load of cash because I am going to stuff myself silly with food, and I am not getting turned away by the ‘cash only’ booths.” There’s a fire of determination in Soobin’s eyes, paired with a wide grin, and you don’t know whether to be concerned for him or for yourself, but nonetheless, you’re a little relieved that you completely misread the situation. Before you can say anything in response, though, he’s dragging you towards the sweeping lines of booths, already making a beeline for some takoyaki. 

The tray full of octopus balls in Soobin’s hands is steaming and they smell absolutely mouthwatering, and, in true Soobin fashion, he gets over excited and tries to pop the entire thing in his mouth in one go. He immediately regrets it, of course, because immediately he’s whining over the fact that his tongue is now most definitely burnt and numb from the piping hot orb of batter he’d just tried to scarf down. You might be finding him insanely attractive now, but he’s still as clumsy as ever, and you can’t stifle the laughter that bubbles in your throat at the sight.

“Dumbass… you should know damn well that you shouldn’t put a whole takoyaki in your mouth like that.” You tease, snickering as he fans his tongue once he swallows.

“Shut up! I couldn’t help myself!” He lets out a childish huff, stuffing another ball into his mouth with a comically exaggerated pout, and consequently huffing and puffing at the heat that blooms in his mouth once more. The whole display is undeniably adorable, and it takes all of the willpower you have to resist the burning desire to squish his cheeks. 

The tray of takoyaki is polished off in no time, and a bowl of bingsu, a cup of fish cake soup, two sticks of tanghulu, a plate of sweet rice cakes, an ice cream cone, and a million other things you lost track of follow suit into the bottomless pit that seems to be Soobin’s stomach. He wasn’t kidding when he said he came ready to eat– he’s plowing through the booths like it’s his last meal on Earth. He’s gracious enough to offer you half of his portions, at least, so it’s not like he’s leaving you to starve. (you’d kill him if he did, though.) Once he’s had his fill, his lips curl up into a mischievous grin as he jabs his thumb in the direction of a different section of the market, one filled with countless games: target shooting, beanbag toss, darts– the row of booths seems to stretch on forever. 

“Oh, you’re on, Soob. Don’t think I’m going easy on you because we’re on a date.”

“Yeah? Don’t think I’m going easy on you because you’re older.”

Contrary to both of your words, Soobin is absolutely fucking terrible at the beanbag toss, despite his long arms definitely giving him an advantage, and you’re no good at shooting or throwing and aiming at anything, really, so the two of you leave each booth with empty hands, though you’re laughing as if you’ve hit the jackpot.

Even though you two fail spectacularly at every single game they have available, you’re suddenly aware of how much your cheeks hurt. From smiling. From laughing. When was the last time that happened on a date? Or ever, even?

Soobin ventures off on his own while you’re lost in thought, and he returns from his little solo adventure with yet another serving of tanghulu (the third one of the night: strawberry for him, tangerine for you this time). You’re reaching out to grab the sweet from his outstretched hand, when suddenly you jump as loud popping sounds blare overhead. There’s a beat of silence before a flurry of colorful lights blooms in the sky, and your shoulders relax once you realize it’s just fireworks.

You’re admiring the colors and shapes of the fireworks display as you crunch on your tanghulu, and you’re so enraptured you almost miss the feeling of someone’s gaze on you. Almost.

When you turn to confirm your suspicions, you’re right, it’s Soobin who’s staring at you, but he’s staring at you so intently, with such intensity, that you immediately grow flustered– he’s never looked at you like that before– and you’re immensely thankful that the flashes of light in the sky mask the rosy hue that’s surely staining your cheeks. Just when you’re about to swing your head away to focus your attention on the fireworks once more, his hand flies out to cradle your chin in his palm, keeping your gaze fixated on him. 

Then he’s closing the distance, slowly but surely, fixated on you all the while to gauge your reaction, and even though you’re frozen in shock, you don’t think you would’ve moved, anyways. Your eyes flutter shut at the last minute, nerves getting the better of you, until his lips brush against yours tentatively, as if he’s hesitating, holding back.

You meet his gaze once more, and neither of you say a word, you just nod in response to the pleading look in his eyes, as if asking your permission. He breaks out into the most beautiful smile, one that you wish you could snap a mental photo of and tuck away in a safe place in your mind, and then he’s kissing you. Actually kissing you.

He kisses you with such fervor, as if he’s been wanting to do this his whole life, and you can’t help the way you practically melt in his hold, pressing yourself against his broad figure. The fireworks display is all but forgotten, the only thing on either of your minds being the way your lips meld into each other, and the way your hands clasp together.

Soobin’s in a daze when you two finally break away for a much-needed breath, and you’re sure you look like you’re in an equally hazy state. For a moment, you two are dead silent, staring at each other, with only the sound of your soft pants and the popping of fireworks in the background to fill the silence.

Soobin is the one who breaks the silence first, smiling sheepishly as he rubs the nape of his neck. “To be honest, I’ve… I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

Your eyes are as wide as saucers, and you can feel your jaw go slack in shock. Soobin had been wanting to kiss you. Soobin has thought about kissing you. Your best friend Soobin wanted to kiss you.

“Why didn’t you?” You reply without thinking, but really, you know very well exactly why he’s never done it. He’s your best friend, always has been, and he’d be doing much more than fucking up your friendship by kissing you before you two matched. Naturally, Soobin leaves that question unanswered, posing a question of his own instead.

“What made you match with me?”

“Well…” You don’t know what to say. You don’t want to rattle off a list of qualities that make him desirable– you’re already feeling flustered enough after he kissed you like that, and you’re not looking to inflate his stupid ego or risk being the butt of his teasing. But you want to be honest with him. You don’t want him thinking his suppressed desire has been one-sided all this time.

“I guess I’ve always wondered what it would be like to go on a date with you. We wouldn’t be bored, we would know how to keep each other happy, and understand each other, that kind of thing… and I was a little tired of seeing you go through all those people you didn’t click with, who didn’t get you, especially not the way I did. You know I’ve never liked the people you were seeing, and I was always annoyed by the idiots you dated in high school, and all your stupid matches… I always thought everyone took you for granted, and no one seemed to care about actually getting to know you. I thought I was just looking out for you, caring about you, as your best friend, but maybe I was actually just jealous.”

“Jealous? Really?” He looks so incredulous it embarrasses you that you have to clarify further. 

“Yes, jealous… I especially hated what’s-her-name, Hyeji? That one student council girl who dumped you in front of the whole school.”

Soobin grimaces at the mention of her name, and you can’t help the relief you feel at his response. “Ugh, her. Led me on for months because she thought I was cute and then when we started dating she nitpicked every single thing I did, all because I wasn’t the suave drama lead of her dreams and then dumped me because she couldn’t change me. You know she threw away a whole pack of my Pokemon cards because she thought it was ‘too nerdy’?”

“See? This is what I mean. None of your romantic partners actually seem to appreciate you as you are. And so I don’t know, something came over me, and I wanted to see if I could do a good job because I  know I appreciate you for who you are and now I’m confused, and I feel like I’ve ruined our friendship forever, and–”

To your relief, Soobin doesn’t laugh– instead he cuts your rambling off with a quick kiss, and it flusters you into silence. “Shh. We promised, remember?”

“I mean, we also promised each other when we were in high school that we’d settle down and raise ten dogs on a farm together.”

Soobin laughs this time. “Yeah, I remember that. But this is a pinky promise, isn’t it? It’s different.”

“You’re right… but it’s scary, you know? Coming to this realization about you, and thinking about you this way, and enjoying it, but also worrying about how we’re going to get out of this after our relationship expires... I don’t want to get too carried away and change our dynamic forever.” You’re chewing the skin off your lower lip nervously (you never did break that habit, so now your lip is bleeding), and, while Soobin’s voice is gentle, you know him well enough to detect the subtle tremor as he speaks.

“I know. But we’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out. I won’t let anything remove you from my life for good. Especially not the watch.” His voice is so low, so quiet, you’d miss it if you weren’t fixated on him, as if he’s trying to convince himself, and you squeeze his hand in what you hope is an admirable attempt at reassuring him. “The app hasn’t told us our connection’s expired yet, so I just really, really want to give this a chance. A proper chance, so I can say I did it before I get matched with my ‘real’ soulmate, or whatever. I don’t want to think about what could have been, especially not with you. I think that’d be worse for us.”

You know exactly what he means. Harboring dormant feelings for your best friend never bodes well, at least not in the movies and the books, so you may as well get this pining out of your system, and let it become a distant memory as soon as possible, if it’s not meant to be. It’s only fair, for both of your futures, and for your friendship. (and though neither of you want to admit it, the thought of not being each other’s soulmates is depressing.)

“Look, Soob… I really want to give this a chance, too. I want to see where it takes us while we’re allowed to. I want to try. It’s scary, it’s fucking terrifying, but you’re my best friend, Soob. I promise you won’t lose me because of some stupid watch. Pinky promise.” You try to keep your voice upbeat as you hold out your pinky towards him, offering a tender smile. He links his pinky with yours, and you can see his frame visibly relax once he does. 

You rest your head on his shoulder, pinkies still linked, and silently hope that you’ll be able to uphold your promise to him. You’ve never been any good with breakups. Soobin knows that.

But you’ll be okay with him, right?

He’s your best friend, after all.

[How would you rate your date?]

[★★★★★]

…

Congratulations! Your next date is scheduled for 2pm tomorrow, at the Botanical Gardens.

Soobin decided on his own that he’s picking you up for the third date, and he let you know as much.  After last night’s events though, this means that you’re turning your entire closet upside down trying to find the sweet spot for your look today, because your head is jumbled with far too many thoughts, all of them about Soobin. Every outfit you think up is either too dressy, or too casual, or too out there, or too bland, and you have half a mind to reschedule with your mind in the state that it is. Unfortunately for you, Soobin is already on his way, and you’re not the type of asshole to tell him to head back home and forget the whole date, so you just stare at your pile of clothes on the floor, hoping that somehow you’ll be enlightened with the perfect outfit idea and get yourself looking presentable before he comes knocking.

The universe is clearly not on your side, though, because your doorbell rings not even a minute later, and all you’ve picked out is your jeans and you’re still very much topless. You shoot a message to Soobin, thumbs flying frantically as you let him know you’re not quite ready yet– he might be your best friend in the entire world, but you’re not ready for him to see you under your clothes just yet, especially now that you’re properly seeing each other.

You’re still not sure what to wear, but you figure a beige knit sweater should be safe– you won’t look like you’re trying too hard, but you also won’t look like you’re not trying at all. When you swing the door open to finally greet Soobin, your breath quite literally gets taken away, because he trips and almost knocks you over with his lanky frame, but also, he’s breathtaking.

He’s clearly put a lot of thought into his outfit, which is very cute, and he looks absolutely stunning. A sleek black cardigan with white striped accents on the sleeve, a white dress shirt that clearly looks freshly pressed– hell, he’s even wearing a tie– and those godforsaken glasses that have you in a chokehold somehow. You don’t even bother hiding your delight– he’s so beautiful, and you know he needs a little validation after he probably spent hours putting his look together.

He catches you staring wordlessly, and he flushes with embarrassment.“What? Too much? I knew I should have skipped on the tie–” He grumbles, making a move to loosen it, but he’s stopped by your hand over his.

“No. You look great, Soob. Seriously.” You’re not used to being verbally affectionate, especially not with him, but when he looks that sad, like a kicked puppy, you know better than to tease him when he’s unsure of himself. Despite that, you’re still shy as you reassure him. “You look beautiful.”

The way he brightens when he hears your words is almost cartoonish, and this time, you can’t hold back your laughter, which earns a pout from him, which in turn only fuels your laughter further. You appease him by lacing your fingers with his (he’s apparently a lot easier to please than you remember, but maybe that’s your imagination), and he responds by placing a kiss to the back of your hand. The gesture is tender and sweet, and you think about what it’d be like to have Soobin do that to you every day.

“Well, shall we?” He bows exaggeratedly with his free arm, giving you a blinding smile.

You mirror his smile, and playfully curtsy in return. “We shall.”

When you two arrive at the botanical gardens, it’s jam-packed with people (a worker explains that their tulips are in full bloom, so everyone’s vying for their social media moment), and Soobin is visibly startled, though he recovers quickly as he turns to you. 

