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averyisnotpresent · 20 days ago

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LONG TIME COMING family-friend!pazzi au

𓇼 in which: azzi fudd has been counting down the days until her summer vacation begins and she gets to reunite with her best family-friends. but something feels different about this year. why are her quiet moments with paige so loud, and why does her stomach curl when they embrace like it never had before? (slightly TSITP inspired)

𓇼 warnings: swearing, sexual content (fingering- both receiving)

𓇼 wc: 8.8k

𓇼 avery's note: hi! this is my first time writing smut so i hope it's not too bad. some events in this story are kinda childish i guess you could say, but obviously i wasn't gonna make them minors so just ignore that! also imagine azzi's like 5 inches shorter than paige (it's for the plot😉) live react if you can! | my masterlist

The cool breeze combs through Azzi’s curly hair and the beaming sun lights up her tanned skin. The light illuminates the smile plastered onto her face, the one she’s been wearing this whole car ride. These summers were the things Azzi had been counting down the days until, getting more and more eager as the “days until” countdown she had on her phone got lesser and lesser.

She begins to pack up the things splayed around her as she passes the bright blue sign: “Silver Lake, MI”. The best memories Azzi can think of come from this place, on the beach, fruity drink in hand, but most of all, the people she spends it with - the Bueckers.

From the very first Silver Lake getaway, Azzi and Paige stuck like glue. Azzi might have only been 8 years old, but everyone surrounding them knew those two were inseparable, and would continue to be. 10 years later, Paige just finishing her freshman year of college and Azzi preparing to start hers, their bond was no different. The two girls had been texting nearly every day of the school year, not being able to contain their excitement until they got back to where they were happiest.

Azzi messily folds up the blanket she had been wrapped in and stuffs it in the backpack laying at her feet. The warm Michigan air floods Azzi’s skin when she rolls the window down further and breathes in the salty smell of home. She peels the navy hoodie she had been wearing over her neck, leaving her outfit to be made of jean shorts and a flowery tube top. Strings draw two lines from the hem of her tube top over her shoulders and back down: her pink bikini top peeking through.

Jon, Azzi’s young brother, elbows her in the side from the seat next to her: “Who you tryna’ impress, huh?”

“Nobody. This is just how I dress, weirdo.” Azzi shoots back, rolling her eyes and tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “It’s like 90 degrees. I just don’t wanna melt into a puddle the second I step outside.” Jon smacks his lips, giving Azzi an eye roll of his own before kicking the back of his dad’s seat.

Before Jon can even open his mouth, Tim lifts his hand, quieting Jon down before he can pester him. “Three minutes tops and we’ll be there. Bob just texted me saying he and everyone else got there a little bit ago.” Azzi and Jon both grin wider than they were before, excited to see their loved ones after much too long of a time apart.

The three minutes pass slowly, agonizingly even. Azzi unbuckles her seatbelt before Tim has even got close to the white house’ driveway and her door is open before he can even think about shifting into park.

Sitting on the porch is Paige, long blonde, slightly wavy, hair cascading down her pale back and lips curved into a smile just as big as Azzi’s. Blue swirly basketball shorts cover her legs and a plain white t-shirt hangs off her tall frame. Paige slams down the phone in her hand, letting it topple over to the ground when it flips off of the table she set it on, and runs over to Azzi.

Azzi chuckles a little under her breath, giggling at how funny Paige looks running over to her, but doesn’t seem to care much when Paige wraps her arms around her waist and embraces her in a tight hug. Paige rests her head on Azzi’s shoulder as her breath fans into Azzi’s ear. “Hey, Az.” Paige whispers, excitement filling her voice, but also some sort of relief. Like she couldn’t stand another minute being away from the curly head.

Azzi goes to greet Paige back, but before she can get any words out, Paige lifts Azzi up, spinning her around by her waist and watching as Azzi’s smile grows, despite her groans of protest and the look of annoyance in her eyes.

“I was about to say I missed you, but y’know what? I’m not so sure I do after that.” Azzi says, and while her voice has a tone of sass, Paige knows underneath it all she’s joking. Or at least she hopes so.

“I would argue back, but I’m actually a kind person and am happy to see you. I swear the school years seem longer every year.” Paige answers back, finally surrendering Azzi to the ground and letting her out of her grasp.

She takes this time to fully drink in the picture of Azzi. She looks about the same as last year, but she seems to be glowing in a way she never had before. She seems to carry a newfound confidence with her. Paige knows Azzi never would have worn something like this last summer, at least not anywhere where her brothers could see her, that is.

Azzi brings her head up from smoothing out a wrinkle in the flowered fabric and her dimples pop out as she smiles from Paige’s sentiment. “Maybe I missed you too, Bueckers. But only maybe.” Azzi admits, a purplish blush flushing her cheeks with her slight white lie.

“Hey, Paige!” Tim hollers from behind his family’s car, “You wanna give me a hand with these bags or what? Put those empty hands to work?”

“I gotchu.” Paige accepts, leaving Azzi in her flushed state to go grab a bag or two from the Fudd’s trunk. She daps Tim up before he pulls her into a hug.

“Good to see you kid.” Tim greets, used to being ignored during these trips for his daughter. Paige agrees, then hoists Azzi’s backpack from the backseat over her shoulder and grabs the matching duffel bag in her free hand, the other holding Katie, Azzi’s mother,'s beach bag.

Paige trudges forward with the bags weighing down her arms, Azzi shamelessly letting her eyes follow the Paige's flexed biceps. Her sleeves are slightly rolled after the straps of Azzi’s backpack moved them, and the slopes of her arm knot with every step.

“Did you wanna carry any of your things or am I your butler now?” Paige teases, already halfway into the house, Azzi following suit.

“Y’know what, I think I’m okay actually. Thanks for offering though.” Azzi jokes, letting Paige carry her things up to the room she designated hers a decade ago.

“Yeah alright, princess. Don’t be expecting me to do anything else like this.” Paige scoffs, and Azzi knows she’s rolling her eyes in front of her. Once Paige sets Azzi’s stuff down on her bed, leaving Katie’s beach bag at the top of the stairs, she grabs Azzi’s hand and tugs her right back down the stairs.

“That your suit on under there?” Paige confirms, earning a nod from Azzi as well as a knowing look. She does this every year.

Paige grabs two towels from atop the kitchen table downstairs and folds them over her shoulder. “We’re heading to the beach!” Paige calls up to her parents, she gets no response and just shrugs before grabbing Azzi again and rushing outside.

“Be safe!” Katie yells, still helping her sons get their things out of the car and trying to settle an argument between Jon and Jose over God knows what. Azzi rolls her eyes, annoyed with how protective her mom still is, but can’t be bothered for long.

Her and Paige start down the worn-grass path down to the beach, birds around them singing, like they’re just as happy as Paige and Azzi to be back.

“So,” Paige starts, “UCLA, huh? They’re lucky to have you.” Paige sounds a little bitter as she says the last part. She had been hoping Azzi would come to UConn with her, so they could finally see each other without having a year break in between. But Azzi was striving for somewhere with better academics. She had always been smart, and so had Paige, but never like Azzi.

Azzi got into UConn of course, but she knew she’d be doing herself a disservice if she went there. And thought it hurt Paige, she understood.

“I’m sorry, P. I wanted us to live out our little eight-year old dreams, but it just wasn’t gonna work.” Azzi admits. Her voice is sorrowful, like she truly means everything she’s saying.

“We’ve got all of summer. And when these summers stop, we’ve gotta promise we’ll still see each other.” Paige pleads. She knows she sounds immature, but that’s always what these summers are. She can be a kid again. She can be herself again. And she gets to be herself with Azzi.

“Agreed. Now stop being sentimental, we just got here!” Azzi scolds, punching Paige lightly on the shoulder without any malice behind it. Both girls smile at the contact and the grins stay put as they keep walking.

“So,” Azzi begins a new line of questioning. “How has college been? You finally find yourself someone special?” Paige has always been a fan-favorite everywhere she goes with… well, everyone. Guys and girls basically fall at her feet whenever she goes out in public and while Paige never complains or really turns them down, she never says yes either.

Paige has the kind of demeanor where you catch her eye from across the room and immediately are sucked in. She has the most genuine eyes, and if you see them once, they’re pretty hard to forget. She’s attractive, there’s no getting past that, but in a sort of mysterious way. Where you wonder why she doesn’t say yes to all the people offering themselves up to her. Not that Azzi’s been wondering or anything. ‘Cause she definitely hasn’t.

“Unfortunately I’ve been pretty busy with, you know, the academic part of college.” Paige laughs at Azzi’s question and slightly giggles while she answers. “A couple people tried, but no one stuck. What about you? I saw that guy you went to prom with on your Instagram. What’s up with him?”

Azzi scoffs out of what Paige interprets as disbelief, like she couldn’t believe Paige would even think that. “JD? He’s just a friend. One of his friends was going with Miranda, you know Miranda,” Paige nods along, “and I needed a date, so.” Azzi pauses, swallowing and breathing in for the first time since before she started her explanation. “End of story.”

Paige nods, not really having anything much else to add to the topic. “You look different this year, Az.” Paige admits after a few moments of silence. Not awkward though, it never is with them. At least before now.

“Different?” Azzi repeats, not sure if she heard Paige right. Paige nods and Azzi racks her brain for what she could mean. “Good different or bad different?”

“I dunno.” Paige starts to explain casually. “More - I don’t know - sure of yourself, I guess. Less shy.” Paige looks over at Azzi to see her facial expression which she can’t read. Paige has always prided herself with being perceptive, knowing how people are feeling, but she has no idea what Azzi’s thinking. To clarify, she speaks again, “Or maybe I’m making it all up. It’s been a while since last summer.”

Azzi knows what Paige is saying. She is different, I guess you could say, than last summer. Less scared. I mean, she’s an adult now. She can’t be scared to go to a party or wear a crop top anymore. Or maybe she can. But her friends from back home are very confident that she can’t.

“Azzi?” Paige breaks Azzi’s dissociation. “You in there?” Paige asks, waving a hand in front of Azzi’s wide, brown eyes. “I asked if you wanted to jump off the dock.”

Azzi blinks quickly a few times, bringing herself back to focus at the sound of Paige’s slightly raspy voice. “Yeah, yeah. Sure.” Azzi mumbles out, trying not to stumble over her own feet.

The two girls reach the beach, the sand hitting their feet and sticking to the bottoms of their sandals. “Race you to the dock?” Paige suggests, the little kid competitiveness she never grew out of shining through.

“Oh, you are so on.” Azzi challenges, counting down to three and sprinting like her life depends on it. Just like when they were little.

Some things never change.

Paige reaches the dock first, just like she’s been doing for the past ten years and Azzi groans as she arrives just a few seconds too late. “You’re like five inches taller, this is not fair!” Azzi complains, pouting like she did when she and Paige did this the first time.

As Azzi bends over and catches her breath, her hands falling to her knees and her breaths short and loud, and Paige watches her, hard. The way her chest rises and falls, and her teeny little bikini top poking through more and more with each breath. The way little sweat beads wet her forehead and collarbone before she quickly wipes them away.

But, before Paige can allow herself to get too wrapped up in the brunette, she places her large hands on either side of her shoulders and pushes her into the water.

Azzi lets out a squeal as she falls into the water, clothes on and all, her side hitting the water with a splat.

As she swims back up the surface she pushes a loose curl out of her eye and catches her breath from her unexpected entrance. She pulls a hand up from under the water and flings a big splash of water at Paige, soaking through her white shirt and getting in her eyes.

“Chill, I was gonna get in anyways.” Paige says as she strips her clothes, peeling off her now very wet shirt and dampened shorts. She’s wearing a black bikini, though it’s not as feminine as Azzi’s is. The top is cut with a straight line rather than Azzi’s triangle bikini, the two girls’ personalities showing out in their styles.

Azzi studies her as she strips, and thinks that maybe Paige is the one who seems different this year. She looks at Azzi like she’s never done before, and Azzi smiles wider than she ever had. A year is a long time I guess.

Time to change.

“Throw me your clothes, Az.” Paige offers, holding her arms out to catch Azzi’s drenched clothes. Azzi struggles to unbutton and slide down her shorts while she treads water, her legs being just barely too short to stand in the deep blue water.

Once Azzi’s left in her bikini she throws her clothes up to Paige, who catches both pieces with one hand like it’s nothing, balling them up and lying them next to her clothes.

“Watch out, princess.” Paige warns as she jumps into the cool water, cannonballing and drenching Azzi, if it’s even possible for her to get wetter than she already is.

“God, you’re so annoying, Paige.” Azzi says as she spits water out of her mouth, coughing slightly when Paige comes to the surface.

“Yeah, but you still love me.”

“Can’t seem to figure out why.”

☀︎༄.° two weeks later ☀︎༄.°

Azzi is scrolling on her phone in bed when a knock arrives at her door and she knows who it is even before the blonde strolls into her room.

Cooking book in hand, smug smile on her face, and hair pulled back into a low bun, Paige hangs in Azzi’s door frame, leaning against the wood like she wants something Azzi has.

“Can I… help you, Paige?” Azzi laughs, pressing her phone into her white comforter, shutting away Instagram and zoning into Paige.

“Can you help me bake? I was ‘sposed to make cookies for tonight but I might have burned them. Only like hypothetically, though.” Paige’s cheeks flush, slightly embarrassed with her cooking skills, even if she claims it’s not her fault.

“How do you even mess up cookies? Put the ingredients in, put them in the oven for like 8 minutes and you’re done. They’re like the simplest dessert.”

“Are you gonna gloat or actually help? ‘Cause I can make you eat burnt cookies if you want.”

Azzi pushes herself off her bed, pushing a few empty candy wrappers to the side and brushing off the invisible dust on her tank top. “I’ll help.” Azzi grudgingly agrees. “Only because I’m terrified for what you might make me eat.”

Azzi and Paige wind down the stairs of their beach home, finding their way to the kitchen with giggles and smiles shared between them along the way.

As they arrive, Azzi sees the tray of Paige’s first baking attempt, the ashes falling through the slots of the cooling dish and landing on the marble counter.

“Again, I pose the question: How do you even mess up cookies this badly?” Azzi laughs, not even trying to hide her disbelief with Paige’s… lack of talent, we’ll say.

“I think I forgot a couple things. Like y’know the eggs… and maybe the flour and baking soda.” Paige comes to the conclusion that she forgot at least half of the ingredients and left them in the oven for double the time they needed, but Azzi’s just grateful she didn’t burn the house down.

“Open up that book and find the recipe. Then you're gonna let me tell you what ingredients to get and I’m gonna double and triple check you actually got all of them.” Azzi orders, her voice stern but still partly playful.

“Yes, ma’am.” Paige smirks.

Azzi’s stomach churns. She doesn’t know why.

Paige flips through the old cooking book, its pages yellowed and filled with oily fingerprints from all of the times her and Azzi did this in years past. “We wanna do chocolate chip right?” Paige asks and Azzi nods her head to confirm.

“Alright, I got the page. Oven goes to 375.” Azzi walks over to the silver oven, making a tone out of the beeps as she punches in the numbers to preheat the oven.

Azzi walks back over, Paige’s eyes along with her, and steals the cooking book from Paige. “Go to the pantry and get both sugars, flour, baking soda and powder.” Azzi demands, Paige leaving her side to go get the ingredients.

Paige comes back with the containers balanced on various parts of her body, the large bags of flour held tightly in her oversized hands. Azzi’s watches as her fingers flex from the weight of the bags.

Her stomach continues to churn. Reason still unknown to Azzi.

Azzi’s leaned against one of the set of cabinets, reading the manual for what materials for Paige to get next. “We need vanilla extract and chocolate chips, too.”

Azzi, not realizing she’s in front of the cabinet that holds both of those things, continues to engross herself in the cooking book, mind forgetting Paige and the organization of their kitchen.

Paige, not finding it necessary to ask Azzi to move, reaches her hand over Azzi’s head, her hand meeting the cabinet handle with ease. Paige’s hands are now full with more cooking supplies as she comes down, and Azzi, who still hasn’t realized the precarious position they’re in, is stagnant in her position from earlier.

Paige begins to tip off balance, leaning away from Azzi as to not hit her, but out of sorts from the way she’s leaning. As she starts to slip she quickly lets the bag of chocolate chips drop the counter to free up one of her hands, which falls to Azzi’s bare waist for stability.

“Thanks for moving, princess. Almost knocked me over.” Paige thanks sarcastically, her hand still wrapped around Azzi’s hip bone, her cool hand heating up at the contact with Azzi’s warm skin.

Azzi looks up from her book finally, her eyes first finding Paige’s bright blue eyes, then her pale hand on her, then up to her eyes again. Paige looks deep into Azzi’s brown eyes, staring with some sort of uncertainty and nervousness. Her hand shakes ever so slightly, so minimally that Azzi barely even notices it, goosebumps forming under Paige’s calloused palms.

Neither girl moves, cooking book still in Azzi’s arms, vanilla in Paige’s free hand, slight perplexed smile on both girls' faces. Paige breathes in, her grip on Azzi tightening as she does, not in a harsh way, just like she wants to be closer.

Paige is the first to break the silence: “You’re so pretty, Az. You know that?”

Azzi breathes out shakily, her and Paige’s trance broken and suddenly the silence between them is loud. Uncomfortable.

She can hear the air conditioner purring, the fridge buzzing, her parents talking faintly with Paige’s on the porch on the opposite side of the home.

Azzi’s the first to pull away, Paige’s hand falling to the counter, the contact making a loud ‘slap’ noise as its descent finishes.

“Did you get the stuff?” Azzi asks, ignoring Paige’s compliment and focusing back in on the task at hand.

“Yeah.” Paige says slowly and softly. Her voice has a slight tone of surprise, like she was expecting Azzi to say something different. Or maybe less expecting and more so hoping. “Yeah I got ‘em.”

☀︎༄.° three weeks later ☀︎༄.°

Azzi was shoving a few of her clothes and as many blankets as she could find into her duffel bag as the sky began to turn from a light blue to a deeper navy. The birds were loud, the sun was hot, and the bugs were buzzing, but she didn’t care.

This was always the best part of summer.

One night a summer, the Bueckers and Fudds slept under the stars, sometimes in tents if it was raining, but no matter what: the last day of the vacation, this was their tradition.

The kids played a game of flag football that grew much too competitive much too quickly and the adults played cornhole and sipped on their beers.

Tim and Bob self identify themselves as chefs, and cook every typical barbecue food you could think of, and nothing more than a grain is ever left over.

The beach house sat atop a hill, the backyard stretching at least three acres, with a clear path down to the beach that was just their own, until their younger neighbors tried to sneak in occasionally.

Azzi loved the privacy: loved feeling like she had a place that was just her own, and her family’s of course.

As Azzi finished packing in an extra pair of socks, Paige walked in through the open door, her navy backpack slung over her newly tanned shoulder.

Paige’s bright red, burned skin finally turned to a tan, her pale skin never tanning easily. Like clockwork, Paige gets a near third degree burn halfway through the summer when she’s decided “sunscreen isn’t for her” and everyone else groans, knowing they’re in for at least a week of her complaining after.

“Do you know if it’s supposed to rain tonight? Your dad was asking if we should grab the tents.”

Azzi shook her head, knowing her weather app told her there was a 0% chance from when she checked earlier. “Just bring our sleeping bags from the laundry room. I’ll be out in a second.”

Paige nods, leaving Azzi to zip up her bag and turn off her lights. The kids made a rule years ago, much too outdated at this point to still be following, that they couldn’t bring phones, and once outside, they couldn’t go back in. Hence, sleeping in a gross tent rather than in their warm, more importantly, roofed, beds.

The families piled in outside, throwing their bags and blankets to the couches on the back porch and leaving to go set up the games. Azzi shook the can of washable spray paint in her hand, drawing poor wavy lines in the grass to make a makeshift field with a halfway line and some uneven end zones.

The teams had been the same as long as Azzi could remember, and once Drew, Paige’s much younger brother, was born, he just joined in with Paige, not really being old enough to contribute anyways.

Azzi played a quick game of rock-paper-scissors with Jose, the boy winning the game and awarding himself the position on offense. He stood behind Jon, who held the football in his hands, bent over and ready to throw.

Jon threw the ball to Jose, who caught it with ease. Jon ran out into the field waiting for Jose to pass it back, Paige sticking to him like glue, her tall figure towering over his. Azzi instructed Drew to count to five and then run over to Jose and pull his flag.

Drew counted softly, Azzi holding him in place as he counted to five in less than two seconds. “You little cheater.” Azzi teased before letting him go after a real count of five.

Drew chased after Jose, trying to pull at his red flag. Jose managed to pull himself away from Drew, throwing a rushed pass to Jon near the halfcourt line. Jon threw himself forwards in an attempt to catch the pass, pushing Paige over with him and both of them toppling to the ground.

They both fell to the hard dirt with a bit of a groan, the grass not very forgiving after it’d been run around on and mowed so many times. Azzi rushed over to Paige, Jon already being helped up by Drew. Paige sat up slowly, lifting her shirt up at the hem to see if a bruise was forming.

Azzi watched intently at the reveal of skin, irritated but not purpled yet. Azzi saw a flash of Paige’s soft ab lines, the ones that had seemed to distract her all summer long. Azzi offered her hand out to Paige, the older girl accepting with a slight grimace.

She stood up with ease to Azzi’s relief, and let her shirt fall out of her grasp as she did. “Don’t worry, Az. I’m good.” Paige responded before Azzi could even ask, seeing a look of worry painted across her face.

“Second down!”

The girls, finally out of breath and sweating, too tired to keep going in their football game, take to the porch where their dads are calling out frantically that dinner is ready and that they have to “rush over before their burgers burn.”

Jon and Jose sprint over, pushing each other as they do so, trying to get first pick for their dinner. Azzi and Paige take their time, Paige’s arm casually swung over Azzi’s shoulder, giggling in her ear about how badly they beat Azzi’s brothers.

They both grab their paper plates, filling them up with various dishes: corn, mac and cheese, hot dogs - the barbecue basics.

As they take their seats, the girls waste no time before digging into their meals, Azzi messily biting into her ketchup drenched hamburger. As she pulls her food away from her mouth, a swatch of ketchup stays on the corner of her lip, accentuated even more when she looks over to Paige who’s laughing at her.

“What are you laughing for, weirdo?” Azzi teases, slapping Paige on the bicep playfully.

Paige, not seeing a need for explanation, leans in closer to Azzi, her hand finding the crook of Azzi’s neck and her thumb caressing the corner of her plump lips.

Her thumb swipes the ketchup out of the slit, before bringing it to her own mouth and licking it off.

“Ew!” Azzi exclaims. “Paige, that’s disgusting.” She continues to complain. “You are such a child, my God.”

Paige just chuckles, her stomach beginning to hurt from laughing for so long. “Shut it, princess.”

Eventually the night slows down, the clear sky starting to form bright stars and the families setting up for bed. People’s t-shirts were replaced with hoodies, for the most part, which all had “Silver Lake” plastered across the chest or the sleeve, another one of their traditions.

“Paige, will you throw me my sleeping bag?” Azzi asks as she throws her curly locs into a bun above her head. She forgot to pack her bonnet, so a simple high bun will have to do.

Azzi watches as Paige pushes through the pile of sleeping bags, looking for the ones she brought for herself and Azzi, however she comes back up with a guilty and embarrassed face.

“I… may have grabbed the big sleeping bag and thought I grabbed two.” Paige scratches her head, holding up the queen sized sleeping bag and pointing to the otherwise bare couch cushions, all the other sleeping bags already claimed.

“Whatever, it’s fine. Jon is totally gonna kill me if I go back inside to get it.” Azzi sighs. “I swear, Bueckers,” Azzi points, but Paige cuts her off before she can continue.

“One of these days I’m gonna kill you. Yeah I know.” Paige rolls her eyes having heard that phrase spoken by Azzi a few times more than one.

Paige and Azzi drag their sleeping bag out to the top of the hill, near the path to the beach, like they’d always done. Paige takes off her t-shirt, crawling into the sleeping bag in just her shorts and sports bra.

She catches Azzi watching her, her eyes not watching her face but her figure and how it moves. “You good over there, Az?” Paige asks, trying to swallow back the smile that is tempting to form on her face.

“Just get in the bag, Bueckers.”

Paige obliges and Azzi follows, doing the same. Azzi lies facing the opposite direction of Paige, their backs grazing but not pressing against each other.

“Good night, Az.”

“Night, P.”

It’s silent outside, all animals have gone to bed, even the annoying hummingbirds that always seem to want to bother Azzi while she sleeps. Jon and Jose are fast asleep, as are Paige and Azzi’s parents. The stars still shine and they seem to be the only thing awake at this ungodly hour.

Oh, and Paige along with them.

She stirs in her sleeping bag, not wanting to move too much as to wake Azzi up, but unable to find a comfortable position.

Around two hours have passed, it’s probably a little past one in the morning and Paige has officially given up. Sitting up in her sleeping bag and pushing her pillow behind her, to the back of the tent, she breathes in loudly.

No movement from Azzi.

Paige clicks her tongue to the roof of her mouth, trying to be obnoxiously loud.

Still, Azzi sleeps silently.

Paige leans down to Azzi’s shoulder, blowing on the crevice between her neck and jaw, hoping the breath of air will jolt the curly head away.

Still, nothing.

Paige rolls her eyes and gives in, tapping Azzi on the shoulder and watching as her eyes flutter open, turning towards the blonde.

“What the fuck, Paige.” Azzi groans, rubbing her eyes open and sitting up, knowing she’s now gonna be unable to fall back asleep.

“I can’t sleep.” Paige explains, not making eye contact with Azzi and fidgeting with her fingers.

“Tough luck. Go on a walk or something.” Azzi complains, annoyed with Paige for taking away her precious sleep.

“Let’s go to the beach.” Paige blurts, watching as Azzi turns to her with an annoyed look.

“No way, Paige. My mom would kill me. It’s also, not sure if you’ve realized or not… but the middle of the god damn night.”

“C’mon Azzi, it won’t kill you. Let’s have some fun. It’s our last night together for a while.”

Azzi stirs in her position, contemplating if she’s actually going to agree to this or not. She knows she’s not gonna be getting back to sleep anytime soon, but it’s also basically the witching hour and though she won’t admit it to anyone, Azzi never really got over her fear of the dark.

Azzi knows Paige does have a point. She probably won’t see her until at least winter break, minimum, after this and she doesn’t really want them arguing about who gets to go back to sleep to be their parting memory.

“Alright, fine. But we’re coming back quickly and going so quietly that we won’t even wake up a fly.”

Paige nods, already agreeing in the silent part that Azzi wants her to oblige to and starts to stand up. She pushes her sandals over her feet and throws Azzi her flip flops from beside her hoodie.

The two girls tip toe out of bed, sneaking past their families and suddenly very grateful they chose to put their sleeping bags so close to the beach path. They start down the trail, not saying much until they’re excessively far away from the house and their families.

“What are you thinking about?” Azzi ponders aloud, reading through Paige easily. She’s still whispering, though she’s not sure who she’s trying to stay quiet for.

“How do you know I’m thinking about something?” Paige challenges back.

“‘Cause it’s the only time you can’t sleep. Otherwise you’d be keeping me awake with your snoring.”

“I do not snore!”

“Oh, yes you most certainly do.” Azzi giggles, recalling the annoying, yet somehow fond, memories of Paige keeping her awake and forcing her to go sleep in a different room with the soft sound of her snores.

“Whatever. I wasn't thinking about anything. Just couldn't sleep, ‘dunno why.”

“Liar. But I'm not pushing because I’m still barely awake.”

At this point, the girls are walking on the beach, sand curling between their toes as Paige directs them forwards towards the ocean rather than turning so they can walk further in the sand.

“Paige Madison, we are not swimming in this lake right now.” Azzi looks over to Paige, abandoning her whispers and talking, more like scolding, at a normal level.

“C’mon princess, lighten up a little bit. We used to do it all the time.”

“Swim at night?” Paige nods. “Uh huh. Usually while the time has a PM after it, though.” Azzi fights back stubbornly, still not wanting to allow herself to give in.

“Neither of us even have suits on.”

Paige plasters a knowing look on her face and Azzi immediately allows her lips to draw a face of fear. “No way. I’m not going skinny dipping right now. This has not gone well in any horror movie and I don't want a true crime documentary made after us.”

“Alright, well I’m getting in. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Paige pauses as her and Azzi get further and further onto the dock. “But, please don’t make me swim by myself.”

Paige pouts, jutting out her bottom lip and tilting her head slightly at Azzi. Even in the dark, dimly lit sky, Azzi can see the sparkle in her bright blue eyes and can feel herself giving in bit by bit.

Azzi sighs, dropping her shoulders in silent agreement and beginning to strip her clothes. She watches as Paige rids herself of her clothes first. First her basketball shorts, then her sports bra, and finally her boxers. Azzi watches with intent, sucked into the vortex that is Paige Bueckers.

Azzi follows in the undressing task, going slowly while Paige climbs down the ladder and into the water that’s only gotten warmer along with the summer air. Azzi strips herself of her athletic shorts and underwear, then her maroon hoodie, and finally her teal bra.

Paige has to stop herself from letting her jaw drop as she watches Azzi unclasp the bright colored bra. It pairs so well with her dark, tanned skin, and Paige can’t help but find herself glad Azzi can’t see her expression.

Once Paige is off the ladder and Azzi is bare, the brunette starts her own descent down the ladder, climbing down slowly, inadvertently teasing an already flustered Paige.

Azzi suddenly has a realization that she should have had before she agreed to get into the water, or when she undressed, or even before she submerged herself in the deep water.

She can’t stand here. Her feet touch the sandy ocean floor and the water sucks in her mouth and nose along with it, her eyes and forehead barely protruding through the water’s surface.

“I can’t stand, Paige.” Azzi groans as she swims her body back to the ladder, beginning to tread water along the way. “I’m getting out. We’re going back.”

“No way, we just got here. I’m not walking half a mile back after not even being in here for a minute.”

“Alright, well that’s great for you, but I’m not treading water for half an hour, so you can walk back on your own.” Azzi’s already begun to start climbing back up the ladder when Paige blurts it out.

“Just c’mere.”

Azzi turns around while on the ladder, half of her body freezing in the cool air and the other half still covered by the water. “Excuse me?”

“Swim over here. I’ll hold you.”

A look of bewilderment and disbelief is painted on Azzi’s face because… what?

“Are you crazy? I don’t have a bathing suit on, Paige! That’s weird, even for us.” Azzi adds the last part, knowing that even for a decade-long friendship, that’s a bit much.

“How long have we known each other Az? Ten years. It’s nothing I haven't seen before. I promise. Just let me have a good last swim here. Preferably not alone.”

Azzi’s never been able to say no to her. Never in their ten years has she ever learned how to not give in to Paige, how to look away from her warm eyes and decline whatever ridiculous thing she wants from her.

Azzi, sighing once more, climbing back down the ladder and swimming over to Paige, her curly bun fallen down her back, hair tie sunk underneath the water, never to be seen again.

Azzi wraps her arms around Paige’s shoulders, her fingers intertwining at the nape of Paige’s neck, bumping the bottom of her low, messy bun.

Paige brushes the bare skin of Azzi’s thigh, wrapping one leg around her waist, Azzi bringing the other to match by herself.

They both know this is weird. They both know this isn’t something friends do. But neither of them are moving. And neither of them seem to be disgusted with the other.

Paige tries to ignore the fact that she can feel Azzi’s clit against the skin below her navel.

Paige tries to ignore the fact that she can feel Azzi’s nipples, hardened from the cool air, palming her own chest.

Paige tries to keep her eyes locked on Azzi’s, and Azzi tries to do the same, but both girls are failing miserably, their eye contact growing weighted and heavy.

They just stand there for a few minutes, Azzi wrapped around Paige with care and Paige holding her up with ease. They both study the night sky, the stars rendering a beautiful picture above their heads.

It seems impossible, but the girls seemed to have grown closer than before Paige first picked up Azzi. Azzi seems to be more pressed into Paige’s stomach, and Paige’s hands have seemed to travel closer to Azzi’s ass from their former placement on her thighs.

Azzi meets Paige’s eyes, this time firmly locked on hers, and they both just stare. They have the same expression mirrored on either side of each other, salacious and hungry, yet also fearful. Both girls seem to shake a little with each breath before Paige finally speaks.

At a whisper so low that Azzi can barely make out the words, Paige breathes out, “Can I kiss you?”

Azzi just looks deeper into Paige’s eyes, trying to stop herself from letting her eyes flicker down to Paige’s lips. But she can’t.

Like she physically can’t.

So she leans in, pulling Paige’s head closer to her with the hand around her neck, and slots their lips together. Paige tastes faintly of salt and vanilla, probably from the chapstick she’s always applying and Azzi can’t get enough of it.

Azzi kisses her like she’s starved and Paige kisses her back just the same. They breathe into each other, chests pressing further and further into each other as they do so, voracious and needy.

Their senses are heightened from their bare states, no skin of Azzi’s left untouched as Paige’s hands begin to wander around Azzi’s shaky body.

The two girls only pull away occasionally to catch their breaths, like they can’t take a second away from each other’s lips.

Paige is infatuated with the way Azzi tastes: better than she ever could have imagined.

Paige slips her left hand out from under Azzi’s thigh, catching the little drop with her right forearm, which is now laid out under Azzi’s ass.

Paige’s left hand slides up between their chests, palming one of Azzi’s breasts, earning her a quiet whimper from the curly head. Its noise is swallowed by Paige’s mouth, but all that does is urge Paige on more.

Her hand continues to graze across Azzi’s body, pinching her nipples, and Paige grows more and more hungry with each soft moan from Azzi’s mouth. Paige is in utter disbelief with how pretty Azzi sounds and she can’t imagine she’s gone so long without being serenaded by its sound.

Paige’s kisses begin to trail down Azzi’s jaw and quickly find her neck, Azzi mindlessly tilting her head so Paige has more area to work. Paige’s tongue touches every inch of Azzi’s neck, trying to find the places to suck on that make Azzi go mad, and trying to memorize them for later.

Without even realizing she’s doing it, Azzi begins to slightly push herself onto Paige’s stomach, trying to give herself some relief against the ridges of Paige’s abs.

Paige quickly realizes what Azzi is doing and is grateful to see that she seems just as needy as Paige is right now.

At the same time Paige finds a particularly sensitive spot towards Azzi’s collarbone, Azzi catches her clit on just the right part of Paige’s stomach and she lets out a loud moan as Paige sucks the skin and lets it go with a ‘pop’.

“Do you need me, Azzi?” Paige whispers against Azzi’s neck.

Azzi nods promptly, forgetting about embarrassing herself and being consumed by the need pulsing inside her.

Azzi feels Paige smirk against her neck as she kisses back up from her neck to her lips and continues to play with her chest.

Paige positions her right arm, the one that’s balancing and holding Azzi up, so that she can reach where Azzi needs her the most.

Paige wastes no time, beginning to draw slow, tantalizing circles over Azzi’s clit, and Azzi begins to melt like putty into Paige’s hands. She can’t silence the pathetic noises that are coming out of her mouth and she can’t help her want for more.

She presses herself further down into the pads of Paige’s fingers, wanting, scratch that, needing more pressure from the blonde.

“Fuck Paige-” Azzi murmurs out, her words coming out jumbled and broken up, Paige removing her ability to form coherent words.

Paige shifts her hand down from Azzi’s clit to the bottom of her lips, her finger splitting them open and taking a dive into the wetness.

Azzi’s slick mixes with the lake water around them and while water surrounds them, Paige knows the slick her fingers are feeling is not that kind of wetness.

“Holy shit-” Paige murmurs, in disbelief with Azzi and herself for how wet she is. “You this soaked or is it the lake?” Paige asks, though she already knows the answer.

“Jesus-” Azzi whimpers out, unable to breathe properly. “It’s for you, P.” Azzi admits, squirming under Paige’s touch, desperate for any kind of contact from the blonde.

“For me, huh?” Paige gloats, never missing a chance to feed her own ego. Paige traces her finger around Azzi’s wetness, gathering it with her fingers and dragging it along her center.

Azzi twitches as Paige drags the slick up to her clit and presses deep on either side of the sensitive bud. “Paige… fuck- just-” Azzi tries, she really tries to get her words out, but she chokes on her own moans and can’t take the throbbing much longer.

“What do you need, princess?” Paige taunts, her movements getting slower and softer, her kisses still peppering down Azzi’s neck.

“You.” Azzi manages, chasing Paige’s fingers as they move slowly, trying to press herself down harshly.

“You already have me.” Paige smiles against Azzi’s skin, knowing that’s not what she meant.

Before Azzi can open her mouth to clarify more or to protest, Paige shoves her fingers inside Azzi’s center, pumping them in and out slowly to start, but gaining more urgency as she goes for longer.

The harsher she presses down, the louder Azzi is for her, and Paige has never been so turned on in her life. Azzi is a jumbled mess. The only words she can get out are broken swears and “please”, though she doesn’t even know what she’s asking for.

“Paige-” Azzi pleads out, grinding down on Paige’s fingers as she strives for the release she’s hungry for. “My god.”

“Say my name again, Az. Say it again for me.” Paige asks, though she’s not really asking, more so demanding.

Azzi obliges and lets out another string of curses as well as a moan that Paige makes out to have her name written underneath the breathy sounds.

“You’re-” Azzi pauses to swallow and tries to breathe. “Fuck, you feel so good, P.” At this point, Azzi’s nearly blacked out. She barely knows what she’s saying, just mumbling out whatever comes to her brain and letting herself be handled by Paige.

“You’re doing so good, Azzi. So good for me.” Paige whispers into Azzi’s ear, the sensual tone making Azzi more needy and starved for Paige’s touch.