“You okay? There’s so many people... I think this is twice, maybe even thrice as many people as there were at the night market.” You don’t do well with crowds, the crowd at the night market was probably the most you could handle, but you know that you don’t have a choice– you have to follow through with the date as scheduled, or risk a fine that neither of you can afford, so you just nod, your grip on his hand tightening. 

Soobin somehow finds a slightly less crowded area of the tulip fields for you two to stroll in after doing a quick sweep (thank god for his height, and that he uses it to his advantage), but you still feel tense as you walk hand in hand. There’s still a decent amount of people, with more spilling in excitedly, phone cameras in hand, and you have a bad feeling the crowd will only grow in size as the day drags on. You just hope you’re as convincing an actress as you think you are, and that Soobin won’t notice as he reads the identification cards for each flower.

You’re caught off guard when he gently pushes you down onto a nearby bench, and crouches in front of you, clasping your other hand in his so that both of them are occupied. The concerned expression on his face tells you that you’re nowhere near an Oscar for your performance, and that he’s most definitely caught on to your discomfort. Normally you’d be embarrassed at the display– you hate making a scene in public, but your anxiety is getting the better of you, and it’s nice to know that he still knows you as well as you thought.

“Noona… look. I know you don’t like crowds, especially excitable and hectic ones like these. If you really, really feel like this is too much for you, we can cancel the date and go home. I want you to have a good time, and I know it’s hard for you when there’s so many people.”

You’re chewing at your lower lip again, and Soobin lets go of one of your hands to thumb at your lip to stop you before you tear it open with your teeth. “But Soob, we came all this way. And you dressed so nicely for me, for this date, and I spent all this time wanting to look good for you, and spend time with you…” You trail off when your breath catches in your throat, your chin trembling as your eyes well up. “It’d be such a waste to cancel after all our time and effort.”

Once again Soobin’s thumb is gently swiping over your cheeks when the tears finally spill over, hushing you with the soft sincerity that he’s prone to when he’s not teasing you. 

“Hey, hey… we can reschedule for another day, can’t we? We don’t have to do this, noona. There’s always next time. It won’t be a waste, I promise.” You feel so apologetic you could die. Soobin’s being so patient and sweet and understanding with you and here you are, kicking up a fuss. The least you could do is power through and follow through with your scheduled date, and you’d hate to miss out on this time with him that you’ve been looking forward to. You were excited for this date, and you want him to know that.

“I think I’d feel worse if we cancelled after we went through all this trouble, and especially if it was all because of me… just give me a moment to calm myself down.” Soobin nods in response, cradling your cheek in his palm, and you sigh appreciatively at the tender gesture. He doesn’t say anything as you wipe away the remnants of your tears and blow your nose– he just holds your hand, letting you gather yourself, and you think for a moment that this must be the benefit of falling for your best friend.

Once the tears have finally subsided, and you’ve had a moment to calm your nerves, you meet Soobin’s eyes, which are searching yours, as if scanning for any lingering signs of discomfort. When he can’t find any, and you give him a reassuring look and a grateful smile, he seizes the opportunity to steal a peck from your lips, grinning cheekily with his tongue between his teeth when he pulls away. 

“H-hey! What was that for?!” Your shock and surprise is real, but your indignance certainly isn’t, if your rosy cheeks are any indication. Your discomfort is forgotten, at least temporarily, so you’re glad for that.

“Oh… just because. You liked it, though.” He’s so smug, that stupid asshole, but he’s right, so you pull him in for another quick kiss before you try to make a run for it. Unfortunately for your escape plan, you’ve forgotten that your hand is still very much interlocked with his, and he’s significantly stronger than you, so he easily pulls you back into his embrace. You can’t say you mind, though– he’s warm and he smells good, like jasmine and sandalwood and the faint scent of vanilla, and if you weren’t already so flustered you’d bury your face in his broad chest.

“Feeling better now?” The words fall from Soobin’s lips with a teasing lilt, but you know it’s his way of genuinely checking in on you, so you answer sincerely.

“Much better. Though I’d still like to avoid the crowds and find somewhere else to have our date… if you don’t mind? The tulips are pretty, and as much as I would like to admire them too, there’s just so many people fighting for a good photo…” 

“Of course, I get it. I saw a sign pointing to a field of azaleas over there that is probably getting a lot less foot traffic than the tulips, so we could head over there?” He gestures in the opposite direction of the tulip field, and you’re more than happy to oblige, letting him tug you along.

Thankfully Soobin’s guess is correct, because there’s only a handful of people at the azalea field when you two arrive, and the tension in your shoulders finally lets up. The dainty red and pink flowers have their own quaint charm, and they’re vibrant and eye-catching. You crouch down to get a closer look, taking hold of a delicate petal in between the pads of your fingers to admire them.

“Did you know red and pink azaleas represent love and romance? Roses aren’t the only flower of love like everyone seems to think.” Soobin’s deep voice rings in your ear and you startle a little, partially because he’s way closer to you than you expected (it’s going to be a while before you get used to maintaining close proximity with him) and partially because you had no idea Soobin was just casually carrying the knowledge of flower meanings in that pretty head of his.

“They’re so pretty… they’d make a much more unique gift than roses for special occasions, too. Not that there’s anything wrong with roses, but they’re kind of done to death, don’t you think?”

Instead of answering, Soobin looks both ways, then plucks a flower, and you hiss in disapproval at him. “Hey–! What are you doing? The sign says that we can’t pick the flowers!” Luckily, none of the staff has taken notice of his mischievous little act, but even if they did, you can’t help but wonder if they’d even care, when he could charm his way into anything.

Soobin tucks the flower behind your ear, seemingly ignoring your disapproval as he hums a tune under his breath. “A gift for our special occasion, and a little commemoration of our budding romance, or something. And look, noona, you’re so pretty. Just like a flower.” He punctuates his statement with the sound of his phone camera flashing, followed by four more, until you’re blushing profusely with embarrassment.

“Soobin, that’s enough–” Your cheeks are beet red– you can feel it from the sheer amount of blood running into them– and though you really like that Soobin’s taking pictures of you for him to keep, you’re extremely camera shy, and he knows that, which is probably why he’s so insistent.

“Actually, the issue is that I didn’t take enough. Now smile for the camera!” You have to practically wrestle your way away from the camera, but not before he snaps a few more of you smiling bashfully at him. He catches up to you with ease (damn those long legs of his), arms secure around your frame as you squeal, though you’re secretly pleased that you’re in his hold.

The time once again ticks by like nothing as you walk side by side, admiring the blooms around you and snapping photos of each other (“For wallpaper usage purposes,” Soobin says, and you blush again), and before you know it, your watches are beeping to signify that your two hours are up. Soobin sobers up almost immediately, expression unreadable, and though he doesn’t say anything as he takes your hand, you know what’s on his mind, because the same thing is on yours.

There’s a palpable tension hanging in the air once the two of you reach the entrance of the gardens– it’s the third date, after all, and you promised you’d find out your expiration date if you made it this far. You’re relieved that your watches haven’t blared just yet, signifying the end of your connection, but you’re still struck with the nervousness of finding out how long you’ll last. You think you’ll never get over it if you only get a few months– or worse, a few days with him– after all this secret pining and yearning.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Soobin was somehow eerily calm about the whole thing. But you do know better, and you know that he’s just trying to put on a brave face for you, and for himself. The two of you open Time to Love in silence, hands still interlocked, swiping to the ‘Love Countdown’ tab with your free hands, and brace yourselves. Soobin gives you a reassuring nod, and you respond back with what you hope is an equally reassuring smile, and that your expression doesn’t betray the fear bubbling deep within you.

Soobin takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Okay, on the count of three,”

“One…” “Two…”

“Three!”

When both of you tap the in-app tab, there isn’t an array of numbers indicating an expiration date with a ticking countdown, as you expected and had grown accustomed to on your previous dates– in fact, there isn’t a single number on the screen– and instead there’s an infinity sign.

You two don’t have an expiration date.

You and Soobin look at each other, then at your watches, then at each other again. 

“Wait, we don’t have an expiration date–”

Then the realization dawns on both of you, and it hits you like a truck.

“Wait, we’re soulmates?!”

Both of you are sporting the same bewildered expression, and you both go to check your progress bars, just to be sure– they’re full, just as you’d expect after being matched with your soulmate. So that’s why your watch alarms haven’t gone off. You two were the one in a million. Once the shock finally wears off, it’s replaced with pure, unbridled joy, and when Soobin sweeps you off your feet to gather you in his arms, there’s an emotion bubbling in you that’s equal parts unfamiliar and yet welcome.

You’d thought all this time, all these years, that there was no way you should feel this way about your best friend, of all people. That you shouldn’t fuck this up, because Soobin has always been there for you, and you’ve always been there for him. As his friend. As your friend. 

But here is the universe, telling you that you’re fated to love him, and that he’s fated to love you in return. 

And love him you do. You love Soobin. And when you look at him, and see the way he’s looking at you, with fondness practically dripping from his gaze, you know he loves you too. 

Maybe the watch really is bullshit. Maybe it is statistically impossible to decide someone’s life partner based on an algorithm.

But maybe it’s onto something, because it seems silly to have ever thought of being with anyone except Soobin. You never would’ve thought to look for your forever right next to you, and yet, here he is, in the flesh. Was it a coincidence that he made it onto your recommended matches that fateful night? Was it a coincidence that he felt the same way you did?

Soobin’s lips capture yours in a searing kiss, and you melt in his heat, kissing him back with a fierce fervor, as if desperately communicating the depth of the feelings you’ve let build up silently after all these years. You decide that there’s no such thing as coincidences– he’s always known what’s best for you, and you’ve always wanted what’s best for him. You just didn’t know that the answer to both of those things was each other.

“I love you, noona.” He whispers with a bashful, dimpled smile, and your heart swells.

“I love you too, Soob.”

Soobin has always been counting down to something. 

To the end of another grueling workday, the next League of Legends patch update, to anything, so he always has something to look forward to. But he’s never looked forward to this.

The love countdown has always been something he despised and dreaded– he’s always wanted to be the master of his own fate, without the shackles of the app tying him down with each new connection. He’d always thought that his soulmate would be some poorly matched individual who he’d have a mediocre life with, but all that seems to be proven wrong as he looks at you.

He hates being wrong. But when he sees the way you smile, the way you regard him with the utmost love and affection in your gaze, the way you hold his hand as if you’ll lose him if you let go– he thinks he’s willing to concede defeat, at least this time.

Maybe that stupid watch does know a thing or two about love. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe this is all just pure coincidence. But despite it all, Soobin is thankful that this is where he ends up. That both of you had been counting down all this time to each other. 

Because if there's anyone he can count on in this world, it's you.

[zyafics]

i love love love your writing<3

rq: rafe had came up to tanneyhill's balcony for some peace at his own party. though he didn’t expect reader to be there, looking utterly lost. he knows reader is new. seen you before, too, hanging out with sarah’s crowd; under a pogue’s arm whenever they see him around, telling you rafe isn't anything worth talking, or interacting with.

first off, i am so sorry it took me so long to get this done (as with a lot of my requests) but thank you so much for enjoying my writing!! 🩷 i hope i do this prompt justice (literally shaking in my boots as i post this 😭)

ANGRY GOD | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Series)

Pairing — S2!Rafe Cameron x (F)Reader

Content — fluff, angst, Rafe spiraling (S2 Canons), Enemies Tension, Rafe growing possessive of Reader.

Word Count — 3.2K.

Dedication — to @mintforadollar who listened to me rant about this plot a month ago, only for it to now be completed <3. Prompt credited to this on c.ai!

Rafe wants to be alone.

His mind is caught in a tailspin, muscles singing with ache from his latest altercation. It didn't help that the fucker managed to get some good swings in, ripples of pain spread from his jawline to his left eye. When he enters the second floor of Tannyhill, all he wants is to catch a breath of fresh air away from the party. His party.

He didn't expect to see you.

"Out." Rafe commands gruffly. You flinch at his abrupt command. "Second floor is off-limits."

He adds nothing else as he marches over to the edge of the balcony, digging his scraped palms into the smooth ridges of the handrails. He didn't want anyone here to witness the brunt of his frustration and disappointment, or how his mind swims with disoriented and incoherent thoughts. He wants to be alone.

But you won't let him.

Cautiously, you take a step forward—not in the direction of the exit, as he hoped—but towards Rafe instead. Lifting his head at the sound of your faint footsteps, agitation flushing through his expression at your proximity. "Didn't I tell you to get out?"

"You got into a fight." You mumble your observation, examining his hardened profile to discover the bruise that decorates his jawline, swelling with discoloration, the darkening under his left eye, and the split of open skin right above his brow.

He scoffs. "No shit."

"And you're bleeding."

He is? He didn't know that. All consumed by the adrenaline rushing through his system—that has yet to wind down—Rafe lifts his hand to run his fingers over the most prominent aches around his face. When he presses against something wet, he withdraws, finding a fresh coat of blood over his fingertips.

Rafe grimaces at the sight—not the blood, he's used to that—but the fact that his opponent succeeded in cutting him too.

Now, he definitely doesn't want you here. Before Rafe has the chance to kick you out the third time, you offer assistance. "I can help," you say meekly, messing with the hems of your top.

He didn't catch it over the loud thumping of his heartbeat in his ears. "What?"

"I can help," you repeat, louder this time, wincing at the projection of your own voice. You don't like the strain in your tone, the desperation seeping through. You'd do anything to avoid returning to the party. "I know how to patch up wounds. I'm training to be an EMT."

"I didn't ask for a life story." He snaps, a mechanical response to any aid. The idea of someone taking care of him is unheard of; unfamiliar and uncomfortable. He doesn't know how to react other than complete and utter rejection. "Besides, I can take care of myself."

Rafe assumes his harsh words would drive you away. The bite behind each syllable has been enough to scare off everyone else but you remain firm in your position. If anything, your expression softens, eyes washing over his rigid posture with a sympathetic look. He hates it.

"I know," you start slowly, eyes cascading down his face, carefully monitoring his reaction. "But... wouldn't it be nice if you didn't have to?"

His expression breaks.

Your kindness strikes directly to his chest and his heart clutches at the way you address him. With humanity. Even when he's been nothing but a complete asshole to you, demanding your departure, you respond with a sense of warmth. Rafe clenches down his jaw.

When he doesn't answer quickly enough, a sign of his contemplation, you add. "Please."

Reluctantly, Rafe gives in. "Fine."

Rafe moves from the balcony deck to reenter Tannyhill, not bothering to check if you're following behind. He heads straight to the ensuite connected to his bedroom, checking under the sink for his first aid kit, before throwing the box over the counter.

That's when he catches a glimpse of himself through the mirror, the ugly bruising that lines his face, the dried blood that stains his temple. His jaw tightens at the sight.

You enter shortly after, seeing him with his back to the mirror, his spine pressed against the rim of the porcelain sink. Your eyes do a quick sweep of your surroundings, before landing on Rafe and his rigid form, arms crossed over his chest, and a cold look on his face. He just wants to get this over with.

You glance outside, to his room, with its openness, before meeting his gaze. "Can we go to your bed?"

His answer is immediate. "No."

You frown but ask nothing more. Rafe's trying to make this difficult for you, refusing to cooperate because it's easier than submitting to your grace. Easier than admitting he'd like the help. You work around that.

Grabbing the antiseptics from the kit, you proceed to clean his wounds, softly massaging his flesh in the process. For a moment, it feels too good and Rafe fights the urge to lean into your hand before a sharp pain rips through him from the open cut and he hisses.

You immediately pull back, mumbling a quick apology.

His eyes squeeze shut, it takes a moment for the throb to cool down, and once it does, Rafe reconnects his gaze with yours to find the remorseful look behind your stare, the softening of your features met with utmost concern. You don't make another move to try again.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine." He bites out, wanting to rid you of that look. He's not weak. Stop looking at him as if he is. Despite the reassurance, you have yet to continue. "You're not going to be a good doctor if you shy away every time your patient gets hurt."

"I feel bad." You admit, chewing on your bottom lip.

"Why? You didn't do this."

He's the one who got into the fight. The one who swung first. While he may have won in the end, having knocked out the guy in the middle of the yard, it doesn't neglect the damage done to him in the process. But, at the end of the day, it's his fault.

You don't see it that way. "Because you're hurting."

You're too soft. That's what Rafe determines. Every little moment, little sprouts of empathy, every inch of sensitivity, is going to hurt you in the end. It won't save anything.

"I don't need your pity," Rafe snaps, giving you the first taste of reality under his razor-sharp tongue. He could be considerate, and understanding, but he isn't. That's how he learned.

"It's not—" You sigh. You don't want to argue and relent against his jabs. Without further commentary, you continue forward with your duties: aiding in his treatment and biting through the humane urge to sympathize with his pain.

Rafe takes the silence to observe you while you work. He knows you grew quiet because of his rough manners, and he won't lie to himself and say he enjoys it. He doesn't. But it adds to the list of everything else he has done wrong in his life; his long string of failures that his father can't wait to remind him of.

In the quietness, Rafe recognizes something about you. It takes a moment, after all the aches and throbs, but the recognition dawns on him that you're new. You hang out with his sister, Sarah, and the rest of the filthy group of no-good Pogues on the other side of the island. There have even been occasions when he saw you under JJ's arm, slinging around red solo cups and a grim soak of southside.

"Where's your friends?" Rafe asks, surprising you with the roughness behind his voice.

You lift your gaze to his. "Hmm?"

"The Pogues. Don't you hang out with them?"

You swallow hard, feeling like a child being caught with their hand in the cookie jar. You hoped your newcomer status would be enough to shield yourself from Rafe's wraith, especially his hatred towards your selected group. "Why?"

Rafe immediately picks up on the shift in your demeanor, the rigidness in your shoulders that tells him exactly what he needs to know. "You've heard about me, haven't you?"

You hesitate to answer. Rafe presses on. "What'd they say?"

Your friends have told you many warnings about the notorious Rafe Cameron. It all comes down to one conclusion: he's dangerous. He's irrational, self-centered, and narcissistic. He isn't worth talking to because all he cares about is himself.

However, you like to find out for yourself.

Rafe leans forward, lowering himself to meet your height and his face is right in front of yours. An arrogant smirk rises to his lips, a challenge for you to answer. "Come on, princess, don't tell you came up here without doing a bit of research beforehand."

You recognize this as a facade, a way for him to hide his true feelings because it's easier to disturb others. To mess with people and not reflect on your own. You place a hand against the solid of his chest and gently push him back, forcing him to reinstate the safe distance established before. You continue back to your line of work.

Your little push surprises Rafe. It also intrigues him too.

"They said you weren't worth talking to," you say softly, avoiding eye contact as he follows your every move. "That you're dangerous."

He scoffs at the reveal, but it pinches his heart that his own sister would agree. He values her opinion more than he'd like to admit. Drawing out a noncommital shrug, pretending not to care, he declares. "They're right."

You hum. "Maybe."

He looks directly at you with a raised brow. "Maybe?"

Your eyes finally connect with his, "I'm still figuring that out." You pull back, setting the supplies back into his aid box. "Done."

You're about to take a step back when Rafe grabs your wrist, holding you in place. Your breath shortens, and you peer down at the place of your contact before raising your gaze to his.

"What do you mean by that?" He demands, his expression hardens but his eyes are pleading. That juxtaposition, between who he is and what he wants, is the exact thing you're trying to uncover.

You aren't afraid of him. Not like the others.

"I don't know," you answer truthfully, sweeping over his face, reading the conflict his features can't seem to contain. Rafe, you're slowly unraveling, is someone who puts his heart on his sleeves. He just hasn't had anyone who cares enough to look for it. "I just don't know if I truly believe that."

"Why not? The rest of the island does."

It's almost a spiral. An edge closer to it. You think it's because Rafe finally has someone who looks past his mask, his deception that the rest of the island gladly takes. They're afraid of him; he engineered that reputation by hand. But you've met your fair share of burnt souls to know they're all worth saving.

You answer him.

"Your eyes." You explain gently. "They say it's the windows to someone's soul."

"And?"

"And, Rafe Cameron, you're someone who isn't as heartless as you'd like the rest of the world to believe."

His grip loosens from your words and you take the opportunity to slip out of his grasp and settle your arms by your side. Rafe watches as you offer him a soft smile, one that reaches your eyes, and you're about to return to the balcony deck for some peace when he follows you into his bedroom.

"That's not fair." He denounces, halting your exit.

You turn around to face him. "What is?"

"You can't come in here and make those assumptions. You don't know shit about my life."

Rafe doesn't like to be read so clearly; to know that whatever he's trying to front isn't deluding you. For some reason, he needs to convince you that every rumor and gossip is true. That he is bad. The idea of it is embedded so deeply into the crevices of his self-worth, that he's having a hard time believing anything else.

Rafe expects your reaction to meet his fury, but the slope of your brows furrow together calmly. A delicate practice over years of training. "I never said I did."

"You're acting like you do."

You frown. "Now you're making assumptions about me," you refute, pointing out his hypocrisy, and a tinge of sharpness slips through. "You asked and I answered. You can't be mad because you don't like them."

"Then why?" He snaps, irritation spewing with his venom. "Who the fuck are you to make that judgment?"

"I thought you didn't want to hear my life story."

He huffs. Rafe finds himself at a crossroads. While you're standing there, with your collected composure, he feels like he's unraveling by the seams. There's something about you. The way you read through him like glass. He doesn't know if he likes it or not. If he needs it or not.

"Bitch," he mutters under his breath at your lack of compliance, and your breath hitches at the term, a flash of anger goes through you like a surge. He recognized that look; it was something he was all too familiar with.

You turn around, about to sprint for the exit once again when Rafe calls out. "Wait."

You don't want to turn around this time. Rafe had managed to make you break through your own facade, your own composure that you spent years trying to cultivate. Something about being in the same room as the eldest Cameron makes you regress into your formative years.

"Turn around."

Your jaw is slighted, but you try to hold it together. You loosen your features before you turn on your heel. You still don't think Rafe is the person he's trying to present to the world, and you doubt that he truly carries that much cruelty in one body, but that doesn't mean you have to be in the same room as him.

But something made you stay.

Rafe crosses the large space, standing just in front of you. His breath is hot against yours, his eyes sharp. You tilt your head, meeting his stare, but to contrast his intensity, your gaze is soft yet firm, your eyes unwavering. Just because you are kinder than he is doesn't mean you are weak.

"You know what it's like, don't you?" He murmurs gruffly, his voice straining at the exposure. This questioning also carries the weight of admission underneath; to bridge a kinship. "Or are you a liar?"

You're not. But no one's ever asked the questions Rafe is asking either. Not your friends back home or the new ones with the Pogues. They treasure your friendship but they don't understand your depth.

"No."

"No, what?"

"I'm not a liar," you bite out. Rafe's mouth curls into a satisfactory smile, and he gets a glimpse of your real character. The true you underneath all that dignity. It's like his own dirty secret. "I know."

You saw through Rafe because you understood him. You shared the same sentiments. You groomed the same callousness. Every act he performs, you went through first. You can't point at his reflection without looking at the mirror yourself.

But you're a bit different. You learn to control it. You discovered that all that anger was something else. Hurt, pain, injustice. You take it all and put it in a box, caged behind thick chains and hard locks. Never to be touched again. Rafe takes it out to the open, free to play. You may come from the same origin but you take two different routes.

However, Rafe sees you much clearer now. To know you can understand him, see through his perspective, and filter out his incoherent thoughts. That's something he'd never experienced before in his life.

"The voices, anger, and impulses?" His voice shrinks, eyes searching yours. You hesitate before nodding once. "You get that too?"

It comes out when you're most hurt. "I do."

He feels like can breathe for once, to not feel completely isolated from the rest of the world. Rafe always feels off, like something is wrong with him. Nothing can be explained; nothing is allowed to be explored. Even when he sought therapy, his father denied his request. He thought he‘d be forever alone in all this.

He steps forward, closing in the distance until there's only an inch of space separating you. But even that feels too big. Oxygen stuck in your throat, Rafe connects his gaze with yours to whisper. "You're like me, aren't you?"