A few more minutes pass, and Azzi can’t stay like this forever. Her movements have become completely broken up and she’s a mess. Her hair is flipped over to one side, and Paige is still moving with the same urgency.

Her head is thrown back and Paige is still attacking her neck, leaving marks she’s sure will still be there in the morning.

“I can’t… last much longer, P.” Azzi groans out, her words so broken that Paige can barely understand what she’s trying to say.

“It’s okay, Az. Let go for me. Let me feel you.” Paige slows her words at the last part, trying to make herself sound more sensual and less nervous than she really is.

With that, Azzi taps out, leaning into Paige as she collapses, Paige’s movements not slowing until Azzi’s fully come down.

Even under the water, Paige can feel the shaking of Azzi’s legs, and with Azzi leaning right into her ear, the pretty sounds she’s making are louder than ever.

Paige feels herself growing wetter with every moan from Azzi and every whisper of her name.

“Oh my god… fuck-” Azzi moans out with her climax, too spent to be ashamed of how loud she is at this point.

Paige works her through it, her fingers still pumping, harder than ever, as Azzi continues to shake and press into her shoulder.

Eventually, Paige’s movements slow and she slowly pulls her fingers out of Azzi. Her hands return to their previous position on either side of Azzi’s thighs, a much more stable way to hold her, as she leans in for a kiss to her lips.

This time it’s slower, less rushed. Less hungry and needy. But there’s still a hint of that underneath: Paige now desperate for a relief of her own.

They kiss slowly for a few moments, Azzi catching her breath against Paige’s lips and readjusting to the silence she created with the halt of her whimpers.

After a while of their chaste kisses, they heat back up again, this time Azzi initiating the harshness of it all. She starts to explore Paige’s mouth like it’s a piece of art she’s trying to memorize and store for later, and Paige just lets it happen.

She lets Azzi control what’s happening, hoping if she lets this happen, she’ll get the same release Azzi did.

But Azzi’s not as quick moving as Paige, she likes to take her time getting to know Paige deeper. Her lips tattoo the skin of Paige’s neck and chest and Paige groans, partially out of pleasure, and partially out of frustration with Azzi’s pace.

Not being able to take it anymore, Paige tightly grips Azzi’s hand from behind her neck and slides it down her stomach. Azzi traces Paige’s abs along the way before she gets down to Paige’s wetness, and even then, she goes painfully slow.

She immediately inserts a finger inside Paige, but the one isn’t enough, and she’s going so slow that Paige barely feels anything except a little pressure.

“You’re killing me, Az.” Paige complains, though the whimper at the end of her sentence tells Azzi that annoyance isn’t the only thing in her tone. “You’ve gotta let me feel good.” Paige pleads.

“But I am making you feel good.” Azzi whispers innocently, tilting her head with a bit of a mischievous grin. “Patience, P.”

Patience is something Paige has never had, and now is definitely not the time she’s going to acquire it. She takes a hand out from under Azzi and reaches it down to her own clit, circling it with urgency and finally getting some relief: the kind Azzi’s refusing her of.

Azzi quickly notices and pushes Paige’s hand away, much to Paige’s chagrin. “That bad, really?” Azzi teases. “Fine.”

Azzi shrugs before pounding three of her fingers into Paige, the inside of her wrist palming Paige’s clit as she does so.

Paige is so worked up that she barely lasts two minutes of this, her body surrendering to Azzi quickly.

“Fuck.. Azzi…” Azzi cuts Paige’s babble off with a kiss. She can already tell Paige is about to unravel for her.

Azzi swallows the moans that pour out of Paige’s mouth, smiling as she does so. She finally slows her fingers when Paige seems to stop her shaking and calm down slightly.

Azzi can’t believe Paige managed to hold both of them up while doing that, and she sits back for a moment before realizing that she can’t believe what just happened as a whole.

As Paige finally comes back to Earth, she seems to have the same realization as Azzi. Both of them looking at each other with concerned looks on their faces.

“I- I’m sorry.” Paige is the first to speak. “I wasn’t trying to… do this when I woke you up. I promise.” Azzi can tell the statement is genuine, and she knows Paige too well to think that’s something she would do.

“Don’t apologize.” Azzi breathes out, Paige sighing a sigh of relief at her response.

It’s silent again, Paige still holding them up as they look into each other’s eyes, trying to get a sense of what just happened.

“Did that mean something, P?” Azzi questions, asking what she knew Paige was wondering too.

Paige sucks in a deep breath of the cool air before answering with a look of sincerity. “Yeah. I ’dunno, Azzi. I’ve been tryna’ read you all summer.”

“I love you.” Azzi blurts out and though the girls have been saying that for years, it carries a different weight now. And Paige knows that. She can tell in the way Azzi refuses to meet her gaze after she says it.

Paige pulls Azzi into another slow kiss, this one pure and wholesome in a way their others weren’t. “I lov-” Paige starts but Azzi quickly interrupts.

“I knew. I know.”

A beat of playful silence waves over the two girls. Paige joking rolls her eyes, accompanied with a large smile as she lets go of Azzi and swims closer to the ladder slowly. Azzi peels herself away from Paige's hips and follows behind, both of their legs sore, lips swollen, and necks bruised with kisses.

After Paige and Azzi have dried themselves off as best as they could without towels, Paige circles back. “You knew? And you made me wait all summer for you to say something?”

Azzi grins a little while nodding, chuckling at herself as she does so.

“You are so fucking infuriating.” Paige crosses her arms jokingly.

“Am I? Do you remember the lake about three minutes ago or?”

“Oh, I could say the exact same for you, Azzi.” Paige challenges back.

Paige stumbles over something rough at her feet, a pile of towels someone had left on the beach from the day prior. She leans down to pick two of them up and hands one to the girl beside her.

Ignoring their theft, they wrap their bodies in the stolen towels and Paige reaches down to grab Azzi’s hand.

They walk back to their families and sleeping bags with wide grins and fingers intertwined, the moon smiling down at them as they walk.

Long time coming.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics #pazzi fanfiction #pazzi smut #uconn wbb #wbb #wnba #dallas wings

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revelboo · 3 days ago

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Saw this awesome costume on Twitter and it reminded me of ur new tfa waspinator story :>

What would readers costume be like? Love your content btw :33

Oh, my goodness that’s so cool! I figure reader has an antenna head band, a foam thorax with a stinger attached with a belt and iridescent wings with backpack style straps and face paint- nothing this elaborate 🤣

Shitpost incoming: 🔞 mass displaced mech 🌶️ CW: fem reader, physical pregancy, bugnancy, ugly puppy royally screwed up

Mistakes

Waspinator x Reader

• Face tipped up into the spray of the little shower the Autobots had rigged up for you as you scrub honey scented shampoo into your hair, you’re rocked forward as Waspinator joins you and wraps his arms around you from behind and you feel the heat of his spike against the middle of your back. Clingier than normal ever since he’d tried to ‘spark’ you and it had backfired on him. You still haven’t quite come to terms with the fact that he’s weird, alien energy pregnant. Better him than you, though. Can’t believe he’d tried to spark you without actually talking about it. Well. Actually, you can. He’s not really much in the way of impulse control.

• Clawed hands palming your belly to pull you back into him, his mandibles tease your damp hair. And when you turn, he catches your chin and kisses you, glossa stealing inside to make your scent shift for him as your breathing hitches and the soft hands that were about to push him away draw him closer instead. Feels guilty for taking advantage of the way you react to him when he does this to you, but you’re slicker, uninhibited and needy when he kisses you. Cupping your butt and helping you hoist yourself up, legs wrapping around his waist and the sides of your soft feet sliding against the top of his thorax as he pins you and lines himself up. “Little mate,” he groans, sinking into you.

• He freaking drugged you again, know it even as you cup his face and your mouth crashes against his. Feeling like you’re nothing but heat and need as he moves inside you and it’s addictive. Head falling back against the back of the shower as he thrusts urgently inside you, your shoulders and head sliding against the wall with every deep drive. “Just like that,” you moan, that tide building inside you with shocking quickness as you buck against him, squirming restlessly. “Don’t stop.” Gasping when you come apart and he keeps going, hips rocking until he hisses and drives deep. Feel the heat of him overloading inside you. And his plating shifts, spark snaring you as you climax again. Tangled in him and confused as something pulls and his mouth is on yours again. And you give in to the pull, shivering as he overloads again with a groan.

• Everything becomes a haze of need as he hauls you out of your little wash rack and to your shared berth. Mouth on yours again as you laugh against him while he’s trying to mound pillows for you, pulling out only long enough to lay you down on your belly, hips propped up and then he’s inside you again, rutting into your silken heat. Thinking about sparking you again. Needing it. You’d sparked him the last time he’d tried and the time before, it hadn’t taken. Thought it had, then couldn’t sense the sparkling. Wants you with his young, to see you cradling a sparkling. Hips pumping as you push back to meet him with urgent gasps and whimpers, he’s moving faster against you, wings flaring out.

• Fingers clawing at the blankets as he overloads again, hips grinding against you before he’s hissing and pulling out. “Wasp,” you whine in protest, trembling and needing more. The aphrodisiac in his saliva stringing you tight. Turning you into an addict for the feel of him inside you. And when he’s pressing back inside you, something’s different. He’s thicker, feel the faint burn of him stretching you and he’s barely moving inside you, feeling like you’re almost being dragged and pushed by his shallow thrusts. “What?” You slur, wanting to ask what he’s doing as he bends so his back brushes yours and he’s snaring you again, his spark pulling you under as his hips keep moving in slow, hard surges that press you into the pillows under you. Hear him groaning, hissing and pressure. Feeling something push into you. And again as his warmth and heat sink into you, cocoon you in him. Again and you relax into the weird sensation.

• Growling, wings flicking as he fills you, he drapes himself against you, coaxing urgently and feeling your confused alarm. His own confusion tangling with yours. Because he’s not entirely sure what he just did, only that he needed to. Pulling free to make you whimper, the loss when he severs the connection with his spark aches through him. Staring at your spread thighs as you tremble and he realizes what he did. Tensing because he knows you’re going to be upset. And you’re unresisting, sprawled on your belly, thighs shivering and slick with his release. Antenna tucking back when you don’t yell at him. “Did you just fucking lay eggs in me?” You ask, voice soft and even more terrifying than if you’d been yelling.

• “I’m not even religious,” Ratchet growls staring at the readout on his scanner. “And I’m deeply offended by this blasphemy.” When Waspinator had run into Medbay with his naked mate dripping his slick and freaking out that he’d laid eggs inside his little human, Ratchet was fairly certain it couldn’t get worse. How could it? After scanning the human, though, he stands corrected. “You’re sparked.” He says, head lifting to glower at Waspinator. Who’d backed up the wall and now has his aft wedged in a corner on the ceiling. “You’re also sparked,” he adds and the human doesn’t react, staring at absolutely nothing. “I’m not sure how that’s going to interact with your human pregnancy.” And your head turns to just stare at him. ‘I’m not pregnant. I haven’t been with anyone but him,’ you say slowly. How? How is this mess now his problem and how has that little idiot managed to impregnate you with a hybrid when it shouldn’t be possible? Venting raggedly, he stares at the scanner and considers throwing it. Resigning as CMO and letting someone else deal with this. “Those eggs are apparently viable, as well.” Flinching when you just start laughing, the sound high and hysterical, tears running down your face as Waspinator whines and cowers on the ceiling. He’s not getting compensated enough for this idiocy. “Congratulations?”

#transformers x reader #waspinator x reader #Waspinator #valveplug

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carlislefiles · 8 days ago

Text

closer | fushiguro megumi, geto suguru, gojo satoru, ino takuma, kamo choso, nanami kento, sukuna ryomen, yuuji itadori ╰►they don’t just want to know you—they want to get closer, piece by piece, moment by moment. every shared glance, every quiet habit learned, every soft gesture is a step toward something deeper. these are the ways they draw near when words aren’t enough. 7.1k words

a/n: guys, bear with me...is this too cringe? I'm all about being cringe, but this might just be too far, even for me. let me know........also, reader is not giving very self-insert here. sorry if that makes it unenjoyable to read, but I kind of like to give “reader” her own little personality. relationships are unique, including these ones. warnings: cussing, food/eating habits and negative relationship with food (only in nanami's), kissing. thanks for reading!! enjoy <3

he doesn’t even know when it started. the convergence of your interests. megumi wouldn’t call it that, anyway. he’d call it “noticing.” observing. being aware. that’s just his job, right? to be aware of things. aware of you. but really, it’s always been like this. he’s always been like this—with you, at least. long before the word dating was ever said. long before you ever called him yours. he called you his in his head all the time, not that he’d ever admit it. not even under threat of death. or worse—under gojo’s teasing.

you were friends for a long time. the kind of long that feels inevitable. he thought you were cool, quiet, competent—like him, but also, nothing like him at all. you kept your head even when his was spinning. you smiled through things he barely had the patience to endure. and still, somehow, you found time to ask what kind of music he liked.

"I don't know,” he said the first time you asked. you rolled your eyes and handed him a headphone. he remembers the exact song. the way the guitar came in soft, how the singer’s voice cracked on the second verse. you tapped your fingers against your thigh. he sat completely still. he still listens to that band when you’re not around. it doesn’t make him miss you less.

he never liked airpods. too easy to lose. too fancy. not personal enough. no tangibility to them. so he still uses the string headphones—the ones you used to share, tangled shoulder to shoulder in the back of ijichi’s car or on the train into the city. he’d pretend to be annoyed by how close you were. he never was. he still keeps them in his backpack. they’re fraying a little at the connector, but they work fine. he doesn’t like how separate airpods make things. no cord. no anchor. he liked when you had to lean in. liked when your shoulders bumped. liked when you’d turn to look at him, mouthing the lyrics like it was a secret only the two of you knew.

your music taste is—well, if you ask him, it's ridiculous. erratic. unstable. you’d go from hyperpop to sad piano instrumentals in the span of an hour. sometimes painfully upbeat, sometimes so slow and tragic it makes him wonder if you’re okay. but he listens anyway. memorizes the names of the artists on your playlists.

your room is the unofficial hangout room now. it's warm in a way most places aren’t. full of yellow light and dusty old posters and music that never really stops. megumi never says it, but it smells like you. feels like you. yuuji flops down on the couch, screams the lyrics to the wrong part of the song, and megumi threatens to kill him every time, but never actually kicks him out. not unless you're not there to laugh about it.

the cd player in the corner? he found it on a whim—some thrift store downtown. he thought it looked like something you'd like. vintage. a little scratched, but charming. like the kind of thing you'd insist has "character." it didn’t even come with a remote, and he had to clean the lens with a q-tip, but your face when you unwrapped it? worth it. he’d do it again a thousand times. he keeps a list on his phone. hidden in a folder named after something boring—like homework notes—but it’s really just your favorite songs. things you’ve mentioned once in passing. albums you’ve said you wanted to find on vinyl. posters you looked at online but didn’t buy. stuff he’s planning on getting you one day when you’re not looking.

sometimes he ducks into record stores, pretending to just be killing time. he’s not. he’s always on a mission. band shirts. concert flyers. weird little pins and patches. things he’ll pretend are for him, but that you’ll “borrow” and never give back. you’ve got one of his shirts from a band you love but he insists he doesn’t even listen to. you wear it to bed. he doesn’t ask for it back. he wouldn’t dare.

you once told him music feels like a memory. and now you’re everywhere in his. you on the sidewalk, your hand brushing his as you walk. a glittery pop song bouncing in your earbuds. you in the train station, humming something old and dreamy while you wait. you in your room, dancing barefoot, arms up, eyes closed. you in the middle of chaos, sitting beside him, one headphone in each ear, a quiet song threading between you like a secret.

you are soft melodies and quiet lyrics. you are sound and silence. you are everything he listens for. and if you ever ask him why he knows the words to that obscure b-side from an indie band you loved in middle school, he’ll just shrug. “you played it a lot,” he’ll say. he won’t say: you’re my favorite song.

suguru has always admired quiet intelligence. the kind that hums beneath the surface, unshowy and sincere. he’s drawn to it instinctively, like a moth to a soft, flickering light. so when he meets you, that’s what he sees first—your mind. and it wrecks him in the gentlest way possible.

it starts innocently. libraries, museums, long walks with conversations that spiral into history, literature, philosophy. you speak in fully formed thoughts, but never to impress. you’re not trying to win anyone over. you simply love learning. and he, already enamored, finds himself craving your thoughts like oxygen.

when he visits your apartment for the first time, he’s stunned. not by grandeur, but by the sheer volume—books, everywhere. stacks balanced precariously on counters, dog-eared novels on the nightstand, paperbacks splayed open over chair arms, annotated hardcovers with coffee rings staining the corners. fiction and nonfiction, ancient epics and modern romances. worlds pressed between covers. it’s a home that lives and breathes. and in it, you—curled up on the floor with a novel half-finished, unaware of how magnetic it is to him, the way you’re so fully transported.

you read constantly. in coffee shops with earbuds in, at the park stretched out on the grass, on hikes with your shoes kicked off beside a lake, at the kitchen counter with a mug in hand. there’s always a book tucked under your arm or poking out of your bag. always a world you’re halfway through. he doesn’t know how you do it—two, sometimes three books a week—but he doesn’t question it either. you don’t read to impress anyone. you read because you must. because your soul demands it. and geto finds it breathtaking. he starts watching you, more than he means to. the way your brow furrows at dense paragraphs, the way you softly mouth certain sentences, as if tasting them. the hush in your touch as you turn a page. you don’t just consume stories—you commune with them. and quietly, without fanfare, geto begins to follow.

he asks about your favorites once, offhandedly. feigns a casual curiosity. what books made you who you are? you list them slowly, with that thoughtful precision he admires so much—wuthering heights, middlemarch, the count of monte cristo, a dozen more.

later that week, he finds them all. used copies with cracked spines and soft covers. he reads them one by one. slowly, carefully, like they’re holy relics. and every time, without fail, he sees you in them. in the softness of elizabeth bennet’s wit. in the aching loneliness of heathcliff. in the slow, righteous fire of edmond dantès. even when he doesn’t agree with the character, he understands you through them. sometimes, he borrows directly from your shelves. he prefers those. books that have passed through your hands already. books that still carry the imprint of you—your looping handwriting in the margins, little question marks, circled words, lines drawn between paragraphs like you’re mapping emotional terrain. there are sticky notes pressed between pages, phrases underlined, whole sections bracketed with commentary that leaves him reeling. you scribble things like this destroyed me or he deserved better or the most romantic line in the whole book. sometimes you draw—stars in the corners, little flowers beside the titles, smiley faces during happy endings. he never marks the books himself. he wants your voice preserved. untouched. like a kind of literary devotion.

he joins your goodreads, quietly. starts tracking your shelves. recommending things he finds. you laugh the first time you notice. but when he leaves a five-star review on something you love, it feels more intimate than any confession. like he’s trying to see you clearly. trying to be seen in return.

reading becomes its own love language. you’ll rest your head on his lap in the park at sunset, reciting passages aloud while he watches the way the golden light catches the curve of your lips. your voice is soft, lulling—part melody, part prayer. sometimes he closes his eyes and lets your narration lull him half to sleep, the sound of your words curling around him like incense. other times, he reads while you read—pressed side by side on the couch, each of you absorbed, the quiet between you a shared sanctuary.

he finds comfort in the quiet repetition of it all. in the soft flutter of turning pages. in the way your fingers always seem to reach for his shirt absentmindedly as you read, grounding yourself in his presence while your mind roams far away. you have your own little book club now. informal. just the two of you. you recommend things. he reads them. you talk about themes over dinner. cry about endings. rant about plot twists. there’s no structure. only devotion. sometimes, you gift him a book with a note tucked inside—this made me think of you. or I hope you love this the way I love you. he keeps them all. reads them slowly, letting them settle in his chest like snowfall. he’s never been one for grand declarations, but with you, everything feels like one. even silence.

geto has seen violence, grief, and chaos—more than most. but here, in this quiet world of words and warmth and well-worn pages, he finds peace. and in you—bright, brilliant, beautiful—you who lives a thousand lives a year through your books—he finds something even rarer: a reason to stay. and if he ends up falling in love with every protagonist you adore, it's only because you've taught him how.

it’s no secret that gojo loves to spoil his girlfriend. in fact, it’s practically public knowledge. it’s the kind of thing whispered behind hands in boutiques and murmured with disbelief in cafes. did you hear what he got her? she’s the one who wears the pink louboutins, right? the custom pair? I saw her with him at cartier last week. but here’s what people don’t understand: it’s not just the extravagance that makes it special. it’s not about dripping in labels or having closets lined with chanel. anyone with a black card can throw money around. what sets gojo apart—what makes it love, not just luxury—is how well he knows you.

because satoru doesn’t buy gifts for the sake of buying. he gives like he lives: loud, deliberate, and terrifyingly precise. he remembers everything. your favorite color isn’t just pink—it’s that blushy, powder-soft shade that looks like sunrise on your skin. your favorite scent isn’t just floral—it’s rose with bergamot, no jasmine. he knows your size in everything, from ring to heel to hoodie. he knows what fabrics you love, what textures you hate, which brands get it right and which ones just don’t understand your silhouette.

his days off—rare as they are—are often spent trailing behind you in luxury boutiques, sunglasses pushed into his hair, humming to himself as you drift through racks and displays. tiffany’s. dior. prada. cartier. the staff knows him by name, of course, but more importantly, they know you. because he’s made sure of that. you’re not his accessory. you’re the main event. they bring you sparkling water before you even ask. they remember the jewelry you tried on last month. they set aside pieces they think you’ll like, just in case he swings by again.

and while he’ll happily drape you in silk and diamonds, he knows that none of it gets your heart racing the way shoes do. that’s your shared weakness, really. not designer bags. not watches. not even the couture dresses he loves seeing you in. no, it’s heels. stilettos. platforms. pumps. laced, bedazzled, red-soled. manolo blahniks that make you feel like royalty. jimmy choos that click against marble like punctuation marks. the christian louboutin boutique practically knows your birthday by now. he sees it in your eyes when you step into the shoe department. the gleam. the shift in posture. the quiet awe. and he gets it. because while you’re busy falling in love with each pair, he’s falling in love with you all over again.

he never lets you buy shoes alone. it’s an unspoken rule. those try-ons—those moments when you slide your foot into something ridiculous and beautiful—those are for him. you, perched on a velvet stool. him, sprawled on the low settee, elbow propped on the armrest, smirking as you twirl for him. his approval is exaggerated, dramatic. he clutches his chest. tells the clerk it’s a crime how good you look. but when you sit down and glance at him, uncertain, he quiets. reaches for your hand. says, softer, you look perfect.

he leaves for missions sometimes. too often. long stretches with too few texts and blurry video calls where his voice is scratchy and tired. but even then, he never forgets. he’ll send a picture of a necklace he saw in milan that reminded him of you. he’ll drop a message that says, use my card today. buy something pretty. I want a private fashion show tonight. and you’ll laugh, roll your eyes, but comply. because it’s never about obligation—it’s about closeness. about feeling wanted even from a thousand miles away.

you used to hate it, the extravagance. the sheer amount of money he spent on you. it didn’t feel real at first. like playing dress-up in someone else’s life. there were nights you cried over it—convinced you didn’t deserve the time, the gifts, the affection. but gojo’s never had patience for that kind of thinking. he knocked those thoughts right out of your head. gently. repeatedly. unrelentingly.

because here’s the thing: for all his flash and flair, for all the arrogance the world sees, satoru’s love is terrifyingly earnest. he doesn’t give to impress. he gives because he sees you. really sees you. he knows that behind your closet of pretty things is someone who reads the same book ten times just to remember how it made them feel. someone who wears the same shoes until they’re broken in just right. someone who cries at dumb commercials and laughs until their stomach hurts.

he spoils you because it’s his love language. because he wants to cover you in reminders that you are wanted, adored, remembered. it’s not the necklace from morocco or the coat from tokyo that makes you feel loved—it’s that he knew the exact shape of pendant you’d want. the fabric that wouldn’t itch your neck. the tiny detail you once mentioned in passing and he never forgot.

this is what love looks like, in satoru’s world. not just diamonds, but diamonds cut to your taste. not just shoes, but shoes that make you feel like a weapon when you walk. not just luxury, but intention. and presence. and constancy. so when people say gojo spoils his girlfriend, they don’t get it. he doesn’t spoil you with things. he spoils you with knowing. and that’s what it means to be loved by him.

takuma plays call of duty and fortnite. nothing else. not out of snobbery—just habit. it’s what he knows. what he’s good at. fast-twitch reaction times, coordinated assaults, headshots. it’s loud, explosive, testosterone-fueled, and satisfying in the most surface-level kind of way. something he can win. something he can control.

you sit in his lap on game nights, nestled in the safety of his arms as he plays, letting your presence wrap around him like armor. he likes that part more than the actual matches—your warmth curled against him, the easy way your legs drape over his, the way you let him protect you even if it’s just pixels and an open field. you never care about winning. you’re the kind of player who hides in bushes, builds awkward little walls, and screams when enemies get close. he thinks it’s hilarious. he thinks it’s adorable. he thinks maybe he’s never had this much fun losing a game in his life.

when you mention you play too, it catches him off guard. not because he doesn’t believe you—but because what you play is so different. so soft. so quiet. games with no guns, no leaderboard, no carnage. you play things like animal crossing, stardew valley, unpacking. games about cleaning, building, making friends with deer in sweaters. you say it like an apology, like maybe it’s something childish. but all ino hears is that you have a world that brings you peace. and he wants to see it.

the first time he holds your pink nintendo switch, he fumbles the buttons, stares blankly at your character’s little house. you’ve named your island. you’ve laid out paths. there are flowers everywhere. it’s the opposite of every map he’s memorized, every arena he’s died in. and he finds himself smiling. genuinely smiling. it’s not like his games. there’s no urgency. no timer. no voice chat full of teenagers yelling slurs. just calm.

you let him customize his character, and he spends ten minutes picking out a beanie and flannel that match his real outfit. you laugh, call it uncanny. he pretends to grumble, but he’s proud of the resemblance. proud that you noticed.

from then on, he’s hooked. not in the obsessive, competitive way he’s used to—but something gentler. sweeter. the kind of interest that builds over time like ivy, curling up and around the corners of his routine.

he checks in on his villagers. he buys them gifts. he rearranges his furniture. he decorates his house with things he thinks would make you smile. he starts calling tom nook a scam artist, parroting your rants about interest rates and balloon payments with the intensity of someone who actually pays rent.

he starts to understand why you love it. it becomes a quiet ritual. on the couch, wrapped in blankets, your switch in his lap while he fishes or visits your museum. he finds comfort in the simplicity, in the soft loops of background music, in the way you nudge your head onto his shoulder and murmur things like you can put a fountain there or this villager reminds me of you. it’s the least demanding, most fulfilling kind of intimacy. no need to talk. just presence. just being.

eventually, you introduce him to stardew valley, and he surprises himself with how much he cares. about the farm. about the villagers. about the tiny pixelated chickens he names after his friends. he wakes up early in-game to water crops, picks out birthday gifts for the npcs, saves up for a barn expansion like it’s a life-or-death decision. he becomes obsessive in a way that’s almost funny—carefully planning the layout of the fields, mapping out seasonal rotations, memorizing fish spawn schedules. but underneath the min-maxing is something real.

it’s the first time he’s ever played a game that makes him want to stay. not fight, not win, not conquer—just stay. that’s what he realizes about playing with you. it’s not about skill. it’s not even really about the games. it’s about what they give you permission to do. to exist alongside each other. to carve out a little world where things are simple. kind. yours.

he teaches you mario kart in return. you’re terrible at first. but you try. you laugh when you fall off the track, scream when he tosses a blue shell at you. and ino, who has always been impatient, who swears under his breath and rages when he dies in call of duty, finds himself strangely calm. gentle. he lets you win sometimes. doesn’t say anything when you do. just watches you celebrate like it actually matters. and maybe it does.

you play everywhere. late at night on the couch. in the back of classrooms, screens hidden beneath the desk. on planes and trains and anywhere else that feels heavy. it’s a comfort. a way to say I love you without needing to speak it aloud. a shared language in pixels and crops and silly outfits. a way to be near each other when the world feels far too loud.

sometimes you fall asleep first, curled against him with your switch blinking beside you. he tucks it away for you. pulls the blanket up to your shoulders. presses a kiss to the top of your head and lets his own game idle while he just…watches you. he never thought playing “cozy games” would be his thing. but then again, he never thought anyone would love him like this—gently. without expectations. without needing him to be loud or strong or funny all the time.

choso isn’t exactly new to the world. not really. he’s existed long enough to have seen its worst, to know what it is to survive it. he knows violence like instinct, and silence like muscle memory. but this world—your world—is different. brighter. softer. sharper around the edges in the strangest of ways. he’s learned a lot, mostly thanks to yuuji. yuuji with his fast talking who’s tried to drag him into modern life one awkward step at a time. and choso’s adjusted, for the most part. but the thing that finally pulls him in, fully, completely, is the phone. you set it up for him. unlocked it, cleaned the screen, tucked it gently into his hands like you were giving him something precious. and to him, it is. he holds it like it might break. because it holds you.

you’ve set his lock screen to his favorite photo—one yuuji snapped without warning, a soft blur of the two of you tangled in sleep, your cheek pressed to choso’s chest, his arms tight around you. he doesn’t even remember it being taken. but he knows how it feels. the image alone makes him ache in the sweetest way.

you show him how to open the camera, how to take pictures. the result is an ever-growing album of blurry images, most of them of you. some are nearly abstract—his finger over the lens, or too much zoom, or crooked angles—but they’re yours. captured pieces of your face, your hands, your laughter frozen in low resolution. he scrolls through them sometimes just to feel close to you.

and the texts—those change everything. he used to hate leaving. missions with yuuji and gojo felt endless, stretched thin by distance and dread. he’d grown so used to loss, to disconnection, that being apart from you brought a cold, aching fear he couldn’t name. but now, he can reach you. at any time. wherever he is. that alone feels like a miracle.

and the best part? you always respond. quickly, warmly. a soft tether across any stretch of land. you ask him if he’s eaten, if he’s safe. you send blurry photos of the dinner you made. he saves every one. sometimes he responds simply—I miss you :[—because there’s nothing else to say, not really. the words don’t cover the shape of missing you, but he tries. he texts you when he sees a stray cat, crouched in an alley or sunbathing on a shrine step. sends a grainy photo, fuzzy around the edges, and waits for your inevitable cooing response. it never takes long. he sends you good morning texts, every single day. even if he’s tired. even if the mission ran late. even if the only thing he can type is "I love you.” it’s worth it. you told him once that it’s the first thing you check when you wake up. that stayed with him. that mattered.

when he discovers wikipedia, it becomes a daily ritual. he texts you links to things he doesn’t understand—“super bowl?” “sabrina carpenter?”—with only a question mark. you explain them patiently, laughing sometimes, but never cruel. he stores the knowledge away like it’s precious, because you gave it to him. because you didn’t make him feel stupid for not knowing. this is how he loves you: quiet, curious, deliberate. through effort. through learning.

he starts watching you on your phone—how your thumbs move, how you flick the screen to play solitaire or scroll instagram. he sits beside you, mesmerized, eyes tracking the glowing light as if it holds the key to something unknowable. when he finally caves and lets you help him make an instagram account, he uses it for one thing: you.

his entire grid becomes a shrine to your existence. photos of you with yuuji. candid snapshots of you tying your shoe. pictures of your hands, your back turned at sunset, your profile lit by a café’s warm light. no captions. no hashtags. just you.

he changes his home screen too. a photo you didn’t even know he took—just you, showing yuuji how to do something, your brows furrowed in concentration, your mouth mid-explanation. he looks at it when he’s overwhelmed. it grounds him. you ground him.

he still doesn’t like leaving. he probably never will. but now, when he’s alone, when the air feels cold and the silence too loud, he has you in his pocket. he has your texts, your voice messages, your digital footprints scattered across a device he once didn’t understand. he has proof that you’re real. that this love is real.

he takes photos every chance he gets. posts them. saves them. blurry or not, they mean something. they’re part of a world that doesn’t feel so scary anymore. not when you’re in it. because this isn’t about technology. not really. it’s about closeness. about connection. about finding a way to reach you, even when the world pulls him away. the phone is just a tool. but it’s a tool he cherishes. because it leads him back to you. every time.

you don’t eat like someone who loves food. and this, to nanami, is one of the most horrifying discoveries he’s ever made about you. you, the most beautiful person he’s ever met. you, with your expressive eyes and stubborn independence and your habit of choosing sleep over breakfast. you, with your ramen-for-dinner and black coffee-for-breakfast and "I forgot to eat lunch” like it’s a casual comment, not a red flag waving at full mast.

he is distressed. silently, of course. because he is nanami kento and he does not raise his voice unless the situation calls for it. but inside? there is a quiet, steady scream. you are everything good. and good things should be taken care of. fed. nourished. cherished. you don’t even know what it’s like to eat food that makes you feel something. and that’s a tragedy he can’t let stand.

so it begins. a simple offer. "I made too much,” he lies, setting down a container beside you without fanfare. “tell me if you like it,” he says, nonchalant. you eat it while hunched over your laptop. french toast, a little crisp on the edges, with just the lightest dusting of powdered sugar and homemade berry compote. you don’t even pause while typing, just shovel it down like you haven’t tasted something this good in years. maybe you haven’t.

he makes a note. literally. notes app, line by line. – french toast (too sweet, still liked) – pork tonkatsu (devoured) – lemon bars (grimaced at first bite, then ate half the pan)

he starts to see it like a mission. the kind that makes him feel like there’s meaning in all this mess. you need to eat. he needs to understand you. both goals converge somewhere between a perfectly seared salmon filet and a cinnamon roll recipe that takes four hours and involves resting the dough overnight.

he brings you a little bento to work. says it’s because he had leftovers. he does not mention the three hours he spent the night before trying to recreate the exact version of the chicken katsu you said you liked from a random corner stall three years ago.

he takes you to cafés and pretends he’s interested in the drink flights they offer—coffee tastings, seasonal specials. he orders one of everything. you sip them all and scrunch your nose and then smile and steal whichever one he likes best. he lets you. of course he does. his apartment starts to smell like cinnamon and garlic and fresh baked bread. you tease him about being a grandma. he raises an eyebrow. you laugh and call him nana-nanami. he pretends to be offended. he is not. he is delighted.

one day you stumble on the notes. not intentionally—he left his phone on the counter and walked away to check on something in the oven. when he comes back, you’re holding it. reading. your eyes are wide, but not upset. curious. maybe even a little glassy.

“you…really kept track of all this?” he freezes. calculating how badly this could go. you’re private. a little shy. you don’t like people making you the center of attention.