You swallow hard. You didn't realize understanding someone could be a reflection of your own damning soul. You don't know if it's a good thing. "Yes."

His pupils are dilated and nearly pitch-black. His breathing shortens, and his gaze pools with desire. You feel it too. Your heart accelerates beneath your ribcage, your stomach knotting with want. When Rafe leans forward, about to capture your lips on his, you ready yourself to let it all in.

But you're a bit different.

You turn your head away at the last second, his contact coming to your cheek.

"I'm..." You exhale, squeezing your eyes shut. "I'm with JJ."

The world stills on its axis, and you feel the gravity of it beneath your feet. You slowly peel your eyes open, only to find Rafe having pulled back, his hand, midway through the air to hold your chin, closes into a tight fist.

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes swimming with regret.

The look on his face is heartbreaking because you know him in parallel, you know what he's feeling. You take a step back, for your sanity or his, it’s unclear. All you know is the distance was safe. Until it wasn't.

"I should go." You whisper.

Rafe says nothing as you pad your way across his room, slipping out of the door. He remains motionless in the same spot, his jaw set, his fists clenched by his side. The adrenaline pulses return through his veins.

Fuck.

It takes a minute to gather himself. Hearing nothing but the throbbing bass beneath him, pulsing through the floor. His heart is wretched, his stomach full of nausea.

Rafe returns to the balcony to pull away from his room, the place where you had been, and he steps closer to the ledge. Everything in his mind is too quiet; sterile and white-screeching. He doesn't know how to fathom this change.

His blue eyes search across the lawn and he easily picks you out of the crowd. He knows you well now. Those brief, fleeting moments attached to his soul are permanent memories.

You rejoined the party with Sarah and the rest of the Pogues, while JJ saunters over and throws his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close and whispering something in your ear. You smile and laugh, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes.

When you look up, you find Rafe already watching. His eyes are set on yours, unmoving, and the intimacy of his gaze strikes something deep. You had to turn away to preserve yourself.

Rafe slowly comes to his understanding on his own. He never had someone who understood him, much less in such a short time. You unravel him behind gentle stares and quiet observations. You knew him because you knew yourself, and he doesn't want to lose that. He doesn't want to lose you. He can’t. 

So, he decided.

You weren't his.

But he's taking you anyways.

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Navigation — Part 01 | Part 02

[ilys00ga]

𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝘀𝘂𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗲.

➞ pair: yoongi x female reader.

➞ word count: 1k

➞ synopsis: "yoongi and reader making a meal together for yoongi's parents" with a little bit of a domestic twist.

➞ genre: established relationship, husband!yoongi, dad!yoongi, just fluffy fluff fluff, they cook together, dad!yoongi, nothing goes wrong, dad!yoongi, just pure happiness, they also call it tooth-rotting fluff lol, did I mention: DAD!YOONGI ???, they have a babygirl uwu <33

➞ A/N: first off, thank u anon for sending me this super cute prompt, I loved it and had sm fun writing it!! second, EID MUBARAK TO MY FELLOW MUSLIMS OUT THEREEE <3 this is my lil gift for yall on this eid. it wasn't supposed to be this long tbh, and I haven't written anything for over a month, so, sorry if this is kind of messy and all over the place??? im trying to get my sht together again. but I really liked the prompt and!!! had to write it!!!! kkk enjoy bbys <3

ps. any form of feedback is reallyyyy appreciated. I live for compliments :) !

★ MASTERLIST.

ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

It was one warm spring morning.

Yoongi was back from a long series of concerts just a couple of days ago. Grateful to be finally home with the two people that mean the absolute world to him. Your cat was purring on his chest as the two of you laid on the bed, enjoying the quiet of Saturday that had just begun, when his mother called to announce that, later that evening, she and his father would be coming over.

One thing led to another, and there you stood with your husband in the kitchen. One was chopping ingredients up by the stove, the other handling a mixer. Your two years old baby girl, Nara, was sitting in her high chair somewhere away from the oven and any other harmful thing. What used to be your favorite playlists playing ever so softly in the background as you fixed yourselves your favorite meals, together, was replaced with the mindless blabbering of your sweet baby girl instead, playing with the wooden spoon you had given her to play with some minutes before.

“Is this good?” Yoongi dipped the tip of his finger into the mixture he’s been working on, and carefully brought it up to your lips. You hummed in satisfaction as soon as the flavors hit your taste buds, a little bit taken aback at how he nailed your mother’s secret recipe only in the first try, “Great. You’re getting so good at this, Yoonie. I think you should take over kitchen duties very soon.”

He snorted, “If that means I’ll never have to do the laundry ever again, then sure.”

Feigning annoyance, you hissed at him, “You’re so lazy.”

“No one likes doing laundry, honey. Not even you.”

"You're so annoying."

Your daily bickering banters were disturbed by the sound of his phone ringing from the other room. He left to take the call, leaving you with your noisy little baby. The chef hat she had on her head–Yoongi's idea, by the way, along with the tiny apron she wore as well–was almost too big on her. It made her look a thousand times more adorable that you immediately started grinning and cooing when she looked up at you.

"And what about you chef? Are you having fun?"

She balled her fists up and raised them in the air, wiggling in her seat to let you know that she wanted to be picked up. Being the ever so whipped mom that you were, you scooped her up in your arms right away, and peppered kisses all over her chubby face. Her giggles seeped through your skin and locked into your bones, aching with a sickeningly utmost adoration.

“Mom said they’re almost here.” Said Yoongi upon entering the kitchen, putting his phone atop the table and smiling as soon as his eyes fell on the two of you—his girls.

“Are you being a good chef assistant, baby?” He cooed, kissing her cheek, then leaning in to leave a peck on your lips.

“She’s been blabbering her life off the whole time you were gone." you hummed.

“Mom is going to have a good time conversing with her this evening.”

“We’re almost done cooking now.” You reminded him, “Honey, check on the oven please.”

“Right.”

A wave of heat hit his face as soon as he opened the oven, but he smiled once he checked on the muffins, “they are done.”

When he took the tray out and swiftly put it on the counter, Nara erupted in a fit of loud blabber, flailing the arm that clutched on the wooden spoon in the air and almost smacking your face in the process.

It had your husband giggling, of course. He couldn’t help but join in and engage with her blather, how could he not when he got such an adorable chatterbox for a child? “Huh, Nini? The muffins are done! Yeah!”

He took her into his arms, allowing you to go check on the stewpot that was still boiling on the stove, before bringing her to have a look at the tray of the mouth watering muffins, and cheered, “look!”

Your heart, yet again, swooned, almost oozing out of your ribs with how tight your chest grew to be at the sound of your baby’s joyful squeals. She was all excited as her daddy showed her around the process of cooking the dinner for her grandparents.

Nara was having the time of her life. For some reason, she's always loved being in the kitchen. Yoongi once made a comment about her becoming a successful chef, which then turned into a long, heartwarming talk about your daughter and her future. The gentle smile Yoongi had on his face throughout that was one to die for, especially when he sulked about not wanting your babygirl to grow up. His pout was so intense, you ended up engulfing him in a bone crushing hug for almost half an hour.

It was moments like this one that you wished were pictures so you could cut them up and hide them. Somewhere deep inside your heart. Forever. That's how you often found yourself observing and admiring every single interaction your husband made with your baby, and that’s how you ended up listening attentively as he continued to talk so passionately and earnestly with her, while simultaneously attempting to work with his free arm to the best of his abilities.

She, at one point, got so ecstatic that she accidentally thrusted her arm forward and hit him in the face with that spoon. But he only turned to look at you with an affectionate smile.

Struggling through a fit of giggles, you slipped the wooden object from her grasp and gave her a big kiss; making sure to squish her doughy cheeks—a trait that she definitely got from her father, “No more hitting mama and papa for you!”

The little girl’s squeaks only got louder as she reached out with her arms towards you, addressing you with more words of her very own and special language.

“Family hug?” you asked, glancing at a grinning Yoongi.

“Family hug!” He wrapped his free arm around you, bringing your body closer so that Nara could get a hold of you as well, then added, “but let’s make it a short one or else my parents are going to come to a burnt dinner.”

[seaborgium-dazies]

Are requests open? I can’t tell cause it says love letter, so if not you can ignore this! Buttttt if they are…

May I have Kirishima, Iida, Todoroki and Midoriya (you can add all them if you want I just like those 4 the best lol) with a reader who was gone for a bit, maybe they were in another country due to family drama or someone died so they’ve been gone for a couple months, and reader surprises them one day without telling them they’re back???

I love you’re writing by the way, so beautiful

Waiting here for you to come back around

Aweeee thank you so much!!! I hope you enjoy this anon! <3 Seeing mha boys after being apart for a while because of family stuff cw: mutual pining; fluff; no established relationship but something better (mutual crushes ayeee) 🌊: deku, iida, kirishima, shoto

Deku:

Deku was deep in thought, analyzing a quirk he saw earlier when he heard a familiar knocking pattern. As soon as he recognized it he bolted to the door. You would've expected the door to be ripped out of it's hinges with the force deku put into his swing.

"Y/N!"

Deku was beaming and upon seeing you standing in front of his door with a sheepish grin he embraced you in an enthusiastic hug.

"Izuku!"

You couldn't help but laugh at the adorable display of just how much he had missed you. That hug of his nearly knocked the air out of your lungs. He seemed to realize the gravity of his actions only after he pulled away.

He scratched his neck as he bashfully explained.

"Sorry ... I've just been a little worried about you, come right in".

So you took him up on his invitation, spending the rest of the evening talking about any and everything. Satiating Izukus curiosity and getting anything heavy off of your chest.

Mid sentence you noticed a tall stack of papers on his desk and you couldn't help but give izuku a questioning look.

"Ah, yes I almost forgot! These are for you; the notes from the classes you missed! I even color coded it after your system to make it easier to catch up-"

In that moment you really had no idea what you had done to deserve such a beautiful and kind soul. Thinking about you even when you were so far away. And going as far as inconveniencing himself every day while not knowing when you would come back. It brought tears to your eyes and a strange warmth to your chest.

Iida:

Iida sighed in frustration as another one of his text messages went through. No answer from you. How irresponsible can one even be?! He massaged his temples before writing out another stern text.

He was so fired up that he was already hearing things. Iida rolled his eyes at himself for imagining the characteristic ping of your phone when it receives a text message. And just as he was about to put his phone down to collect himself he heard another one... Did that come from the hallway?

He swiftly opened the door to his dorm to reveal you standing there with your hand already in a knocking motion. Instead of going through with the knock you reverted to small jazz hands and a meek

"Surprise?"

Iida called out your name and immediately embraced you in a bear hug. But he pulled away after a couple of moments to give you a piece of his mind.

"What are you doing here y/n? And why haven't you been responding to my messages? What were you thinking?! It's extremely reckless and unsafe to do such things!-"

And even though iida went on a detailed lecture about not keeping him in the loop you could see in the pink of his cheeks and the way his hands were gesturing more wildly than usual, that he really just wanted to reprimand you because he missed you so much.

But you knew just how to make it up to him. Mid sentence you pulled one of iidas favorite snacks out of your backpack, this time in a limited edition flavor which was unavailable in japan. That got him to abandon his scolding to marvel at the package you were holding out to him.

He grabbed you by the wrist as he dragged you into his room for you to try the new candy together. You knew that iida would let go of any petty words now since your temporary absence had one upside.

And even though iida blamed his forgiveness on the joy about his favorite candy of all time, in reality he couldn't handle the fact that even when you were in such a difficult situation you remembered what his favorite candy was and even went out of your way just to make him a little happier. His rosy cheeks betrayed him though.

You still weren't in the clear after that because iida demanded that you talk about the situation with him for your own good; so your mental health and school performance won't suffer.

Todoroki:

"It's open"

Shoto's neutral voice made you grin, but opening his dorm door while holding something heavy was kind of a challenge. So mid struggle the door was opened by shoto himself, revealing you with a giant bag of fruit in your arms.

"Y/n?" Shoto's voice betrayed him, the positive surprise apparent. But Shoto took you down a couple pegs as he observed

"You look rough".

Without waiting for an answer he took the heavy bag out of your arms and before you could tell him that they were for him he asked you

"How was travel? When did you get back?"