"I just wanted to know what you liked,” he says, carefully.

you beam. beam. “we need to make some corrections,” you say, grinning. “you rated that curry too high. I only pretended to like it because I didn't want to hurt your feelings.” he’s both horrified and pleased. mostly horrified.

the next day, there’s a laminated poster on the fridge. color-coded. the last twenty recipes he’s made for you, listed in chronological order. you’ve added emojis and little comments and a completely unnecessary five-star rating system. he tells you it’s ridiculous. he also doesn’t stop smiling for the next 48 hours.

you start texting him when you see a meal that looks good. a tiktok pasta. a bakery's instagram reel. a picture of a weird street food that’s impossible to recreate, but nanami is not a quitter. he starts compiling them. starts planning weekends around them. one saturday, he makes you five different kinds of soup to see which one you like the best. you rank them all. he kisses you behind the ear while you’re laughing.

sometimes he still worries. when you’re tired. when you skip meals out of habit. when you say you’re not hungry, but your stomach growls anyway. he doesn’t scold you. he just sets something down in front of you. a warm slice of bread with salted butter. miso soup. rice and pickled plum. a soft cookie. tea with honey.

you don’t always say thank you. he doesn’t need you to. he watches you chew. watches your eyes light up when you take that first bite. he catalogs the way your face softens. the way your whole body relaxes. you say, "I didn’t know food could feel like this.”

and he says, "I did.” because food, to him, has always meant comfort. presence. warmth. love. funny how his two favorite things represent the same concepts.

sukuna was not…soft. he was not delicate. he didn’t show affection. and having you around didn’t change that. you were just a maid. your pants were covered in dust, your white shoes long since gone brown with dirt. you slaved away in his estate, and he allowed this because it was your job as one of his loyal subjects. he was a king, after all. he didn’t ask for your presence. you simply arrived. you remained.

but the king of curses found himself… drawn to you in an inexplicable, frankly offensive way. your cold fingers, not even long enough to wrap around one of his wrists. your smile—gentle and delicate while also stuffing him full of sunshine and adoration he didn’t see himself as capable of receiving. it was alarming. disturbing. so horrifically unlike him, he wondered if he was finally contracting one of those disgusting human diseases. tumor? must be.

but it didn’t deter him. he was curious. more than curious. invested, even. you were still allowed to clean, yes. but only his chambers. you weren’t a “maid” anymore, not to the rest of the staff. you were his consort. his companion. his chosen. no wedding was being planned. there was no ceremony. no declarations. but you slept in his bed. you ate from his table. you bathed in his private bathhouse, the one that faced the gardens and filled with steam that smelled like jasmine and mint. you wore slippers he’d picked, fabrics you liked. you became his girl in every way that mattered. and you—gracious, generous, lovely you—took anything he was willing to give you. with no complaints. no demands. no expectations.

sukuna kept waiting for the shoe to drop. for you to wake up and demand more. for you to finally ask for a kiss, a love confession, a promise, a future. he wanted you to. he didn’t. he didn't know what he wanted, which was infuriating in and of itself.

so he started to try. not overtly. not in ways anyone else would notice. not in a way that he’d ever have to say out loud. but he tried. because he realized he knew everything else about you—what foods you liked, how you liked your tea steeped, the sound you made when you were too tired to speak but too polite to ignore him—and if he wanted to truly claim you, he needed to understand the things that made you light up.

you liked art. that became obvious quickly. he caught you staring at the same painting every day: van gogh’s irises, tucked in a hallway most people never paid attention to. he watched the way your steps slowed, your hand brushing the air like you wanted to touch it but knew better. at first he thought it was just idle curiosity. maids got bored, didn’t they? but you spoke about it later to one of the kitchen girls. described the brush strokes. said it made you feel something. sukuna could never forget the tone in your voice. soft. wistful. almost mournful. after that, he started paying attention.

he took you to a gallery once. the king of curses. in a mortal place, surrounded by fragile art. he cleared it out, of course. the only footsteps in the place were yours. you gasped and flitted from painting to painting, your hands clasped in front of you like it would keep the joy from spilling over. you beamed. and he—he watched. not the art. not the brushstrokes or the frames or the curators’ cards. you.

you told him about composition and color theory. you rambled about light and shadow and symbolism. and when you caught yourself and tried to backpedal, he stopped you. “can you not tell that your beautiful ramblings are all I desire now?” he growled, tone sharp but not unkind. “if I wanted you to stop, I would never have allowed you to begin.” you blinked. smiled. and continued.

your favorite was monet. the water lilies. the gardens. the foggy mornings and violet dusks. he didn’t know much about impressionism, but he knew you liked the softness of it. the warmth in it. the dreaminess. so he filled his estate with them. your favorite pieces, framed in gold and hung wherever he knew you’d pass. he memorized the way your breath caught every time you noticed one. how your smile grew soft, eyes going a little distant, like you’d stepped out of time.

you looked at the paintings like they were new every time. and—curse him—you looked at him the same way. he caught you once, in the quiet between dinner and bed, standing before the water lily pond in your thin nightclothes, eyes shining like you were trying not to cry. “it’s just…” you said, then trailed off. "I never imagined living somewhere that felt this beautiful.” he scoffed, looking away. “you always had a ridiculous imagination.” but he stood closer to you that night. let his warmth cover you in roves. brushed your hair off your forehead when you slept.

he doesn’t tell you that your voice is the only sound he wants to hear echoing through his halls. he doesn’t admit that he kept one of your sketchbooks and looks through it when you’re not around. he doesn’t say that he listens when you talk about brushwork and painters and heartbreak and beauty, because it’s the only time he sees your soul fully bare. but he does learn. learns your favorite painter. your favorite painting. your favorite place to stand in the garden. your favorite shade of blue. and every time you smile, he counts it as a win. every time you gasp over a new piece of art, he logs it for later.

every time you look at him—truly look at him—he wonders if this is what it feels like to be seen by god. and if you ever ask him why he remembers so much, why he knows so much, he’ll sneer. “because you never shut up about it.” but when you leave the room, he’ll look at your favorite painting, and for a second, think of nothing else.

you could’ve guessed how every friday night for the rest of your life would look after just one month of knowing yuuji itadori. movies. always movies. and not just one or two—all of them. it was like he’d made it his life’s mission to watch every film ever made. and while he might not be quite that ambitious (yet), the determination? painfully real. he starts with horror, obviously—his favorite genre. gleefully grotesque, endlessly entertaining, full of jump scares and monsters that make you gasp and grip his arm like it’s a lifeline. he thinks it’s adorable. starts looking over just before the scare hits, waiting to catch your reaction in real time. you're better than the movie, he decides early on.

but one night, curled up together during a rewatch of human earthworm, you let your favorite movie slip. you say it casually, laughing, eyes shining. pride and prejudice, you tell him, the 2005 version. with keira knightley. the rain scene, you say, makes your soul levitate. and yuuji just stares at you like you’ve told him your greatest secret. later that night, alone in his dorm, he plugs his earbuds into his laptop, lies flat on his back, and watches it. beginning to end. no breaks. and he cries. a single, tragic man-tear, but it counts. no one will ever know this—no one—but something inside him shifts that night. he wakes up the next morning changed. reborn, even.

it’s a gateway drug. suddenly, you're binging period dramas like your lives depend on it. emma. little women. the bbc north & south. anything with slow-burn tension and women in gloves. he doesn't always understand the plot—what’s an entailment?—but he knows exactly when to look over at you. when your eyes start to glisten. when you reach for his hand. he starts pointing out characters who “give off darcy energy.” he’s usually wrong, but he tries. bless him.

then come the romcoms. the notebook. 10 things I hate about you. how to lose a guy in 10 days. he starts saying “frost yourself” without context. hitch has him giggling. clueless becomes an inside joke—he starts calling you “cher” every time you wear plaid. and of course, the comedies. adam sandler. scary movie. hot rod. dumb and dumber. nacho libre. you two watch shrek 2 so many times, you’re convinced yuuji and you could recite the entire movie shot-for-shot, line-for-line.

then comes the hunger games, and everything changes again. yuuji sobs during catching fire. openly. no shame. clutches you like he’s the one volunteering as tribute. he insists he would survive the arena if you were his partner. definitely. “we’d be the katniss and peeta of the jujutsu world,” he says with full sincerity. and that’s how you know you’re in deep.

but really, the movies aren’t the point. you are. the way your eyes light up during the opening credits. the way you gasp and laugh and cry. the way you hide in his side when the music gets creepy. the way you mouth your favorite lines like incantations. you watch him like he hung the stars. and he watches you like you are one. maybe the one. especially when you pause the movie just to explain an obscure plot twist to him, or go on a passionate tangent about why titanic has the dumbest ending ever. arguments have been won and lost over whether or not rose could’ve fit on that door.

you watch them everywhere. in his dorm, in yours. in the student lounge with popcorn smuggled in hoodies. on classroom projectors after hours. in the backseat of a car during road trips. curled up on airport benches with his coat draped over your legs. sometimes, when you’re away on a mission and he’s missing you so hard his chest aches, you sync your laptops and facetime. three seconds off. buffering constantly. but he doesn’t care. he still gets to watch your face, soft and illuminated by the glow of your screen. sometimes, he misses the entire plot just watching you.

spring break comes, and neither of you go home. you choose each other instead. and you binge like it’s a competitive sport. harry potter. lord of the rings. the hobbit. every twilight movie, which he pretends to hate and definitely doesn’t. all twenty-one seasons of grey’s anatomy. he gets weirdly into it. shushes you when derek is on screen. says “it’s not just a show, it’s an education.” he’s firmly convinced he could perform surgery now. definitely an appendectomy. probably a heart transplant with a diagram and enough adrenaline.

you build blanket forts. lay on the floor like starfish. curl into each other on his narrow twin bed, limbs tangled like headphones in a pocket. sometimes you’re in his lap, back to his chest, criss-cross-applesauce. sometimes, you’re draped over him like a human throw blanket, and he’s playing with your hair while you trace shapes on his forearm with your fingertip. there’s a half-eaten bag of chips beside you, a flickering laptop on the windowsill, and the steady hum of home.

it’s romantic. it’s stupidly domestic. it’s the kind of soft that makes your teeth ache and your chest feel too small. and yuuji—yuuji, who once swore allegiance only to horror movies and kung fu flicks—would watch anything if it meant watching it with you. even pride and prejudice. especially pride and prejudice.

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writingbuckets · 8 months ago

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𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐬: 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐢

paige bueckers x reader

wc: 2.4k

synopsis: Paige Bueckers and Y/N share a complicated past, what started as a friends-with-benefits arrangement ended in heartbreak when Paige struggled with commitment. Left heartbroken, the OC moves on while Paige battles her own unresolved feelings.

warnings: emotional distress and heartbreak, miscommunication, emotional manipulation, slut-shaming, mentions of past relationship, angst, fluff

a/n: thank you so much for all the love on part 1. i'm already editing part 3, so stay tuned <3

The library was quiet, the muffled sounds of pages turning and keyboards clicking creating a steady background hum. You sat at a large wooden table, your laptop open in front of you and a half-empty iced coffee to your right. It was mid-afternoon, the time when most students were either in class or still recovering from the night before. You’d managed to carve out a peaceful corner for yourself, though that tranquility was soon interrupted when two familiar figures plopped down across from you.

“Yo, hope you don’t mind us crashing your study sesh,” a voice said, drawing your attention away from the screen.

It was Jana and Azzi, two of Paige’s teammates and your classmates in one of the upper-level business courses. The three of you had been grouped together for a project, which was how you’d come to know them better outside of the occasional party or casual interaction.

“Not at all,” youreplied with a faint smile. Jana and Azzi were easygoing, funny, and completely unaware of the complicated mess that was your history with Paige. You liked them for that—they didn’t pry or push, and for the most part, they were blissfully unaware of the tension lurking beneath the surface.

Jana grinned, dropping her backpack onto the table. “Good, because we brought snacks.” She pulled out a bag of chips and offered some to Azzi, who immediately grabbed a handful.

You chuckled, relaxing slightly. “I see you’re taking this study session very seriously.”

“Hey, brain food is important,” Jana said with a mock-serious tone, popping a chip into her mouth. “Plus, we’ve got like an hour before we have to actually be productive, right?”

“Sure,” you said, taking a sip of your coffee. “We’ll go with that.”

For the next few minutes, the three of you fell into easy conversation, mostly about your project and a few upcoming assignments. You found yourself enjoying the banter, grateful for the distraction. But as much as you tried to focus on the conversation, there was an undercurrent of anxiety you couldn’t quite shake.

You hadn’t seen Paige since the party a few weeks ago, but that didn’t mean you hadn’t been thinking about her. It was impossible not to. After your last encounter—the cold, awkward tension, the almost-conversation in the kitchen—you had been left feeling raw, like an open wound that wouldn’t heal. No matter how much distance you tried to put between you two, Paige always seemed to find a way to slip back into you life, even if it was just through mutual friends like Jana and Azzi.

The worst part was, you knew you weren’t over her. Not really. As much as you tried to act like you didn’t care anymore, that Paige’s rejection hadn’t cut you deep, there was a part of you that still held on to the memory of what you’d had. Or what you’d thought you had.

Your relationship—or whatever it had been—had started off light, fun, and uncomplicated. You’d met through mutual friends, and it hadn’t taken long for the chemistry between you to spark. It was supposed to be casual, just a few late-night hookups, no expectations, no strings attached. At first, it was exactly that. Paige was charming, confident, and frustratingly attractive, and you had been content to keep things simple. You weren’t looking for anything serious either, and Paige made it clear from the beginning that she wasn’t the type to settle down.

But somewhere along the way, you had broken your own rules. You’d started to fall. Hard. It wasn’t just the sex—though that had been great—it was everything else. The stolen moments in between, the late-night texts, the way Paige had looked at you like you were the only person in the room. It had felt real, even if neither of you had said the words.

Then, just when you had been on the verge of confessing how you felt, Paige had pulled away. Suddenly, the texts were fewer and farther between. The casual meetups became rare, then nonexistent. Paige had distanced herself without explanation, leaving you feeling like you’d been tossed aside the moment things started to get serious.

You’d tried to play it cool, act like it didn’t bother you, but inside, it hurt more than you wanted to admit. Eventually, you’d made the decision to walk away, cutting things off before Paige could hurt you even more. You’d told yourself it was for the best, that you deserved better than someone who couldn’t commit. But knowing that hadn’t made it any easier.

And now, here you were, sitting with Paige’s teammates, trying to pretend like the past wasn’t constantly nipping at your heels.

“So, what’s the plan for this project?” Jana asked, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Right,” you said, refocusing. “I was thinking we could split up the research into sections. I’ll take the first part, and you two can divide the second and third.”

“Works for me,” Azzi said, typing something into her laptop.

As you settled into a rhythm, you let yourself relax a bit, pushing thoughts of Paige to the back of your mind. But that peace didn’t last long. Just as you were getting into a groove, you heard a voice behind you, one that made your heart sink into your stomach.

“Hey, what’s up?”

Paige.

Your spine stiffened, but you didn’t turn around. You didn’t need to. You could feel Paige’s presence, could sense her standing just a few feet away. Your throat tightened, and you forced yourself to keep your eyes on your laptop, pretending to be engrossed in whatever was on the screen.

Jana and Azzi didn’t seem to notice the shift in your demeanor. They both smiled at Paige as she approached the table, casually pulling out a chair.

“Bueckers, what are you doing here?” Jana asked, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you had a meeting with coach.”

Paige shrugged, her voice light. “He let me out early. Figured I’d come see what you guys were up to.”

You could hear the smile in her voice, that easy charm you knew all too well. It made your chest tighten with a mix of frustration and something you didn’t want to name.

“Studying for our project,” Azzi said, gesturing to the mess of papers and laptops in front of you all. “Or trying to, anyway.”

Paige’s gaze flicked briefly to you, and for a moment, the air between you crackled with tension. You could feel Paige’s eyes on you, but you refused to look up. You weren’t going to give her the satisfaction.

“Cool, cool,” Paige said casually, though there was an edge to her tone that hadn’t been there before. “Mind if I hang out for a bit?”

Your fingers tightened around the edge of your laptop. Great. Just what you needed.

“Yeah, sure, grab a seat,” Jana said, oblivious to the silent war raging across the table.

Paige pulled out a chair and sat down, her presence an unwelcome weight in your periphery. You could feel Paige’s gaze lingering on you, but you didn’t dare meet it. You wouldn’t give her the power. Not this time.

For the next few minutes, the conversation flowed easily between Paige, Jana, and Azzi, with you contributing only when absolutely necessary. You could tell Paige was trying to act normal, but there was a subtle tension in her voice, like she was holding back. It was as if Paige was testing the waters, gauging how much you were willing to engage. But you weren’t going to give her anything. Not after everything.

Eventually, the conversation shifted back to the project, and Paige leaned back in her chair, watching you all work. You kept your head down, focused on your laptop, but every so often, you could feel Paige’s gaze flit in your direction.

It was maddening, how just being near Paige could stir up so many conflicting emotions. Frustration, anger, longing—everything you’d been trying to bury for months came bubbling back to the surface. But you couldn’t let it show. Not here, not in front of Jana and Azzi.

The longer Paige sat at the table, the more the tension thickened. You could feel it pressing down on you, coiling around your chest. Every time Paige shifted in her chair or made a casual remark, it was like a reminder of the mess you’d left unresolved. You didn’t want to think about it—about the way things had ended, or how Paige had brushed you off like you were nothing. But sitting here, in such close proximity to her, made it impossible to avoid the memories that came flooding back.

You hated how easy it was for Paige to act normal, like nothing had ever happened between you two. Paige was good at that—at pretending, at pushing things aside and focusing on the present. It was part of what had drawn you to her in the first place. You admired Paige’s ability to compartmentalize, to separate her feelings from her actions. But now, that same trait was infuriating. Paige could sit here, joking around with her teammates, while you were left to choke down the bitterness of unresolved emotions.

“Alright, I think we’ve got enough to get started on the research,” Jana announced, breaking the silence. “We’ll meet up again on Wednesday to go over what we’ve found?”

“Sounds good,” Azzi agreed, already packing up her things.

You nodded absently, your mind still swirling. You didn’t want to linger here any longer than necessary, especially with Paige hanging around. You could feel the edge of a headache forming, a dull throb at the base of your skull. You needed space—away from the lingering memories, away from the unresolved tension that seemed to cling to you like a second skin.

As everyone began to gather their belongings, Paige stretched her arms over her head, letting out a low sigh. “I’m heading to the gym later if anyone wants to come,” she said casually, though the offer wasn’t directed at anyone in particular.

You tensed but kept your eyes glued to your laptop screen, pretending not to hear.

Jana grinned. “I might take you up on that. Gotta work off all the junk food I’ve been eating.”

Azzi laughed. “Same. I’ll catch you later, though. I’ve got class in like fifteen.”

You made a quick decision to leave before you could be drawn into any more awkward small talk. You packed up your laptop, grabbing your bag, and pushed your chair back.

“I’ve got to run too,” you muttered, standing abruptly. “See you guys later.”

Before anyone could respond, you turned on your heel and made your way toward the exit, your pulse hammering in your ears. You didn’t look back to see Paige’s reaction—you didn’t need to. The suffocating weight on your chest told you everything you needed to know.

**********

After spending most of the afternoon buried in work at a local café on campus, you finally decided to take a break. You weren’t one to spend your weekends cooped up inside, and besides, you’d agreed to meet someone for a casual dinner. It wasn’t anything serious—just a low-key date with a girl you’d been chatting with online for a few weeks. Her name was Emily, and while you hadn’t met in person before, she seemed cool—funny, smart, and down-to-earth.

You figured it was time to get back out there, to try and move on from the lingering feelings you had for Paige. You deserved to be with someone who didn’t leave you hanging, who didn’t pull away the moment things started to get real.

Emily was waiting at a small, trendy café downtown, dressed in a casual denim jacket and black jeans. She had short, tousled brown hair and a warm smile that immediately put you at ease.

“Hey!” Emily greeted you with a grin as you walked up. “You made it!”

“Yeah, sorry if I’m a little late,” you replied with a smile, feeling a sense of relief at how easy it was to slip into casual conversation. “Lost track of time at the library.”

“No worries. I just got here too,” Emily said, leading the way toward a table outside. The evening was cool, the sky fading into hues of purple and orange as the sun began to set. It was the perfect setting for a laid-back, no-pressure date.

You settled into your seats, ordering drinks and appetizers. The conversation flowed easily, with Emily talking about her recent travels and her love for indie music. You found yourself laughing at Emily’s stories, feeling more relaxed than you had in weeks. Maybe this was exactly what you needed—a fresh start with someone new.

As you waited for your food, you glanced around, taking in the bustling energy of the café. But your light mood quickly soured when you spotted a familiar figure across the street.

Paige. Again.

She was walking with her roommate, Lily, a protein shake in hand, looking as casual and effortlessly cool as ever. Your stomach dropped, your heart racing in your chest as Paige’s eyes landed on you. For a split second, you locked eyes, and the tension between you flared to life once again.

Paige’s expression shifted—her casual smile fading into something darker, something that looked an awful lot like jealousy. She hesitated for a moment, her gaze flicking between you and Emily, before turning back to her roommate, muttering something under her breath.

Your pulse quickened, your throat tightening. You hadn’t expected to see Paige tonight, much less in the middle of what was supposed to be a relaxing date. And from the way Paige was looking at you, it was clear that she wasn’t thrilled about it either.

“Everything okay?” Emily asked, her voice pulling you back to the present.

You forced a smile, shaking off the unsettling feeling creeping up your spine. “Yeah, sorry. Just… thought I saw someone I knew.”

“Oh?” Emily raised an eyebrow, clearly curious, but didn’t press the issue. “No biggie. So, what about you? Been anywhere cool recently?”

You tried to refocus, but your mind kept drifting back to Paige, to the look on her face when she’d seen you with Emily. It was ridiculous—Paige had no right to be jealous, not after everything that had happened. But the memory of that fleeting expression stuck with you, gnawing at the back of your mind.

By the time you’d finished dinner, you felt drained, the weight of your unresolved feelings for Paige dragging you down. Emily was nice—sweet, funny, and kind. But even as you said your goodbyes, you couldn’t help but feel like something was missing.

As Emily leaned in to give you a quick hug, you offered a polite smile, but your mind was already elsewhere. Paige had been an uninvited guest in your thoughts all night, and as much as you hated it, you knew it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon.

#paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #uconn huskies #uconn wcbb #wcbb #paige buckets #wlw post #wlw fanfic

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luckyroll3 · 9 months ago

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Save a Horse; Ride a Cowboy

Summary: On a month-long sabbatical from your stressful New York life, you escape to a remote Australian cattle station, only to meet Chan—a cocky, womanizing cowboy with no interest in commitment. The chemistry is instant, and soon you’re swept into a wild, no-strings-attached fling. He’s charming, carefree, and exactly the distraction you’re looking for. As your time on the ranch draws to a close, so does your steamy affair, leaving you refreshed… but will you be able to leave him behind? You’re not so sure.

Fuck Boy Bang Chan x Reader (f); Fling, Smut

Warnings: This work of fiction is intended for 18+ audiences only. Includes explicit sexual content, smut, etc.

Word Count: 8,737

The first-class seat envelopes you like a cocoon as you sip champagne and watch the clouds drift by, miles from the suffocating bustle of New York City and the endless briefs, contracts, suits and other things you deal with as a corporate lawyer for a Fortune 500 company. You let out a long exhale, the stress already beginning to melt away. An eternity later, the Sydney airport materializes below, and you step into the blinding Australian sun, squinting as you make your way to the rental car.

The GPS guides you into the heart of the outback, red dirt and scrubby bush stretching endlessly on either side. Sweat beads on your forehead as the AC sputters its last breath. Suddenly, the engine lets out a prolonged groan and the car rolls to a stop, steam billowing from the hood.

"No, no, no..." You bang on the steering wheel before getting out of the car to pop the hood. You tap frantically at your phone. No service. Of course there’s no fucking service, you think to yourself as you toss the phone back into your bag. According to the GPS, the ranch is still 15 miles away.

You sit on the scorching trunk, the heat of the metal dampened through your jeans, scanning the shimmering horizon for any sign of life. One hour passes, then two. Your mouth feels like sandpaper, your water bottle long since drained. As the sun climbs higher, a figure appears in the distance, barely a speck against the vast blue sky. It grows larger, taking the shape of a horse and rider. The horse canters closer until it towers above you, its coat glistening with sweat. Your eyes travel up the muscular legs of the rider, past slim hips and a broad chest, to settle on a face that makes your breath catch.

You hear him say your name, watching as his pink, full lips form each syllable. His Australian accent makes the pronunciation sound sexy.

“That’s me,” you answer. “And you are?” You use your palm as a make-shift visor to block the blinding glare cast by the bright ass sun as you look up at him, your eyes taking in his features. Those gorgeous pouty lips are accompanied by a strong jawline, a broad nose, and beautiful deep brown eyes that stand out against his tan skin. The face shaded beneath the wide-brimmed cowboy hat is absolutely breathtaking.

He swings down from the saddle in one smooth motion. "I'm Chan, the foreman," he says with a vibrant, dimpled grin. "We were getting worried when you didn't show up on time."

His gaze rakes over you, taking in your flushed cheeks and the way your tank top clings to your curves. You feel stripped bare under his appraisal, heat rising under your skin that had nothing to do with the relentless sun. There is a glint in his eye, a confidence bordering on arrogance, that both unnerved and thrilled you.

"Car trouble," you reply, struggling to keep your voice even as you state the obvious. "I don't suppose you could give me a ride?"

Chan's lips quirk. "I think I can manage that." He holds out a hand, pulling you up off the car with surprising strength. "Ever ridden before?"

"Oh, I’ve ridden before,” you joke with a smirk, “just not a horse.” You swing your backpack onto your shoulders as the sound of Chan’s hearty laugh echoes through the air, his head thrown back in amusement.

“Okay, then. Let’s get you on.” He gives you a quick lesson on how to mount the horse, instructing you where to place your hands and guiding your foot into the stirrup. With his strong hands grasping your waist firmly and steering you, you mount the horse. The leather of the saddle creaks under your thighs. After checking to make sure you are situated and comfortable, he effortlessly hops onto the horse directly in front of you. "Hold on tight then," he instructs as he throws a wink over his shoulder. "And enjoy the view."

You tentatively wrap your arms around his waist, fingertips brushing against the hard planes of his abdomen. As the horse lurches forward, you instinctively tighten your grip, your chest pressing against Chan's back. Even through his shirt, you can feel the heat of his skin, the flex of muscles as he nudges the horse forward. The rocking motion of the gallop jostles you against him in a way that feels almost indecent. You try to create some space between your bodies but Chan only chuckles, the vibration rumbling through you.

"Relax, city girl. We've got a ways to go." He readjusts your arms around his body, bringing you back to the position you were in initially before you tried to distance yourself.

His words held a suggestion that makes your pulse quicken. The scrubland blurs into streaks of ocher and sage as you surrender to the rhythm, to the solid warmth of Chan's body against yours. By the time the ranch comes into view, nestled in the shadow of a rust-colored mesa, your thighs ache and an unfamiliar tension coils in your core. Chan swings down and reaches up to help you dismount, his hands firm on your waist. For a charged moment, you are suspended against him, close enough to see the golden flecks in his eyes, to feel his breath ghost across your lips. Then your feet hit the ground, and the spell is broken.

"Welcome to Wandalla Station," Chan says, his voice husky. "Let me show you around."

As he leads you past the weathered barns and corrals, you can't shake the feeling that you’d signed up for more than you bargained for. But as you sneak a glance at Chan's profile, the way his shirt stretches across his shoulders, the way his jeans cling to his round ass, the way he walks with a certain swagger, you find yourself craving the adventure. New York and its pressures feel worlds away. Here, under the endless outback sky, anything seems possible.

He leads you down a gravel path towards a small cottage. “I’ve sent someone with the tow truck to get the car and I’ll call a mechanic in the morning. You should have your luggage within the hour, but if there’s anything you need in the meantime, let me know.”

“I should be fine. Thanks.”

“This is you. There’s cold water and fizzy drinks in the refrigerator.”

You nod as you set your backpack on the table. “Thanks for the rescue.”

“Not a problem. I’m looking forward to having you with us over the next month.” He flashes his smile again before heading back out. “Dinner’s at 7:00,” he calls over his shoulder as the door shuts behind him.

****

Over the next week, you try to throw yourself into ranch life, eager to embrace the change of pace. But it quickly becomes clear that your city skills are of little use here. The first time Chan takes you out to muster cattle, you can barely stay in the saddle. The horse seems to sense your inexperience, tossing her head and sidestepping skittishly. You’re pretty sure she gives you a side-eye.

"Easy there, city girl," Chan calls, reining his mount effortlessly beside you. "You've got to show her who's boss."

His tone is teasing, but there's a glint in his eye that sends a shiver down your spine.

“I’m pretty sure she knows she’s the boss.” Chan smirks at your joke.

You grip the reins tighter, determined to prove yourself. Chan reaches over, his hand covering yours.

"Like this," he murmurs, guiding your hands. His touch is electric, lingering a beat longer than necessary. "You'll get the hang of it soon."

And slowly, you do. The days take on a rhythm of their own - early mornings, the scent of eucalyptus on the breeze, the lowing of cattle. You learn to appreciate the burn of your muscles after a long day, the satisfaction of a job well done.

And always, there's Chan.

He's never far, his presence a constant pull. He flirts as easily as he breathes, his charm as natural as the landscape. You watch him joke with the jackaroos, see the way the station hands, male and female, hang on his every word. And when his gaze finds yours across the paddock, you feel the heat of it like a brand.

"Looking good out there," he says one afternoon, leaning against the fence as you brush down your horse. It’s taken the entire week, but she’s finally come around to liking you, just a little bit. But you’ll take what you can get. "You might make a proper jillaroo yet."

You roll your eyes, but you can't suppress a smile. "I thought I was just a ‘city girl’."

Chan grins, slow and devastating. "Oh, you are. But I've got a feeling about you. I think you might be fun."

Fun? you say to yourself, wondering how he’s defining the word, wondering what actually constitutes being fun in his eyes.

He saunters closer, reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers graze your cheek and your breath catches. For a suspended moment, you're caught in his orbit, drowning in the depths of his eyes and dimples.

Then he steps back, the spell broken. He picks up the saddle and begins walking towards the barn. "Drink later?” he asks over his shoulder. “The crew's heading to the pub. I'll save you a dance?" His eyes meet yours.

You nod, not trusting your voice. As he walks away, you breathe out slowly, your skin tingling where he touched you.

You know you're playing with fire. Chan's reputation precedes him - the love 'em and leave 'em type, a heartbreaker with a trail of conquests, a literal fuck boy. But out here, with the red dirt beneath your feet and the vastness of the sky above, consequences feel far away.

That night at the pub, the crowd is lively; there are workers from the ranch as well as locals from town. You perch at the bar, watching Chan work the room. He's magnetic, laughter trailing in his wake. When he catches you looking, he winks, that damnable dimple flashing.

As the live band plays, you watch Chan dance with a few girls. As he thanks one girl and she walks away, another swoops in to take her spot. He sways with each of them, their bodies grinding against his as he guides them expertly through the moves. He’s a great dancer. Your body aches to be next to him, to feel his touch.

Eventually, he finds his way over to you, leaning casually against the bar in front of your stool.

“How’s your night going?”

You take a sip of your beer, savoring the cool liquid as it slides down your throat. "Not bad. Though I think I'm still adjusting to outback nightlife."

Chan chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "What, this isn't like your fancy New York clubs?"

"Not quite," you laugh. The pub is crowded and noisy, music blaring from the speakers now that the band is packing up. The air is thick with the scent of beer and sweat. She hasn’t been to a place like this since law school. "But it has its charms."

"Oh yeah?" Chan leans in closer, his voice dropping low. "And what might those be?"

Your eyes meet his, and the intensity you find there makes you clear your throat. You're suddenly aware of how close he is, the heat radiating from his body. "Well," you say, struggling to keep your voice steady, "Good music. Cold beer. And…the company's not bad either."

Chan's grin widens. “Well good then.” He finishes his beer and turns to face the bar. “Lia honey?” You turn to see he’s referring to the pretty brunette bartender at the other end of the bar, currently handing off two full pitchers or beer.

“Another one?” she asks as she walks to the register to deposit the cash she was just handed.

“Yes, ma’am. And I’m covering her tab,” he points his thumb in my direction.

“Got it.”

Chan returns his gaze to me. “Anything you want, it’s on me.”

“Thanks. So do you do this for all the ranch guests.”

“Not at all.” He leans in to whisper in my ear. “Just the ones I find incredibly sexy.”

“Here you go, Chris.” Lia slides him another bottle of beer.

“Thanks, mate,” he says without breaking his eye contact with you.

“I guess I’ll take that as a complement,” you respond when Lia walks away.

“You should. You are incredibly hot, city girl.” He brings the bottle to his lips, taking a large gulp. He licks beer from his lips before another devastating grin crosses his face.

You try to think of a response, but you’re a bit flustered. Instead of speaking, you sip your beer. Chan notices and chuckles at the effect he’s having on you.

“Channie!” someone calls from the pool table. “You’re holding up the fucking game. Are you coming or do you need more time to flirt?”

“I’m coming, ya cunt!” he yells, before turning his gaze back to you. “Talk more later, yeah?” You nod. “Great!”

While Chan and his friends play pool, you continue to watch him. As Chan lines up his cue, muscles flexing beneath his tight black t-shirt, you lean against the back of the stool and take a sip of your beer, your eyes focused on him as he shoots. He notices you watching and grins when you don’t avert your gaze. The game continues, but your eyes keep drifting back to him, each time meeting his gaze. A small smile creeps across your lips as you both share a moment of silent understanding before he takes his next shot.

"He's trouble, that one," a voice says beside you. You turn to see the bartender leaning against her forearms on the bar, her smile knowing. "Chan Christopher Bahng, breaking hearts across the Outback."

"You know him well?" you ask, trying to keep your tone casual.

She laughs. "Everyone knows Chan. I'm Lia, by the way.” You introduce yourself and shake her hand. “He and I go way back. We’ve been friends since the first day of Kinder."

“What's his deal?” you ask, intrigued.

“His deal?” Lia repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Chan’s a good bloke, don’t get me wrong. But when it comes to women…. He’s a notorious flirt. He manages to have a fling with every new woman who moves to town and every tourist who passes through the ranch. He can’t help himself.”

You take another sip of your beer, contemplating her words. So, he’s a smooth-talking player, you think to yourself. I can work with that. But men that looked and acted like him often had small dicks or were bad in bed. You were willing to find out though.

“And despite him always telling them he’s not interested in anything serious or something more, they always fall for him…then have their hearts broken.”

“You too?” You hope she doesn’t think you’re being forward or nosy.

“Eew, gross.” She makes a face like she’s dry heaving and that causes you to laugh. “Fuck no! He’s like my brother. Where you ladies see hot guy, I see a dirt eating, hair pulling, crybaby.”

“Heh! Sorry, I was just curious.”

“No worries. Can I get you another? Or something more expensive since Channie’s paying?” She wiggles her eyebrows and chuckles.

“Oh Lia, you and I will be great friends,” you say with a laugh. “I’ll just do another beer.”

As you watch Chan flirt and charm, you can't help but imagine his hands on your skin, his lips on your neck. The wanting is a physical ache, a pull low in your belly.

Later, alone in your bed, you let your hands wander, tracing your fingers over your body. You imagine Chan above you, his eyes dark with desire. You feel his hands exploring every inch of you, his touch feather-light, and the heat of his breath against your ear as you sink your fingers into your core. As you pump your digits in and out, and alternate with rubbing your clit, you can’t help but to moan. When you cum, his name is a whisper on your lips.

In the stillness after, you stare at the shadows on the ceiling. You know this is dangerous territory. You came here to escape complications, not to create new ones. But as sleep claims you, it's his face you see, that roguish grin inviting you to take a chance.

****

Your second week is going much better. You’ve learned a lot and are already showing signs of improvement. And the tasks you initially found annoying and tedious are now calming and meditative.

The sound of footsteps echoes through the stables, jolting you from your thoughts. You've been cleaning tack for the better part of an hour, the monotonous task giving your mind ample time to wander—to him.

"Working hard or hardly working?" His voice is a lazy drawl, sending a shiver down your spine.

You turn to find Chan leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, that ever-present smirk playing on his lips. "Some of us take our jobs seriously," you retort, but there's no real bite to your words.

He saunters closer, invading your space. The air feels electric, charged with the tension that's been building between the two of you. "And some of us know how to have a little fun."

You roll your eyes, feigning nonchalance even as your heart races. "Is that what you call it? Fun?"

His hand reaches out, brushing a straw of grass from your shoulder. His touch lingers, trailing across your shoulder and down your arm. "You telling me you don't want to have fun with me, city girl?” His eyes lock on yours for a second before he leans down to whisper in your ear. “How long are you gonna play hard to get?" He pulls back to resume looking at you.

Your breath hitches. This close, you can see the faint scar above his brow. You can smell the scent of him—leather, vanilla, and sweat.

"I'm not looking for complications," you manage, your voice shakier than you'd like.

His grin widens. "Who said anything about complications? I'm a simple man, sweetheart. I see something I want, I ask for it. I see something I like, I go for it."

And there it is, laid bare. The offer, the temptation. No pretenses, no promises. Just raw, unbridled desire.

Your eyes drop to his mouth. Those full, sensual lips that have starred in countless of your late-night fantasies. "And what is it you like? What is it that you want?" Your gaze flits back up to his eyes. You can be just as direct when you want to.

He leans in again, his breath hot against your ear. "I think you know."

Something snaps inside you, the last of your reservations crumbling. You surge forward, capturing his mouth with yours. He responds instantly, his lips fierce and demanding. It's a clash of teeth and tongues, a kiss that's more battle than caress.

His hands grip your waist, lifting you onto the workbench. Your legs wrap around him, pulling him closer. You can feel him, hard and insistent, pressing against you. The two of you make out furiously while Chan rubs his contained, hard cock against your crotch.

When he brings his hand to your belt buckle, you hesitate. "Wait," you gasp, breaking away. "Not here."

His eyes are dark, pupils blown with lust. "Then where?"

You shoot him a coy smile. "Tonight, after dinner. My cabin." He brings his lips back to yours and kisses you slowly, deeply for another minute.

“Tonight. After dinner. Your cabin,” he repeats, each phrase punctuated with a kiss.

Later that evening, in the privacy of your cabin, you discover just how talented Chan's hands and mouth can be. He plays your body like an instrument, coaxing out symphonies of pleasure. His mouth moves from your lips down your neck. He leaves no part of you untouched - hot breath against sweaty skin, teeth and tongue tracing every curve along your collarbone, then moving to your breasts. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, tugging, biting, teasing, before lavishing the same attention on the other breast. His lips continue their journey across your body, stopping briefly to kiss your belly button, then landing between your legs.

He spreads your legs wide and buries his face between them, inhaling your scent deeply. His stubble scratches against your thighs as he teases you with gentle licks and nips. His tongue finds your clit and sucks gently, sending shocks outward. Then he slips several fingers inside you. You arch your back, moaning softly. "Chan...", you whisper, amazed at how good this feels. Your hips buckle up to match his movements, desperate for more. His fingers delve deeper, finding your G-spot and dragging against it rhythmically. You keep reaching down to tug at his hair, telling him how good he is without words. He groans against your clit, a mix of satisfaction and desire. The resulting vibrations teasing you more. You lose track of time, caught in the haze of pleasure. You're on the brink of coming but you want this to last forever. As you push him away, he looks up at you and grins.

“Come here,” you whisper, and he is all too happy to oblige. He slowly climbs up your body and captures your lips, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue.

He positions his dick at your entrance, inserting just the tip before pausing. “Tell me you want it,” he demands, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I want it,” you reply, staring into his eyes,

When he finally sinks his hard cock into you, it's with a completeness that steals your breath. He’s huge; the girth fills you up and stretches you out, making you ache for more. His hips push into yours, rocking you against his shaft.

“Oh god,” you moan as his thick length slides in and out of you, grazing against your sweet spot with precision on each pass. You lose yourself in his intoxicating rhythm, in the slick slide of skin on skin. His touch is everywhere—bruising, worshiping, consuming. His mouth claims yours, adoration and lust mingling in the messiest of kisses.

Your hands explore his broad shoulders as he positions himself deeper within you, pumping in and out of your wet heat. You dig your nails into his shoulders, leaving marks that will likely fade but that you hope will remain a reminder of this moment between the two of you for days to come.