"Hello to you too Shoto"

You walked into his dorm room before continuing

"Everything was fine, the whole experience was just rather exhausting"

You had been a little anxious because shoto hadn't been messaging you that much while you were away although you knew that it just wasn't his style to text lots. The truth was that he wanted to give you space because he was sure that if you wanted to talk about it you would reach out.

He was more than glad that you were here now and although he enjoyed the souvenir you brought him, it didn't measure up to the joy he felt to see you again. He practically had to restrain himself because his hands were drifting towards yours all the time. So even if he didn't explicitly tell you how much he missed you, it was clear as day.

Kirishima:

Kirishima was biting the inside of his cheek while staring at the message he last sent you. It was left on delivered and he couldn't help but be worried sick. The whole situation you were in worried him to hell and back.

Leaving in a hurry seemed terrible enough but bad cell service and cryptic sad messages? He felt as if he was trapped in the ninth circle of overthinking hell. Did you eat enough? Drink enough? Did you family give you a hard time?

Speaking- or rather thinking- of the devil he heard you calling out his name from outside of his dorm room.

Kirishima opened his door in record time and upon seeing you he opened his arms which such élan it made you wince. You braced yourself for impact but were met with the most gentle bear hug imaginable instead.

As if Kirishima had sensed exactly what you needed you melted into his warm embrace like butter on top of pancakes. He released you out of his grip after what felt like ages, both of you grinning from ear to ear.

He invited you in and after catching up you spotted a little figurine on his desk that you never saw before.

"Oooh who got you this?"

You took the small figurine into your hands. It was a baby chick with a cute pink ribbon and a blue flower on its head - the craftsmanship was insane and it must've been expensive. The thought of some girl gifting this to him made jealousy well up in your chest. But before you could get the wrong ideas he explained,

"Uhm.. It's actually for you... I saw it and it reminded me of you so I just thought I'd get it in case you were feeling bummed after returning."

"Awww wait, really?"

And as Kirishima saw a hot pink blush spreading from your shoulders to the tips of your ears he thanked the heavens that you safely returned to him.

Buy me a coffee? <3

©️ seaborgium-dazies 2025

leave some love! Reblogs and comments are dearly appreciated<3

[sunnysana]

Hello! Can I request a Pi Hanwool x reader FF where in the reader is a shy and kind girl and she's the gf of Pi Hanwool, but few knows their relationship. So when she joined the Study Group, she and Ga Min are getting closer like friends (but Ga Min has a crush on her). Then one day, Pi Hanwool see them together and he can't help but be jealous and possessive to the point that everyone now knows their relationship. It's a fluff btw 🫶🫶🫶 THANK YOU SO MUCH, THIS IS MY FIRST TIME REQUESTING SO SORRY FOR THE DEMAND 🥰

Pi Hanwool x F! Reader / When he gets possessive

A/N: Hiii, thank you so much for the request. I love being the first one to do your request. I love how you already know what you want me to write! Makes it fun and easier. I hope it's enough fluff and that you enjoy<3. I love this for the first study group fic I'll be writing!

Warning(s): None!

"Seriously?" He chuckled as if it was amusing but sounded displeased at the same time. "You joined a study group?".

That's how the conversation had went when he first found out you've joined Yoon Gamin's study group. He didn't really take it seriously. Cause how would a study group last in a school like this?

That's what he thought at first. Though now he takes it a bit more seriously than before. All because of Yoon Gamin.

____________________________________________

Hanwool walked through the halls with his sidekick also known as Minhwan. No one dared to cross his way.

Hanwool had a straight face on as usual. Meanwhile, Minhwan was playing around with his gun.

"She really joined a study group?" He laughed amused like it's the weirdest thing he heard in a while. "Yeah, and it's with that Gamin nerd." He scoffed.

"Aren't you gonna do something?" Minhwan fidgets with his gun. "Nah..." he brushed it off "it's gonna fall apart soon anyway, you really think a study group could last in a place like this?".

____________________________________________

A few days later there you were in the library after hours with the newfound study group. You were sitting on the side facing the door next to Gamin. Meanwhile, Sehyun was sitting on the other side.

The others, Joon, Heewon, and Jiwoo had already left as you were just finishing up some homework.

Earlier that day you had gotten a load of math works which you didn't quite get. After all math isn't your best subject, you'd say English is your strongest subject instead.

So Gamin offered to help as soon as you got it handed out. Which you ofcourse accepted because you didn't wanna get behind the others and keep up with the workload.

He adjusted his glasses as he started to explain another question. Sehyun, on the other hand, was already done and got up to leave. "See you tomorrow, don't stay too long okay?". You nod with a sweet sounding hum as you wave Sehyun bye.

After Gamin's best friend left he scooted a little closer with a small blush you didn't even notice. "Ah right, so for this question you need to use this formula and then do this..."

He went on like that. Anything that had to with studying got him excited, and he tried to explain it even better than normal because it's you he's teaching.

About an hour passes, and you finally finish up and walk out together. It's just right around dinner time, so you've finished at a perfect timing.

Recently, you have grown closer to Gamin and the others that you'd call them your best group of friends. However, you'd say you've been around Gamin the most recently.

You both head out together with only a few inches between you. However, you didn't mind as you two are close friends in your mind. However, he'd hope it was more besides that, though he wouldn't tell you.

"How about we get some Ramyeon at the convenience store we usually go to? I'm starving". Gamin offered as he looked your way with a cute smile.

You chuckled as you remembered something. "Yeah sure I'm so hungry, remember last time that Joon was so hungry he tried eating Ramyeon when hot and burned his mouth?." I remind him and laugh.

Moments later, you get there. You had promised Hanwool you'd come to Yeonbaek after you've had dinner, so it's even more convenient for you since it's almost right around the corner.

Gamin and you took a seat opposing each other with hot ramyeon as you chatted. However, you didn't know that about ten minutes later, your boyfriend had walked into the store to get some snacks for when you were supposed to hang out.

Hanwool himself didn't immediately notice as he was busy roaming the aisles, deciding on what to get the two of you. As usual, he just takes what he sees fit. He doesn't have to worry about his spending habits as his father is the boss of YB anyway.

The moment he noticed is when he saw the reflection of a familiar girl's back in the window glass with a nerdy boy on the opposite side.

You were too deep in the conversation and food to notice Hanwool's staring. He might look stoic and expressionless as usual, but if you could sense what he's feeling inside, it would be far from it.

He can't believe it, he thinks it's humorous the guy thinks he has a chance but also feels jealous of the biggest nerd in school chatting with you. Even having dinner together. He can't just leave it like that can he?

He put the snacks aside for a moment and strode over with hands in his pockets and hugged you from behind. Which suprised both you and Gamin but both for different reasons.

You hadn't expected Hanwool to be here at this time as he's usually still having dinner with his father around this time, or he'd be hanging out on the sofa with Minhwan as usual as he's often around.

However, Gamin had all types of thought going through his head. Why is this guy hugging you from behind? Who is this guy? Why does it have to be now? It didn't hit him yet, he didn't realize that it was THE Pi Hanwool yet as he hasn't seen him face to face before.

Hanwool broke the silence. "I see you're having dinner with this study group guy?" He pulled back, and you looked at him, happy to see him. "Yeah, I thought it'd be convenient as it's so nearby, then it wouldn't take to get to you, he helped me with math too" you said simply with a hint of innocence as you didn't realize the way it seemed.

Both you and Gamin had finished up a minute ago and were gonna leave in a moment anyway. So you both stood up, Gamin with a tad of awkwardness. "Let's go, shall we? I'll see tomorrow, Gamin. " You told him goodbye, head out with Hanwool holding his hand and forget the snacks.

When you got back to the YB building where he resides he immediately resorts to uncharacteristically clingy before and cuddling you all the time. Though if you'd point it out he'd play it off as just being comfy.

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

The following day at Yuseong Technical High, everyone started to notice how close he was to a certain someone being you. Even Minhwan hadn't expected to see him be this sweet and close to you in public.

It's only that day when Gamin realized it was Hanwool he saw with you the day before.

In the break, Hanwool even told you to sit with him and his guys instead of with the study group. He promised he'd get you some strawberry milk and your favorite snack, too, after all. He didn't want you to be with Gamin much. After all, you're his at the end of the day. And he's not planning on letting you go.

Now the whole school knows just how much of a softie he is for you. Though no one dares to tell him that. He's still the no.1 on the ranking after all.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

A/N:

I hope you all liked it, I hope it's not to short. It's fun to me how he's the most requested person in my inbox, so you can expect more!

Also, it's not proof read by me so let me know if anything seems off!

[bluudsucka]

juna (chapter II) - bo chow x tomboy!reader

chapter I - chapter II

summary: after your run in with bo at the juke, the two of you continued to see each other. your relationship growing closer with each time you spent together. missing your presence - bo decided to pay you a visit on your family farm...

word count: 9k

warnings: smut, oral sex, unprotected sex, fluff, establish relationship, slight mentions of race, slight insecurity undertones, mentions of smoking

author's note: here's part two of my bo fic and i must say, i did enjoy writing this, i wanted to flex my writing muscle - and i feel like i did hahaa! omg, thank ya'll for reading my stuff and for the support, i appreciate ya'll dearly! much love <3

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

"I don't get too intimate. Why would I let you in? But I think again..."

The summer rays beat down on your body heavy as you rolled your tense shoulders, the thick heat blanketing over the farmland that your family owned. With a old and dirty straw hat that shielded your eyes from the sun, your nimble fingers aligned the nail into the wooden plank.

And you hammered.

The loud echo of iron hitting rusty nail reverberated through your body with each strike of the hammer you made, and once the nail disappeared into the thick wood you used the rest of your strength to yank at the plank - to make sure it wouldn't budge from the harsh weather. Dirt, mud, and chicken feathers clung onto your overalls and sun-kissed face as if it were a second skin. Your job for the day was to expand the chickencoop by the end of the afternoon; as more roosters were swiftly on their way to your farm.

Sweat damped the back of your neck and forehead, making the natural yet short soft curls tighten underneath your straw hat. This heat was siphoning your energy with each movement you made and it didn't help that you would sometimes get weak in the knees when your mind you drift towards your lover.

Bo Chow.

Memories of him always crept in with every strike of your hammer, every intense stroke of your saw cutting wooden boards, and every twist you made with your rusty screwdriver. After that night in the juke - your relationship with the man blossomed like a sunflower under the Mississippi heat. Every time you would drive into town your heart would flutter in anticipation to see him, to feel his hands on your body, and to kiss him.

He wasn't embarrassed to kiss you in public.

At first you had your reservations about it; stating that people would stare and whisper. Especially with the masculine getup you'd often wear, but Bo being Bo he shrugged his shoulders as those honey coated words fell from his lips, twisting in melody with his southern twang.

"Let them stare, I don't care what they whisper about us."

He was the best boyfriend you've had thus far, he was kind and gentle, and he never pressured you into doing anything you weren't comfortable with. But he also held your hand; guiding you out of your comfort zone when you needed it the most - showing the true desires that burned within your heart - the feelings that you thought you didn't deserve to feel. On Sundays Bo's general store would close early, at six instead of nine, and those days were your days.

You would sit on the wooden stool that was just beside the backdoor that lead upstairs - towards Bo's living quarters. The sound of him locking the door always made you smile ear to ear, that meant that it was now just the two of you. Bo would reassure that he didn't need any help closing, but you'd lend a hand anyway, with two people cleaning up that meant being in each other's arms would come sooner. Once done closing down the shop he would lead you upstairs, hand in hand, and the familiar tingle would nip at your loins.

Bo's hands would gently unbutton your overalls while your fingers would race over his arms and shoulders. After losing your virginity to him, the two of you couldn't keep your hands off of each other. He would help you explore your body while his guided hands would show you just the right touch to make him turn into moaning mess. You learned what your likes and dislikes are in the bedroom; Bo encourage you to speak your mind about it, reassuring you that it was important for him to know how to 'please his woman'.

After a few days of staying in town a little later than the usual and the unexplained pep in your step, your father quickly rushed you with questions on your whereabouts, at first you feigned ignorance but that didn't work of course.

You were a bad liar.

So you spilled about the time you spent with Bo, leaving out the intimate details, obviously. You told him that he was a kind man, that he treated you good, and that he had gumption most men around these parts lacked. And when those hurried words that ran from your mouth like water from a faucet slowed; he asked you to invite Bo over for dinner, to see for himself who this man truly was.

You could still feel the intense pressure of their eyes glued onto you and Bo as you introduced him to your family. Your two older brothers sizing him up as he helped you carry the bowl of mashed potatoes towards the large wooden dining table, but under their intense gaze Bo didn't crack, he kept his clam and charismatic persona in tact even with all of the invasive questions thrown at him.

Your family quickly learned that Bo was clever - extremely so. He had a plan, the kind that would pull the family farm out of shambles that the Great Depression and Segregation had driven it into. Some people were not fond at the idea of buying natural farm raised anything from a once sharecropper and his family, but Bo offered to resell your family chicken, beef, milk and eggs within his shop. He also added the fact that he knew the SmokeStack twins and that they'd needed supplies for their juke too.

He was offering your family a lifeline.

But the idea of the unknown worried your father, he was comfortable with reselling his goods to other local farms that he worked with over the years, but those farms were going under as well. He had no choice but to hear out Bo, so he did. You could see the glimmer of interest and hope within your father's eyes as Bo laid out the numbers between bites of greens, his strong hand resting on your thigh underneath the table, he was nervous but only you knew that.

Your bothers chimed in with sharp doubts, but you could tell that they were interested too, they didn't run Bo off like they'd normally do to smooth talkers who tried to convince the family to do business with them, and that was remarkable to you. The way he swatted away their doubts with ease and filled their minds with the potential of making a steady income made you stare at Bo with awe.

After the dinner you and Bo would walk the perimeter of the farm, your knuckles brushing against his as tender words exchanged between the two of you. He told you that he wanted to build something lasting, not just for now, but for the future. Something that would benefit the multiple generations that would come after the two of you - together. You paused your steps at his words which cause him to stop in his tracks too.

"What do you mean by that, Bo?" You asked.

He shrugged his shoulders, his hands deep within his pockets and replied: "Nothin', just thinkin' out loud is all."

Pulling yourself out of the sweet memories you wiped your dirty saw dust covered hands onto your overalls and took a step back to admire your work. You were finally done expanding the chickencoop, and with a huff you began to clean up after yourself. Carrying the extra planks and tools into the nearby shed were they would stay until the next project.

The sound of dirt cracking underneath wheels grabbed your attention and with steady steps you exited the shed, only to be met with a blue car and your lover within the driver seat. A smile tugged at your sweat-slicked face as your irises scanned his movements, watching him as he slipped out of the car, and slamming the door shut with a lazy motion.

"Hey, baby." Bo smiled as he strut towards you with open arms, you quickly ran towards him, closing the distance as your face pressed against the crook of his neck. Your arms were wrapped around his shoulders while he rested his strong yet comforting hands on your hips, pulling you flush against him.

He smelled like cedar wood, peppermint, and a undertone of tobacco. The vibrations of his laughter racked through your body and the both of you swayed back and forth within each others arms. Pulling away first, you planted a quick peck on his lips that he gladly accepted.

"What're you doin' here? Ain't you suppose to see my Pa tomorrow?" You asked as your hands ran across his chest, feeling his toned body underneath his clothes. You bit your lip and giggled as he placed a tender kiss on your forehead, knocking the straw hat that you wore off of your head by accident.

"What? Is it a crime to pay a visit to my beautiful lady?" He shot back which made you shake your head, a wide and giddy smile clung onto your lips like the thick summer heat that engulfed your body.

"I miss you, that's why I'm here...Recently it feels like I'm only here to talk business, I rarely get to be around you now." Bo whispered, his eyes softening with each word he spoked. You looked away from him, but his fingers caught your chin and guided your face towards his.

"I miss you too..." You muttered back as your lips ghosted over his, but before he could kiss you - your hands that were rested on his chest playful pushed him away. "But I'm not bothered by you comin' out here to do business, you're helpin' my family, and I know once we get our footin' we'll have time for each other again."

You picked up the straw hat that fell onto the dirt pathway, tossing the hat on a shelf within the shed. Your short hair was now free as your fingers picked through the curls, the natural coils snapping back into place with each tug of your fingers. It was Bo's turn to watch you now as he placed his thumb with the belt loop of his pants, his smile never fading.

"What?" You chuckled out, but the man just shrugged and shook his head, his brown eyes filled with adoration, he was starting to grow more attached to you by the minute. You haven't exchanged a 'I love you' yet between the two of you, the closet thing that would be said was along the lines of: 'I'm fond of you' or 'I care about you'. But never 'I love you' but Bo couldn't deny the feelings he felt when he was around you, when he would think about you during those long days within the general store.

He loved you.

He wanted to tell you that right here, right now. But he stopped himself, afraid that he'd scare you off - afraid that you weren't ready yet. He'd understand, of course. But understanding wouldn't negate the sting he would feel if you didn't reciprocate those feelings, so he settled on dancing around that 'love' word as long as he can.

"You done workin', Ms. busy body?" He asked.

"Yup." You replied as you closed the shed doors shut, locking the heavy doors with a turn of a key.

"So what're you gonna do now? Just swelter away in this heat or--"

"You just don't give up, do you?"

"Nope, but you already know that, girl."

You bit your lip as your foot kicked the patch of grass that nestled within the dirt road, your eyes flicked over towards the distance behind Bo, as if you were decided something within your mind. When you settled on your answer the corner of your lips tugged into a grin, sticking your thumbs under the thick straps of your overalls you blurted out: "Follow me."

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

Bo followed you with his hand grasp into yours, cutting through tall grass and tangled shrubbery until boots met with a dusty trial that lead towards a canopy of willow trees and red oaks, the thick leaves of the trees shielded the two of you from the harsh summer sun. Sliver of golden rays slipped past the greenery as it casted light through the dimly lit woods.

Silence fell over the both of you like a blanket, but it wasn't uncomfortable, it was calming - welcoming. Your eyes would flick between him and the small dirt trial, smiling as his eyes would gaze at the small wildlife that would rummage through the bushes and wildflower beds.

"My Pa said he's got some ideas that're worth considering, if you'd lend a ear to hear 'em out," you mumbled as your foot kicked a rock away from the path. "He ain't the type to be so gung-ho about this kinda thing...You've got a silver tongue on you, that's for sure."

"I do got a way with words, don't I? How'd you think I got you?" He gloated which earned a playful slap on the arm from you.

"Don't get all cocky now, boy. If the twins go back on their word then my brother's will turn on you quicker than flies on pig shit." You jested as you both stepped side by side.

Bo smiled at that.

The once shy girl who stumbled into his store that could barely get a sentence out was now cracking jokes with him. It made him feel good to know that you're growing comfortable enough to show your personality - you were witty.

"Eh, I'll take my chances." Bo replied as he pulled a cigarette from the paper box and placing it between his plump lips. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you watched him lit the cigarette, the low ember glow of the fire igniting the tip casted a dull orange shadow across his handsome features. Pulling the cigarette away from his lips a cloud of hazy smoke plumed in front of him and the smell of tobacco hit your nose.

You weren't bothered that Bo was a smoker, your father was one too, so you were use to the strong smell. But you never tried a cigarette personally, much to Bo's pleasure. You remember one night after making love to him, Bo lit a cigarette as the both of your naked bodies laid flushed against each other within the soft bedsheets. Your head rested on his chest as you watched and you asked him if you could try it. The look on his face shocked you, Bo looked as if you'd grown three heads then.

He quickly denied your request, stating that smoking was a nasty and expensive habit. And with that pretty smile you had there was no way he'd encourage you to smoke in fear of ruining your teeth. He asked you if you wanted him to stop smoking around you, which you told him that you didn't mind. But to quell your curiosity Bo took a long drag from the cigarette, holding the smoke within his mouth and held a soft grip onto your jaw, puckering your lips.

With his lips lightly pressed onto yours - he blew the heavy smoke into your mouth - which quickly made you cough. It was different than tasting it on his lips after Bo finished a cigarette, the taste was stronger and the smoked harshly bit at your lungs and throat.

Needless to say after that day you didn't ask to try another cigarette again.

The trail that the two of you followed sloped downward and the thick summer air grew cooler with each step you took. With a hop over a gnarled root that separated dirt and sand the trees that once shielded you from the golden sun opened up, brown eyes were met with the simmering reflection of the sun that danced across the crystal clear water.

A lake.

A sharp whistle left Bo's lips as he pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, holding it between his pointer and middle finger. He watched as dragonflies hovered over the blue water, how the lily pads clumped together at the edge of the lake, and how the sand clung onto shiny small geodes with each ripple of the water.

This place was beautiful.

"How'd you find the place?" Bo asked as he finished his cigarette, normally he'd flick the butt of it on the ground without a second thought, but the sight of this place made him open up the paper box and place it inside next to the rest of unsmoked cigarettes.

You turned on your heel to look at him, your over worked hands rested on your hips as you spoke.

"When I was thirteen I got into an argument with my brother, he kept pickin' on me after I lost a game of football - so I thought I could take him in a fight," you shrugged your shoulders as you watch Bo walk towards the edge of the water. "That wasn't the case, though. He was sixteen at the time and before I could even think about landing a punch on him he pushed me to the ground and knocked the wind right outta me. I cried and told him I hated him, and I ran as far away as I could. Then I stumbled here...My sanctuary."

"Feels like it..." Bo said as he glanced at you, watching you kick your mud covered boots off. You paused your movements, feeling his tender gaze that rested on your frame.

"The water is cold enough to cool you down from this heat." You explained.

"Oh, I see what this is...You tryna get me naked, y'know there's easier ways to do that, girl." Bo laughed which made you roll your eyes in playful annoyance. Sliding your socks off and stuffing them into your boots you giggled along with him.

"I just told you a heart-tuggin' story and all you can think about is me making a move on you," you paused as you tried to stifle your giggles. "I mean - you're right! But still, you don't have to call it out, Bo."

"But that's what you like about me, why would I stop statin' the obvious?" He replied as he kicked his shoes off too. Your hands unbuttoned the straps that held your overalls in place, making the heavy denim drop onto the sand. Bo's hands swiftly undone his button up shirt, slipping off the fabric along with the undershirt that rested on his lean yet muscular body, his pale olive chest was now under your needy gaze as his hands reached for his belt buckle.

"Hey, let me, I love doin' this part." You mumbled as your nimble fingers reached for his belt, which made Bo hold up his hands in a display of playful obedience, his brown eyes watching your hands unbuckle the belt that held his pants in place. Once the belt was undone, Bo kicked the pants off of his legs, now he stood in front of you with just his boxers on. You still wore the oversized shirt that stopped just above your midthigh, shielding your underwear from Bo's intense gaze.

"Now that ain't fair, honey. How come I'm almost stark naked and you got that shirt on?" Bo laughed as he tugged you closer towards him by the loose fitting fabric that draped over your body, he placed tender kisses onto your lips as you offered up an answer for him in between those fevered kisses.

"Well since you made such a convincing argument; I'll take it off, but I'm keeping my delicates on."

"Like I ain't seen you naked before - but okay, I'm keeping my boxers on too." Bo chuckled as his dark chestnut colored eyes grazed over your body, watching you remove the cotton shirt from your frame, pulling the fabric over your head and tossing it on the moss covered log. You were in your bra and panties yet the thin fabrics left nothing to the imagination as your nipples poked through your bra; Bo couldn't help but to stare at your half nude frame in awe.

With bare legs slowly sauntered into the freezing water and you let out a loud yelp, the sensation of freezing water nipping at your warm body. Even when it's the middle of summer this lake was always ice cold and goosebumps dotted across your bronzed skin.

You turn to face Bo who watched you from the edge of the water, he was lost in thought, and you noticed that his attention would slip into his mind the more you spent time with him. With a playful flick of your wrist, you splashed the lake water at Bo, making him jump as a mischievous smile lingered onto your lips.

"You can come in, y'know - the water's fine, I promise ain't no gators around these parts! Maybe..."

"Ha, you really are somethin' else, girl."