Your climax is again building quickly, the waves of heat starting to pulsate outwards from your pussy. He murmurs dirty things in your ear that only serve to heighten the sensations. It simultaneously pulls you back to reality and causes you to lose yourself all in one breathless moment.

"Almost there," he growls against your neck before biting lightly. You aren’t sure if it is a statement or a question. Your sharp intake of breath only fuels him, driving him harder into you as he pulls out to slam back in with a force that makes stars explode behind your eyes.

And when you shatter, it's with his name on your lips, coupled with praise and expletives escaping in a burst of raw pleasure. You come hard against him, writhing underneath him as a guttural sound escapes from somewhere deep within your soul—a mix between pain and ecstasy and pure bliss—the kind that only comes from being truly fucked well. And if you’re being honest with yourself, you can’t even remember the last time you got fucked, much less the last time you were fucked like this. Fucked into the stratosphere.

He groans loudly, too, at feeling how wet you are when your walls compress around him, thrusting himself faster within you as cum explodes from his tip into the condom. He buries himself inside with one last hard thrust before collapsing beside you.

In the afterglow, as you lie tangled in sweat-dampened sheets, Chan trails idle fingers along your spine. "Not bad for a city girl," he teases.

You swat at him playfully. "You're not so bad yourself, cowboy." You were impressed and he’d already proved you wrong. Big dick and good in bed. What more could a girl want?

He grins, that boyish, carefree grin that first drew you in. "Oh, sweetheart, you ain't seen nothing yet."

And as he rolls you beneath him, his mouth hot on your neck, you know he's right. This is just the beginning. The start of something reckless and wild and utterly intoxicating.

In the days that follow, you find yourself in Chan's bed more often than your own. Stolen moments between chores, frenzied couplings in the hush of night. Each touch, each kiss, is a brand, a claim.

He takes you apart with expert hands, learning your body, your desires, the right combination of buttons to push. He whispers filthy promises in your ear, telling you all the wicked things he plans to do. And he makes good on every single one. He also always makes sure you cum every single time.

It's a haze of lust and sweat and pleasure so intense it borders on pain. You've never been so thoroughly ravaged, so completely consumed. Chan is insatiable, and you match him, hunger for hunger.

But it's more than just the sex. It's the way he makes you laugh, the easy banter that flows between you. It's the unexpected moments of tenderness—a brush of his hand, a soft look when he thinks you're not watching.

You remind yourself that this is temporary. That you're both just in it for fun. But in the quiet moments, when he's draped around you, one hand playing in your hair, the other hand tracing shapes into your hip, his heartbeat steady against your back, you can almost let yourself pretend. Pretend that this is something real, something lasting.

You know it's foolish. Chan is a wildfire, burning bright and hot. And you? You're just the kindling, destined to be consumed. But as he pulls you closer, his lips finding yours in the dark, you can't bring yourself to care. For now, in this moment, you let yourself burn. Let yourself drown in his flames.

The days blur together in a haze of stolen glances, teasing touches, and searing encounters that leave you aching for more. Chan is an addiction, one you can't seem to shake. Every time you tell yourself to pull back, to remember that this is just a fling, he's there with that cocky grin, those bulging muscles, and those skilled hands, drawing you back in.

"You're thinking too hard again," he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear as he comes up behind you in the stables. "I can practically hear the gears turning."

You lean back into him, savoring the solid warmth of his chest. "Maybe I like thinking."

He chuckles, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "I can think of much better things for you to be doing."

His hands skim your sides, teasing, promising. His mouth sucks on your neck. You bite your lip, desire warring with doubt. "Chan..."

"Shh." He turns you to face him, his eyes dark with want. "Stop overthinking. Just feel."

And then he's kissing you, deep and demanding, stealing the breath from your lungs. You cling to him, lost in the heat of his mouth, the press of his body against yours. Nothing exists but this, but him.

It's Lia who finally pulls you back to reality. Over drinks at the local bar, she fixes you with a knowing look. "You're falling for him."

You startle, nearly choking on your beer. "What? No. It's not like that. We're just having fun."

She arches a brow. "Honey, I've seen this story play out a hundred times. Girl comes to ranch, falls for Chan's charm, thinks she can change him. It never ends well."

Your cheeks burn, shame and indignation blooming in your chest. "I'm not trying to change him.” And you weren’t. Chan had been very clear about what this was and what it wasn’t. You had also agreed to not make it a thing. “I know what this is. It’s short-term fun. In less than 10 days, I’ll be back on the other side of the world, back to my life, and Chan will be a distant memory. A lovely memory, but a memory all the same. There will be no declarations of love or pleas for change." It sounded convincing. You just hoped you actually believed it yourself.

Lia's expression softens. "I hope so. Chan's a good guy, but he's not the settling down type. I'd hate to see you get hurt. I kinda like you."

“I appreciate that. But you don’t need to worry.” You smile at her before taking another sip of beer.

Her words echo in your head over the next few days. You try to distance yourself, to rebuild the walls Chan so easily tore down, in an attempt to maintain the casualness of your relationship. But he's always there, drawing you in with a look, a touch, a filthy whisper in the dark.

It comes to a head one evening. You're in the stables, brushing down your favorite horse, when you hear a familiar giggle. Your heart clenches as you peer around the corner to see Chan leaning close to one of the new ranch hands, his grin wide and flirtatious. You recognize that look, that pose, that tone.

Jealousy claws at your throat, bitter and choking. You know you have no right, no claim on him. But the sight still stings, a harsh reminder of what you are. What you aren't.

You avoid Chan for the rest of the day, throwing yourself into your work, and using the time to remember and recommit to the original purpose of your entanglements with him. But he finds you that night, concern etched on his handsome face.

"Hey, have I done something wrong?" he asks, reaching for you.

You step back, crossing your arms over your chest. "No. I just... I thought you might want some space. To spend time with... other people. I feel like I’ve been monopolizing your time." You uncross your arms, hoping to seem less closed off.

Understanding dawns in his eyes. "Is this about Jess? We were just talking."

"I know." You swallow hard, hating the quaver in your voice. "I just don't want to crowd you, or cramp your style."

Chan frowns, stepping closer. "Is that what you think? That I'm tired of you?"

You shrug, looking away. "I wouldn't blame you if you were. I'm sure you want some variety."

Strong fingers grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "I want you." His voice is low, intense. "I'm having the time of my life with you. I'm not ready for this to end."

Butterflies flutter in your chest. "You're not?"

"Hell no." He grins, that familiar cocky tilt of his lips. "I mean to have you every way I can, as many times as I can, before you go back to your real life and forget all about little old me."

"I could never forget you," you whisper, the truth of it aching in your bones.

His eyes soften, his thumb brushing your cheek. "Then let me give you some more memories to take with you."

He kisses you then, deep and slow, his hands sliding under your shirt. You melt into him, into the heat of his touch, the promise of his words. For tonight, for the next week, he's yours.

And you plan to make every second count.

The days of your final week blur together in a haze of passion and pleasure, stolen moments and heated glances. You work side by side during the day, the sun beating down on your skin, sweat dripping down your spine. But every brush of Chan's hand against yours, every smoldering look, promises a replay of the previous night's ecstasy.

And oh, how he delivers on that promise.

Each night, he takes you to new heights, exploring your body with a dedication that borders on worship. He learns every curve, every sensitive spot, playing you like a finely tuned instrument until you're singing his name in breathless gasps and pleas.

But it's not just physical. In the quiet moments after, when you're tangled together, spent and sated, he makes you laugh with his wild stories and shameless flirting. He listens intently as you share your own tales, offering bits of wisdom wrapped in his signature cheekiness.

You try to memorize every detail - the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the rumble of his laugh against your ear, the shape of his dimples, the feel of his calloused hands on your skin. You etch them into your brain, a bittersweet collection to carry back to the life you left behind.

And then, suddenly, your last night is upon you.

There's a heaviness in the air as you walk into Chan's cottage, a sense of finality that weighs on your chest. He feels it too, you can see it in the set of his shoulders, the flicker of something raw in his eyes.

"So this is it, huh?" His voice is light, but there's an undercurrent of emotion he can't quite hide.

"I guess so." You aim for a smile, but it wobbles at the edges. "Time for me to turn back into a pumpkin."

"Nah," he steps into you, hands settling on your hips. "You're a goddess, remember? Whether you're here or in New York."

Your heart clenches, affection and sorrow twisting together. You'll miss this, miss him, more than you ever expected. But you know this is how it has to be.

You wind your arms around his neck, fingers threading into his hair. "Then take me to bed. Give me something to remember you by."

His grin is slow, wicked, sending heat spiraling through your veins. "Oh, baby. When I'm done with you, you won't be able to think of anything else."

And then he's kissing you, deep and desperate, like he wants to crawl inside you and never leave. You answer in kind, pouring every ounce of passion, every unspoken feeling, into the press of your lips, the slide of your tongue.

Clothes hit the floor in a flurry of impatient hands, the need to feel skin on skin overwhelming in its intensity. He walks you back to the bed, lays you down like you're something precious, something to be cherished.

And then he sets about making good on his promise.

He worships every inch of you with hands and lips and tongue, bringing you to the brink again and again only to pull back, to tease, to prolong the sweet agony of your desire. He whispers filthy praise into your skin, telling you how good you feel, how perfect you are, how he's going to make this a night you'll never forget.

When he finally sinks into you, it's with a groan that sounds like it's been punched out of him, raw and harsh and so unbearably sexy. He starts to move, deep, rolling thrusts that light you up from the inside, sparking along your nerve endings like wildfire.

You match him stroke for stroke, hips rising to meet his, nails raking down his back. He hisses as you scrape his skin. You're lost in him, in the motion of your bodies, the mingled sounds of your gasps and moans, the searing heat building in your core.

It's both too much and not enough, this feeling, this moment. You want to stay here forever, suspended in this blissful torment, this excruciating ecstasy. But you can feel your orgasm approaching, the coil winding tighter and tighter, demanding release.

"Chan..." It's a plea, a prayer, a benediction.

He knows, he always knows. "I've got you," he rasps, his rhythm increasing, driving into you with a force that steals your breath. "Let go. Cum for me."

And you do, his name a broken cry on your lips as rapture crashes over you, through you, exploding in dazzling bursts of light behind your eyelids. He follows a heartbeat later, your name a reverent groan as he spills himself inside the condom, his face a mask of exquisite agony.

You cling to each other as you both come down, sweat-slicked and trembling, exchanging soft, sipping kisses that slowly bank the fire still smoldering in your veins. There's an ache in your chest, a looming sense of loss, but you push it away. This isn't the time for sorrow.

This is a time for gratitude, for celebration. For the joy and freedom and unbridled passion you found in his arms, in this wild Outback that now feels more like home than any place you've ever known.

You fall asleep wrapped around each other, your head on his chest, his heartbeat a steady drum beneath your ear. In the morning, you'll untangle your limbs, share a final, lingering kiss. You'll drive away with a smile on your face and an unfamiliar lightness in your soul, ready to face whatever comes next.

But that's tomorrow. Tonight, in this perfect, shining moment, there is only Chan, and the blissful afterglow of being thoroughly, wonderfully, unforgettably fucked.

You wake a few hours later, surprised to see it’s still dark out. As you slowly open your eyes, the warmth of Chan’s body next to you envelops you. His peaceful expression makes your heart flutter. His thick, full lips call to you and you kiss them gently, causing him to stir awake.

“Mmmm,” he murmurs. “What a nice way to wake up.” He pulls you on top of him and deepens the kiss, his growing erection pressing against your folds. Your own body responds, as you involuntarily begin to grind your crotch against him resulting in him quickly growing harder beneath you. “Shit,” he whispers as his cock springs to attention. “The things you do to me….”

“Well, I’m about to do it one last time.” You take his bottom lip in between your teeth and pull gently before letting go and kissing it.

Without a word, he reaches over to the nightstand to pull a condom from the decorative glass jar he uses to hold them.

But you quickly grab his arm, shaking your head in protest. "No," you say softly but firmly.

“No?” His eyes narrow to slits as he examines your face.

“No.” You move your hand to his cock, gently massaging it with slow strokes up and down. You make sure to run your palm over the tip each time you reach the top, eliciting soft moans from him. “I want to feel all of you against my walls,” you whisper, biting your lip seductively. Your crotch has not slowed its delicious grind against the base of his shaft. “If that’s okay.”

He can’t contain the wide grin that spreads across his face, his excitement evident at the prospect of fucking you raw. “Is that so?” he asks amused, the pronunciation of the last word heavy with his Australian drawl. You nod. He chuckles before continuing in a soft voice. “Whatever you want, love.”

You lift your hips to position yourself over his cock before slowly sliding yourself down, allowing your head to roll back as you revel in each inch and savor every sensation as you take him all the way in.

Your body moves with a fluid grace as you ride Chan's length, the muscles of your thighs clenching and releasing in perfect rhythm with your hips. His hands find their way to your waist, gripping it tightly as he watches you. You bring your hands to his chest, stabilizing yourself on top of him.

The bed springs creak in harmony with your movements as you continue to grind against him, feeling his cock hit every spot that needs hitting. You bite your bottom lip, trying to hold back a moan at the intensity of the sensations coursing through your body.

As you pick up speed, Chan's grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as he helps to guide your hips back and forth as he thrusts upwards. Each thrust makes you feel both vulnerable and powerful at once. You look down at him, taking in the sheer desire etched on his face, and it ignites a fire within you. You quicken your pace even more, loving the way his eyes roll back into his head with pleasure.

You lean down, capturing his mouth in a hungry kiss that leaves you both panting for air. You break the kiss and let out a low growl, nipping at his jawline before looking at him again. "You like that?" you ask breathlessly.

His response is a groan mixed with another moan as he nods, his eyes still closed tightly. "God yes."

Encouraged by his response, you speed up once more, your movements becoming more frenzied as you grind against Chan with renewed intensity while you chase your final release.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Chan groans, his hips bucking up to meet yours. “Why do you feel so good?”

You lean down, pressing your chest against his as you kiss him deeply. The change in angle causes him to hit even deeper inside you, making you gasp against his lips. Chan takes advantage, his tongue sliding against yours as he thrusts up to meet your movements.

You can feel yourself getting close, that familiar tension building. Chan seems to sense it too. One of his hands slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit. He rubs tight circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves, and it's like a match to gasoline.

Suddenly, your body goes taut, and your inner walls clench rhythmically around Chan’s cock as you cry out, “Ahhhh!” The sight, sound, and feel of you coming undone pushes Chan over the edge. He groans your name.

You rest your forehead against his as the two of you try to catch your breaths. You feel the sticky mess start to slide out of you. You don’t mind though, instead feeling a sense of contentment. Apparently neither does he; he is just as lost in the moment, his eyes closed and lips parted, as you breathe in each other’s air. Neither of you feel compelled to move and separate from each other to clean up the evidence of what was surely a poor decision on both of your parts. Absolutely fucking reckless; you both know better. Yet, in this moment, it doesn’t matter. The need for more was undeniable, and rational thinking be damned.

The bad decisions always feel so right, don’t they.

He breaks the silence first. “That’s certainly one way to say goodbye,” he says with a grin against your lips.

You chuckle and press a kiss on them. “Didn’t I tell you I could ride?” you whisper.

His laughter rings out in the room as he wraps his arms tightly around you.

****

The sun is high and hot as Chan loads your bags into the rental car, the red dirt of the Outback stretching out behind him. There's a bittersweet tinge to the air, a sense of an ending, but also of a new beginning.

You lean against the car, watching him, trying to memorize the lines of his face, the play of muscles under his bronzed skin. He catches you looking and flashes that familiar, cocky grin.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," he teases, closing the trunk with a decisive thud.

"Don't tempt me," you shoot back. "I might just wallpaper my apartment with them."

He laughs, sauntering over to you. "I'll send you some nudes to add to the collection."

"You do that." The banter is easy, familiar; it soothes the ache of leaving. "Just don't be surprised if they end up on a billboard in Times Square."

"Mate, I'd be proud." He settles his hands on your hips, his touch igniting sparks under your skin despite the layers between you. "I'll show those city boys what they're missing."

Your chuckle is a little wobbly, emotion welling up in your throat. "I'm going to miss you," you confess softly. "Miss this."

His eyes gentle, one hand coming up to cup your cheek. "Me too," he murmurs. "More than you know." He stares deeply into your eyes. “Think you might ever return? Cause I certainly wouldn’t mind if you did,” he says softly.

You turn your head to press a kiss to his palm. “If I did, I’d need luxury accommodations next time.” You say, only half-joking. “I don’t know that I could rough it again!” You grin.

He snorts. “Ha! I thought you handled it well enough, city girl. Five-star accommodations can be arranged, if necessary.”

“That would be much appreciated. And if you’re ever in Manhattan, you should give me a ring.”

"Tempting." His thumb strokes your cheekbone, his gaze turning thoughtful. “New York City might be a bit too posh for a bushman like me. But if I ever make it there, you’ll be my first call."

"I'll hold you to that," you whisper.

Silence stretches between the two of you as you stare into his eyes. And then he’s kissing you, soft and sweet and full of unspoken emotion.

It ends too soon, as all good things must.

He leans in, rests his forehead against yours. "This doesn't have to be the end, if we don't want it to be," he whispers.

You pull away from him and raise an eyebrow. “Oh wooooow,” you say in a singsong voice. “Did someone catch feelings?”

A blush starts at his neck and travels up his face to his ears as he runs his fingers through his hair. He smirks and responds, “Maybe just a little.” He leans in and lowers his voice. “But don’t tell anyone; it could ruin my rep.”

You laugh and push him away playfully. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

Before you know it, you're behind the wheel, the engine humming beneath you. Chan leans in the window, his smile soft around the edges.

"Drive safe," he says quietly. "And don't forget about me when you're back in your fancy office, bossing people around."

You swallow hard, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. "Never," you vow.

And then you're pulling away, the ranch and the man getting smaller in your rearview mirror. You watch until you can't see him anymore, until the Outback swallows him up like a mirage; there one moment and gone the next.

But he's not gone, not really. He's there in the ache of your muscles, the bruises on your ass, the bite marks on your neck, the delicious soreness between your thighs. He's seared into your skin, imprinted on your soul.

The drive to the airport passes in a haze of memories, snapshots of stolen moments and heated encounters flashing through your mind. The curve of his smile, the roughness of his hands, the way he made you feel alive, desired, free. It was a fantasy come to life, and now it's time to return to reality.

Check-in and security are a blur, and then you're settling into your first-class seat, the plush leather cradling your weary body. As the plane lifts off, you gaze out the window, watching the harsh, beautiful landscape fall away below you.

Despite the melancholy tugging at your heart, you feel lighter somehow, unburdened. The weight of expectation, of obligation, seems to have disappeared somewhere in the red dirt and endless skies of the Outback.

You came looking for escape, for distraction, and you found so much more. Freedom. Passion. A piece of yourself you hadn't even realized was missing.

And Chan... The thought of him brings a small, secret smile to your lips. He'd been everything you needed and nothing you expected. A friend, a lover, a safe place to land. Not a forever thing, but a perfect interlude.

As the plane carries you back to your life, to the bustle and pressure of the city, you close your eyes and let yourself drift, savoring the last vestiges of this stolen time.

You don't know what the future holds, if your paths will ever cross again. But you know you'll carry a piece of him, of this wild, perfect dreamtime, with you always. A reminder of who you are, of who you can be, when you strip away the masks and expectations.

After all, you muse, smiling to yourself as the clouds engulf you, that's the beauty of a fling. It's fleeting, but it's forever a bright flash of light against the darkness, a memory to hold onto when the real world intrudes.

And as for Chan... well, the Outback will always be there, waiting, if you ever need to find yourself again. And maybe, just maybe, so will he.

With that thought, you chug the rest of your champagne, then let yourself sink into sleep, dreaming of red dirt and strong hands, of laughter and passion beneath a sea of stars, as the miles unspool behind you, carrying you forward, carrying you home.

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szonyix6277 · 8 days ago

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.:Unrequited Love:.

a/n: completely forgot about this draft. oops! it was a struggle to conclude this one, it had about five different endings? xD some things just don't turn out the way you initially want them to... and that's totally ok.

pairing: Choi Seung-hyun x Fem!Reader (ft. Kwon Ji-yong and BIGBANG)

contains: angst, unrequited love, close friendships, language and alcohol use, no hard warnings

w/c: 3k

summary: You have been classmates with Dae-sung since first grade. One day he introduced you to his new friends and bandmates, BIGBANG. You soon learned that you shared the same birthday date, November 3rd, with Seung-hyun - he was a few years older than you. It quickly became a silly tradition that you’d grab dinner with him, just the two of you, on the day. But strings were quickly attached; unlike with the others, you could geek out over astronomy and art - some of the things you both loved - and you realized that you had a massive crush on him. I will tell him next time -you nodded to yourself. For weeks. Months. And next week, it was your birthday. Instead of going out, you decided to invite him to yours - you lived alone in a small, one bed apartment in Seoul - cook him dinner and finally confess your love. He agreed to meet you there and it was all good to go, however…

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“Wanna hang out tonight?” -Ji-yong asked you after their dance rehearsal.

At this stage, you were an unofficial member of BIGBANG, just chilling around. After Dae-sung introduced you to the band years ago, you quickly became friends with everyone and you liked to occupy a black couch in the corner, either reading or drawing.

“It’s my birthday, man!” -you responded, sitting up on the armrest.

“Oh, right, you’re hanging out with your twin!”

“Are you gonna confess or something?” -Young-bae nudged your arm, just being silly, but your face turned all red and you bit your lower lips. “Damn…”

“Shhs!” -you punched his arm. Lucky for you, Seung-hyun already left the room to take a shower.

“That hurt!”

“Good!” - you hissed.

“Are you serious?” -Dae-sung asked in a hush tone, as he popped down on the couch, a towel loosely hanging over his shoulder. “You and Tabi?”

“Don’t act like it isn’t obvious.” -Ji-yong rolled his eyes.

“Wait, really?” -you turned to him. “What does he do?”

“Not him! You!” -he cleared his throat and his voice went an octave higher, mocking you. “Tee-hee! Oppa, you look great in this! Oh, my, your rap is so badass! Tee-hee!” -he continued and started twirling his short hair.

“I’m gonna beat you!” -you warned.

“Please!” -he let out a laugh, his voice going back to normal. “You don’t even notice but you’re head over heels for the man!”

“Head over heels for whom?”

You all turned.

Seung-hyun just returned from his shower. His hair was still slightly damp, but he was all dressed, ready to leave.

“Lee Byung-hyun.” -you said the first celebrity name that came to mind. The three boys around you could barely keep their laughter back, exchanging looks. You knew they wouldn’t rat you out, but if one of them laughs, the other two will follow. You kicked Dae-sung, as he was the closest to you and gave him a death stare. Seung-hyun just frowned. He knew he missed something but he wasn’t gonna press.

“He’s pretty cool.” -he nodded. “What time does my birthday girl want to meet?”

“Hm, let’s say 7.30?”

“Sure.” -he gave you a little side hug and a kiss on your cheek. “See you then!”

“See ya!”

When he stepped outside the studio, the three finally laughed.

“Okay, screw you all! I gotta go, too!” -you said. You tossed your notes in your backpack. “Bye!”

“Good luck confessing tonight!”

“Go get some, girl!”

“Use a condom, we don’t need your pet semen running around!”

You cleaned the apartment and cooked the food. You even got out some candles to have a more romantic ambiance - and wine to ease yourself for the night. A big night! You let out a deep breath and fluffed the decorative pillows on the couch, for the millionth time, when you got a phone call. It was Seung-hyun.

“Hey, what’s up, birthday boy?” -you asked in a chirpy tone.

“Hey! Listen, um… something came up and I’m really sorry… but I won’t make it to yours tonight.”

“Is everything ok?” -you were worried something happened to his mom, or his sister, or one of his friends.

“Yeah, all is ok! I, um… I got asked out by this girl and I said yes.”

“Oh.” -so he cancelled to get laid?!

“You’re mad, huh?”

“No, no!” -yes, you were mad. Pissed. Beyond furious. “Enjoy your evening, then.” -you shrugged.

“I will make it up to you, (Y/n)! I promise!”

“Okay. Have fun!” -you said with a sour face, but you didn’t let him hear it in your voice.

“Thanks! Bye.” -he hung up.

You felt defeated.

If you grew a pair and asked him out sooner, this wouldn’t have happened.

You looked at the table. It was all set up, two plates, two candles, two glasses and a bottle of wine. You felt the tears stinging your eyes.

You poured yourself a glass, downing it in one swift swing and texted Ji-yong.

He cancelled T^T Wanna come over?

He cancelled? Np, I’ll be right thereBring the boys, tooCan’t - Dae is a homebody and YB is with Hyo-rin

I guess it’s just us then -.-’’

Hey, I’m a great company! >.<”

You smiled. He really is great company.

Soon, Ji-yong arrived, with another bottle of wine.

“I’m sorry.” -he hugged you when you opened the door. His eyes showed nothing but sadness for you. “What happened?”

“He’s on a date.” -you closed the door behind him.

“A date?” -he frowned. “With whom?”

“He didn’t give me the details, Ji!” -you snapped. You sat on your couch, pouring yourself another glass. “You can have some food and wine.”

Ji-yong got a plateful of your pre-made dinner and settled next to you.

You were watching a series on your laptop, eyes fixated on the screen but your mind was elsewhere. Ji-yong tried his best. He was talking to you, random stuff like usual, but all you did was silently nod, keeping your eyes on the screen - hoping not to give in to your feelings and bawl your eyes out.

Why did you even ask him to come over? All you were doing was ignoring him. You pressed the spacebar to pause the show.

“I’m sorry I invited you.” -you said quietly.

“Huh?”

“You can go home, if you want.”

“Nope!” -he threw an arm over your shoulder and hugged you. “I’m not leaving you here all sad and lonely on your birthday. What kind of guy would that make me?”

“Thanks.” -you smiled, getting cozy in his hug.

Two finished bottles later between the two of you, you passed out on your couch and Ji-yong on the floor. You nearly stumbled over him in the morning when you came to. It was sweet of him to stay - but you wished it was Seung-hyun. You still couldn’t believe he so casually cancelled on you, literally at the last minute! Where did he even meet that bitch?!

You didn’t go to any of their dance rehearsals that week. You tried to avoid Seung-hyun like the plague. You were so hurt - and he hasn’t tried to reach you either! So much for making it up for me! Until one day, you heard a knock on your door. You were surprised to see Ji-yong with a bright smile on his face. You weren’t expecting him - or anyone.

“What?” -you asked with a raised eyebrow.

“We’re going on a double date in half an hour.”

“Huh?”

“Come on, get dressed!”

“S-slow down!” -you stuttered as he made his way in your apartment. “What are you talking about?”

“Seung-hyun invited me on a double date with his new girlfriend.”

“Okay, and why am I-… ? Oh!” -the penny dropped. Ji-yong wanted you to be his date for this. “Are you insane?” -you smacked his arm.

“What? We’d make a cute couple.”

“Yeah, but not a convincing one!”

“I’ll pay you dinner for an entire month if you come!”

“I don’t know, Ji…”

“You get to see the bitch he cancelled on you for.”

That did it. Your curiosity got the best of you and started to get ready.

Half an hour later, you were all dolled up in a low-cut, red top, jeans and red high heels.

“Okay, our story is simple.” -Ji-yong said when you two sat in a taxi. “We got together on your birthday. I confessed and you kissed me.”

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.” -you huffed. “I look ridiculous!”

“You look hot.”

“Back off, Ji!”

“Hold my hand, when we go in.”

By the time you arrived at the restaurant, Seung-hyun was already there with her, sitting at a 4-seat table next to each other. Your heart sank. It was like someone saw your worst nightmare and decided to turn it into reality. She was all smiles - Seung-hyun must have said something and they were both giddy about it. She had long, brown hair. She wore a short sleeve, black turtleneck and a miniskirt with doll shoes. Still, when she stood up to greet you, she was taller than you in your heels. She introduced herself as Cha-Cha, her stage name, but her real name was Ho-Sook.

Seung-hyun was surprised to see you, to say the least. He didn’t expect you to show up with his best friend.

“I wanna go for a smoke before we order.” -Ji-yong didn’t even sit down. “Anyone want to join?”

“Oh, me!” -Cha-Cha stood up. “I wanna get all the juicy details about my new man.” -she winked at Seung-hyun -making your stomach flip. For fuck’s sake, just pee on him already!

As they walked away you opened the menu to keep yourself occupied.

“I didn’t know you and Ji-yong…” -he started, his voice smooth as ever. Your heart fluttered.

“Well, yeah, we are!” -you faked a smile, slamming down your menu. “Problem?”

“No, it’s cute.” -he smiled. That damn sweet smile. “A bit unexpected, but cute.”

Cute? Is that it? He believes it?

“Why unexpected?” -you asked.

“I always thought he sees you the way I see you. The way we all do.”

“Which is?” -you frowned.

“That you are our little sister we must protect at all costs.” -he brushed your cheek. You dropped your eyes feeling the heat rise to your face. He was kind but his words felt like salt to an open wound. It hurt. He practically family-zoned you! You didn’t have the slightest chance with him - no matter how cute you acted or how sexy you dressed. It was always going to be unrequited love.

“What did we miss?” -Cha-Cha came back with Ji-yong. Seung-hyun pulled back into his seat.

“Nothing, babe.” - he responded. “Just chatting.”

Ji-yong gave you a look of concern as he sat down. You got out your phone and texted him:

L8r - as in, you’d explain it to him later.

You all ordered your food and let Cha-Cha talk. She was a big talker. But at least you found out how she met Seung-hyun; apparently, they’ve been taking the same bus for the past 3 months. She was a 2NE1 backup dancer. That explains the crazy long legs - you thought. She hooked her arm under his and leaned on him as she told the story of how she asked him out. She gained the courage on the day of his birthday, because she forgot to buy him a gift. Bullshit, but whatever. Seeing them all snuggly in front of you killed your appetite but somehow, you powered through without letting your heartache show.

You were happy to leave when Cha-Cha suggested:

“Why don’t we go to a club?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” -you sighed.

“We can go home and freshen up and see you around 9?”

“Yeah, that sounds fun!” -Seung-hyun agreed. Great, more PDA!

“Okay, we’ll see you then!” -Ji-yong agreed in your place. The two of them left. Once they were far away, you hit him full force in the arm. “Ow!”

“Why would you agree?!” -you hissed.

“I’m sorry.” -he massaged his arm. “You’re really strong…”

“I don’t want to see them again.” -your tears finally escaped. “Not tonight! Not ever!”

“(Y/n)...” -Ji-yong sighed and hugged you. “What happened while I was outside?”

“I definitely don’t have a shot with Seung-hyun.” -he didn’t understand, so you continued. “He thinks of me as a little sister.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” -he asked, wiping a teardrop from your face. You shrugged.

“Whatever…” -you wiped your face. “Fuck it. Let’s get wasted.”

You were sitting by the bar, all alone sipping on a cocktail.

Seung-hyun and Cha-Cha were being late and Ji-yong texted that he feels sick from the food he had earlier at the restaurant. You just scoffed, turning your phone face down - you didn’t text him back. It was 20 past 9 and you were ready to call it quits, when Seung-hyun finally showed up. All alone and upset.

“Sorry.” -he said shortly and sat on the bar stool next to you. “Two shots of vodka!” -he addressed the bartender.

“You look awfully upset for someone who just got laid.” -you said in a sour tone, not even looking at him.

“What?!”

“You and Cha-Cha.”

“Fuck me…” -he cursed under his breath, running his hand into his hair. The bartender got back with his order. He downed both shots. Woah! Did I miss something? “It’s none of your business, (Y/n).” -he cleared his throat. “But for your information, we broke up.”

“Huh?” -you turned to him. “Wha-What happened?” -you asked. “Are you okay?”

“Do I look OK?!” -he snapped. You noticed. He’s got bloodshot eyes. He must have been crying and that’s why he was late. The last thing he needed was you bitching at him.

“Seung-hyun…” -you scooched closer to him, dragging the heavy barstool closer to him on the sticky floor, and rubbed his arm. “I’m so sorry…”

“Ji said you’re here alone so I couldn’t just bail o you, too.”

Him prioritizing you even now made you blush - lucky for you, the lights were too low to notice the change.

“Is there anything I can do?” -you asked gently.

“You’re already doing it.” -he gave you a tired smile, patting your hand. “You’re by my side, like nobody else.”

“Then I’ll make sure to stay as long as I’m needed.”

“You’re the best.” -he squeezed your hand a little tighter. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing.”

It wasn’t the kind of relationship you wanted - but it was the type of relationship he needed.

You were dying of curiosity to know what exactly went down, and you didn’t have to wait long. After two more drinks, Seung-hyun told you exactly what happened -not fully coherent, but you understood the main point where it all went south. He escorted Cha-Cha back to her place. She started to complain about Ji-yong and you.

“Me?” -you asked in surprise. “What did I do?”

“She woz soooo fucking jealous of ya!” -Seung-hyun loudly slurred his words. “I woz tellin’ ‘er about ya… y’know? Like before… Cuz you’re like my best friend. Okay? You know that, right?! RIGHT?!”

“Right, I do know that.” -you reassured him, looking around the club as more people started to take notice of you.

“Right…” -he nodded a little longer than intended, then got back to his story. “She saw that I woz like… touchin’ ya face or sumtin’… at the restauran’ …I dunno… and she flipped out, man! Like… mental! So she tolds me to choose…. between ya, my bestest friend… is that a word… best-est… hehe… and her. Like bitch, wha’?! I tolds her we done, and I ain’t ruining my frien’ships over some hot pussy… y’know?”

“That’s admirable.” -you patted his back.

“No, for reals… if she go’ pro’lem wi’ my frien’s…. She can fuck… off! Y’know wha’ I’m sayin’?”

“Yes, Seung-hyun! The entire club knows what you’re saying!” -you hissed. He was practically shouting over the loud club music.

“Oh… “ -he looked around with glassy eyes. “Maybe don’ shout then, (Y/n)...” -he whispered and started to snigger. He was completely drunk. It was time to call it a night.

You got help from some guys at the club to carry him to the taxi, and then asked the taxi driver to help you carry him up to your place.

He was giggling as the taxi driver put him on the couch.

“Thanks again!” -you said and gave him an extra tip.

“Yeah, you kids have fun!” -he nodded.

You got a pillow and a blanket for Seung-hyun - and a bucket in case he decided to throw up the party.

“Right…” -you sighed.

“Huh…where-?... how-?” -he muttered as he was looking around, trying to make sense of the situation.

“Don’t worry. You’re safe, Seung-hyun.”

“You really da best…” -he hiccupped. “I wuw yuuu!!”

You rolled your eyes with a smile.

“I wuw you, too.” -you got his messy fringe out of the way and kissed his forehead. “Get some rest, ok?” -but by then, he was knocked out. You gently rubbed his cheek and went to your bedroom - leaving the door open, if he needed you during the night.

The next morning, you woke up before Seung-hyun. Well, you didn’t sleep much to begin with. You replayed the entire day in your head over and over again. Until you realized not being able to be his girlfriend was actually a trump card you will hold forever. Drunk people tell the truth, don’t they? You were his best friend, his own words, and that’s not a title that could be taken away so easily. You could love him without ever breaking up. And this possibility really made your friendship with him even more special than before. It was a sort of closure. You felt a sense of peace and tranquility.

You didn’t bother waking him up - he had a rough night - and went to the dance studio. You haven’t seen Young-bae and Dae-sung since your birthday and you missed them. The boys were happy to see you. Ji-yong already filled them in, you didn’t have to explain anything.

“And where did you leave hyung?” -Ji-yong asked.

“He’s at mine.”

“Oh?” -Young-bae looked at you. “You told him?”

“Do we need to get you two registry gifts?” -Dae-sung cooed.

“I will punch you!” -you warned. “He, um… he can tell you his story, but me and him are never going to date. I’m cool with it.”

“But yesterday…?” -Ji-yong started, but you stopped it.

“I gained some perspective since... and I'd rather be his friend than his ex.”

The boys exchanged some looks but since you weren’t going to share more, they all went back to practice.

You took up your assigned spot on the couch, scribbling in your notebook. It was good to be back. If you and Seung-hyun ever dated and broke up, this would all be taken away from you. You wouldn’t just lose him. You’d lose all of this. All your close friends. Your favourite people. Your best friends.

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Taglist: @bettelaboure @flymetothexmoon @nerdydoll-com @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @cybertempo @breakmeoff @wcnderlnds @emmiesoverthemoon @berfgrimm @forevervibezzzz1 @youlikeex @moontabi

feel free to request to be added/removed from taglist

#choi seunghyun #t.o.p #bigbang #fanfic #top x reader #t.o.p bigbang

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sandradreams · 7 days ago

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Not a lot, just forever

Daryl Dixon x F!Reader

Season 3 finale and Season 4 start approx.

Warnings: There may be spelling mistakes, incorrect verb conjugations, or narrative errors. My English isn't very good, so please forgive me for that :(

Word account: 1,251

Autor´s note: I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. I loved writing to Daryl this way. I wrote this while listening to Coldplay's Sparks, drinking cold coffee, and crying because no one would propose to me like this :(

Daryl had spent several days outside the prison, searching for the right and perfect place for the idea he had in mind. A couple of years ago, he had met his girlfriend on a lovely summer afternoon, wearing ripped jeans, muddy and worn. A girl who had lost everything, but upon finding him, had everything once more. And to him, she meant life itself.

He wasn’t sure if it was the right decision, but he did know that he loved her with all his soul. The kind of love you don’t find on a night out at a bar—a love built on mutual respect, care, and the tenderness of a kiss. Daryl had come to understand his heart over time. It had been hard to accept what he truly felt. It all seemed like a dumb, stale joke—but she didn’t make him feel broken and useless like Merle did.