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

The twinkle of fireflies danced within the thick evening air and the once bright sun crept slowly behind the trees; painting the scenery in hues of blues. Birds that were hidden within the tall willow trees hushed their songs - only for their soothing melodies to be replaced with the loud hums of cicadas and the rustling of leaves from the wind. You and Bo swam for hours, but it didn't feel like it, you were shocked when he told you the time after checking his pocket watch.

You stood behind him as your hands rubbed his back while your fingers pressed into the small water droplets that clung onto his skin. He was slightly shivering from the cold lake water, the feeling of the cool breeze race against his body, and he clinched his jaw in an attempt to fight against his shivering. With gentle arms you held onto him, trying your best to trap as much body heat between the two of you.

"My god, baby. You're shakin'! You need some more meat on your bones." You giggled out, pressing your cheek against his shoulder.

"You makin' fun of me, girl?" Bo laughed as he shook the water out of damp jet black hair. You squealed at the sudden feeling of cold water droplets flicking onto your skin, pulling away from Bo he quickly turned on his heel, grabbing your body back into his soaking embrace. He landed sloppy yet tender kisses on your cheek and neck, earning laughter from you under his touch.

The feeling of your giddy laughter against his bare chest sent him into a spiral. Your smile, your touch, your warmth.

You.

Everything about you made Bo feel as if he was home - as if he finally found the one thing in his life that he didn't realize was missing. And every time you two would separate from each other he would count down the seconds to see you again, to hear your voice, and to hold you within his arms.

His dark brown eyes peered into yours, smiling at the sight of your beautiful features, water from the lake clung within your long eyelashes and the short coils that framed your face. Underneath the sapphire colored evening your brown skin held onto the blue hues - as if you were blue yourself. And without thinking he blurted out: "I love you."

Your smile that rested on your face twitched downwards and you flinched back a bit at his words. Your arms were still wrapped around him but Bo could tell you were growing distant - he feared that this would happen.

"W-What...?" You whispered out in confusion, tilting your head to the side as you scanned Bo's face in hopes to understand what he meant by that. Love? He said he loves you, and hearing those words roll off of his tongue made you feel good - no it made you feel whole. Yet half of you denied that feeling. Surly he didn't mean it, right?

The sound of thunder cut into the tense silence that fell over the two of you, pulling away from Bo you reached for your overalls that rested onto the moss covered log. Stepping over jagged rocks you began to dress yourself - your back facing Bo in an attempt to avoid his eyes staring into you.

"I love you, darlin'. Please say somethin'..." Bo said as desperation hung on each and every word that he spoke, his eyes followed your sporadic movements, but he kept his distance. He knew that you weren't the best at communicating your thoughts and desires; so he acquiesced to your unspoken rule of not going 'too deep' into uncomfortable subjects like this. It took a lot of coaxing to even talk about sex with you openly. But Bo was also suppressing his true feelings about you, it was agonizing biting his tongue around you - he needed to let you know just how much you meant to him.

"You don't mean that." You replied as you turned to face him, your overalls hanging off of your hips, the straps were unbutton, so you wore them like pants. The hem of your panties peeked through the top of the denim, the soft fabric clashing with the dirt covered overalls. Your arms rested at your side and your face twisted with hurt, as if Bo said a cruel joke to you.

"I do, I mean it. I'm in love with you. And I-I'm down on my hands and knees beggin', baby...Beggin' you to just open up to me, just a little--"

"Bo, please!" You shouted, cutting him off. The whispers from the leaves rustling in the breeze echoed within your scattered mind as a tight lump formed in your throat. With a shallow breath of air, you continue to speak.

"Look at me, Bo...I'm not the kind of person people fall in love with, I'm just not built for that."

Bo spat out a curse in his native tongue as he began to dress himself too and he shook his head in disapproval at the unnecessary criticism you gave yourself. He couldn't believe his ears - he couldn't believe what you were saying.

"Why not?" Bo curtly asked and the loud clap of thunder rang through the hazy evening air, it would rain any minute now. You shrugged your shoulders at his question which earn you a bitter laugh from the man.

"Y-You should be with someone who ain't scared all the time, Someone who knows how to do this..." You stated, as Bo's eyes gazed into yours, taking in every single word that fell from your lips as you spoke.

"I-I don't don't know how to be what you need, Bo. I f-figured you'd realize that and move on - find a woman who is meant to be with you...Someone who isn't me." You rushed out and your once confident person deteriorated. You slowly reverted back into that shy woman that Bo met months ago.

"What do you think this is? Tell me. So, you think I only love you because you're some kind of fantasy, that what we shared is just some phase for me, or somethin'?" Bo's words were stern but they didn't lack the love he felt for you, it just pained him something awful hearing you swatting away his confession not because you didn't feel the same way.

But because you thought you didn't deserve it...

"I don't...I don't know." You choked out as your arms hugged yourself, making the wet bra strap that clung onto your skin slip off of your shoulder. For the first time in your relationship the pause of silence that you both shared was uncomfortable - agonizingly so. With a sigh Bo walked towards you, shortening the distance between both of your freezing bodies. Tiny raindrops fell from the swollen clouds that loomed overhead, the warm summer rain washed off the cold lake water that clung onto your skin.

"C'mere." Bo whispered as he opened his arms out to you; and you gladly entered his embrace. Your cheeks tingled with embarrassment and fear at the idea of scaring Bo away. You were never use to being treated with so much care - with so much kindness - and it overwhelmed you. You loved Bo, oh, God did you love him. You didn't want this connection to be severed by your own mistakes, so you thought keeping your distance would make him stay longer.

But keeping your feelings to yourself was a form of self-sabotage.

Your cheek rest against Bo's lean chest and you could hear just how fast his heart was racing, you weren't the only one who was nervous about losing this connection that you both shared. The once soft drizzle of rain began to beat down onto you and Bo harder, yet you stayed in his arms as his carful hands stroked your hair.

"You think I don't see you, girl? I see everything about you. The way you pick at your fingers before speakin', how you laugh when you're nervous, damn girl - even the way you fight back tears 'cause you think they'd make you look weak," he paused as his embrace tighten around your frame as the sting of tears blurred your vision. "They don't make you weak, you're brave - the bravest person I know and the world just don't get it. Yet you keep fightin', movin' along bein' yourself as the world casts you aside."

"Bo..."

"You're beautiful and I think about you all the time, you always show up in my mind from the moment I wake up to the second I fall asleep...I ain't felt this way in a long time, not like this. Girl, you really got a hold on me, so don't tell me that I don't love you." Bo finished as his fingers gingerly held onto your damp bra strap that hung off of your shoulder, placing the thin fabric over your collar bone.

The rain muffled out the sound of your racing heart beat that echoed through your head, your mouth slightly agape at Bo's confession. The feeling of being seen and understood was all you wanted - and he gave that to you without hesitation. Calloused hands cupped your face and a supportive thumb traced over your cheek, the feeling of love overcame you, and for the very first time in your life you let your guard down.

You let him in...

"I love you too."

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

Hot summer rain beat down on you and Bo as thick raindrops slipped pass the canopy of leaves that hung above the two of you. With heavy footsteps your fingers interlocked tightly with his, both of you stumbling through the hazy fog. Stepping over gnarled vines, slick wet stones, and mud filled potholes that clung to the soles of your shoes - you both finally reached the edge of the woods. A loud crack of thunder made you jump within Bo's embrace, a breathless chuckle falling from his lips at your action.

Muffled sounds of wet shoes stomping onto the weather worn porch grounded you and the awning shield you and Bo from the heavy rain. A soft cast of ember light slipped pass the curtains that hung over the windows, your father was still downstairs - much to your dismay. Your calloused hands reached for the iron doorknob, twisting it gingerly in an vain attempt to not draw attention towards your presence of entering the house.

Your face twisted in slight annoyance at the sharp creak that the door made. With a tilt of your head you signaled Bo to follow you close by, the soft dripping sounds from your soaked close melted into the ticking of the grandfather clock that shielded your body from the living room your father resided in. Tiptoeing through the hallway you and Bo finally reached the white narrow staircase - the wave of anxiety slowly melted off of your body until a familiar raspy voice cut through the silence like a sharpen knife.

"That you, girl?" Your father blurted out, not bothering getting up from his seat. You and Bo froze in place as his eyes flicked towards you in worry. Your father was well aware of your relationship with Bo; but sneaking him in your bedroom without a ring on your finger is...Indecent to say the least. Your father was old fashion and if he saw how Bo clung onto you right now - he would probably have a heart attack.

Placing a finger over your lips, you signaled to Bo to keep quiet and you spoke: "Yea', Pa! It's me...Got caught in the rain is all, finna head to my room now."

Bo's face was pressed onto your wet shoulder as he tried to muffle the soft laugher that fell from his lips. You rolled your eyes and slightly elbowed him, which only earned you a playful squeeze on your sides, and his skillful hands slip under your soaked denim overalls. His hands cupped your breast through your bra - you didn't bother putting your shirt back on - you only wore the oversized denim as the wet fabric of your shirt hung lazily within your hand.

A low grunt of acceptance from your father made you race up the stairs with lightning speed, your fingers interlocking with Bo's again, and you lead him to your bedroom - locking the door as soon as he entered behind you.

"Uh, uh. Didn't know you was sneaky." Bo teased.

"Keep your voice down; these walls are paper thin..." You muttered.

"Tch, that's gon' be a challenge then. Y'know you loud in bed, baby." Bo beamed out as his handsome face melted into a mischievous yet playful expression. You gasp at his words and shook your head in disapproval as your hands slipped off the rain soaked overalls.

"Only reason I'm loud is 'cause you fuck me too good." You replied as Bo's once cocky demeanor shattered into shock. His eyes widen like saucers at your words, he was the one who would do all the dirty talking in bed, and you would hide your face in embarrassment with each word he spoke. But now something within you changed - as if a fire within your core was ignited - and Bo was ready to stoke that flame. Before he could whistle out praises you spoke again.

"Take those wet close off, hang 'em on that radiator, I'll make sure they get washed by the time you leave."

"Yes, ma'am." Bo sighed out as he followed your instructions. He tossed his damp vest over the heated metal, his hands quickly slipped off his grey pants, and lastly he removed his soaked white button up. He was only in his boxers now as his brown irises flicked towards your hunched frame that nestled within your closet, with a sigh of victory you pushed yourself on your feet, and soft towels rested within your arms as you faced Bo again.

"Them boxers too." You stated, as you tossed the towels onto the bed, only one was still in your tight grasp. A shiver ran up Bo's spine at your commanding words, his member stiffening within his underwear, straining against the damp fabric. He didn't tut out a comeback like he'd normally does, he just listened to your requestion without hesitation, tucking his thumbs under the tight waistband as he slide the fabric off of his toned body.

Bo stood naked in the middle of your room, the cool air within your home sent a wave of goosebumps on his skin, not to mention that your newfound confidence made him shiver with excitement and anticipation. You walked over to your lover, closing the unbearable distance as your placed your hand over his defined chest, your other hand drying him off with the soft cotton towel. Praises in Mandarin escaped Bo's lips as he melted under your touch, his hands holding onto your waist as he lulled his head back, the towel now catching the rain that clung onto his neck.

You placed a tender kiss on the crook of his neck as words in his native language rolled off of his tongue, Bo taught you phrases here and there to the point were you could understand some of the words he spoke, but the language was still foreign to you. Yet you understood him in this exact moment despite the language barrier, he was showering you in nothing but adoration and reverence.

He needed to be closer to you.

You moved the half damp towel down his pale olive skin, your fingers tracing the dips and valleys of his muscles as you dried him off, your hands stopping just above his jet black happy trail. Tense eyes stared back into yours as you softly spoke, your lips ghosting over his open mouth, it was as if he was trying to taste your sweet words.

"You said I got a hold on you, huh?" You whispered as your hands wrapped around his thick shaft, you began pumping his dick within your hand, making the man moan onto your shoulder. His hips bucked into your movements as you continued to jerk him, precum creating a natural lubricate, yet it wasn't wet enough for your liking. Pulling your hand away for split second you licked your fingers, slicking your digits with saliva. Bo watched on in awe as you wrapped your hand around him again. "You ain't lyin, well - your body ain't lyin, at least."