She looked at him as if he hung the sun, the stars, the entire universe—but he preferred to think she looked at him like he planted flowers in the spring. So, with that in mind, he felt ready to take the next step.

Carol helped block the windows and any spaces where light filtered in, baking cookies with ingredients she’d found in the cozy house. The table was decorated with scraps of fabric, but the most important thing wasn’t that—it was what Daryl held between his fingers.

“What are you doing?” his friend asked, noticing he wouldn’t stop rubbing the small object with precision and care.

“Nothing,” he replied playfully. “Don’t be so nosy.”

Carol tried to peek over his shoulder. Maybe he didn’t want to tell her, but she already knew what it was about. She didn’t press and simply continued what she was doing.

The archer kept rubbing the ring he had taken from a walker. Blood covered part of the stone—it was small and delicate compared to his fingers, but it was Y/N’s size. A few nights back, he had measured her finger while she slept, using a string he saved. He killed a few walkers and found it. Bright, with a square cut and a silver band—not too thin, not too thick. Just perfect.

Before the sun went down, Daryl and Carol returned to the prison with supplies, trying not to draw attention. As he got off the bike, he saw his beautiful girlfriend holding baby Judith in her arms. She smiled radiantly as she pointed at him so the little one would see. He wondered if he could ever be a father—but more than that, a good father. The kind that loves, protects, and watches over his children’s dreams. The kind he never had.

He walked toward them and kissed Y/N’s forehead, then her lips. He felt a tiny, warm hand touch his cheek, trying to cover him in drool. So, after pulling away from his girl’s lips, he gently stroked the baby’s head.

“Everything okay?” she asked softly, admiring his slightly longer hair, incredibly handsome as ever.

“Mhm… I brought you something,” he said, pointing to the backpack on his shoulders.

She nodded, and they walked inside to their shared cell. On the way, Carl took his sister and walked off with her, the baby babbling. Daryl laid out what he had brought on the mattress—clothes, a brush, hair accessories, and a few hygiene products. One floral dress caught Y/N’s eye, white and yellow, fresh and lovely. She cupped his cheeks and kissed him—soft and delicate, like the touch of a feather. As she pulled away, she whispered a thank you. He had always been thoughtful, observant, and understanding. Whenever he had the chance, he’d bring her little trinkets she might like.

Sunlight slipped through the prison bars—it was the day he had been waiting for. He was nervous, his hands sweaty and trembling slightly, his foot bouncing as he ate breakfast. As if the universe was on his side, T/N was wearing the dress. A simple hairstyle adorned her beautiful hair, glowing in the light’s rays.

“Do you like it?” she whispered, smiling and kissing his cheek.

“You look beautiful,” he said, never taking his eyes off her. She was radiant. “I’m taking you on a little trip, after breakfast.”

“What? I won’t be able to ride the motorcycle,” she said, surprised. If she had known, she wouldn’t have worn the dress.

“You’ve done it plenty of times before,” he replied.

They finished breakfast and left the prison. The wind brushed her face as she took in the scenery. Daryl pulled into a small housing complex and stopped the bike. She looked at him, confused. He didn’t respond, just helped her off and guided her into the house he had chosen.

Carol, Maggie, and Glenn had helped him prepare everything for their arrival. A few candles lit the room, and wildflowers sat in a vase on the table. Y/N tightened her grip on Daryl’s hand, eyes beginning to blur with tears at the beautiful surprise her boyfriend had prepared. She knew this kind of thing wasn’t his style—but this went above and beyond.

He spun on his heels, nervous to see her reaction. When their eyes met, he released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. She looked at him with tearful eyes and a watery smile.

“Daryl…” his name came out in a low, breathy whisper, choked with emotion.

“I just wanted to do something nice,” he said, brushing a tear from her cheek.

“God… this is beautiful.”

He led her to the table, pulled out her chair, and let her sit. He went to the kitchen and brought over the food. Only the best for his girl. He served her, and soon they ate. The room filled with conversation, laughter, loving glances, and stolen kisses. When the moment felt just right, he pulled a small, old box from his pocket and knelt in front of her.

“Sweetheart, I’m no good with words or writing speeches. I just know that since I met you, my life has felt better, happier, and complete. Every day I wake up with you in my arms, kissing your lips and doing all the things people in love do—because that’s how I feel: in love. When you’re by my side, the sun shines brighter, the cold nights feel warmer, and I want to spend the rest of my life in love with you. Y/N, would you let me spend the rest of my life with you?”

With trembling hands and the overwhelming urge to run, he opened the box. He heard a choked sob and feared the worst.

“Yes. Forever,” she replied. Tears streamed down her cheeks as Daryl gently took her hand, kissed the back of it, and slid the beautiful ring onto her finger.

She knelt beside him and cupped his face, kissing him slowly—with a taste of promise. Of home. Of scars that no longer hurt as much. It sealed the start of a new life. He buried his fingers in his fiancée’s hair. Soon, she would be his wife.

As they pulled apart, panting together, she held him tightly.

“I love you, Daryl. Always,” she whispered.

“I love you, sweetheart. Always,” he replied, kissing the crown of her head.

They had found the place where they belonged—side by side, healing and growing together. Daryl had come to understand that love deserves to be celebrated every day. In a world that keeps changing, she was his reason for being.

*dividers by @enchanthings

#daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl dixon twd #daryl imagines #daryl x reader #daryl x female reader #daryl x y/n #daryl x you #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead #norman reedus #twd

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 2 months ago

Note

🍓!

Very sorry if this anon has been taken ( ;´ - `;)

Okay, so— I don’t have a very defined going out aesthetic but I do switch between these preset outfits from time to time (a. A nice soft artsy girl look with baggy pants and a green cardigan, b. baggy cargo pants with all the pockets you could ever need and more and a size large shirt I hand-cropped) very loose, I like using mismatched socks and worn black shoes. I always come with my backpack strapped to my back and old friendship bracelets around my wrist.

I’m a loser (╥﹏╥) so I don’t have much experience picking up.. uh, lads…? But I would probably rizz via small thoughtful gifts I hand made or probably remember them by. Maybe if I draw us together often and gift it to him it might give him a clue (ᵕ—ᴗ—) I would probably blabber about small things I notice about them, “Looking sharp!” “Every time I see you I remind myself to get shades, you’re so bright.” “Smile more often, I love seeing you happy.” “What’s wrong? You’ve been frowning…” Use a cheesy pick up line or two, laugh it off.

Text them at random showing them things I find (“look at this bottle cap. think I’m gonna keep it”) or am doing (“tell me the correct ways to use a power drill or I might blow a hole into my walls”), slide in an ask to hang out again. Gift them a pink camellia (roses are probably too forward) every once and while because men also deserve flowers. Try to get close but back off if I see even an inch on uncomfortability, hugs, tugs, silly hand reading, light touches here and there. Honestly I think I would snap and ask them out first.

Sorry if this is too long! Thank you and have a good day or night, feel free to ignore (´ε｀ )♡!

you sound cute as hell tbqh. (ⓛ ω ⓛ)

here's how this actually goes down: at first you're down bad for Soap. he knows it; his buddies know it. but you're soft and shy enough that he can pretend with plausible deniability he doesn't notice. you figure he's gonna overlook you for not being gf material--however. Gaz notices you are a catch and steals you right out from under him.

Soap totally strings you along. totally content biding his time until he can be bothered to get you alone and seal the deal. like, corrupt you.

but no rush. he figures he's got plenty of time. you're so hung up on him; you're not about to go chasing after some other guy.

nobody ever accused you of being a great judge of character where your romantic interest is concerned.

"every time i see you," you tell him, "i remind myself to get shades. because you're so bright."

ah. soap smirks. flattery will get you everywhere. "if i'm blindin' ya so bad, stop starin' so much."

he loves being chased, so what's wrong with a little teasing?

and since you're inexperienced with flirting, how are you gonna say no?

but then Gaz looks over Soap's shoulder and sees one too many of the cute little texts you send him. he scoffs at first at the game-playing of it all. but then he notices as you slowly start to leave Soap little gifts, flowers--trinkets that remind you of him, you say. it drives Gaz out of his mind. he gets this weird feeling that you're perfect, you're gonna make someone so happy, and you're being wasted on some dude who won't even take you out on a date.

Gaz also knows better than to tell you outright how Soap's a prick. you're too nice; you'll just defend him. justify his behavior. your crush on him blinds you.

so instead, Gaz sits down silently next to you one day and watches you sketch. your attention to detail is impressive. loving, even. a spiral of envy squeezes his heart. Gaz tries to tell himself it's pity instead. Soap is a lucky bastard. doesn't know what he's got, clearly.

then, Gaz offers you one surefire way to get Soap's attention.

"it's easy," he tells you, silver-tongued. "man's a peacock. best way to his heart is through his pride." when you don't catch on, he nudges you with his shoulder. "make him jealous."

immediately he has you, hook line and sinker. that's all you really want, right? Soap's attention.

fake dating Gaz. what could go wrong.

naturally it's not long before Gaz is the one who has you wrapped around his finger instead. he's the better choice for you anyway <3

Soap still pesters Gaz from time to time to send him a picture or two of you. insists you've got to be sending them somewhere since you're not hitting him up anymore. he steals Gaz's phone to get a better look at the spicy ones

more Gaz / more Soap / masterlist

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just-jordie-things · 2 years ago

Text

[epilogue] to build a home - gojo satoru

word count: 25.4k warnings: swearing, drinking. reader has absent parents summary: just a handful of events that transpired after the conclusion of to build a home.

to build a home series masterlist

[epilogue] : "For You, For Me"

___

[ cause i built a home, for you, for me ]

Maybe it was just the beautiful stretch of summer into early fall, but the days had seemed lighter. As though the sun’s rays lasted a little longer each day, as though the great bright star couldn’t bear to part with the day too soon.

Or maybe (y/n) was just so sickeningly happy all the time that she finally noticed the sunny days when they came around, and learned to properly appreciate them. If the sun was shining, she was dragging the two kids out of the apartment and anywhere else- as long as they were outside.

Summer vacation was mostly spent at the park, or at the public market, when Megumi was in a good enough mood to go, anyways. Tsumiki loved going to the market with (y/n), especially since she’d get to pick out all of her favorite fruits and veggies for the upcoming week. Megumi mostly clung like a shadow behind (y/n), hating the busy space and strangers who were too friendly. There was the rare occasion that he’d want to look at the stalls of old books, and (y/n) found that with the promise of looking for a new book, he would relax a little more in the high traffic area. Was it bribery? Maybe. But didn’t all parents have to bribe their kids at some point?

Most nights were spent relaxing, a luxury that (y/n) wouldn’t give up for all the treasures of the world.

Gathering in the living room to watch a movie with snacks covering the coffee table had become a weekly ritual. They took turns picking out a movie, and the rule was always that if they could compromise when it’s a movie one of them isn’t interested in, then snacks were on her. Of course a certain Six Eyes user tended to drop by not-so-at-random with a backpack full of sweets and long limbs that took up most of the couch. Megumi would bring a pile of blankets to the floor when Satoru joined them for movie nights, claiming that he and (y/n) would hog all the cushions. It was mostly Satoru, as (y/n) would try to cling to one side of the sofa, but her attempts were to no avail. Satoru always found a way to crowd her until she was practically curled up under his arm. Megumi would stick his tongue out in Tsumiki’s direction, disgusted by the abundance of physical affection that Satoru demanded to give to (y/n). Tsumiki, however, always found it sweet.

Other nights they’d spend in comfortable silence, the three of them in their favorite cozy spots as they read to themselves. (y/n) often sprawled across the living room sofa with whatever she was reading. Tsumiki liked to read in a little nook she’d made in the corner of her room, complete with a string of twinkly lights and a big bean bag chair. Megumi would join (y/n) in the living room, sitting in the oversized chair that matched the living room set. He was so small in the large cushions he could lay any which way he pleased, but he most often sat crisscrossed with his new favorite book in his lap. Sometimes (y/n) would convince him to read to her, even when he was halfway through a story she hadn’t been familiar with. She enjoyed the peaceful quality time, even if it was spent in hours of silence.

And then there was her favorite way for the kids to spend their evenings- coloring. It was a simple activity, one that she’d indulged in as a child often enough, but hadn’t thought much about until she’d randomly picked up a big pack of crayons on a grocery trip. It must’ve been a good choice, because Megumi and Tsumiki got right to work on their imaginations. Now their rooms, and the refrigerator, were covered in their artwork. Tsumiki liked to draw flowers, sometimes full meadows complete with a sunny sky and rainbows, and sometimes she’d practice different petals with different colors, always trying to learn new things. Megumi liked to draw his shikigami, giving each one that manifests it’s own name. He also liked to draw characters from his favorite books. (y/n) helped him to carefully tape them up on his bookshelf to display properly. However she had hand-picked a few of their drawings to go on the fridge- which held the same honor as a knight being sworn into duty. There were a few of Tsumiki’s flowers, and a few of Megumi’s favorite scenes from his books- even the darker ones that held a touch of blood and gore (y/n) would have to talk to him about before he went back to school- but there was one in particular that outshined them all.

It was a drawing they’d done together, on a larger piece of cardstock, of all of them. There was a carefully drawn out scribble that resembled her, in her signature uniform- black collared jacket and matching black pants- her hair was meticulously thought out, the crayon color carefully chosen, and the strokes of length determined while the pair of kids studied her closely, making sure that their drawing resembled her true form perfectly. On either side of her stick figure self was one of them, Megumi identified by the sea urchin he’d drawn on top of his head, and Tsumiki by the smile that took up her whole face and the big pink bow in her hair that she wore religiously since (y/n) had gotten it for her. Lastly, and maybe (y/n’s) favorite part, was that Megumi had chosen to add his dogs to the family portrait. Sitting right beside each other with little squiggles around their tails to show they were happily wagging, and complete with the red markings on their heads.

As soon as they’d presented this drawing to (y/n), she’d almost burst into tears at how sweet it was. They laughed at her teary eyes while she smiled and gazed fondly at the picture, taking in every little detail and committing it to memory. She deemed it the greatest gift she’d ever received, and marched it right to the fridge, clipping it up with magnets. It took up most of the freezer door, but it would stay there until it was time for it to be moved to a new fridge.

When back to school season rolled around, (y/n) dragged them off to the mall, proudly displaying her earnings from the assignments she’d picked up over the summer. Now that she wasn’t a student anymore, getting paid to exorcize demons had become a great source of income. Of course in the midst of Megumi and Tsumiki ogling all the new backpacks with bright colors and anime characters, their favorite special grade sorcerer showed up with a black card that seemed to hold boundless funds, as he paid for every little thing either one of the children picked up.

“They’re going to grow up with a bad understanding of how money works, Satoru” (y/n) had scolded him while Megumi and Tsumiki watched a cashier ring up hundreds of dollars worth of supplies they ‘needed’.

“Nah, I’ll buy them the best tutor in Japan so they don’t” He’d replied, sticking his tongue out at her.

(y/n) rolled her eyes, but as she turned her head away to ignore him, she couldn’t help the small smile that graced her face. She’d been making enough money to support this small makeshift family, but having Satoru around to help was still appreciated. Of course, she could never tell him that. His ego was big enough for the both of them.

Once school was back in session, a decent routine was established. (y/n) picked up as many assignments during the days as she could, so that her nights could be spent helping them with homework, making dinner, getting chores done, and all the other little things that eat away at your free time when you’re an adult. Not that she could complain, she adored every minute of the new life she worked to maintain. However there was the occasion where an assignment too good to pass up would be on her radar in the evenings. It only took one mention of this to Satoru for him to enlist himself as a babysitter.

It wasn’t often that she’d be gone in the evenings. She liked to be present at all times when Megumi and Tsumiki were home. They’d spent too much of their lives being alone, and while they proved to be self-sufficient, it made (y/n’s) heart sink at the thought of purposefully leaving them home alone. So when Satoru showed up on the evening she’d been offered a well-paid assignment to hunt down a Grade Two cursed object, she let him stay to watch the kids. Not before giving Tsumiki all of the emergency numbers she could think of, and reminding Megumi of the pendant she’d given him, also in the case of an emergency.

“It’s like you don’t trust me, sweetheart!” Satoru had laughed when she spent too long saying her goodbyes at the door. He hastily began pushing her out, making sure her weapons were secure in their holsters on her back. “Go! Go! Have fun! We’ll be fine here!”

“Okay, just don’t forget they go to bed at-”

“Nine o’clock, I’ve got it”

“And they need to brush their teeth-”

“I’m capable!” He barked at her, all but closing the door in her face while he wore a massive grin.

Long story short, Satoru had given the Fushiguro kids twenty bucks if they promised not to tell her that they’d been up long past their bedtime watching an anime with him that was probably less than appropriate for their age. But they’d just loved it so much he’d insisted they binge half the series. It was the closest thing to quality time with Megumi that he was going to get, as the kid begrudgingly sat on the couch next to him with his eyes glued to the screen. Satoru did his best to cover their eyes when an unsavory scene played, which Tsumiki appreciated, but Megumi always pawed the man’s hand away so he could see what was happening.

“If you get nightmares, (y/n’s) going to kill me” He scolded, clamping his palm over the kid’s whole face to ensure he wasn’t going to catch sight of any true horror.

“I don’t get nightmares!” Megumi argued, trying to claw the hand off his face, but his efforts led nowhere, and he only found himself more annoyed as the man-child laughed at the attempt.

It was nearing the middle of the night when Satoru finally turned off the television and sent them off to brush their teeth. Worried (y/n) would return soon and catch them in the act of disobeying her few rules, he rushed them with hurried claps and chanting to get them into their pajamas and under the covers. It was Megumi who’d attempted blackmailing him, reminding him that (y/n) was going to know they were up late. With an amused grin he’d given the boy a fiver.

“Five dollars?” Megumi gave him a bored look, remembering that shopping day with the magic black credit card that paid for his and Tsumiki’s back-to-school haul. (And a few things for (y/n) too, no matter how much she protested)

Grimacing, Satoru smacked a twenty on his nightstand with the warning that any more, and he’d tell (y/n) he acted up all night and should be punished. Megumi stuck his tongue out at the man as he flipped off the lights and shut the door for the night.

Joke’s on him, the boy thought bitterly as he settled into his blankets. (y/n) would believe me over that grown child any day of the week, he thinks with certainty. He wasn’t wrong. If it was Satoru’s word against Megumi’s, the liar was evident in his charming smile and flashing eyes.

Satoru had just come back to the living room to clean up the small mess of blankets they’d made when the doorknob rattled with the familiar sound of a key unlocking it. (y/n) dragged her feet as she made her way inside, a bit surprised to see Satoru awake and alert, her collection of throw blankets draped over his arms and shoulders.

“How’d the assignment go?” He asked as she kicked off her boots, flinging them towards the door with lazy movements.

“I completed it, let’s leave it at that,” She says, and he’d take concern in her words if they weren’t followed by a chuckle, and a small smile sent his way. “Thank you for watching the kids, Satoru, I really appreciate it”

He thinks back to this night often, as it was the beginning of (y/n) putting some trust in him as a caretaker.

Every few weeks now he’d show up in the evening to put the kids to bed while she was out exorcizing curses. Babysitting slowly morphed into him inviting himself over for movie nights, or even for no reason at all. The kids- yes, Megumi too- grew used to the man showing up unannounced, before school while (y/n) made breakfast, or during pickup time right by her side, seemingly just as excited to greet them as she was. He just seemed to be around, sometimes. Tsumiki loved it, as it usually meant spoiling with toys and ice cream and whatever else (y/n) would let him get away with. Megumi… tolerated it. But at least he didn’t despise it anymore.

There was a morning (y/n) had gotten a call from Jujutsu Tech just as she was prepping their lunches for that day, and to her luck Satoru was there and happy to make their lunches for them so that she didn’t have to ignore what could potentially be an important call.

“Okay, just, do you mind making them a little drawing or note, too?” She’d rummaged through a messy cabinet drawer to produce a pack of post-it notes and a pink marker. “I always leave them a message, or a doodle, or something”

With her phone pressed between her shoulder and ear as she intently listened to whoever was on the other end, Satoru grinned as he accepted this mission, and got to work.

It wasn’t until she picked them up from school that (y/n) realized her mistake. Megumi was clutching his stomach as he hobbled towards her in the courtyard, while Tsumiki was skipping along beside her brother, happier than ever.

“What’s wrong? Tummy hurt?” (y/n) knelt down before the boy, her hand resting over her forehead to see if it was a fever. He groaned and practically fell against her.

“Carry me”

It wasn’t like him, so she had to laugh as she slung his little backpack over her arm before lifting him up, hearing him groan and moan as all the sweets in his stomach sloshed around like poison.

“Gojo gave us candy! And cookies!”

(y/n’s) head swiveled down to where Tsumiki was walking- well, still skipping- at her side.

“What did you say?”

“Gojo gave us sweets for lunch,” Megumi grumbled as his head slumped into her shoulder, his eyes squeezing shut as a particularly painful knot wound itself up in his stomach. “And money”

“What!?” (y/n) snapped, louder than she should have, as the other parents at pick-up gave her a mix of shocked and dirty looks. Not that she cared. Her kid was sick and it was because that idiot didn’t know what a vegetable looked like!

“I got fifty dollars!” Tsumiki cheered.

“I got a hundred” Megumi whined.

(y/n) gave the boy a few children’s tums as soon as they got back to the apartment, before tucking him into bed so he could hopefully sleep off the tummyache.

“You just rest, don’t worry about your homework, I’ll call the school if you can’t get to it tonight, okay?”

Megumi only grumbled and groaned in his gratitude as he curled in on himself. (y/n) frowned. The poor kid was squirming around in discomfort and there wasn’t much else she could do about it.

Well, there was one thing…

“Hey sweetheart,” Satoru’s grin could be heard even through the phone. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this call~?”

“Gojo Satoru, you get your ass to this apartment right now!”

From her spot at the kitchen table where she’d been studiously doing her homework, Tsumiki perked right up at (y/n’s) hollering from the living room. Her eyes went wide as she grinned with excitement. She’d never seen (y/n) mad before, not like this anyways.

Just as she’d summoned him, the man himself stood before her in the living room, grinning as though he hadn’t just been screamed at.

“Pretty early in the day for a bootycall-”

“Satoru!” (y/n) barked at him, her arms flying out as she placed her hands on her hips. “Did you give the kids sweets and money for their lunch!?”

“Yeah, they loved it, right?” He looked proud, and she swore she could strangle him.

If she had a nickel for every time she didn’t strangle him…

Tsumiki couldn’t even pretend to do her homework while (y/n) went on a long rant about how much of an idiot was, followed by something about not knowing how to make a sandwich, and then the grand finale of her grabbing him by the wrist and yanking him down the hallway so he could see the effects of his unhealthy meal for Megumi. Even as (y/n’s) scolding took on hushed whispers so as not to wake the sleeping boy, Tsumiki could still hear the harsh tone from down the hall.

When she was dragging him back towards the kitchen again, the young girl quickly picked up her pencil and kept her eyes on her paper. She wasn’t fast enough, as Satoru noticed and stuck his tongue out at her.

‘Tattletale’ he mouthed at her.

She grinned back at him unapologetically.

(y/n) spent the next fifteen minutes giving Satoru a full tour of the kitchen, pointing out each and every item each of the kids loved, and then she dragged him through it all again to show him what they each disliked. Tsumiki worked on her studies the whole time, and not once did she see the white haired man complain. He certainly didn’t look pleased about spending his afternoon being scolded like a misbehaving pet, but he didn’t make a peep about it.

He even stuck around the rest of the afternoon to help out with any other chores (y/n) needed done, and he helped make dinner, too. Well, (y/n) was the one instructing him on what to do, but Tsumiki found the meal to be edible, and actually semi-okay!

(y/n) let him get off easy, as long as he apologized to Megumi when he woke up. Which he did, and which Megumi begrudgingly accepted.

He’s given the chance to completely redeem himself a few weeks later on a morning (y/n) made pancakes for breakfast. He made the Fushiguro kids the perfect lunches as he’d called them, and he insisted only a heaping scoop of chocolate chips in his pancakes, not theirs. (Though he did sneak a handful into Tsumiki’s grabby hands when she caught him dumping the entire bag into the batter). He even added his own notes in their lunch bags, even though (y/n) had already put her own doodles in them.

Have a good day! Don’t forget to participate a lot so the teacher favors you and gives you good grades! He’d written for Tsumiki.

Make sure to tell (y/n/n) that this lunch was made extra special for you so i get some brownie points <3 Was Megumi’s note.

He rolled his eyes as he crumpled it up and threw it back into his lunch bag without a second thought. When he’d brought it home that day and put it back in it’s spot in the cupboard he’d completely forgotten it. So it sat there until the next morning when (y/n) was preparing their lunches again.

When she unzipped the bag to see the small piece of trash, she’d almost made the mistake of scolding Megumi for not throwing it away. But for some reason curiosity got the best of her as she smoothed out the creases of the pink post-it, only to be gifted with a nervous swell of her heart. She couldn’t explain why, but she tucked it away in her pocket and went about the rest of the morning with a smile on her face. Megumi and Tsumiki were just glad to see her in a good mood, and didn’t question it too much.

The subject of the note didn’t come up again until the night of (y/n’s) twentieth birthday.

With it being such a big milestone, Shoko insisted on taking her out for the night. She’d been twenty for a few months longer, and had been biting at the bit to have her best friend share nights with her on the dancefloor at the bar she’d been frequenting mostly alone. Satoru would go with her sometimes as well, since he was of age too, but Shoko claimed it was no fun when he wouldn’t drink. (y/n’s) birthday was a big deal.

So naturally and per Shoko’s demand, Satoru was set to babysit- as much as the Fushiguro kids hated the word- while Shoko took (y/n) out for the night. And it went…

“Would you take the damn shoes off already? You’re going to break an ankle” Satoru’s arm shot out to stabilize the giggling, wasted girl stumbling beside him as he tried to guide her through her building’s lobby.

“No,” (y/n) shook her head defiantly before swatting his hand at her waist with the same attitude. He didn’t move it, and she didn’t try to push off his help again. “I loooove these shoes!”

In an eager display she kicked her foot outwards, showing off the strappy heel that was already starting to untie at her ankle and droop a bit off of her foot. To Satoru’s surprise, she actually kept her balance perfectly fine on one foot.

“Keep your feet on the ground,” He reprimands anyways, just as she goes back to walking normally. “Don’t make me teleport you up there”

“Don’t you dare!” She shouts back at him, and he has to fight off a laugh as he shushes her.

He’d seen (y/n) drink before, on the occasion Shoko or Suguru had managed to get their hands on anything, but he’d never seen her like this. Although he’d been slightly annoyed when he’d been called to play designated teleporter and bring both girls home from their celebration at a club he’d never heard of. The annoyance only increased tenfold when after the initial trip, (y/n) had warned him she was bound to be sick if he did it again. Which led them here, with Satoru trying to corral her into the elevator at two in the morning.

He’d rought Shoko straight to the spare room, where she’d passed out on top of the covers without so much as a goodnight. She’d wake up feeling like she’d been struck by a bus for sure, but at least she had no issue with the effects of teleporting.

She continued to grumble about her offense to his threat. Satoru chuckled as he all but pulled her into the elevator.

“I’m not, I’m not,” He assured her, making sure she was steady leaning back against the wall before pressing the button for her floor. “You’re not gonna get sick in here, are you?”

She shakes her head, but her eyes are closed as she cranes her neck all the way back, grinning at who-knows-what. Nothing amusing had happened- besides her own drunken antics- but Satoru finds himself infected by her, and he’s smiling as well.

“It was sooo m’ch fun,” She answered his unspoken curiosity. “Shoko’s a realllyy good dancer, I had n’ idea”

“I’m glad it was fun,” He tells her, and he means it. Even when he has to guide her off the elevator and to her door like it was her first time there. “You’ll have to take me dancing with you next time, I could show you some moves”

Normally she rolls her eyes at his flirting, or hits his shoulder in that silent motion she always does to remind him that they were friends and she’d drawn a thick line in the sand just to prove it. Tonight, she giggles like she couldn’t have kept her humor and joy contained if she tried. Her teeth flash as she grins from ear to ear, her eyes crinkle and they smudge some of her mascara against her skin as they do but she doesn’t seem to care. She doesn’t seem to notice. She just smiles and laughs at him.

His heart warms, so much he worries it might melt completely if he leaves it there in the palms of her hands, but he lets it remain in it’s place anyway as he pauses at the door of her apartment, lingering in the hall for just a moment longer so he could admire her like this.

Happy. Happy with him.

Satoru might be delusional, but her head tilts to the side, almost dropping to her shoulder from how heavy it feels, and he thinks from the look in her eye, that maybe she could be admiring him, too.

Reality is cruel and reminds him that even if she was, she wasn’t in the right state of mind, and she very well could have been lost in her thoughts. So he pushes his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose before unlocking the door and making sure she walked in okay.

“You’re home!”

The excited cheer from Tsumiki is quickly drowned out by Satoru’s scolding.

“What are you both doing up?” He asked, uncharacteristically irritated with them.

“You left,” Tsumiki shrugged innocently.

Megumi, who sat beside her on the sofa, seemed to have fallen asleep against the armrest, his arms wrapped around his head for a better cushion as he continued to slumber, even through his sister’s loud shriek.

“And we wanted to give (y/n) her birthday present” The girl finished sweetly.

“It’s two in the morning, it’s not even her birthday anym-”

“Awww!” (y/n) cooed as she clasped her hands over her mouth in shock. “Tsu that’s so sweet of you! I can’t wait to see it!”

It took some arguing, but Satoru eventually convinced (y/n) to get her ridiculous heels off while he put the kids back to bed. Megumi didn’t fuss once when he picked him up off the couch. He didn’t even bat an eye. Tsumiki was a bit more upset with the trip back to bed.

“But she wants her present!”

“You can give it to her in the morning,” Satoru told her. “It’s late. She’s going to crash. Trust me, she’ll be far more excited about it tomorrow”

Tsumiki pouted as she begrudgingly climbed into bed, but didn’t argue again after Satoru tucked her in and shut her door for the night. She even gave him a small goodnight.

“Sweet dreams, kiddo”

“Is (y/n) going to be okay?” She asked before he could shut the door all the way. He laughed to himself, nodding his head.

“Nothing to worry about, she might just have a tummy ache. She’ll sleep it off,” He assured her. Tsumiki nodded back at him as she settled back into her feathery pillow, overwhelmed by her sleepiness rather quickly. “Just get some sleep, I’ll take care of her”

Tsumiki seems satisfied with this answer, as she nods and starts to drift off to sleep. What Megumi lacked in faith in Satoru, Tsumiki made up for tenfold. For starters, she seemed to actually like him. She was always happy to have him as company, always trying to climb up to his shoulders and demanding he piggy back her anywhere they went. Megumi tended to cling to (y/n’s) side, knowing she’d protect him from Satoru’s physical affections. But secondly, Tsumiki could pick up on the sweet little things that her younger brother didn’t. She noticed the way that Satoru listened when (y/n) was talking. The way his eyes never lost focus when they were on her, the way his teasing picked up, as did the pet names. Honestly, Tsumiki wasn’t sure if Megumi didn’t notice, or if he was completely ignoring it, because it was hard to miss.

Satoru was very sweet on (y/n).

So when he said he’d take care of her for the night, Tsumiki believed him.

Before Satoru can make his way back to the living room where he’d left the plastered birthday girl, he could hear her across the hall, a soft voice through the open door opposite of Tsumiki’s.

He peeks his head through the crack in the door, about to chastise her for waking up the sleeping eight year old, but the scold dies in his throat as he catches sight of them.

She’s perched on the side of his bed, one leg tucked under herself as she hums a gentle, melodic tune. One hand is combing through the mess of Megumi’s hair that’s grown tangled from his tossing and turning, and he doesn’t seem to stir or be bothered at all from the action like he usually is when someone touches his hair. But even more out of character than that, when (y/n) reaches her free hand to grab the one that Megumi had hanging off his mattress, he lets her hold onto it for a lingering minute after she carefully sets it on a more comfortable place over his covers. A few lyrics slip past her lips in a murmur of a lullaby amidst her humming. She gives his hand a squeeze, just a gentle little affirmation to remind him that she was there.

Even from the doorway, Satoru can see the boy’s small fingers wrap around her hand, squeezing back, and then keeping his hold on her. His initial surprise melts away into something softer. A warm feeling washing over his chest from knowing that Megumi found a comfort in the woman’s presence, and while he was often too reserved to tell her outright, like his sister would, it was still known that (y/n’s) care for these kids was mutual, returned by the both of them greatly.

With a small smile, (y/n) glances over to Satoru in the hallway, as though to silently ask if he’d seen the small action. He nodded back at her, before beckoning her to leave the room and let the boy sleep.

“Sleep tight, ‘gumi,” She mumbles softly, giving his head an affectionate scratch before pulling her hand from his hair. “Love you”

It was small, but undeniably heard when the half-conscious child mumbles back, “Love you too”

(y/n) pauses as she’s standing from his bed, her eyes widening with soft surprise at the whispered words. It hits her then that in the few times she’d casually bestowed them upon the kids it was never quite returned. Megumi had drifted off to sleep just as her weight had shifted off his mattress, but still, she stood over him with a look on her face as if she expected an explanation.

Not that she needed one- the words spoke for themselves. Her lips curled into a smile and the alcohol in her system wasn’t the only thing making her chest feel warm. She gave his hand another squeeze before carefully letting go, making sure it stayed in a place where it wouldn’t hang off the bed again.

On the tips of her toes she leaves the room to join Satoru in the hall. He makes sure the door is silent as he closes it behind her.

Her small smile breaks into a grin as she gazes up at him, unable to contain her excitement from hearing those silly little words.

“Did you hear that?” She murmurs as her hands grab the front of his shirt. The quick motion almost has him stumbling as she bounces eagerly. “He’s never said that to me before!” Her whispered squealing has Satoru mirroring her grin.

“I heard. I’m happy for you sweetheart,” He tells her, trying to guide her to her room so she could finally crash for the night. She stumbles along much more pliantly than she had before. “Not that you needed him to tell you, of course the kid loves you. They both do”

A bashful shade of pink dusts her face as they enter her bedroom. She falls back onto her bed with a content sigh, despite Satoru trying to get her to change into something more comfortable than the fitted little thing she’d called a dress that she’d gone out dancing in.

“I guess I knew that, but, still, it’s nice to hear,” She murmurs up at the ceiling as she stretches her arms across the length of her bed. She’s bent over it, her toes barely touching the floor as her legs dangle off the side, but in her stupor she seems comfortable enough. “Makes me feel like I’m doing something right, yaknow?”

She pats the spot beside her with her hand, and Satoru drags his feet a bit as he wanders over and sits next to her.

“You don’t need to be told that either,” He muses.

He rests his palms behind him as he lets himself get comfortable in her space. When they still lived in dorms, he spent just as much time in her room as he did his own. Now that he thinks about it, he was probably in hers much more than anyone else’s. It hadn’t seemed weird back then, but now, it feels personal. Intimate. He wonders if she feels that way, or if the invitation into her most private space had been extended without a second thought. Satoru pulls the shades off his face and tosses them to the side, between the two of them.

“They know you love them, too. Always have,” He reassures her. “You’ve done right by them. You gotta know that”

(y/n) tilts her head back against the covers, peering up at him from under heavy eyelids as he gazes down at her fondly. Her room is only lit by the hallway light that’s peeking in through the crack in her not-quite-closed door, and the soft yellow hue paints over his face in a way that somehow makes him more alluring. Her lowered defenses had her eyes wandering his features longer than she would have had her sober mind worked correctly and reminded her to shut down that curiosity.

That is, she stares at him until the heat in her face and the rapid beating of her heart overstimulates her and she makes herself look away before she says or does something she might regret.

When she does break her long stare, her eyes land on the familiar round shades that happen to be in arm’s reach, and she grabs them and pulls them over her face without a second thought.

Without permission, her mind wanders off to wonder what would’ve happened between them had they gone on that date all those months ago before they graduated.

It’s harder to make out her face with his oversized sunglasses covering her eyes, but Satoru can see her lips tug into a frown. He’s about to ask her what’s on her mind when she speaks first.

“Would you stay the night?”

Her fingers are wound into the soft fabric of her covers, fisting it tightly as though it kept her anchored.

“Shoko’s in your spare room already,” He chuckles as he reminds her. “And she’s hogging the whole bed. I think if I wake her up she’ll mur-”

“You can stay in here,” She’s mumbling, half incoherently, but he hears her just fine. “Like… before” She adds as an afterthought.

He can’t deny the way his heart lurches in his chest at the offer, and the reminder. The nights he spent sneaking into her dorm to coax her into at least a few hours of sleep, until she’d learned again how to sleep through a night on her own, he’d hold onto forever. He’d sworn to commit them to memory. The way she’d melt into his arms, as though she’d only know comfort and solace when embraced by them. The way she felt against him, against his chest, with her legs wrapped around his, with her face in the crook of his neck, with her hands gripping onto his shirt for dear life, with her heart beating against his. Satoru had overindulged himself back then, he’d gotten too much of a taste of what domesticity with her could feel like. Now he craved it, he desperately yearned for it.

The last time they’d even slept in the same room had been the night before their meeting with the Zen’in Clan. And she’d been far from him, curled up on the floor with that damned letter in her hands. Satoru wondered now if she still had it. He wondered if she still slept clutching onto something. He wondered if she was able to sleep soundly without him now.

He’s sure that he shouldn’t dip even a finger back into this addiction. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to stand it when she inevitably tells him this is the last time, and pushes him away, again.

Just like she had done when he’d tried to make them something more.

It’s just one assignment, sweetheart, he’d told her over the phone, knowing fully well that she was all done up on the other end, waiting for him to pick her up at their agreed upon time. We’ll rain check, promise.

She’d taken in a shaky breath, he could hear it even through the phone, even with the downpour of rain in Yokohama. He always wondered if she’d cried that day, over him, over the failed attempt at a date, over his failure at showing up for her.

I don’t think it’s a good idea, ‘toru, she’d spoken as evenly as she could, even though it made her voice quieter.

How ‘bout tomorrow, hm? You can pick the place this time, anywhere you want, s’on me- He’d tried to convince her before she could put an end to this thing before it’d even started- hell, they’d barely even had a chance, hadn’t they?

But her mind had already been made up. And with a breaking heart, she’d shut him down.

I don’t just mean tonight, she’d said. I don’t think this is a good idea.

God, he should’ve just stood his ground to the higher ups like he usually did and made someone else take on this stupid assignment. He wanted to blame them for ruining his one perfect chance with this girl, but at the end of the day, he’d let her decide. He let her be the one to end it before it really began.

I just… I just need to think about the kids right now, she’d sighed through her words. As far as excuses go, it wasn’t necessarily a bad one. They need to come first to me and… and your future should come first to you, too.

He should’ve called bullshit. He knows that now. He shouldn't have sat there and agreed with her because he didn’t want them to fight. Fuck. He should’ve argued, even if it had meant fighting with her. As long as it also meant he could’ve seen what she’d chosen to wear for their date, how she’d done her hair, her makeup, then it would’ve been worth it.

I know you’re favored far more over me, but we’ll both always have assignments, she’d explained it like he didn’t already know what this chapter of their lives would look like. Then again, he’d sat there in silence and let her pour out reason after reason as to why they couldn’t do this.

Satoru still wasn’t sure if it was him she was trying to convince that day.

And I… and I wouldn’t forgive myself if things didn’t… work… you know? She’d finished shakily, nervously. For the kids’ sake, Satoru, she’d told him. For your sake. For my sake.

He’d agreed. He’d stupidly agreed. They never talked about it again after that phone call. For the most part, nothing had changed.

Except that first time he’d seen her afterwards. She had a hard time looking at him, and shifted her weight between her feet when he stood too close. But over time they got back into the groove of their friendship. He remained abundantly affectionate, and she remained oblivious to the less-than obvious advances.

It was a surprise to him now that she was blurring the lines between them- the lines she’d drawn. Would it be reckless of him to indulge once more? Would it be painful in the morning when she shooed him away before anyone could know he stayed here, with her?

Probably.

But what he says is, “Yeah, if you’re sure”

He does manage to convince her into changing into the comfiest pair of pajamas she could find, so that when she woke it was one less discomfort added to the long list of grievances her hangover would have in store. Somehow, he gets her to put on a change of clothes and brush her teeth before she’s crawling into her bed with a lazy smile. It’s almost three in the morning at this point, but worrying about the time is far from Satoru’s mind as she settles into his side like it was still second nature.

Long after she’d dozed off tucked under his arm, he laid there awake, wondering how different things could have been, had he plucked up the courage to say no. To say this will work, because we want it to work, because I want it to work, because I’ve wanted nothing but to be yours.

But tonight, the only one in this apartment with any guts is Megumi. Only Megumi was strong enough to articulate how he felt with those special little words that were too heavy for Satoru’s tongue.

With bags under his eyes and sluggish muscles Satoru gets out of bed as soon as he awakes to make breakfast for the full house. Megumi and Tsumiki are up first, eager for the breakfast buffet Satoru had managed to give them without the smoke alarm going off. Shoko drags herself out to the kitchen not too long after, downing a full cup of water before bidding them good morning and snagging some of the potatoes before Tsumiki could dump them all on her plate.

Satoru and Shoko tell unflattering stories about (y/n) with great excitement for gossip to the kids while their missing caretaker slept in as late as possible. Satoru had made sure to bring a cold face mask to her every fifteen minutes or so to keep her headache at bay and hopefully let her sleep as long as she could. Once she awoke she was in for a world of hurt. Each time Satoru left the kitchen to do this for her, Shoko turned to the kids with a knowing look and a snicker.

“They were in love in school you know,” She indulged in a more interesting piece of gossip during one of these times.

Tsumiki’s eyes widened as she grinned. Megumi’s brows furrowed as he pressed his lips together tightly.

“He’d follow her around like a lost puppy, it was hilarious” Shoko shoved a forkful of carbs into her mouth with a fond smile at the memories of lovesick Satoru.

“He still does that” Megumi mumbles, staring down at the remainder of food on his plate.

Shoko beamed with her cheeks full, not at all surprised by the behavior, but endeared to know it hadn’t worn off in time. Satoru had changed a lot in the last six months, although some might have a hard time noticing, those close to him could see the heaviness he carried on his shoulders with little mannerisms and micro expressions that even he might be convinced aren’t there. To Shoko and (y/n), who knew the boy like the back of their hand, it was clear.

However she should’ve known that the feelings he’d held for (y/n) since they were fifteen weren’t the kind of feelings that could be worn away.

Satoru’s back in the kitchen attempting to make pancakes in the fun shapes that (y/n) does, desperate to impress everyone- mostly Megumi- but they come out a little more lumpy than hers do. He complains about it the whole time. Megumi and Shoko are indifferent. Tsumiki reassures him that they’re delicious, like the sweetheart she was.

(y/n) joins them for a brief minute, dragging her feet, and a blanket, into the kitchen on a journey to get a big cup of ice water. The plastic face mask that Satoru had just brought her was velcroed around her head, although loosely, as half of it stayed on her forehead and the other half slipped over one of her eyes. She made no efforts to fix it.

Shoko’s giggling with great amusement at the state of her lightweight friend. The blanket cape, the messy hair, the smeared mascara on her exposed eye, it was all too humorous. She started to pull her phone out to take a picture, but knowing what she was up to, Satoru snatched the device and pocketed it discreetly. He gave her a sour look, to which she rolled her eyes and went back to breakfast.

He’d fussed over her right away, asking what she was doing up, that he could’ve brought her anything she needed and that she should’ve just hollered. The three at the table watch as he adjusts her mask for her, reattaching the velcro to fit her snugly, keeping the cool parts of the gel-filled plastic against her throbbing forehead.

Shoko cackles not-so-discreetly behind her hand when he asks her if she was alright for a fourth time. After a solid minute of insisting that he’d get everything for her, she shuffles back to the comfort of her dark room.

Satoru is quick to fill a cup to the brim with ice and then water, and rather than walk the ten feet to her door, he teleports it to her. Shoko rolls her eyes and shares a smile with Tsumiki.

“Yeah, nothing’s changed”

It takes a few hours for (y/n) to feel rejuvenated enough to take a shower and join the group lazing around the living room. Shoko had stayed for the day, so Satoru insisted they take turns picking movies. (y/n) appears like a woman brought back to life halfway through the second film. Satoru and Shoko cheer for her revival as she plops on the couch between Tsumiki and Satoru.

“Can we give you your present now?” Tsumiki asks, to which (y/n) eagerly accepts, so she and her brother rush out of the room to retrieve it.

With the kids gone, Shoko can finally give her friends the interrogation she’d been dying to all morning.

“So, you still sleep together, huh?” She raises a curious eyebrow.

(y/n) sighs, dropping her head back against the couch cushion, still feeling too light headed for this conversation. Satoru doesn’t say anything either, though (y/n) can’t tell if he’s avoiding the conversation, or just didn’t know how to explain himself. It doesn’t matter, Shoko doesn’t have any more questions, and shortly after, the Fushiguro kids are running into the room again.

They each have a hand on the brightly colored gift bag as they hand it to her. (y/n) beams at their excitement as she eyes all of the tissue paper they’d stuffed into the bag.

“You help with this?” She muses to Satoru, who shakes his head, looking just as curious as she was.

“We did it all ourselves!” Tsumiki said with a proud grin.

(y/n) pulls out wad after wad of tissue, placing them all on the coffee table as she digs for her gift. When she finally does get to the bottom of the bag, her lips morph into an ‘o’ as she lifts the piece of art out from the bag.

Shoko’s eyes widen, and Satoru begins to laugh while (y/n) carefully holds the small clay sculpture in her hands. It couldn’t have been bigger than her hand, but the details were made of delicate pieces of clay, and she worried that if she didn’t handle it with care, it could crumble at her touch.

It was two blades, intersecting to make a perfect X. The handles sculpted and painted to look quite familiar.

“It’s your swords!” Tsumiki cheered, holding her hands to her face to contain her excitement.

“Wow, this is amazing,” (y/n) admired the sculpture further, taking note of every detail, from blade to hilt, it was a damn good replica. “You both made this?”

Tsumiki and Megumi each nodded.

“Tsumiki did the clay, I painted it” Megumi explained.

“We got extra credit in our art classes for it too!”

Satoru’s laughter grew louder, and (y/n’s) eyes widened with realization as she looked back at the kids.

“You… you made this in school?” She asked, trying not to wince. “Did you… get in trouble?”

Sure, the piece was perfect, and their collaboration did deserve some bonus points, but had no administrator gotten upset that an eight and ten year old made a weapon for their art project?

“I told our art teacher it was from an anime character” Megumi said sheepishly. (y/n’s) posture relaxed with her relief.

“Smart call,” She chuckles, before setting it down and reaching out to them both to pull them into a hug. “Thank you. I love it. I love that you made it together”

She sets it on a shelf in the living room with a few other pieces of art and picture frames, making sure to have it be front and center. Throughout the rest of the movie watching day, her eyes keep wandering to it, wanting to admire the thoughtful craft a little longer. _

Over the next few months, Megumi had been pouting a lot more often.

(y/n) wasn’t sure what it was. She and Satoru would make his favorite meal for dinner, and he would eat it with a bored expression. Even with a trip to the library, more practice with his Divine Dogs, extending his bed time for reading purposes only, the boy just seemed to be in a bitter rut.

At first she was worried for him, but Tsumiki had confirmed that nothing was happening at school, he wasn’t being picked on, and his grades, as always, were exceptional. (y/n) didn’t know what that could possibly leave.

“I just don’t get it,” She huffed as she slumped down into the couch beside Satoru, who had been spending most of his free time at the apartment now. Some nights he even stayed over, but he always took the guest room.

The night of (y/n’s) birthday had proven to be too much for him. So when she offered him to stay the night, he made a beeline for the spare bed. (y/n) never pushed him on it. But sometimes when they parted ways in the hall, she’d stare at the back of his head, and wonder if he could tell that she’d rather he stayed with her.

Satoru is also caved into the couch cushions, legs spread out wide before him and his arms crossed over his chest. He looked tired. He’d spent the whole evening giving Megumi tips and tricks to summoning and befriending his shikigami, hoping to lift the boy’s mood, and maybe score some brownie points, but to no avail. The boy seemed to have more of an attitude with him than usual, and Satoru wasn’t the best with kids, so he’d given up, and pushed the responsibility back onto (y/n). Megumi had less of an attitude with her, but his annoyance was still noticeable.

“Do you think we did something?” She mumbles, turning to Satoru with wide, worried eyes, and pinched brows. Then, she scoots closer to him, until they’re sharing one of the cushions. He doesn’t flinch at her closeness, unless you count the small hitch in his breath. “Do you think I did something?” She rephrases her question in an even more haunted whisper.

“No, no of course not,” He shakes his head at her, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head. “He’s a kid. Kids are just jerks sometimes”

“He is not a jerk,” (y/n) says with narrowed eyes. Satoru shrugs back at her, tilting his lips into a smirk. “But… he is a kid. I guess he could just be… acting out”

“I acted out all the time when I was his age” Satoru nods as he starts to understand some of Megumi’s behavior.

(y/n) rolled her eyes at him.

“You still act out,” She says, and he wants to act offended when he turns to her again, but it’s too cute when she’s pretending to be annoyed with him, so he finds himself smiling at her, almost proudly. “You’re the jerk, you know”

“Me?” He holds a hand over his chest, and she giggles quietly to herself at the act. “You break my heart, Little Hex”

Again she rolls her eyes as she leans her head back into the couch cushion, letting out her frustration and exhaustion from the day in a quiet sigh. It had been a while since Satoru had called her that, a nickname he��d coined back in high school. She could still remember the first time he called her that, with that saccharine smile and shining eyes, like he was waiting for a reaction. Boy, did he get one. Somehow with his predictable flirtations, he still managed to make her blush and fluster. Even now, she felt her face warm at the fond nickname.

“You’ll get over it, Gojo,” She muses in response, letting her eyes fall shut. “Hey…” She starts to speak again, but trails off, and her eyes are still closed when he looks over at her to give her his attention.

“Hm?”

“Do you think… he misses his dad?”

The question hangs between them for a minute. (y/n) gnaws on her cheek as her eyes glaze over, getting lost in her messy trains of thoughts that were all beginning to collide. It was no secret that Megumi held a resentment towards his father, more so than his sister, but (y/n) couldn’t help but wonder if a part of him, the part that was growing up, was starting to feel hurt by the space Fushiguro Toji had left behind.

“He might,” Satoru answers honestly, quietly. (y/n’s) brows fall as her lips tug into a frown. Of all the things she could fix, all the questions she could answer, that was one thing she had no control over. “It’s probably complicated. He might not think he does, you know?”

(y/n) nods absentmindedly, her teeth digging into her bottom lip now as she worries for the young boy.

What was she supposed to do? All the love and support in the world wouldn’t make up for the man that was supposed to look out for them walking out. His mother was one thing, he couldn’t even remember her. But he had a face to his father’s name. He had memories. Maybe even love that he’d buried. The thought makes her stomach twist with guilt.

“I barely remember my parents,” She whispers, and despite the fact that she’s staring at the ceiling with a hardened, fixed gaze, Satoru turns to her when she says this. “They’re not gone… but they may as well be. After I was enrolled at Jujutsu Tech…”

She didn’t need to explain any further. Satoru already knew the heartbreak she’d gone through as a young child, having non-sorcerers for parents that looked down upon jujutsu society. She’d shared her story with him once, when they were no older than fifteen, and Satoru was certain he’d never shake a single detail out of his memory. She held the same look in her eye now that she did back then as she recalled how she’d been shunned for not following a more ‘honorable’ path.

It wasn’t often she thought of her family- she hardly considered those people family anyways- but now they cross her mind as she empathizes with Megumi.

“It’s not the same, I know,” She sighs, shaking her head as though to erase their faces like an etch-a-sketch. Even after all these years, she hasn’t quite forgotten them. “But… losing family at a young age sticks with you,”

Finally, she turns her head to one side, meeting his watchful stare.

“Whether you want it to or not”

Satoru frowned.

“Missing people is hard like that,” He sighs.

Neither one of them have the strength to talk about him though, so he glides over the topic and brings their focus back to Megumi.

“But he’s still a little kid. You give him a lot of credit for being so mature, it’s spooky, but he’s going to process things like a little kid,” He reminds her. “You’re not doing anything wrong. Neither is he. He’s just…”

“Processing” (y/n) mumbles softly.

He nods back at her, bringing his elbow to the top of the couch so he could prop his head in his hand.

“Have you ever…” Satoru trails off, deciding mid sentence if it was a good idea to ask her this question. She waits patiently for him to continue, in need of any kind of advice on the situation. “Have you ever thought about opening up to him? You know like… relating to him?”

She blinks, but the rest of her expression doesn’t change. Not a single movement. Satoru thinks he might have suggested the wrong thing, but before he can take it back, she gives him a small smile.

“You know, that’s actually not a bad idea,” She hums, and she can see he’s shocked that she thought so. “You’re almost getting decent at this parenting thing”

He chuckles, dropping his hand from his head to stretch his arm across the length of the couch, beckoning her to come closer. She huffs in defiance, but doesn’t have any further protest as she slides closer to him, until their legs are pressed together and her head leans into his shoulder.

“I’m learning from the best” He chuckles like it’s a tease, but his words couldn’t have been more genuine.

It took some time for (y/n) to approach the subject with the boy.

But it was one night while they were walking home late together that just felt like the right time. It was just the two of them, (y/n) had brought him to a secluded place in the woods they found where it was safe for him to practice summoning his shikigami, while Satoru stayed at the apartment with Tsumiki.

It was late, the sun had gone down an hour ago, and the streets had cleared enough to give them a bit of privacy as they made their way back to the apartment.

So she figured, here goes nothing.

“Has something been bothering you, Megumi?”

At first he drops his head, staring down at the sidewalk as he mulled over the question. If (y/n) focused enough, she could see the gears in his head turning, weighing his options, the pros and cons, thinking through the possibilities of where this conversation could go. Had she not been worried about him, she might have giggled at how cutely the eight year old processed any question asked of him.

“You don’t need me to remind you that you can tell me anything,” She tells him honestly, glancing up at the stars beginning to shine through the night sky. “You’re allowed to be upset about things, you know”

“I know” He finally mumbles out, kicking a stray pebble in his path.

On uneven edges, it rolls awkwardly onto (y/n’s) side of the path. She gently kicks it back to his side. They play this little game in silence for a few minutes, until Megumi kicks it with too much enthusiasm and it’s sent into the storm drain. Teasingly, (y/n) tells him she’s won.

“I feel bad for being upset”

She looks down at him upon this confession, tilting her head curiously, wondering what it could be that he’s been carrying that’s making him feel so lost.

“That happens sometimes,” She treads lightly. “As long as you know that you shouldn’t. You can’t help what you feel, you know”

Megumi sighs, his shoulders slumping forward with a restlessness he was far too young to feel.

“I guess,” He replies, because he knows she’s right. Still, it was hard to be comforted when there was a loom of guilt hanging over his head like a storm cloud. “I don’t think I like love”

(y/n) hums as she takes in the statement. It was heavier than he’d realized, and it took her a minute to really think about it, about what he must be feeling. She had a sneaking suspicion that this was about his father, after all.

“Love is complicated, isn’t it,” She sighs, and it’s not a question, moreso a statement of fact. Megumi doesn’t say anything. “The world will tell you it’s unconditional. When in fact… people don’t work like that, do they?”

He looks up at her, his eyes round with shock, like she’d told him a great secret that he shouldn’t have been allowed to hear. Santa isn’t real, or this is all a simulation.

“Individual people are so different, and they’re meant to be, aren’t they?” This time she waits for his response, but Megumi can only muster up a nod. She takes it. “Everyone has their standards, their conditions. Even you, right?”

“I don’t like it when people are mean for no reason” Megumi comments, and (y/n) smiles as she nods at him, affirming that he understood what she was saying.

“Exactly,” She muses. “It’s just… some people’s conditions… well, they’re unreachable. Impossible. Sometimes they’re outright dumb”

Honestly, Megumi’s not sure where this little rant is coming from, but he finds himself hanging onto her every word anyways. It intrigued him, the way she described love. He’d never heard someone speak about it with such… distaste.

Usually adults tried to tell him that love is the ultimate happiness. Romantic love, familial love, platonic love, whatever it may be. He was always reminded that love was powerful, beautiful, transcendent. To hear (y/n) speak of it now like it was a trick to be wary of was confusing to him, but he was intent on learning more.

“I’ve never talked to you about my family, have I?” She asks, and again, it’s less of a question, and more of a prompt, a catch for him to realize that no, she’d never mentioned anything about a family. She only ever spoke of her classmates and colleagues at Jujutsu Tech.

Megumi shakes his head, feeling his guilt hovering over his head again as he realizes he’d never even thought to ask about the subject.

“Well, there’s a reason,” (y/n) says, easing some of his anxiety. “They had conditions to their love. Ones that I couldn’t meet. Or, refused to, is more like it”

“Really?” Megumi’s eyes widened with surprise.

“Yep,” She affirmed. “They didn’t want me to be a jujutsu sorcerer”

Now he looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. His mouth dropped open and his eyes grew impossibly bigger.

“Why?”

“They weren’t gifted like you and me,” She explains. “They were non-sorcerers, had never even heard of jujutsu society. So you can imagine their surprise when their kid started teleporting all around the house. I was a handful, you know,”

Megumi lets out a little giggle at the idea, and (y/n) smiles warmly that he’s starting to break down the walls he’d been building up around him in his seclusion.

“I was no older than you when my cursed technique manifested,” She tells him. “And it wasn’t long until someone from the school found me”

“Just like you came to us?” Megumi asked.

(y/n) tilted her head from side to side.

“It was a bit different,” She admitted. “They wanted to enroll me at the school, train me to properly hone my technique, teach me about the real world of jujutsu, it was a big ask. A big change”

“But your parents didn’t want you to go?” Megumi’s brows furrowed.

(y/n) nodded down at him.

“They forbid it”

The boy shook his head, trying to understand, but he was struggling, too puzzled by this story.

“But, why?” He asked. “Jujutsu sorcerers are good! You have cool powers- that- that can help people,” He looked up at her with his face contorted by his confusion. “Why didn’t they understand?”

(y/n) gives him a sad smile. She’d asked herself that same question for years after she’d left her home in pursuit of something greater than it, greater than her.

She looks forward as they continue their walk, not too far from the apartment building now.

“They were so worried about losing their kid, that they didn’t think about the damage they’d do by keeping them from following their passion,” She told him the truth, as harsh as it sounded. “And they ended up losing me anyways”

It��s quiet for a few beats, until Megumi let out a soft, “Oh”

“Megumi,” (y/n) calls, reaching down for his hand.

He lets her grasp onto it. They stop in their tracks, and he turns to face her. She still has that small, sad smile on her face. He recognizes this smile. She wears it when she’s trying to make him feel better, when she’s trying to convince someone, or herself, that things are alright. He’s seen this smile so many times now that he wishes she would just frown, but he knows she won’t. He knows that until the day she leaves this earth she’s going to be the strong one, the one that protects them, no matter the cost. He’d learned this shortly after meeting her, but he didn’t come to really understand it until the day he was almost taken away from her, and from his sister.

Megumi is a child. And while (y/n) had grown older in age, and quite a bit in maturity, she really wasn’t that much older than him, in the grand scheme of things. She’d given up more than just a summer vacation after graduating in order to take in him and his sister. She’d never talk about it, but Megumi has picked up on the fact that if she wasn’t so busy playing caretaker, then she would have been able to pursue more of her real passion, exorcizing curses. Sure, she still took plenty of assignments, but it was hard to take the big ones overseas, or the higher grade curses, because she couldn’t leave the two of them alone for too long.

(y/n) crouches before him now, his hand still in hers, and that melancholic smile still present on her lips.

“I believe that your dad loved you, so, so much,”

His brows furrowed together. My dad? He thought to himself, as if the words didn’t translate to his language, as if he couldn’t quite remember what they meant, or who they referred to.

“I believe that he did the things he did because he wanted to do what he could for you. I know it doesn’t make sense now… and honestly it might never make sense. But I think he was trying to do right by you both he just…”

She trails off, and for a split second, that false smile falters, and falls into a sad expression that he’d rarely gotten to see on her. Something snags in Megumi’s chest, an uneven beat of his heart, a pain in his ribs he wasn’t familiar with.

“He just didn’t know how,” She finishes softly, and just as quickly she’s crafting her face to be gentle and comforting again. “But I’m sorry that he’s not here”

Megumi tilts his head at her curiously, trying to speculate on what it was to make her say these things to him.

“That’s okay,” He says in a tone that has (y/n) feeling a bit confused too. Her hand loosens around his, and he pulls away, about to continue their walk. She quickly stands to walk beside him. “I don’t really think about him anyways”

“You don’t?” She asks. Megumi shakes his head.

“No, he doesn’t really matter, does he?”

Wow, (y/n) thinks. What an emotionally mature child. But if it wasn’t his absent-now-dead father bugging him, what had been on his mind?

“Hey (y/n),” Megumi calls before she can ask him her question, and she gives him her attention. “What are your conditions?”

“My conditions?” She repeats, although she knows what he means.

“Yeah” Megumi replies in a small voice.

“Silly kid,” She giggles and ruffles his hair, much to his annoyance, but he doesn’t swat her hand away, just glares at her as he fixes the messy raven locks. “I’m the exception to the rule of course. I have no conditions when it comes to loving you two”

“Corny,” He mutters with fake malice. “But what about Gojo, then?”

With a raised brow, (y/n) looks down at the boy, waiting for him to complete the question. Megumi just stared up at her expectantly, his head cocked towards one shoulder.

“What about Gojo?” She repeats with a tilted inflection, wondering what he was getting at.

Megumi huffs with more annoyance than she could’ve thought his little body was capable of holding.

“Well, don’t you love each other?” He asks, exasperated, like he’d been holding onto this fact for too long, like it was heavy, and he was tired of lugging it around. “Isn’t that why he’s around all the time? Isn’t that why he never leaves anymore?”

(y/n’s) lips part in surprise, ready to say something, anything to deflect, or excuse, but she can’t think of a decent enough argument, and she finds herself remaining in silence as they approach their building.

“He’s so obnoxious,” Megumi continues, and (y/n) watches him with a strange curiosity as he goes on to speak. “He’s loud. And annoying. And too touchy,”

She chuckles fondly to herself, as she couldn’t help but agree with all of Megumi’s grievances with the man. Of course these were all traits she’d found some way to appreciate.

He was loud, but he spoke up for others, and had he not done so on her behalf, she might not be here with Megumi now. He was annoying, but he made it known that he enjoyed spending time around her, and he’d remember all of the things she said she liked or disliked. He was touchy, but it was just the way he showed affection, every touch, whether it be to hug her goodbye, to pull her to sit closer to him, to comb her hair with his fingers so she could fall asleep peacefully, it all just meant that he cared.

Thinking about it now, her face began to heat up, and her heart began to beat erratically in her chest. Had Megumi figured it out for her? Had she really grown to love all of those things?

“He doesn’t ever stop talking about you,” Megumi goes on, drawing her out of her thoughts and back to his rant. “Especially when you’re not around. He just goes on and on. About high school, about how cool you are, how pretty you are, how strong you are,”

Despite his irritation, Megumi’s cheeks begin to burn too, a little embarrassed to be passing this information on.

“And when he makes my lunches, even his notes are about you. And they’re stupid. But he’s stupid,” He rolls his eyes between complaints.

(y/n) thinks back to the little post-it she’d snagged from his lunch box a few months ago. There had been others? She was curious now about what they said. Did he do it every time he made their lunch?

“And Shoko said you were in love once,”

Her attention returns to the boy again, eyes round and lips still parted, still waiting to say something that wasn’t coming to mind. Shoko said that?

“Are you not anymore?”

He looks up at her just as they approach the front doors to their building. (y/n) swallows the lump in her throat as she pushes it open, letting him inside first. The warm air in the lobby is welcoming, and she pops open the buttons to the light jacket she’d worn to help keep warm during the chilly fall night.

Megumi was still staring at her as they made their way through the lobby to wait for the elevator. She knows he was expecting an answer, a real one, but truth be told, (y/n) wasn’t sure what the answer even was.

“We were young,” She sighs out eventually, shaking her head as she struggles to come up with the rest. “Did we have feelings for each other? Maybe, but I don’t know about love. We were close friends. Still are”

She thinks this is a good answer. It’s the truth, and it’s enough of an explanation to quell Megumi’s curiosities. She thought wrong.

“Well, what about now?” He asks, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets.

“You’re nosey tonight,” (y/n) chuckles, trying to nonchalantly brush him off and leave their conversation at that. But Megumi continues to stare at her with furrowed brows. “What?” She laughs nervously at him, raising her hands in mock defense. “What more is there to say?”

“Shoko said you were in love,” He deadpans, and (y/n) makes a mental note to cuss out her friend for gossiping with literal children about her love life- or more accurately, lack thereof. “So what was the condition that you don’t anymore?”

“I never said I didn’t-”

“So you do?”

They stare at each other in silence.

There’s a ding! And the elevator doors before them slide open.

(y/n) ushers Megumi in without a word, and he excitedly pushes the button for their floor. (y/n) crosses her arms as the doors close again. Her foot taps anxiously on the floor.

“Is this why you’ve been upset lately?” She finally speaks as the elevator begins to move. Megumi looks up at her, but her eyes remain focused on the changing numbers on the panel as they pass each floor. “Satoru’s been around more and you don’t like him?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like him,” Megumi mutters, annoyed at having to admit such a thing. (y/n) lets out a small chuckle. “He’s just annoying. I don’t know why you do,” He explains. “You’re cooler than him” He adds in a smaller, more bashful voice.

“Can’t argue there,” (y/n) hums in amusement, smiling down at him fondly. “But you don’t have anything to worry about, ‘gumi,” She says, and seeing as he’s trapped in the small space, when she reaches down and snatches him up with the excitement of finding a stray toad on her path- he can’t do anything but squeal and thrash his arms in protest. “You’re the only one for me, Fushiguro Megumi!” She cheers in a loud, lovesick manner.

The elevator doors open, allowing anyone on their floor to hear the boy’s screams of torture and giggles of delight when (y/n) tosses him over her shoulder to tickle him relentlessly.

“(y/n)!” He screams her name in choked up pleas of mercy. “Stoooop!”

His hollers fell on deaf ears as (y/n) cackled the whole way to the door. She didn’t let up until she had to fish for the keys in her pocket. Megumi huffed, hanging limply over her back, panting as he caught his breath, his laughter finally dying down.

“You’re a jerk” He muttered in defeat.

(y/n) cackled as she got the door open, and Megumi’s body was practically swinging behind her back as she hauled him inside.

Much to the delight of Satoru and Tsumiki, who had been sitting at the kitchen table, having a little spa day.

So while they were laughing at Megumi’s distress, (y/n) was laughing at the sight of Satoru with a big fluffy pink headband, the one Tsumiki used for the couple of times that (y/n) would let her do face masks with her.

His hair stuck out in every direction under the big bow on top, and there was a green substance smeared all over his face that (y/n) could only hope was from the rejuvenating face mask tube that she kept with her things in the bathroom. And better than that- Tsumiki was halfway through painting his names. He had one hand flat on the table, the polish still drying, while the ten year old held his other hand to carefully apply the color.

“Oh my god,” (y/n) couldn’t help the string of giggles that escaped her, and she finally set Megumi back on the ground so that he could also appreaciate the entertainment. “You girls have a nice day to yourselves?”

“Yeah!” Tsumiki cheered. “We watched a romance anime and Gojo’s letting me paint his nails and we were talking about boys and we’re doing face masks!”

(y/n’s) still laughing as she kicks off her shoes, before neatly setting them on the small rack by the door with the other smaller pairs of shoes. She shrugs off her coat and drapes it over the couch before making her way further into the room so she could see what color Tsumiki had chosen for Satoru’s manicure.

“She said we were doing facemasks,” Satoru deadpans as (y/n) peers over the girl’s shoulder. “But she chickened out”

“Did not!” Tsumiki argued. “I just only have one headband. I didn’t want to get any in my hair”

(y/n) continues to giggle when she finally gets a look at Satoru’s hands. Tsumiki had all of her polishes on the table, so each finger was a different color. Mostly variations of pink and purple, but there was one green and one blue in there too. When she meets his gaze, he’s silently pleading with her, but her mouth twists into a grin that tells him she was not here to bring him to a merciful end.

“Very good job you’ve done here, Tsumiki,” She praises the girl instead. “Satoru has never looked prettier!”

He should’ve rolled his eyes and quipped back some sarcastic remark, but Tsumiki was finally painting his last fingernail and it would all be over soon. So instead he grins from ear to ear, taking her half-insult as a compliment.

“Why thank you, (y/n/n). Finally, I’m appreciated for my beauty”

(y/n’s) the one who rolls her eyes.

Once Tsumiki applies the last stroke of glittery pink polish on Satoru’s pinky nail, (y/n) tasks her with cleaning up the mess on the table. It appears she’d been ready to give the man a full makeover, looking at all the makeup, nail polish, and hair supplies littered over the surface.

“Come on pretty girl, I’ll get the mask cleaned off your face,” (y/n) beckons for Satoru to follow her towards the bathroom. “We can’t have you ruining your pretty manicure” She snickers as the pair disappear down the hall.

Megumi helped his sister gather her things back into the boxes she kept them neatly organized in.

“How did it go with your dogs?” She asked curiously.

“Good,” He answers. “(y/n) is in love with Gojo”

His sister stares back at him with wide eyes, and a slow grin creeping over her face.

Meanwhile, (y/n) is sitting Satoru down on the lid of the toilet while the sink water runs until it’s warm enough that it won’t be a shock to his skin. Once it’s ready, she wets a corner of a washcloth and carefully begins to wipe off the creamy face mask.

“I can’t believe you let her do this” She murmurs, bringing the rag back under the running water to rinse away the excess paste.

“(y/n), as a dear friend, I need you to be honest with me,” He says, and her eyes lock on his, her hand stalling in it’s ministrations, holding the rag to his brow as she gives him her undivided attention. His expression looks grave. “Is this going to absolutely fuck up my pores?”

His eyes are wide like he’s never been more afraid of anything in his life, and (y/n) can’t help but burst into laughter as she goes back to cleaning away the cream on his forehead.

“Well, it shouldn’t,” She says, and Satoru visibly relaxes. “But I don’t know what she was thinking putting so much on your face”

“Maybe she just wanted to be close because I’m so devilishly handsome” He smirks up at her, and she lets out another laugh, turning back to the sink again to rinse the rag.

“I think she just wanted to play dress up with you” (y/n) mused.

“I think she just wanted to have girl talk,” Satoru replied. “Which apparently I’m quite good at. If you’re ever interested”

Another giggle escapes her as she gets to work cleaning away the cream on his cheek, being careful as she drags the rag slowly under his eye. She’s focused on her work, but Satoru can’t draw his attention away from her. He couldn’t remember the last time she stood so close to him, and right now her face hovered just a few inches away from his.

It was hard to keep his hands firmly planted on his knees, and not hold her by the waist and draw her into the space between them. But then he’d ruin his manicure.

“I didn’t realize she was getting so interested in boys,” She hums thoughtfully. “Any juicy details?”

“Not really,” Satoru shrugs. “I told her to start playing hard to get if she really wants to get someone’s attention. She said she didn’t want their attention. She just likes making friends with the cute boys in her class”

(y/n) laughs softly and shakes her head, but she can’t help but smile proudly to herself.

“That’s my girl,” She praises, even though Tsumiki wasn’t present. “She doesn’t need boys right now. She’s doing great in her classes”

Satoru shrugs a shoulder.

“You enjoy girl talk, hm?” She asks.

Admittedly, she could have cleaned his face of all this face mask cream by now, but she couldn’t help her slow movements. The longer she dragged this on, the longer she could stand right in front of him and stare at his pretty features. Her conversation with Megumi was still on the front of her mind, and while she’d brushed off the boy’s questions about her feelings minutes ago, standing before Satoru now, she wasn’t so sure she could deny them.

She’d known for a long time that she harbored strong feelings for him. While at first she’d squashed them down because she refused to admit she’d fallen for an arrogant fool like him, over time, she’d come to understand him better, and soon he’d become one of the greatest people she’s ever known, and she wasn’t so sure she’d ever meet anyone like him again.

But things got messy. She got involved with the Fushiguro’s, [redacted] defected, and now that they’ve graduated and are trying to lead their own lives, it just got too complicated.

It didn’t help that when he’d tried to take things to a more than platonic level, she’d shot it down as soon as things got tricky. As soon as he got called into an assignment the night they were going to go out, she’d closed herself back up, rebuilt the wall around her, and told him it was never going to work, so they may as well never try.

She’d done the right thing, right?

Trying not to stare too long at him now, she wasn’t so sure.

“Oh, I quite love girl talk,” Satoru grinned. “No wonder you and Shoko always snuck off. Hey, you ever talk about me?” His grin turns into a smirk as his bright eyes try to catch hers. She pretends to be too focused on clearing the green goop off his nose.

“Only when I needed to complain,” She muses affectionately. “I’m sorry to say most of our gossip involved Ijichi”

“That kid that’s a manager?” He asked with a furrowed brow. “That’s your type?”

He sounded annoyed, and confused. (y/n) chuckled, turning back towards the sink for another rinse.

“No,” She shakes her head, and Satoru readjusts his posture, sitting up a little straighter with his confidence returned. “But he was always smitten with Shoko. I think eventually he was so into her she couldn’t help but take an interest in him, too,”

Satoru nods, pursing his lips as he thinks back on it. There were a few times that she’d blown off plans to twirl her hair at the younger boy. He’d always thought she was just messing with him, now he wonders if anything ever came of it.

“I think they hooked up a couple times,” (y/n) indulged in a quieter voice, her eyes meeting his with a curious excitement he hadn’t seen in a while. “She never admitted it. But I’ve seen the hickeys. That’s all I’m saying”

Satoru laughed with delight. He really did enjoy girl talk. He also enjoyed seeing (y/n) this happy.

“Well geez. I guess I’ll have to hit her up on that. What’s she got on you, huh?”

Her brows pinched together as a scoff of a laugh escapes her, her lips stretching into an awkward smile. Her eyes meet his and they’re prodding, eager to hear more of this juicy content.

(y/n) shakes her head as more nervous laughter bubbles up.

“Afraid you’ll be rather bored, ‘toru” She hummed, going back to scrubbing the cream off of his other cheek.

“What, no time for boys?” He leans forward, making her stall in her movements, and bringing her gaze back to his. Her eyes flicker between his for a moment, trying to figure out why he was asking this of her now. He knows the answer to this question. Why was he even asking it?

Her head tilts at him in a small movement as she thinks through her answer, her eyes never leaving his.

“That’s private” She murmurs, just to gauge his reaction.

It was a pleasant one indeed. Only because she got an up close look was she able to see the twitch in his brow, the slow locking of his jaw before quickly relaxing it. So the notion that she did have something to tell bothered him. Interesting.