Bo was hard, probably the hardest he'd been in his life. He couldn't believe that the same woman who couldn't even maintain eye contact when they first met was touching him like this, turning him into puddy in her hands. Your lips wrapped around his neck as you began to kiss at his skin, the thumping of his pulse raced against your mouth, you were determined to leave a hickey behind as you sucked between bites.

Bo was the one who taught you how to make one, of course.

"Fuck, baby." He choked out as his eyes rolled back from the pleasurable sensation of your hand pumping him and your tongue soothing the bites you left on his neck. With a low wet pop your mouth stopped sucking at his skin - a purple and redish bruise bloomed across his olive skin - an you smiled into the kiss you planted on his needy lips. Your tongues danced in unison with each other and the feeling of his cock twitching within your hand earned a muffled moan from you.

But you quickly pulled away.

Bo hissed out a plea in Mandarin which made you place a finger over your lips, reminding him to keep quiet. Your fingers interlocked with his as you lead him towards your plush bed, his dark brown irises not daring to break away from your swaying hips with each step you made. Reaching for the other towels that rested on the warm sheets of your bed, you tossed the damp towel onto the ground, replacing a dry one within your fingers seconds later.

Playfully you tossed the towel over his head, resting it on his wet jet black hair that clung onto his skin, and he chuckled at your action. Taking your hint he began to dry his hair - yet the unbearable feeling of needing to be touched again raced through his entire being - you slowly slipped off your panties. The damp cotton hitting the ground with a soft thud.

His dark eyes trailed over your nude lower half as he bit his lip, the sight of your pussy made Bo's already stiffened cock jump with anticipation, a small whine escaping his mouth, the sound of his groan dripped with nothing but need. Noticing this with a laugh you sank onto the floor, resting your weight on your knees your hazy and lust filled eyes looked up at him.

Placing a feather soft kiss on the flush tip of his cock, filling your open mouth with him. Squeezing your bare thighs together to ease the ache of arousal that nipped at your core, your eyes shut tightly as the familiar yet comforting taste of Bo filled your mouth with each inch you took of him. Bo's body twitched above you as the muscles within his abdomen flexed from your tongue dragging against the thick vein that adorn his thick member, lulling his head back he placed the towel that was used to dry his hair over his mouth, muffling the moans that fell from his lips.

Nimble fingers moved up and down from the base of his cock to your mouth, you were still a novice when it came to oral, but this was going better than last time. You could barely fit him in your mouth without gagging previously, he was big and you still had some challenge, but that didn't stop you from trying. In fact it only made you want to push yourself even more - to see just how much you could fit his dick in your mouth.

"Mhm..." Bo voice groaned through the towel that shielded his mouth, he thought keeping quiet wouldn't be this difficult - but the way your tongue swirled around the tip of his member had him reconsidering his ability to do so. His calloused hand massaged your scalp, thick fingers latching onto the wet coils within your hair as his eyes rolled back the deeper you took him in your mouth, you hummed under his touch and the vibrations from you moaning around him sent shockwaves of pleasure through his body.

Looking down his chestnut colored eyes peered deeply into yours, which only egged you on to pump him faster with your hand, your tongue still swirling circles around him as you hollowed out your cheeks with each suck. Your long lashes blinking with each inch you took into your mouth, the taste of precum dancing on your tongue deliciously, and small tears of pushing your self well pass your limit clung onto the corners of your eyes. With a gag you pulled your swollen mouth off of him, the string of saliva that connected your bottom lip with the tip of his cock snapped with your sudden movements, yet your hands still pumped him as he rocked his hips under your touch.

The slick wet sound of you jerking him off echoed softly through your room, the cracking of thunder and the rain beating against your window muffled the raunchy sound just enough for prying ears not to hear, but you and Bo could hear it - both of you soaking up the sound as if it was music.

"Does that feel good, baby?" You whispered against his dick that rested on your lips, your hand still pumping him, and your tongue playfully flicked over the base of his tip.

You eyes still locked with his.

"Yes, my love. Fuck - I needa have you." Bo begged as he reached for you, pulling you up on your feet by your arms, and he planted a fevered kiss onto your open mouth. Your teeth bumped into his as he desperately clawed at the clasp of your bra, taking off the soaked fabric until your fully nude, just like him. Your skin was slightly wet from the rain, but Bo could care less - he needed you in this exact moment and he couldn't wait to have you. Grabbing the plush skin of your ass he placed you onto the bed, not breaking the kiss until you laid on your forearms.

Bo lips trailed down your body as his strong hand cupped your breast, kneading the soft skin as his fingers rolled your sensitive nipple between calloused fingers. You bit your lip in an attempt to stop your moans from slipping out as his head dipped between your thighs, his lips ghosting over your dripping core, and Bo placed both of your legs over his shoulders as he kneeled in front of you.

"I've been waitin' for this all day." He mumbled to himself, but those words made you gasp out a shallow breath that you didn't know you were holding, it felt good being desired so greatly. For a man to be on his knees between your legs - looking up at you as if you were a work of art - a holy entity that needed to be worshipped.

Bo placed a tender kiss on your inner thigh before dipping his head lower, and with a gentle lick he ran his tongue agonizingly slow across your soaked pussy. He was savoring the taste of you as if it was a delicacy, his warm tongue stopped at your clit, flattening the muscle over your sensitive bud until he repeated his movements.

You arched your back under his touch as your hands grabbed fistfuls of his hair, his soft tresses tangling around your nimble fingers. Your relax legs hung lazily over his broad shoulders as his mouth wrapped around your clit, his fingers slowly entering you as you rocked your hips against his face.

"Oh, my--Bo..." You moaned against the palm of your hand as Bo skilled mouth and tongue worked over your pussy, his nose brushing against your clit with each long swipe of his tongue against your core. The pleasurable sensation made your cheeks tingle and your face twist with pure ecstasy as Bo gently pushed his ring and middle finger inside of you, the bed underneath your trembling body slightly creaking as you snapped your head back from the feeling of his thick fingers inside of you.

"So good, I could die between your thighs if you'd let me, my love." Bo groaned out against your wet sex, you squirmed under his touch and heavy words. "You taste like heaven."

Slowly he moved his fingers in and out, his knuckles grazing against your swollen clit and your legs began to shake, but that only made him ramp up his movements even more. Your hands gripped the wet bedsheets that were soaked with rain water that clung onto your naked body and your chest heaved with each thrust his fingers made into you. Your feet fluttered, kicking the air as your rolled your hips, and the familiar feeling of reaching your climax bubbled within your core. You were close, and it seemed like Bo knew this too.

"W-Wait, baby." You yelped out which made Bo pause his movements, he pulled his mouth away from your clit, but his thick fingers were still nestled deep inside of you.

"What's wrong, you okay?" He asked, which made you nod your head. Catching your breath you continued to fuck yourself against his fingers, finally you spoke.

"I want us to finish, together - at the same time..." You whispered which made Bo smile from ear to ear.

"And how we gonna do that?" He asked as he slowly pulled his slick fingers out of you, the sensation making you shiver in delight, and you watched him placed his fingers within his mouth. His tongue lapping up the juices that clung onto his thick fingers - making sure that none went to waste.

You crashed your lips onto his as Bo hovered over you, tasting yourself on his mouth made your head race with lust, and your legs wrapping around his waist. But to his surprise you flipped positions, your legs caging him in as you straddled his waist, his hands holding onto your hips as he steadies you in place. Your forehead pressed against Bo's as his hand held the base of his cock, leaning forwards he lined himself with you, and with a satisfying sigh escaping both of your lips you sat down onto his thick member.

You both moaned into each others mouth, trying your best to quiet each other, and once your body adjusted to his dick stretching you out - you leaned back and began to ride him. Your bed squeaking with each movement of your hips snapping into him, but the thunderstorm was so loud, you're confident no one could hear the rusty bedsprings. Laying flat on his back Bo's large hands gripped into the softness of your hips, his fingers digging deep within your skin that you're sure they'd leave bruises behind.

Your palms rested on his hard chest as you used him to help you bounce on his thick member, your breast bouncing in his face while your wet pussy swallowed him whole - your body was finally use to being fucked by him. A sigh of pleasure fell from Bo's lips as he whispered praises to you in Mandarin, switching to English when you stopped your bouncing to roll your hips against him.

"You so pretty, baby--Fuck!" Bo hissed out as his eyes rolled back and his head lulled to the side, but you gripped his jaw, turning his head back to face you as you continued to ride him. He bit his lip at your action and a loud whimper fell from his mouth, his voice piercing through the rain and you're sure it could be heard through your shared home. The sounds of footsteps pacing up the stairs made you halt your tracks, and Bo groaned in agony as he lightly bucked his hips into you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry...You just feel too damn good." He whispered through heavy breathing, you and Bo looked towards your locked door as the footsteps grew louder. But by the grace of God the footsteps continued to walk pass your room, not stopping once until they faded into the background again.

"We gotta be quiet, baby," You whispered as your thumb stroke over his chiseled jawline. "It's hard for m-me too, you filling me up like this, but just relax and lemme take care of you, ugh...I promise we can be as loud as we want next time."

He didn't bother to spit out any words of acknowledgment - he just nodded his head desperately - and without missing a beat Bo's lips wrapped around your thumb. His sharp teeth grazing the skin on your thumb as he latched onto it, hollowing out his cheeks as he sucked, silently signaling you to continue.

Which you gladly did without hesitation.

You started to move your hips again, continuing to bounce on his thick cock, the slick sounds of the back of your thighs hitting his legs with each thrust he made into you echoed through your body - you were fucking this man straight on his back - he's quite literally under your control. And he wouldn't have it any other way, he loved how good you felt squeezing around him, and his eyes snapped shut with a guttural moan.

You've rode him before, but not like this, and it was taking everything within him not to come in seconds. A creamy mess was quickly formed between the two of you, due to the friction and your wetness - the sensation of the velvety natural lubricant made your head spin as you rocked your hips with frenzy. Bo's hands left your hips as his strong arms wrapped around your waist in a tight hug, his hips rocks into yours, meeting you halfway as the creak of the bed slipped through the rain sounds.

Feeling the familiar pressure building up within core you leaned into Bo's embrace, your breast pressing firmly against his chest, and your head resting on his shoulder. Your lips pressed against the shell of his ear as tears of pleasure nipped at your eyes, the heavy tears slowly falling down your warm cheeks with each tender word you sang out, the words that only he could hear.

The words that he needed to hear.

"I love you...My Bo, I love you so much." You whispered and the feeling of his cock that nestled deeply within your core twitched at your words, he was dangerously close too. You and Bo weren't practicing the 'safest' of sex, to say the least - he would aways pull out and finish on his hand or your thigh depending on what position you both were in at the time. But when he was close, he would always tell you, asking where you would prefer him to finish.

"Fuck, I love you too, baby. I'm gonna...W-Where you want this?"

"Don't stop, please. I-I needa feel you, baby. At least once...Fill me up and make me feel whole."

And just like that Bo pressed his mouth against your neck as his eyes shut tightly, his hold onto your frame became vice-like as his orgasm ripped through his body like a tidal wave. His teeth bit into your skin in an attempt to muffle his moans as his release hit him and crashed into you, finishing inside of you as he bucked his hips forward lazily, his cum filled you to the brim, it was too much and the warm sensation made you shiver out in delight - he was giving you his everything.

It seemed endless as your thighs locked onto his, your body trembling from the warm sensation of being filled with his seed, the creamy mess of both of your orgasm froth between the two of you, clinging onto both of your pubic bones and abdomen. And with one last rocking of your hips you whimpered against his burning hot skin, the knot of lust that tugged at your core finally releasing.

Heavy breathing filled the cool air as Bo lovingly stroked your hair, grounding himself as his rapid heart rate steadied. You leaned into his touch as your cheek press firmly onto his rising chest, his dick was still inside of you - but you wouldn't mind the idea of him being inside of you like this for hours if he offered.

"Shit...I need a cigarette," Bo mumbled under his breath, which made you bellow out a sharp chuckle, a lopsided grin tugging onto your features. He looked down at you, laughter leaving his lips too. "You really laid it on me, girl. Yea'...you stuck with me now."

"And I wouldn't have it any other way...I love you, Bo."

"I love you too, angel."

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tag(s): @pinkpantheris