“So you have a little time for boys, then?” He asks, and the grin that stretches on his lips is anything but eager. It’s counterfeit. And almost poisonous.

“Why the sudden interest?” She hums, straightening her posture and going back to cleaning his face.

“Why the sudden need for privacy?” He asks, leaning forward again, seeing as she’d tried to put a few inches of distance between them. Her eyes briefly catch his, but she’s quick to return her focus. “I thought we said no more secrets”

A humorless laugh escapes her throat as she shakes her head at him.

“Satoru, how many times are you going to assume I’m hooking up with someone when I’m not?” She asks, only half-teasing.

“Hey, that’s not all on me, you were the one sneaking around in the middle of the night! A bootycall was the only logical answer”

“Except it wasn’t, and it isn’t” (y/n) reminds him.

“I’m still not totally convinced” He grumbles, rolling his eyes away from hers as he mulled over the scraps of evidence in his head.

“I can’t tell if you’re being nosey or completely jealous” She muses.

“Can’t a guy be more than one thing?” His eyes are on hers again in an instant as he grins up at her, this time with his usual charm that he tried to pull.

“Sure you can,” She grins back at him. “And you’re predictable”

His grin falls, but not completely. His lips are still curled into a soft smile as he stares up at her. It’s quiet for a moment, and there’s still some green mask left on his chin, but it’s momentarily forgotten as she gets lost in his stare.

She supposes she’d get jealous, too, if he started talking about seeing someone else. Someone else, she thinks to herself, a small crease forming between her brows. And that wasn’t fair of her to think, was it? He wasn’t hers, she’d made sure of that herself. But fuck, if the idea didn’t make something nasty twist in her gut.

“I’m not seeing anyone,” She blurts out, as if it wasn’t already clear to him that this was the case. “If that’s what you’re getting at. I don’t know why, you know I-”

She stops herself before something she doesn’t want to say out loud. He tilts his chin at her, curious to hear the rest of what she was going to say, but judging by the way she presses her lips together in a small smile, he gets the feeling that she’s swallowed her words.

Silently, she wipes the last patch of green cream off of his chin, and turns around to rinse the wash cloth thoroughly. After working out all of the mask from the cloth, she rings it out and drapes it over one of the towel bars to properly dry. When she turns back to Satoru, he’s raising his hands to pull the headband off.

“Wait,” Her voice is soft but it still stops him as she reaches out towards him. “I’ll get it,” She tells him as she loops her fingers through the fluffy band. “I was serious about not messing up your nails”

A small giggle escapes her as she slides the headband off, letting his hair fall around his ears and over his forehead.

“I appreciate that you care about my manicure” He half-teases.

Absent-mindedly, she brings her fingers bag to his hair, sweeping a few loose strands away from his eyes. She doesn’t even realize what she’s done until her eyes meet his, and suddenly she’s retracting her hand and staring back at him with wide eyes.

“I- sorry-”

“Don’t be,” Satoru smiles at her as he stands from the seat, stretching his tired limbs after sitting there for the last fifteen or so minutes. “You want help making dinner tonight?”

Just like that he’s strolling out of the bathroom with her in tow, telling her all of the ideas of things he wants to learn to cook. A lot of his list is baked sweets, but she listens to him ramble on anyways. It’s a good distraction for her to calm her racing heart. _

It’s a horrendously chilly day in december when paths cross that (y/n) would have never expected.

She, Satoru, Shoko, and the Fushiguro kids had been out for the day. It had started with a breakfast that they’d tried to make happen weekly, but had quickly turned into strolling around the shops in Tokyo so the kids could make their christmas wish lists. This of course was more or less a grocery list of things that Satoru was bound to buy as soon as he received this list, but it was fun for everyone nonetheless.

They’d just walked out of a pet shop, despite (y/n) making it clear that there would be no pets for christmas, claiming Megumi’s dogs were enough. She was reminding Tsumiki- and Satoru- of that fact as they walked out.

“What do you need a hamster for? Isn’t Megumi feisty enough?” She’d laughed as she’d pulled her hat over her head to keep her ears safe from the nippy cold breeze. Megumi gives his sister a wide grin, maybe out of pride, even.

“Because they’re so small and cute and fluffy-”

“Not helping, Satoru,” She swatted at his arm to stop him from getting Tsumiki’s hopes up, before turning her attention to the girl. “We’re not getting a hamster”

Just as Tsumiki’s pouty face was almost starting to work, (y/n) catches sight of an old familiar face, and her attention is quickly ripped away from the present as a beam stretches over her mouth.

“Nanami!”

He’s across the street, so she has to jog to get to him and catch his attention, leaving everyone else without much more of an explanation.

“Been awhile since I’ve seen Nanamin,” Shoko’s the first to speak, as the rest of them are staring at (y/n) as she catches up with the blonde man. Megumi and Tsumiki watch on with surprise, and a little confusion. While Satoru’s eyes narrow into a glare behind his shades. “He looks… good”

This turned his glare towards the woman, who pursed her lips and shrugged a shoulder. “What?” She asked innocently. “The haircut suits him”

When Nanami Kento finally hears his name and sees (y/n) making her way to him, he lights up. Recognition turns to delight as she approaches him, and when her arms open wide, he steps closer so that she can throw them around his neck and hug him like he was an old friend, and not just a past acquaintance that had shared trauma.

“Don’t remember them being so close” Satoru huffs, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat so that no one could see the way they ball into tight fists.

Hearing the odd seriousness in the usually overly-cheery man’s tone had Megumi looking up at Satoru out of curiosity. He wore a grimace, even with the shades covering his face, it was perfectly clear. When the boy glanced back towards where (y/n) was animatedly talking with the man he sort of recognized, an idea brewed in his head.

Tugging on the puffy sleeve of Tsumiki’s coat, Megumi gave her a look, making her follow his line of sight from Satoru’s evil eye, to where (y/n) and her supposed friend from high school were reconnecting. Tsumiki looked back and forth a few more times, noting how Gojo’s brow furrowed particularly harder as (y/n) grabbed the man’s arm and began to lead him back towards them.

As Nanami and (y/n) grow nearer, Satoru does his best to relax his features, but with the way she’s talking to him so enthusiastically, smiling and gesturing with her hands, he can’t help but have some intrigue.

Questions like when the hell did they get so buddy-buddy? And since when did Nanamin know how to smile? Flooded his mind. He was dying to know what it was that you were talking about that had you both looking so… engaged.

“Your jealousy’s showing,” Shoko snickered, knocking her elbow into Satoru’s. He sent her a half-playful scowl, which only made her grin in amusement. “And here I thought you grew out of that?” She teased.

Meanwhile, and as oblivious as ever, (y/n) had been filling Nanami in on all of the excitement she’d endured since graduating. He congratulated her, and asked all of the appropriate questions about the kids and the beginning of her career as a jujutsu sorcerer.

“You have to come properly meet the kids,” She’d told him, gesturing back to where the oddball looking group stood outside of the pet shop.

Nanami glanced over, briefly catching Gojo’s nasty gaze before he smoothed it out into something more friendly. It didn’t look remotely authentic, but it didn’t help that Shoko was cackling and knocking her arm against his, as though calling him out for his behavior. He supposed some things would never change.

(y/n) was linking her arm through his and walking with him back towards everyone before Nanami could find a way to politely decline the offer. It was nothing against the Fushiguro kids, (y/n) made them out to be pleasant little angels, but he had a feeling that Gojo wouldn’t be too keen on her inviting him over. Especially not arm in arm.

“So you and Six Eyes finally made it work, huh?” The blonde asked, semi bitterly, semi curiously.

(y/n) ducked her head to hide the blush dusting over her cheeks. Although she supposed it was cold enough outside she could play it off as a chill, she had a feeling Nanami would see through the lie.

“Uh, not exactly. I mean- not like you mean, anyways. He helps with the kids a lot” She stammers over her explanation, not knowing the proper way to define their relationship. Friend seemed too informal and broad to describe what they shared. Partner was… well, there was a certain connotation there, wasn’t there? Rather than try to find a label for it, she decides instead to shut her mouth.

Nanami chuckled.

Some things really would never change.

“Still got him to settle down though, hm?” Nanami hums, watching as Gojo ruffles up the hair of the little boy, who then proceeds to turn around and growl at him, smacking at his hand.

This was (y/n’s) little angel? Nanami wondered as the two began to bicker like they were both children. He couldn’t hear what they were arguing about, but from what he could see, he had a feeling the boy was in the right.

“So he’s… good with the kids?” Nanami asks, and the pair watch as Satoru’s solution to end the bickering was to lift up the kid by his ankle, dangling him in the air.

(y/n’s) eyes momentarily widen, and she jolts as if she’s going to run at the two- probably to scold Satoru and cradle Megumi in her arms like he was younger than he was- but she just as quickly relaxes as Satoru plops the boy on his shoulders. Megumi is still scowling, but appears to relax and let's Satoru hold him by the ankles while he sits. (y/n) makes a mental note to take a picture of them later when they’re not paying attention.

“Sometimes,” She finally answers Nanami’s question. “Tsumiki loves him. Megumi won’t admit it… but I know he likes him more than he lets on”

“So you’ll raise kids together, but you won’t put a label on things?” Nanami chuckles.

She looks over at him with a half smile and a raised brow.

“You sure care a lot about my love life, Nanamin~” She points out. “So what is it? You got a special someone that’s got love on your mind?”

He laughs again, not because she’s right, but because it was so like her to deflect like her life depended on it. She had gotten better at it since the last time he’d seen her, too.

When they do approach the rest of her group, Satoru’s line of sight is firmly set on the place where (y/n’s) elbow is hooked around Nanami’s, and it stays there while she introduces the kids to him. He doesn’t look up, or even force a polite smile, until Shoko is stepping forward and making them split up as she hugs Nanami.

Then, and only once (y/n) stepped closer to Satoru, putting some distance between her and the ex-sorcerer, does he relax. Megumi groans and kicks his feet out of Satoru’s hold, annoyed by the way he’d gripped his legs. During the pleasant small talk (y/n) and Shoko makes with the man, Satoru remains silent. Behind his shades his eyes are piercing and although Nanami can’t quite see it, he certainly feels it. It’s a bit unsettling, but just like in high school, it was more irritating than anything else.

Despite barely speaking to him, before the blonde man goes to part ways, Satoru scribbles something down on a receipt he’d found in his pocket, and passes it off to him. Nanami’s surprised to see it’s a phone number.

“For if you ever want to get back out there,” Satoru said with a nod. Nanami blinks as he stares at the Six Eyes user, and then back at the receipt. “I’d get ya back on the field in a jiffy, no questions asked” He continued with a grin, before making a point to sling an arm over (y/n’s) shoulders. She stumbles as he pulls her against his side, caught off guard by the sudden affection, but she relaxes just as quickly, and doesn’t appear upset by the action at all.

“Thanks” Nanami settles with a small nod of his head. He doesn’t think he’d ever go back into the world of jujutsu sorcery, but the proposal was still a thoughtful one. Especially so when he thought he’d been on the man’s shit list for merely talking to (y/n).

They say their goodbyes and part ways with a weak promise of brunch sometime.

Shoko is dragging Tsumiki into the next boutique, saying something about hair accessories that should be on her wish list. Leaving (y/n) and Satoru to follow behind, with Megumi still perched on Satoru’s shoulders.

(y/n) tucks her hands into the pockets of her coat, stepping out from under his arm, but still walking closely by his side.

“You really think he’ll come back?” She asks after a beat passes, too curious about his thoughts to wait until another time to bring it up.

“I don’t know,” He answers honestly, shrugging his shoulders, although the movement is stiff and awkward with Megumi resting on them. He giggles a bit at the movement. “But he looked… bored, didn’t he?”

When he looks down at her to gauge her reaction, she gives him a small nod.

“Figured a change of pace would be good for him” Satoru finished.

“Maybe you can train him again (y/n),” Megumi pipes up. He leans over Satoru’s head, resting his arms across the white locks before setting his chin against the puffy sleeves of his coat to rest. “Like me”

She smiles up at him sweetly, and nods her head again. Truthfully, Nanami’s abilities nearly surpassed hers back in the day, but she had no problem with letting Megumi believe she was stronger than she was.

“Maybe then I’ll get good at teaching,” She said, eyes flickering down to Satoru, who beamed at the idea. “Jujutsu Tech always needs more teachers” She shrugs a shoulder at the thought.

But for now, she tables the idea, putting her focus back into entertaining the kids for the day. As long as they had a good holiday season, full of the spoiling and love they so deserved, she’d be content.

___

On the third day of February, Gojo Satoru shows up at the (y/l/n)-Fushiguro apartment like a madman that evening. He appears out of thin air in the living room, and his worried state only escalates when he finds the room empty. It’s late enough that without the lights, the room is dark, but early enough in the evening that there should have been some form of life in the apartment.

He’s quick to scour through the hallways. He finds Tsumiki asleep in her bed, and carefully closes the door behind him. When he turns to Megumi’s room, the boy is still awake, happily reading with the clip-on light on the cover of his book- a gift he’d gotten from (y/n) this past holiday. When the man practically barges into the room, he’s not as alarmed as he should be. Satoru appearing out of nowhere had become such a regular occurrence that it would be silly if he still flinched at his sudden presence.

“Sorry, kid, shoulda knocked,” Satoru apologizes sheepishly. “(y/n/n) here? She didn’t go on a mission, did she?”

It wouldn’t be like her to take on an assignment and leave the kids alone at the apartment. Then again, it wasn’t like her to ignore his texts and calls all day. Eight texts, three phone calls, to be exact.

She’d ignored Shoko’s, too. Hence is panic and instantaneous arrival at her residence.

Megumi shakes his head, tucking his bookmark into the page he’d been on before setting it down. He climbs out of bed wordlessly, and walks out of the room, leaving Satoru to follow after him.

He’s a little embarrassed when Megumi takes him towards (y/n’s) room, where her door has been left ajar. He points through the crack, before looking up at Satoru with a small frown.

“She’s been out there all night,” He says softly.

Satoru furrows his brows, before pushing open the door a little more so he could see for himself what Megumi meant. Sure enough, her bedroom was unlit, and the window on the furthest wall was slid open. The curtains surrounding it blow gently with the breeze that creeps into the room. He can just barely make out (y/n) sitting on the small patch of roof just outside of the window.

“Is she okay?” Megumi asks, his voice even smaller.

He’d never seen her the way she’d acted today. There had been a ghostly pale look on her face this morning, and then again when she’d picked up him and his sister from school. Most of the afternoon was spent focused on chores, and then preparing dinner. Any attempts made by him or his sister to get her to open up, or even smile, had failed.

And then, once dinner was finished and the dishes were done, she’d excused herself to her room. After two hours, Megumi and Tsumiki had peeked in to see if she was alright, only to find her sitting on the roof outside her window, alone.

Satoru lets out a sigh, his heart sinking as it finally clicks for him why she’d been so dodgy. He should’ve figured it out sooner, he realizes that now.

“She’ll be alright,” He answers Megumi, pulling the door shut to give her her privacy again, even though she didn’t seem to notice the onlooking presence behind her. “Come on, you should get to bed”

Megumi hesitates, wanting to know more, out of worry for his caretaker that worked so hard to make sure he was content and happy every day of his life. Now she was struggling and he felt helpless. But he was just a kid, what was he supposed to do?

“You’ll make sure?” He asks. It was the closest to asking the man for help that he’d ever gotten, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Satoru smiles, patting the kid on the head before pushing him gently back towards his room.

“Course I will,” He says, and it seems genuine, so Megumi complies and begins walking back to his door. “Sweet dreams ‘gumi”

“Goodnight” Megumi calls, rather than roll his eyes like he wants to. Well, at least he waits until he’s in his closed room to do so.

Once he’s out of sight and presumably settling back into bed, Satoru opens the door he’s lingered by and slips into the room quickly. Even as he climbs out of the window- which was a great struggle because it was a small opening and he was all limbs- (y/n’s) attention remains on the sky.

She has her knees pulled to her chest, and now he’s close enough that he can smell the cigarette held between her fingers.

“Thought you quit” He hums as she crawls awkwardly to where she’s sitting.

(y/n) doesn’t flinch at his presence. He wonders how long she’d realized he was there. She doesn’t look at him, either, much to his dismay. She’s still focused on the stars, as though they’d been in the midst of an important conversation.

“Yeah, well,” Her voice is a murmur as she brings the cig to her lips, taking a short drag. After filling her lungs she exhales, sighing for longer than she had smoke to disseminate. “Guess I couldn’t help it today”

Satoru nods in understanding, his attention catching on a small plate beside her. The tiniest of smiles quirks on the corner of his lips as he sees a lone cupcake sitting on it. It looks positively delicious, thick vanilla cake wrapped in a colorful paper, topped with a generous amount of frosting, curled over itself in a perfect mountain, and then covered in rainbow sprinkles.

If this was any other cupcake, on any other day, he’d be pushing her off this roof right now just to steal a bite of it.

But this cupcake wasn’t meant for him.

“I know you’re going to worry,” (y/n’s) speaking again, and his eyes drift away from the ominous treat and back to her, even though she’s still refusing to look at him. “But you don’t need to. You can go, if you want…” She trails off for a moment, taking in a shaky breath before finishing her thought. “If you need to grieve… in your own way”

Amidst the solemn memories that are flooding his mind of this day in past years, Satoru thinks it’s one of the kindest things she’s ever offered to him. Pushing him away so that he can process this day however he needs, rather than sit here and comfort her while she processes her way.

And it’s not that it’s easy for him, because it isn’t. He’d woken up today knowing exactly what day it was. And not just Friday. Today the weight of the world felt heavier on his shoulders than usual. His coffee, pumped full of cream and sugar, tasted bitter. The sun seemed to disappear behind a patch of clouds every time he stepped outside. The day dragged and dragged, and given the fact that (y/n) had ghosted him for the day hadn’t helped.

But he couldn’t exactly blame her. Because even he was a reminder to her. A reminder that their group of three had once been four. That when he’d met her all those years ago, he’d come as a matching set. His heart sank for her, knowing there was nothing he could do to ease her mind of pleasant memories now covered in a haze of darkness.

Guilt. Regret. Longing.

“No, sweetheart,” He murmurs to her, sliding himself over the shingles to be closer to her. Her hair is down, and it covers her side profile, so it’s still hard for him to see her, but for once he’s patient. “No, ‘m not goin’ anywhere”

It’s quiet for quite some time. (y/n) continues puffing on the cigarette until the taste turns sour in her mouth, and then she’s stumping it out on the shingles, only half smoked. Satoru hopes this means she really has quit the nasty habit, and tonight wasn’t a backslide on an old addiction, but instead a small escape towards nostalgia. While she fiddles with the dead cig in her fingers, he notes it was the brand that Shoko always picked up. The very brand that back in high school, she’d made smoke buddies out of (y/n), and Suguru too, smoking those exact cigarettes.

“D’you think he’s celebrating?”

Her voice catches in her throat, but she swallows the lump as soon as she voices her question.

No, Satoru thinks.

“Maybe,” He hums in response. “Probably not as hard as you did” He adds, trying to lighten the mood with the memory of her own twentieth birthday. (y/n) lets out a small sound that was meant to be a hum, but it sounds choked, like someone has a hand around her throat, strangling her pipes until she had no more voice left.

She stares at the cigarette in her fingers, her eyes hard, desperate to stay dry, but this leaves them without emotion.

“I didn’t think today would be this hard,” She admits. “I thought I…”

Satoru watches her carefully, his eyes darting from her hidden face to the cigarette that was trembling in her delicate hold. As if the day alone wasn’t hard enough, his heart breaks over her further. Being the strongest didn’t mean shit at this moment. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do to ease this pain for her, but fuck, if he could take it all away, and carry it for her himself, he would.

“I thought I’d already cried as much as I could over him,” Her words wobble, thanks to her burning throat and quivering lips. “But I… I just…”

She shakes her head, a humorless laugh escaping her throat in one harsh sob. It sounds exactly how she feels. Angry, forlorn, exasperated.

“Satoru,”

She turns to him, finally. The stumpy little cigarette falls from her shaking hands as she moves quickly. As if his heart wasn’t hurting enough, now he sees the tears streaming down her face.

How long had she been out here crying? He worries. How long had she been carrying this alone?

Before she can continue he’s surging forward. Both hands raising to her face in order to make quick work at drying her tears. It’s no use, they won’t stop flooding and he knows it too, but still, he wipes them away with diligent, loving thumbs.

“I can’t bear this,” She mumbles, watery eyes flickering between his.

It’s a damn vulnerable thing to admit, and maybe tomorrow she’ll regret this moment of fragile exposure, but right now all she feels is a weight on her chest, pressing harder and harder until it’s left a gaping wound, and she’s so desperate for relief from this pain that she brings her walls down. Even if it means she takes them down completely.

“It hurts too much,” She continues in a strained whimper. “I don’t want to miss him anymore, I don’t want to think about him anymore,”

Satoru’s brows fall to furrow together as she makes her pained confession, and if it wasn’t for the way she spoke, he could see it on her. In the way her body shook as she cried, her hurt seeped out of every orifice, until she was made nearly unrecognizable.

Since Geto Suguru’s defection, she’d done a bang up job keeping her feelings on the matter to herself. Minus the day he left them, she’d barely even spoken a word about it, and in fact, she hadn’t talked about him at all. Until this very moment. It appeared that she’d kept it packed up so deep inside that today was the last straw, the final blow to her unprocessed grief. Denial was a wonderful thing, but it could only do the trick for so long.

Satoru cradles her face with the gentleness of feathers on her skin. He doesn’t say a word, there’s not enough words in the world to bring an ounce of comfort to her now. Nothing could fix the situation, believe him, he’s tried to find the miracle cure. But this disease that was their shared trauma, their haunted past, was terminal.

So instead he sits quietly with her. He brushes away her tears with the pads of his thumbs, over and over again, and he’s bound to this very spot to continue to do so until it’s enough. Until he’s enough to carry all of her sorrow, all of her strife, and anything else.

Satoru’s throat begins to burn the longer he watches her fall apart at the seams before him. This wasn’t the first time he’s seen her at her lowest, he’d been there once or twice before to try to pick up her pieces, and hold her gently together until she feels whole again. But it doesn’t matter if he’d done this a thousand times before, it always feels unfamiliar, and it always wounds him.

He tries his hardest to push down the feeling, to be present as the strength that she needs of him. But tonight is different than the other times he’s calmed and comforted her.

A shaky exhale escapes him, and the movements of his thumbs on her cheeks grow rushed, and erratic.

“Oh sweetheart,” Satoru means to speak in a murmur, but his voice wavers as much as his breath. It’s littered with an emotion that makes (y/n’s) stomach churn and knot. “You know I hate seeing you cry”

His eyes follow the constant flow of tears as he prods carefully to wipe them away. His heart weighs heavy in his chest, sinking all the way to his stomach.

Slowly, (y/n) inches forward, her eyes flickering between his for a moment, before her hands rest on his shoulders and she leans in to embrace him. It’s stiff at first, as if they were unfamiliar with hugging one another. But she sinks into him after adjusting, and wraps her arms around his neck completely while holding on tight.

His own arms encircle her waist, before resting cheek atop her head.

“I wish I could just hate him,” She mumbles into his shoulder, the fabric of his tee shirt growing wet with her tears pooling into it. “It would make it easier”

Satoru nods. One of his hands pressed flat against her back as he started to move it in soothing circles.

They sit quietly for a few minutes, until her crying has calmed enough that she’s not shaking anymore, and his eyes have fallen shut with fatigue whilst he’s holding her close and rubbing her back.

“D’you want to go inside?” Satoru hums, tilting his head to press her lips into her hair. “Get some rest?”

She doesn’t answer him right away. Not in words, at least. Her arms tighten around him in the slightest, tensing up as she makes sure her hold on him is firm.

“No,” She whispers, followed by another squeeze, and this time he feels the pads of her fingertips pressing into the material of his shirt, against his skin. “I want to stay here a little longer,” She admits while she pushes her face into the crook of his neck. “If that’s okay?” She asks in a smaller voice.

“Of course that’s okay,” Satoru agrees, his free hand reaching up to cup the back of her head. He gently pets her hair as she settles back into him again. Best case scenario, she’ll fall asleep, and he can tuck her into bed and hope that the rest brings her more comfort than he’s capable of. “Whatever you want, sweetheart,” His lips graze over her head as he murmurs, “Just let me know. I’ll do whatever you need. I’ll get you whatever you need. Just tell me”

Again, her hold stiffens on him, and she’s got him so snug in her arms now that breaking away would prove to be difficult. Strongest be damned. No hold on Gojo Satoru has ever been more binding.

And then she’s pulling away. Her arms loosen and slide away, only for her hands to find purchase at his forearms, tethering herself to him with a gentle grip. Even still, this has him locked to her, chained, bound.

He lifts his head to look at her properly, meeting her wide, panicked eyes. There’s a few tears left, clinging where they could. They hide in plain sight at the corners of her eyes and on her cheeks. Satoru has the thought to clear them away, but her hands begin to shake as she clings to his arms, and he doesn’t have the heart to pull himself from her grip.

No hold on Gojo Satoru has ever been more binding.

“Then I need you to promise me something,” She speaks with urgency, although he could already see the fright in her eyes. He doesn’t get a chance to nod in agreement before she’s speaking again. “You can’t ever go”

Satoru blinks, taken aback by the request. He’s quick to reassure her with a small chuckle, not out of humor, but from the irony that she feels the need to ask such a thing.

“Of course I won’t-”

“I’m serious,” She speaks over him, eyes unblinking as she moves her hands to clutch onto his shoulders. Her hold is softer now, but it carries the same weight. “Please, promise me,” She whispers. “Promise you won’t go anywhere,”

She sucks in a breath as she fights more tears from pooling in her eyes.

“Promise me I won’t ever lose you, too,”

Satoru’s brows pinch together as he nods back at her in a small motion. With his arms free, he cups her face in his hands again, tilting her head forward so he could seal his promise with his lips pressed against the crown of her head.

He lingers there for a second, before kissing her in the middle of her forehead once more and leaning away so he could look at her.

“I just can’t-” She tries to speak but her tears are choking her up again. “I can’t lose you, okay?”

He’s nodding at her, his expression gravely serious as he agrees to her terms.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” Satoru tucks a loose strand of hair carefully behind her ear before continuing. “You’ll never lose me,” He gives her a sweet, comforting smile before he’s cupping her face again, fingers splayed across her cheeks, catching the last of her tears and drying them off. “I need ya too much, yaknow?”

A faint smile quirks at the corners of her lips, her eyes filling with relief, and something bashful. He can feel it in the warmth of her face.

Softly, she murmurs, “I need you, too,”

It’s a difficult thing to say out loud, there’s more weight to those words than she thought there would be, but it’s the truth, and she needs him to know it. She needs him to know that while there’s still things she can’t bring herself to admit, at the end of the day he had her complete trust. And right now, that seems more important.

“I…” Her voice gets caught in her throat, but this time it’s not because of the burn of tears. She swallows hard anyways, and musters up the courage to continue. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, ‘toru”

His smile grows warm and syrupy. It might not have been the confession he was holding out for, but it still made something fluttery and ticklish dance around his inside. His heart swells. His eyelashes grow heavy.

“Miss me, hopefully” He murmurs, gently pinching her cheek between his thumb and index finger, then smoothing over the skin with the pad of his thumb.

Her mood is significantly lifted by his familiar and affectionate teasing. Her pain still lurks around the corner, but right now her back is turned, and all she can see are his bright eyes and tender smile. All she knows is that his hands are warm against her face, and it turns her to putty having him this close.

Her head tilts to the side, cheek pressing further into the comforting warmth of his hand. He regards her with a fondness so intense it almost makes her nervous. Sometimes she had to re-learn how to get used to this look.

“Then…” Her voice is merely a breath. “Stay”

He’s smiling again, even though he knows she’s not asking him to spend the night in the spare room- which he’d already done five days out of this week without being invited, he didn’t need an invitation to crash there, he just did- but asking him to stay here, with her. He shouldn’t be smiling, he shouldn’t feel that skip in his heart beat as he preens with pride and adoration. Because the last time he’d stayed with her, it had been too hard.

It was too domestic. Too intimate. And all too difficult to pretend that it was normal, or casual. The feelings that she plants in him blossom like uncontrollable wildflowers, and Satoru had realized he was far too weak to ever put himself through it again. He cared about her too deeply to jeopardize it all over a shared bed. Maybe it was childish of him, but he’d sworn he wouldn’t do it again. When she’d made it so clear where they stood with one another, it wasn’t fair to her to gaze at her long after she'd fallen asleep in his arms and ache for more.

But Satoru is a fool.

He’s carefully helping her back through the window while she holds the cupcake in one hand and his in the other. Before he heads to the spare room- where he has left quite a few drawers worth of extra clothes- he gives her hand a squeeze. A silent promise that he’ll be quick. She leaves the cupcake on her bedside table while she sits at the edge of her mattress and waits. He is very quick, back in her room after barely two minutes have gone by. When he closes the door, he does so as silently as possible. When he sits beside her, his movements are slow, almost calculated with how carefully he moves.

“We should eat this cupcake,” She tells him, her eyes focused on the treat with an unreadable emotion behind them. “It would be a shame… if it went to waste”

He lets out a chuckle, which has her attention shifting to him.

“I couldn’t agree more” He says with a wide grin.

Her brow furrows.

“Were you just waiting for me to-”

“Yes, yeah I was, hand it over”

He’s already reaching across her to snatch the plate off of the table. There’s a plastic knife residing beside the cupcake, and after carefully peeling off the paper wrapper, Satoru cuts the cake down the middle as evenly as he could. (y/n) almost laughs at his eagerness to eat the treat. She supposes she could have let him have the whole thing if he was so eager for it, but he’s already handing her a half, and it does look delicious.

When she’d wandered into the bakery earlier that afternoon, before the Fushiguro kids were out of school, she hadn’t really planned on picking out a dessert to celebrate the birthday of someone she was trying to forget. She wasn’t really sure what had wound her up in there, she hadn’t held a particular craving for any of the sugary sweets on display. Then she’d seen that cupcake in the glass case, and as soon as her eyes had landed on it, she found herself getting in line to order it. All the while telling herself this was silly, that he didn’t even have a sweet tooth, and this wasn’t at all what she would have gotten to celebrate his day had he been here.

But he wasn’t here. And (y/n) was taking the small box home to sit on her counter where it could taunt her for the rest of the day, until she;d given in and plated the damn thing.

Now she stares at her half of it, held carefully in her fingertips. The frosting felt heavy atop the small piece of cake, and she’s reminded that she actually doesn’t really care for cupcakes. They were awkward, especially ones like these, where it was impossible to take a bite without getting cream smeared on your face.

She really shouldn’t have bought this.

“Well, that was the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten”

Satoru snaps her out of her thoughts, her head snapping towards him in a jerky movement, as if she’d forgotten he was sitting beside her. He’s got the pad of his middle finger between pursed lips, happily sucking off the last of the sugary sweetness. He grins at her surprise. (y/n) looks back at her own piece, and finally, carefully takes a bite.

It’s all vanilla and sugar. From the cake to the frosting and sprinkles, the tiny dessert is packed with sweetness. Even after one bite she’s certain that half of the cupcake was plenty, and she never would have eaten the whole thing on her own. Although she’s sure Satoru would have finished the whole thing without a complaint.

Just as she’d thought, when she finishes her piece, she can feel the remnants of frosting clinging to her lip. With a crinkled nose she wipes at it with her thumb, before turning to Satoru.

“Did I get it all?” She asks. He chuckles as he shakes his head, amused by the smear of white over her cupid’s bow. However before she can blindly rub it away some more, he’s leaning forward. His fingers hook under her chin while his thumb craftily swipes over her upper lip, making sure to get the last of the offending frosting.

It’s not much, and really had she rubbed her mouth again she would have easily cleared away the rest of it, but he couldn’t resist, and he was acting without thinking.

“There ya go” He hums, his voice quieter than he meant it to be, before he’s sticking his thumb in his mouth to enjoy the last of her vanilla frosting as well.

(y/n) blinks, her eyes wide but the rest of her expression blank. She figures she should thank him, maybe even make a joke to play off the strangely intimate act that has her heart doing somersaults in her chest, but she can’t bring herself to say anything.

Without a word, she stands from the bed, placing the plate with the wrapper and plasticware back on her nightstand. Satoru takes his time getting settled under her covers, against her pillows. When she climbs in after him, she’s still quiet. She tucks the blanket up close to her chin, and then glances up to him, finding his eyes already on her.

They’re not touching, but he’s close enough that she can feel his heat under the shared blankets. He’s close enough that she’s glad it’s dark in the room, because her face feels warm with the familiar sensation of a blush.

Four years of knowing him, and his close proximity still garnered the same reaction out of her. She wondered if he knew she was blushing anyways, if his Six Eyes were always able to see right through her.

“Can I ask you something?” She murmurs, although her eyes are feeling too heavy to start a conversation right now.

He gives her a small smirk and a raised brow, intrigued by the age old anxiety-inducing question.

“Shoot” He muses back.

“How do you do it?” (y/n’s) hand slides under her pillow, raising her head just enough to get a proper look at him. He looks puzzled, like he doesn’t understand the question, so she clarifies. “You know, have the answer for everything,” She says. “I feel like I… I feel like I bombard you with problem after problem and you just…”

She trails off, and if she was being honest it’s because she’s getting lost in his eyes and forgetting momentarily what she was even talking about. There were times when she looked at him that while he looked back, she got the overwhelming sense of his complete attention. And sometimes, it made her heart stutter. Occasionally her voice would deceive her, too. She wants to move in closer, until she’s so impossibly too close, but she snaps back to reality just as her mind had started to drift off.

“You just always know what to do. Or say” She finishes her thought in a hushed whisper. Maybe it was her train of thought turning hazy from the adoration seeping in, but she suddenly feels like it was a confidential thing to say, too full of emotion to put out in the open so brazenly.

Satoru chuckles, and it relieves some of the tension that’s curling up in her chest.

“It’s cute that you think that,” He replies. “That’s just what we do, though, isn’t it?”

Now it’s her turn to furrow her eyebrows, not understanding what he’s trying to say.

Satoru gives her a small shrug.

“We look out for each other,” He states. “Right?”

“I ‘spose” (y/n) mumbles back, feeling severely gutted by the realization that he looked out for her more than she did for him. How do you have the back of someone who’s already the strongest in the world? How could she possibly be as good to him as he was to her?

It dawns on her then that she can’t, that she could never be a semblance of a person he deserved to have in his life. Not just due to his strength and status, but because of who Gojo Satoru was as a human. He was far too good, too kind and caring and patient for the likes of her to be involved with him. She was messy, at times reckless, and most of all she lived too much in her own head. Overthinking every situation, and every word, most days it felt like it took her ages just to find the right way to respond, to find the right words, make the right face.

Like right now.

“You don’t think so?” Satoru asks, readjusting his pillow so he too could get a better look at her. Her lips twitch into an awkward smile, nervous that he was able to read her so easily. “What’re you thinkin’ about?”

But how was she supposed to tell him? While she lays here and feels regret and guilt flood through her bloodstream like poison, how does she explain to him that she finally understood why she’d pushed him away all those months ago when he’d tried to make something more of the two of them? Just the thought has her skin crawling with goosebumps, and her heart thumping hard in her chest with adrenaline.

“C’mon, tell me” He prods again, this time giving her a smile, too curious to know what was knotting up her pretty features with an upset expression. Something clearly bothered her about his statement- or at least, it was clear to him.

Her mouth opens, but even still she struggles to find the right thing to say. No set of words in her language seemed like a good enough explanation. Or maybe she just didn’t want to admit what had been on her mind. Because admitting it would prove to him that it had been on her mind.

“I…” Her throat feels dry. The fingers under her pillow curl into the sheets tightly. “I don’t think it’s fair of me to ask you to stay,” She confesses in a small voice. Satoru’s face falls. “I don’t think it’s fair of me to make you promise,”

He lifts his head from the pillow, bracing himself up on his arm as he looks down at her with an expression that was somewhere between concern and peculiarity.

Holding onto her last scrap of courage, (y/n) continues.

“You’re destined for such magnificent things,” She murmurs, a ghost of a smile on her face. “And you’re the strongest but- but it’s not just because of that. You were always going to be destined for great things, because… because you’re you,”

She pauses, taking in a small breath and fighting the urge to look away from him, to spare herself from the eyes that were piercing into hers with ardent focus.

“And I… I’m just…” Her lip gets dragged between her teeth as she shakes her head in a slow movement. “You were born deserving so, so much more than…” In a lazy gesture, her free hand waves above her, fingers twitching in small motions. She doesn’t say me, but he knows it’s what she’s trying to convey.

“Don’t say that” He mumbles, offended that she could even think such an untrue, vulgar thing about herself, about the person he cares so much more about than she gave him credit for.

“It’s true,” She says back. “You could be doing so much more amazing things with your life, you could have anything in the world if you wanted it, but instead you’re- you’re here,” Her voice grows smaller as she speaks, the dread of what she needed to say next weighing heavy on her tongue. “And I… I know I shouldn’t be making you promise to stay. I should be making you go,”

She swallows hard, trying to get the lump in her throat to smooth away, but it lingers there, and makes her breath hitch as she closes her eyes before continuing.

“But I just can’t bring myself to do it”

She can’t see him, but Satoru’s shaking his head at her, refusing to accept any of the nonsense she’s telling him right now.

“Then don’t,” He says, his words rushed, desperate to make himself clear before actually thinking through what the right thing to say was. “You don’t have to. I don’t want you to,”

She’s refusing to look at him, so with his free hand, he cups her face, and he waits until she does. Her eyes are glossy, but she’s fighting the need to cry again.

“You understand me, sweetheart?” He murmurs, his voice softening as he gazes down at her. The snow-white tips of his hair almost touch her forehead with how close he’s leaning. “I don’t want to go anywhere, I don’t want to be anywhere else, with anyone else, even right now, okay?”

She presses her lips together in an attempt to hide her wince.

“Tell me you understand,” He whispers, eyes flickering between hers. “I need to know that you understand”

A small sniffle, and then a nod.

“I understand,” Her voice cracks even in her whisper. “I just-”

“No more of that,” He murmurs, his gentle thumb tracing her cheekbone in slow, lazy movements. “No more of that, I can’t stand it. You can’t push me away. Not again. Not ever again” He’s shaking his head to punctuate every word.

A single tear drips from her eye as she blinks, and he’s quick to wipe it away, just as he had earlier, desperate to make all of her tears disappear in any way he can, anyway she needs.

This wasn’t the first time she’d done this, but it gutted him all the same, recalling the last time she’d tried to force him away. She’d nearly gone and gotten herself killed by the hands of the Zen’in Clan. And before that was their fight, in the halls of Jujutsu Tech, when she’d told him that she didn’t need him. He nearly shudders at the memory. Of course he knew now that she hadn’t meant it, that it was her desperate attempt to keep him from prying into her life where she’d thought he was going to wind up hurt.

Now it was different. Now it was real. It was raw ache and fear before him.

“I promised you I’m not going anywhere,” He tells her. His eyes trailing down to her lips on their own accord. “I need you to promise me the same,”

There’s a pause as his words hang between them, and then she gives him a shaky nod. Her wide eyes don’t leave his, they remain searching, needing to be sure that he means it. There’s not a bone in her body that tells her otherwise, but she’s so terrified of the fear of losing him that she just needs to be absolutely sure.

“I’m the one being unfair,” Satoru murmurs, his eyes following the movement of his thumb over her cheek. “I know that, I know that you don’t want more and I overstep anyways because… because I can’t help it”

There’s a shift in the mood, she can feel it, how it lightens the pressure on her chest before slamming it right back down.

He leans closer, and her breath hitches in her throat at the prospect of him closing every last inch of distance between them. She should stop him, she should put her hands on his shoulders and push him away until he’s at a safe distance from her again. But she doesn’t.

She pulls her hand out from under her pillow, and it blindly slides over the sheets until it finds his. Her movements are slow, almost frightfully so as her fingers slot between his. She tries to calm her breathing but it’s hard to focus on it and him so she settles for keeping her focus on him.

With her fingers fully tangled with his he squeezes her hand, maybe tighter than he should have, but having her so close is intoxicating, and he just wants to savor it for as long as he can.

(y/n) takes in a deep breath.

“I never said I didn’t want more,” She whispers, peering up at him from beneath heavy lashes.

His heart is beating so quickly he’s certain she can hear it. It pounds heavily in his ears, almost louder than her hushed whispers. Was he understanding her right?

“I was just… afraid” She admits it softly.

Satoru furrows his brow, but his lips curl into a smirk that had her regretting saying anything because she knows he’s about to tease her now.

“Afraid?” He repeats with a small laugh. “You think I’d ever do anything to hurt you?”

He’s teasing, but the thought makes him want to throw up.

“Course not,” She shakes her head, before gently pressing her face further into the warmth of his hand. She hopes it’s an unnoticed movement, but from the way he also applies more pressure in his touch, she thinks otherwise. “More like I’m afraid of hurting you”

Satoru laughs louder this time, his face splitting into a delighted smile. He’s completely amused by the idea, and (y/n) frowns at him.

“You can’t hurt me sweetheart,” He practically purrs, and then he’s leaning closer. His chest hovers over her close enough that she feels almost caged in by him. He’s close enough now that the tip of his nose nearly bumps into hers. “I’m completely untouchable”

She squeezes his hand with an affectionate roll of her eyes.

“I think you have to actually activate infinity if you want it to work” She murmurs.

It’s quiet again, the two of them smiling at each other fondly, foolishly, both taken away by a deep infatuation that had been repressed for far too long. It seeps out of them now like an overflow, pouring out in the cracks that were their adoring eyes.

Her free hand reaches up towards his face, fingertips ghosting over the soft ends of his hair that hangs down over her eyes. She combs her fingers through the silky strands of white before trailing downwards, her touch light and gentle as she traces his forehead, followed by his nose, then cheekbone, down towards his jaw. Her sleepy gaze observes every drag of her fingers, as though committing it all to memory.

Satoru’s frozen above her, allowing her to explore every inch of his face if she so pleased. It was a face she’d known for years, but she touches him now like she’s only recently been bestowed the gift of sight. He’s not sure the last time he’s been touched so gently. There’s a distant memory of his mother’s hand caressing his cheek, but even in a fond memory the touch is fleeting.

Being touched like this- softly, sweetly, carefully, lovingly- by her, it’s as though she has all the time in the world.

Her fingers fall still over his chin as her eyes flit back up to his.

They meet for a brief moment before his eyes are falling shut and he’s closing the space between them. As soon as his lips touch hers she’s sliding her hand under his jaw, keeping him perfectly in place as she kisses him back.

His mouth is warm, and still sweet from the cupcake they’d shared, which seems like forever ago. In fact everything seems to fade away. The only thing she can feel is his soft lips, his soft hand splayed over her cheek, the soft swipe of his thumb over hers where their hands are still interlocked.

The kiss is experimentally slow at first. They’re both holding their breath, each half expecting the other to pull away prematurely with remorseful eyes. Neither do.

They part for a second, only because oxygen becomes a necessity once more. Satoru smiles down at her when he sees her eyes are still shut, and he can’t help but to lean in and plant one more quick kiss on her lips. He’s waited this long to get his chance, he might as well steal as many as he could get.

As he lays back on his side of the bed, he moves his hand from her cheek to her waist, gently coaxing her to lay closer, until she’s curled up into his side, one of her legs thrown between his, her head resting in the soft place below his collarbone. Their conjoined hands rest over his stomach. He’s still stroking his thumb over hers. She’s drawn to sleep by nothing but comfort.

“G’night, ‘toru” Her words are mumbled, and a little slurred.

He plants his lips at the crown of her head sweetly. She drifts to sleep with a faint smile.

“Goodnight, sweetheart”

___

The next morning she’s lured out of sleep by the smell of bacon.

It smells like a lot of other delicious things, too, but the bacon is what has her peeking open an eye to check the time. Sure enough, her bed is empty, and it’s mid-morning.

This time when she slips out of the covers to go check out the buffet of breakfast foods Satoru had been whipping up- effectively making an absolute mess of her kitchen- she’s not hungover. Her head isn’t killing her with such a brutal headache that she couldn’t open her eyes. As she walks quietly into the kitchen, she’s able to watch as Tsumiki pours pancake batter out of a ladle, carefully making shapes on the griddle. She leans into the fridge while she watches Satoru talk through his bacon frying process while Megumi sits on his shoulders, leaned over the top of his head, and apparently actually listening to him.

Tsumiki flips a pancake with perfect precision and they all cheer. Satoru reminds her to add chocolate chips to the bowl of pancake batter once she’s made enough for herself, Megumi, and (y/n). Because I refuse to eat pancakes without them, he reminds her, even though she doesn’t need it. He’s spent enough breakfasts with them now for the kids to realize how debilitating his sweet tooth was.

It’s Megumi who first notices (y/n’s) secretly joined them. With a boyish grin he tugs at Satoru’s hair, who cries out and almost stumbles at the sudden and sharp pain.

The pain is eased when he sees what Megumi was trying to catch his attention for. (y/n’s) trying to stifle her laughter from behind her hand, but she’s failing.

“Awe, the surprise is ruined now” Satoru frowns.

She drops her hand and shakes her head as she wanders further into the kitchen to see what else this mess had created. Megumi reaches towards her in a silent ask to be let off of Satoru’s shoulders. She lifts him up with ease and sets him on the ground.

“It’s not ruined at all,” She says with a smile. “But if you want to do it all again tomorrow, I’ll pretend I didn’t know” She adds in a tease.

“Yeah! Can we?” Tsumiki asks excitedly. “I want to make omelets!”

“No! French toast!” Megumi declares.

The pair break into a fit of bickering, which is quickly silenced by Satoru.

“Hey! You two are ruining this perfect morning!” He barks. “Stop fighting and we can have both!”

He doesn’t know how to make omelets, hell, he struggled with the bacon, so he’s hoping he can find a youtube tutorial decent enough to teach a helpless cook like him how to make some. But his promise does the trick and Megumi and Tsumiki work together to make more pancakes.

“Do you even know how-?” (y/n) begins to question his ability as she eyes the crispy bacon in the pan he’s no longer paying attention to because she’s there now and she somehow looks so pretty first thing in the morning. Her hair a complete mess, and donning a fluffy robe with bunnies all over it, he thinks it’s the cutest thing ever.

“Sh sh sh,” He hushes with a shake of his head, his hand wrapping around her hip as he pulls her into his side before finally looking back at the bacon. “Oh, shit” He mutters as he darts to turn off the stove while (y/n) picks up the tongs and plucks the strips off the pan before they start to completely burn.

“Yeah, maybe tomorrow I cook,” She muses, nose wrinkling at the overcooked bacon. But when she looks up at him again, she smiles happily. “You and Megumi will be on french toast duty,” She says decidedly. “I’ll teach Tsumiki how to make omelets”

His lips curl into a smirk at the simple instruction.

“Little Hex, are you inviting me to stay the night?”

“Ew!” Megumi grimaces, sticking his tongue out at the obvious flirt.

Tsumiki’s giggling, and starts to make a heart shaped pancake on the griddle, complete with Satoru’s chocolate chips.

(y/n) rolls her eyes, but her cheeks are undeniably warm, pink blossoming across her face.

“Only if Megumi says it’s okay” She replies, tilting her chin up at him teasingly.

Satoru turns the other way to look down at the kid that had a sinister smile on his face. Jeez, sometimes this kid creeped him out. How come (y/n’s) golden boy had to be such a goddamn menace?

Apparently she just had a soft spot for menaces.

Satoru meets Megumi’s ruthless stare with narrowed eyes.

“I’ll give you three hundred dollars”

“Satoru!” (y/n) picks up a kitchen towel off the counter to smack his arm with it. “No bribing the kids!”

“Fine,” He grumbles, catching the soft weapon mid swing before she could hit him again. Then he peeks back towards Megumi, and in a slightly quieter voice says, “Four hundred?”

(y/n) gasps at his blatant disregard for her rules, but before she can scold him again, Megumi gives a firm nod of agreement, and looks over to her.

“He can stay,” He says decidedly, but mutters to himself as he goes back to helping his sister with the pancakes. “He stays over every other freakin’ night anyways”

Tsumiki’s giggling as she whispers her own little rumors, much to the boy’s dismay, but he listens anyway.

“I think he’s warmin’ up to me” Satoru grins at (y/n). She presses her lips together so as not to laugh too hard at the statement.

“You’ve done right by them,” She tells him, something that he’d told her not too long ago. From the way his grin turns into a soft smile, she has a feeling he remembers. “And besides, everyone warms up to you eventually”

“You think you ever will?” He asks, only teasing.

She shrugs a shoulder, humming as though thinking it over.

“Maybe,” She muses, plucking a chocolate chip from the open bag on the counter. He furrows his brow at the sudden playfulness rather than a real answer. “We’ll see”

[ this is a place where i don’t feel alone / this is a place where i feel at home ]

___

a/n: i just want to gush about how much i loved writing this series, and sharing it with you all. it has been my absolute passion project. sorry the slow burn was so slow but i tried to keep it as realistic to the events of the manga and just how things would play out irl. i have a couple other spin-off fics related to this series in the works so i suppose it's not over yet- i just needed more fluff related to these characters that have brought me such comfort and entertainment!! thank you all for your continued support and love for this series (and my other fics too!) having this be so well received warms my heart <3 xoxo ~ jordie

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nickeverdeen · 2 months ago

Note

Hello may I request a last of us headcannon where Ellie has a mute sibling?

Ellie Williams having a mute sibling hcs

Ellie has always been fiercely protective of you, but even more so after realizing you don’t speak—she knows how unforgiving the world is to anything it deems “different”

She learns to read your body language and facial expressions better than anyone else

She always seems to know what you’re feeling, even before you do

You two develop your own form of non-verbal communication

Some ASL, some made-up signs, some glances and nudges that only you and Ellie understand

Ellie is incredibly patient with you

If others talk over you or ignore you, she steps in immediately, demanding they pay attention

She carries a small notepad and pencil on her at all times, just in case you want to write something down

She’s memorized the exact sounds of your breathing and footsteps - so she can tell when you’re nearby, sneaking up on her, or feeling anxious

If you get overwhelmed or overstimulated, Ellie immediately creates space for you, shielding you from noise and stress however she can

She’ll let you fidget with the strings on her hoodie if it helps you stay grounded

Sometimes, when you can’t “say” something, she gently talks for you

“They’re okay with it, just shy,” or “They want to help too”

She constantly checks in with you, even when she’s quiet

A hand on your back

A raised eyebrow

A subtle tilt of the head

You always feel seen

In fights, you have a signal system worked out

A double tap means danger, a whistle means “run,” and a certain look means “trust me”

Ellie makes sure you never feel like a burden

Not once

You’re her favorite person in the world, and she makes that very clear

If anyone tries to tease or talk down to you for being mute, Ellie shuts it down immediately and with full venom

She encourages you to draw or write about your thoughts, keeping a little collection of your sketches and notes tucked in her backpack

Ellie brags about you when you’re not around

“Yeah, they don’t talk, but they’re smarter than all of us”

She often mimics your signs or body language to make you laugh

She has perfect comedic timing with it

You make her feel safe too

When the world feels overwhelming, your calming presence keeps her anchored

Ellie has taught you how to shoot, track, and survive

When nightmares get too bad, she’ll sit with you in silence until you’re okay, holding your hand or just letting you rest your head on her shoulder

You’ve patched her up more times than you can count, and she always thanks you with a soft look and a quiet nod - her version of “I love you.”

You sometimes steal her hoodie

She never complains

She even leaves it out on purpose when she knows you’re feeling down

If you’re ever separated, she leaves signs and symbols only you two would recognize, so you can find her

You made her a little charm or bracelet once, and she has never taken it off

She picks up new signs for you whenever she can, even asking around if someone knows more ASL than she does

When you’re in danger, her rage is terrifying

You are the one thing she refuses to lose

You’re one of the only people who can get Ellie to stop spiraling when she’s consumed by grief or guilt

Sometimes she sits beside you and just… vents

She knows you’ll listen and won’t talk over her

That means everything to her

You once made her laugh so hard she cried, just with facial expressions and a single drawn cartoon. She still keeps it folded in her journal

You’re the first person she wants to see after every mission, every scare, every heartbreak

You’re also the only person she lets touch her guitar

Ellie may struggle with words herself sometimes, but she never struggles to understand you

#request #headcanons #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie x you #ellie x sibling

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leoanok · 5 months ago

Text

Protesting & Clothing

At a protest it's exceptionally important that you dress appropriately. 1. Protective clothing ; this means a few different things. - Generally long sleeves, jackets, pants, work boots, gloves, and anything else that's going to cover a lot of skin. These are the kinds of clothing protect you from the elements, like the sun and weather, but also exposure to chemical irritants like pepper spray and tear gas. This is non-restrictive clothing that allows for movement, it's practical. This is also going to cover anything distinct; think tattoos, birthmarks, scars, etc.

Drawstring hoodies are great here, too, because they'll allow you to hide your hair and secure goggles if necessary. - Facemasks are very important: bandanas, t-shirts, surgical masks, N95's, anything of the sort, as long as your mouth and nose are covered; it's important to keep these covered, again, to prevent foreign irritants, like tear gas and pepper spray, from entering your airway. This is also important because the authorities really like to use facial recognition software which infringes on the rights of the people to protest peacefully because it inspires fear. There is nothing illegal about peaceful protesting (I'll make a post about that at some point soon) and using facial recognition software to identify protestors infringes on that ability, especially when it's used disproportionately against marginalized groups. That being said, in some places it is illegal to cover your face in public; this is generally less common because of the mask regulations following covid 19, but always be sure of the law or potential bylaws in the area.

- Non-Shatter eye protection; shatter-resistant sunglasses, goggles, etc. This again just goes back to that idea of keeping irritants out and away from you as far as possible. - Do NOT wear contacts or eye makeup. Avoid this as much as possible; because of how tear gas and other chemical agents work, contacts and makeup can trap irritants. - Proper foot wear is also important; close toed, protective, and do not impede your ability to run in them. Movement is important, protesting is very physically intensive, and in the event that you need to get out of an area quickly, it's imperative that you have the correct footwear to facilitate that. - Nondescript clothing : your choice of clothing should be as plain as possible. Try to avoid branding, and remember that you can flip clothing inside out to hide things like logos. Absolutely do not wear clothes associated with yourself; things like names, sports teams, etc. Some people will recommend darker colors, and while this can be the case, again, be weary. If there is no black bloc, then any sort of nondescript clothing is fine. 2. Choice of bag ; You're going to want a backpack or a draw-string bag for a few different reasons, mostly practicality. If you have something that is easier to access, Velcro is the most optimal, then go with that long as it doesn't impede your movement. Avoid bags that you need to tie or knot closed. - In the event that you need to quickly access the contents of your bag, these are going to be some of the most accessible of common options.

- In the event that you need to leave quickly, for whatever the reason may be, a backpack or draw-string back is going to be the most effective and least impeding to your ability to move quickly. I'll add anything else if I remember it here, but for now there are the important notes. Keep safe, keep protesting, and stay strong. 1312

#protesting #safety #politics #us politics #american politics #capitalism #fuck trump #clothing #protective clothing #acab1312

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ltash · 1 year ago

Text

Pretty Little Teacher

Simon Ghost Riley x female reader

Warning: 18 plus, dubcon and noncon theme, dark themed, dark ghost, s*x and erotica, forced sex.

He loves me like a monster, all teeth and talk and hiding in the dark. That's my speciality, Men with strong bodies and fragile hearts, and if you hold them too tightly they will crumble beneath you like an avalanche that is waiting."

●●○~ Lindsey Hobart ~○●●

Ghost sat in his dimly lit room, the blue glow from the laptop screen casting sharp shadows across his masked features. Laswell's voice echoed in his ears, calm yet commanding.

"You have to go undercover to gather some intel," she instructed, her face a picture of seriousness on the screen. Ghost's fists clenched, his eyes narrowing as deep creases appeared at the corners. He remained silent, absorbing the gravity of the assignment.

"You'll be posing as a high school student. We have made all the arrangements. The principal and teachers are informed. We need important intel about a person working there. I'm sending you a report. Read it," Laswell said, her tone leaving no room for discussion. She hung up the video call before Ghost could utter a word.

"Fuck!" Ghost cursed, his frustration evident. "Now I have to become a fucking high schooler," he spat, the absurdity of the situation gnawing at him.

As a highly trained SAS soldier and an elite killing machine, Ghost was used to the most dangerous and covert missions. But this? This was entirely different. How the hell was he supposed to blend in as a high schooler with his massive height and muscular build? He would look like a fish out of water, a grown man playing dress-up.

He opened the report Laswell had sent, scanning through the details of his new identity and the target he needed to surveil. The mission was critical, he reminded himself. He had faced worse odds and more dangerous situations. But even as he reassured himself, the thought of navigating the social labyrinth of a high school filled him with a unique dread.

"Guess it's time to go back to school," he muttered under his breath, already strategizing how he would tackle this bizarre new mission.

Ghost scanned the report, eyes moving quickly over the lines of text. Someone from the office staff was involved in terrorist activity, and the school's security was compromised. The specifics were still murky, but the mission was clear: infiltrate, gather intel, and neutralize the threat.

As he read, his phone buzzed with an incoming message. It was Soap.

"Hey, high schooler! Need help picking out your backpack?" Soap's message read, followed by a string of laughing emojis.

Ghost growled in irritation. Soap had been making fun of him since he got the assignment. In truth, Ghost thought Soap was the one who was fit for this job. With his leaner build and younger appearance, Soap would blend in effortlessly. But orders were orders.

"You're just jealous you can't relive your glory days," Ghost shot back, though he knew Soap would get a kick out of his reply.

He closed the report and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. This mission was unlike any he had faced before. It required a different kind of camouflage, a different kind of patience. He was about to step into a world of teenage drama, cliques, and homework. But he would adapt, as he always did. He had no choice.

Monday morning arrived too quickly. Ghost stood in his small apartment, the usual grey hoodie and sweatpants hanging off his frame. Soap had helped him gather the essential school supplies: notebooks, pens, and a new backpack that didn't look out of place for a high schooler. He slung the backpack over his shoulder and slipped on his skull-printed balaclava. His identity had to be hidden at all costs.

He climbed into his Range Rover and drove to the school, parking a distance away to avoid drawing attention. With a deep sigh, he exited the vehicle and made his way to the school entrance.

The moment he stepped into the corridor, the contrast of his presence was stark. Teenagers milled about, chatting and laughing, but Ghost felt like a fish out of water. His height and build made him stand out like a sore thumb, despite the hoodie and balaclava doing their best to conceal his identity.

He pushed forward, reminding himself of the mission's importance. He needed to find his way to the office, get his bearings, and begin gathering intel. The corridor seemed endless, each step echoing with the sounds of lockers slamming and indistinct chatter.

"Fucking Hell," he muttered under his breath, trying to blend in as much as a heavily-built, masked adult could in a sea of high schoolers.

Ghost made his way to the last classroom on the K-12 hallway, assigned as a senior posing as an 18-year-old. Despite being 29 with a muscular build, he hoped to blend in with the 12th graders.

He opened the door and walked in, immediately feeling the curious eyes of his new classmates on him. Ignoring the stares, he scanned the room for any signs of the person he was here to investigate. The teacher, a middle-aged woman with a warm smile, looked up from her desk.

"You must be the new student," she said, motioning him to an empty seat near the back. "Welcome."

Ghost nodded and made his way to the seat, keeping his head down. He dropped his backpack on the floor and settled in, trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible. The other students eventually lost interest, returning to their conversations and distractions.

As the teacher began the lesson, Ghost's mind raced. He knew he had to keep a low profile while also staying alert for any signs of suspicious activity. His eyes roved over the room, memorizing faces and noting behaviors. The target could be anyone-an unsuspecting office staff member, a seemingly innocent teacher, or even a fellow student.

The day had been a tedious blur for Ghost, each monotonous class blending into the next. Used to the adrenaline of combat and the precision of sniper shots, he found the slow pace of high school unbearable. But all that changed when you entered the room.

Your presence was electrifying, a stark contrast to the dull atmosphere. The click of your red Louboutin pumps echoed in the silent classroom as you made your way to the front. Your black dress pants, stylishly slit, and button-up shirt under a sleek black blazer highlighted your figure. Long, blonde hair cascaded down your back, framing your big blue eyes and perfectly pink lips.

Ghost felt a surge of desire course through him, his mind racing with thoughts he knew he shouldn't entertain. He imagined gripping your tiny waist, pulling you close, feeling your petite frame against his as he lost himself in you. The urge to take you, to dominate you, was almost overwhelming.

"Hey! Newbie, are you listening?" Your voice cut through his fantasies, pulling him back to reality.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, his husky British accent barely masking his distraction.

"Your name?" you asked, standing near his desk, your eyes meeting his.

"Simon," he answered, using his real name to avoid any potential mistakes.

"Well, Simon, try to pay attention," you said with a faint smile before returning to the front of the class.

As you began the lesson, Ghost forced himself to focus, but it was a losing battle. His thoughts kept drifting back to you, and the way your presence stirred something primal within him. He needed to remember his mission, but in that moment, all he could think about was how desperately he wanted you.

The period ended, and Ghost watched you leave the classroom, struggling to control his thoughts. You stood out among the middle-aged teachers, looking so young, no older than 25. How could someone like you be teaching 12th graders? The question burned in his mind, but it was more than just curiosity; he was captivated by you.

He barely remembered the rest of the day, his mind fixated on you. As soon as he could, he retreated to his apartment. The urge to release the tension was overwhelming. Stripping off his clothes, he stepped into the shower, the hot water cascading over his muscular frame. His cock was already hard, fueled by the image of your lips wrapped around him.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hand wrapping around his shaft. He imagined you on your knees, your pink, plump lips taking the full length of his cock in, your big blue eyes looking up at him with a mix of innocence and desire. His strokes quickened, his other hand gripping the air as he fantasized about it tangled in your long, blonde hair.

His body tensed, muscles straining as he neared the edge. The thought of you sucking him off, your pretty little mouth taking him deeper, his cum all over your face pushed him over. He climaxed hard, a guttural groan escaping him as he came, the pearly liquid mixing with the warm water and flowing down his thick thighs.

Leaning against the shower wall, he panted heavily, trying to catch his breath. The intensity of his release did little to quell the longing he felt. As the water washed away the evidence of his fantasy, he knew he was in trouble. This mission was supposed to be about gathering intel, but his thoughts kept drifting back to you. He needed to stay focused, but the image of your gorgeous face and enticing body lingered in his mind, a distraction he couldn't afford yet couldn't resist.

The next day, Ghost found himself eagerly anticipating school, though for entirely different reasons than his usual missions. From the moment he had first seen you, you became his muse, eclipsing the seriousness of his undercover assignment. Dressed in blue jeans, a black T-shirt, and a sleek black leather jacket that concealed his tattoo sleeve, he waited through all six periods just for a glimpse of you.

When you finally entered the classroom, the atmosphere seemed to shift. Students greeted you warmly, but Ghost's attention was solely on you. You wore high heels that accentuated your figure, a casual T-shirt, and form-fitting pencil jeans that emphasized your curves. It was undeniable-you were the most stunning woman he had ever encountered.

As you distributed MCQ papers among the students, you approached Ghost's desk. Your curiosity got the better of you as you inquired about his mask. "Why are you wearing a mask?" you asked, your voice filled with genuine curiosity.

"I get sunburn," he replied smoothly, trying to maintain his cover.

You chuckled softly, the sound sending a thrill down Ghost's spine. "Weirdo," you whispered teasingly, but your words were loud enough for him to hear. The image of dominating you right there, bending you over the desk, fucking you from behind and hearing you begging to stop, flashed vividly in his mind, your body arched in his hands, pussy clenched around his length as he rails his full length till the hilt into you, ruin your pretty little cunt for everyone while you screaming out his name.

"Concentrate on your paper, weirdo," you mocked again as you moved away.

His jaw clenched with frustration, anger simmering beneath the surface. Despite the rush of desire coursing through him, he remained stoic and silent, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. He knew indulging in these fantasies could compromise his mission, yet resisting the pull of attraction toward you seemed almost impossible. Ghost was torn between duty and desire, unsure how much longer he could keep his composure around you.

He had finished his paper along with the other students as the bell rang, signaling the end of the period. One by one, they handed their work to you, you seated at your desk. Ghost lingered, the last student to leave, quietly closing the door behind him. Remaining seated, he watched you intently.

Stealth was his forte, and he approached you silently. You were small compared to him, your back elegantly arched as you organized the papers into a neat pile. Standing right behind you, he suppressed the urge to touch you. Suddenly, you moved back, inadvertently brushing against the bulge in his pants. A squeak escaped your lips as you jumped, startled like a bunny, and turned around.

Leaning heavily against the table, you panted, eyeing the behemoth of a man standing before you at his full height for the first time. A shiver ran down your spine from the sensation of his arousal against you. He stood there with a menacing look in his eyes, extending his paper to you. With shaky hands, you took it, feeling a jolt as his gloved hand brushed against you.

Without a word, he turned and left the classroom.

Throughout the drive to his apartment, he couldn't shake the image of you, how your inadvertent touch had stirred a primal urge within him. How you bumped into his erect cock ready to sprung out. The urgency of his mission weighed heavily on his mind, but thoughts of you kept intruding.

Later that day, consumed by desire, he found himself jerking off imagining you once more. He couldn't help but picture your round ass, the sensation of you against him, his cock stretching your gummy walls as he fucks you doggy style, the fantasies growing more vivid with each passing moment. It was a distraction he couldn't afford, yet couldn't ignore.

The next day, he arrived at the school as usual, anticipation swirling within him. Your period had become his favorite, and he waited patiently until you appeared, as usual, with an air of cautious awareness. As the lesson progressed, you couldn't help but notice his chocolate brown eyes fixed on you through his balaclava.

He was no ordinary teenager - tall, dark, and undeniably handsome even with a balaclava on his face, with a presence that set him apart. You felt the weight of his gaze, the tilt of his head to the side like a predator sizing up its prey. Despite the distraction, you continued with your class routine, distributing checked papers to the students, your focus unwavering on your mission.

His gaze remained locked on you, unwavering, as if he had something more than mere curiosity driving his attention. You knew you couldn't afford to be distracted, not with what was at stake.

As you hurriedly left the classroom, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridor, you reached for your cellphone and stepped into the quiet solitude of the bathroom. With a hushed voice, you spoke into the receiver, "Yes! Tomorrow is the day. We will hunt another doe tomorrow."

Across the line, a voice crackled with excitement, "Perfect. After school, then?"

"Yes," you affirmed, nodding to yourself. "After school." With that, you hung up, slipping the phone back into your pocket.

Unbeknownst to you, Ghost known as Simon, the new student who had been quietly observing the dynamics of his new environment, had overheard your conversation.

From the first day of his undercover assignment, Ghost had sensed something amiss. How could a 25-year-old teacher be instructing seniors when others with more experience were available? It gnawed at him, a puzzle piece that refused to fit neatly into place. As he stood in the hallway, a vicious smirk spread across his face.

"So you are the one," he whispered to himself, the realization sinking in. "And now, there's nobody that can save you from me. Not even yourself." His mission had taken a dark turn. You are the one involved in human trafficking.

Tomorrow was the day Ghost knew he had to act swiftly. He slipped on his skull mask, adjusted his gear-blue jeans, black hoodie, and vest. His Beretta rested against his chest while his sniper rifle was ready on the passenger seat of his car.

He parked in the nearly deserted school lot, waiting patiently. It was nearly two hours past school hours when he spotted you approaching from the back of the building. You met with another person near a car.

"The girl is in the bathroom, I've hidden her there. Wait here, let me take her out," you said.

Without hesitation, Ghost aimed his sniper rifle at the man's head and took the shot. Skull fragments and brain matter scattered as the bullet found its mark. A scream tore from your lips as chaos erupted.

Ghost calmly placed the sniper rifle on the seat and stepped out of his car. You saw him approaching and instinctively ran. Darkness was descending, the winter chill settling in.

You ran for your life, heart pounding with fear, but Ghost closed the distance quickly. Desperation set in as you realized you had no weapon. You took out a pocket knife and attempted to attack, but Ghost deftly seized your wrist, disarming you.

You screamed and struggled, but he immobilized you, securing your wrists with a zip tie. With a forceful push, he slammed your back against a car, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs.

Fear and confusion engulfed you as Ghost stood before you, his identity finally revealed, and his intentions chillingly clear.

"Let me go," you tried to scream as he pinned you against the car, looming over you. His 6'4" frame towered over you, casting a dark shadow. The edge of his knife pressed against your throat qnd his hand on your chest kept you pinned against the car.

"Just got you. Now I can't let you go, won't let you go," he whispered in your ear with his husky voice. "How can I waste this pretty little cunt of yours, princess?"

You whimpered and squirmed, fear coursing through your veins. His hand traveled to your neck, his grip so firm that you could barely breathe. You struggled to breath. Your vision blurred as darkness enveloped you, and you melted into his arms like putty.

You went limp in his arms like a rag doll, a pretty little thing for him to play with. He strapped you into the passenger in his car seat and drove off, his mind racing with twisted excitement.

He stroked your hairs with his fingers while he drove. He just had got his little plaything.

Upon reaching his apartment, he carried you inside, laying you gently on the soft sheets of his bed. Even in your unconscious state, you looked so beautiful and irresistible. His excitement grew, his cock twitched from the anticipation building as he stood over you, lost in the dark allure of the moment.

You whimpered as you slowly opened your eyes. Ghost was perched on a couch in front of you. Sitting up slowly, you noticed your hands were still tied in your lap. Your tiny body shivered at the sight of him as he rose to his full height. The room seemed small, his eyes behind the skull mask full of menace, looking straight through you. Your lips quivered with fear as he approached.

"Wakey, wakey, Princess," he taunted, stepping out of the shadows. His blue jeans were tight around his thick thighs, and his black hoodie strained to contain his muscular physique. The skull mask shone dimly in the light. The tattoo peeked through the space between his sleeve and his gloved hand.

You gulped, "Who are you?" you asked in a small voice.

"Ghost. Heard the name before?" He tilted his head to the side, and realization hit you hard-it was Simon.

"What do you want?" you barely whispered.

"You," was his only reply as he stepped closer.

A whimper escaped your lips as you pulled yourself to the other side of the bed and stood up.

"Don't make this hard for yourself, Princess."

Panting, you frantically ran towards the door, but his hands were around your waist in no time. He slammed you against the wall, the impact sending pain throbbing through your back.

His hand smacked the wall beside your head. The barrel of his gun made contact with your chin.

"Look at me!" he shouted, his voice an order. You squeaked in response, your eyes meeting his.

"Good girl," he praised, his hot breath fanning against your face. "I'm a lieutenant, not your average student, and you have to comply-or else." The barrel of his Beretta poked under your ribs. "Choices have consequences," he said softly this time.

"I've been thinking about your body since the day I saw you." He stroked the soft skin of your chest with his gun, trailing it down the valley between your breasts. Your skin quivered under the touch of the cold metal.

"So irresistible, Princess." His husky voice sent shivers down your spine.

You gasped as he snapped your ziptie with a strength so brute it took only a second to come off. Your buttoned blouse came next as he snapped it apart. All the buttons came crashing down on thefloor. Your pearly necklace was snatched from your neck. The pearls came rolling down on the floor.

You gasped as he snapped your bra from the front. Your perky breasts liberated from the confines of the lacy material.

He pulled his mask upto his nose and his lips grazed your neck as his thumb met your nipples squeezing your breasts so hard it was almost painful. A painful moan mixed with pleasure escaped through your lips.

He held you close by your waist and he chuckled as your small waist fitted so easily in both his hands all while kissing your neck while his hands played with the soft skin of your back.

"So soft like plush in my hands." He said as he rubbed your nipples with his rough thumb. A sexy hiss escaped your lips as you threw your head back biting your lips.

"You gave in so easily princess." He whispered. His sexy voice made you moan.

He tossed you over the bed, with a squeak you fell, soft sheets cushioning your back as you landed with a gasp.

His eyes, filled with a hunger that mirrored your own, locked onto yours. "Been waiting to bend you over that goddamn desk in that class and fuck your needy little cunt, princess," he confessed, his voice low and husky with desire.

As he removed his hoodie, revealing a canvas of scars that gleamed against his muscular frame, you couldn't help but gasp. Each scar told a story of battles fought and survived, adding to the allure of his rugged demeanor. His predatory approach, intensified by the skull mask he wore, sent a thrill through your veins. He moved closer with a confident stride, his presence filling the room with a primal intensity that both thrilled and unnerved you.

You gasped as he closed the distance. His hands reached for the strap of your jeans, deftly unbuttoning them with a deliberate touch. With a smooth motion, he slid the denim down your legs, revealing your bare skin in the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains.

"So beautiful," he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. You laid exposed before him, feeling both vulnerable and empowered by his gaze.

You knew you were powerless infront of him and he will have his way with you one way or another. Wetness had already pooled between your legs and you were trying hard to hide it by closing them.

He traced the barrel of his gun along the soft skin of your inner thighs. Shivers ran down your spine as you felt the cold metal against your sensitive skin.

"Open your legs Princess." He ordered slowly parting your thighs.

"So sensitive, aye?" he said with a mocking tone.

You hissed at the sensation. He slowly pressed the barrel against your clothed folds, eliciting a moan from your lips.

"Please! I beg you, don't do this," you pleaded, my voice trembling.

"Look at you! A wet, hot mess for me," he sneered.

He knelt before you, his hands reaching for your panties. With one tug, he tore the strap, leaving you completely exposed.

"You should thank me, princess, that I'm gentle with you. I'm not very gentle with women. They run from me after what I do to them," he laughed.

Your breath hitched in your throat. "Oh my god," you moaned.

He opened your legs slowly, his fingers parting your folds as he gently touched your swollen clit. Your body quivered with the sensation.

"So soft, so sensitive," he said, as he slid his rough fingers inside you.

A slow scream escaped your lips as your pussy clenched around his fingers. Your back arched, moans spilling from your mouth. He watched your face contort with pleasure as he leaned down, his tongue making circles around the buds of your nipples.

You clutched the sheets, your eyes shut tight as his fingers curled up, hitting just the right spot.

"You sound so pretty, love," he teased, his tongue continuing to play with your nipple. The sensation was heavenly, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

He adjusted himself between your thighs, kissing your entire body as he moved down toward your stomach and then your most sensitive part.

He gently kissed the inside of your thighs before his tongue met your folds. Screams of pleasure spilled from your pretty mouth as he nipped and sucked at your already swollen bud.

"Oh, fuck!" you moaned.

He kept teasing your folds with his tongue, sucking your wetness as he held your hips tightly in place.

He kept torturing you with his tongue until you couldn't take it anymore.

"I-I can't take it anymore," you begged.

"Ssh!" he whispered, placing a finger on your lips. "You're going to take it, just a little longer."

Your body trembled as he continued his relentless assault with his tongue, the pleasure overwhelming. He moved his finger from your lips to your clit, rubbing it in slow, torturous circles while his tongue continued its work.

"Please," you whimpered, your voice cracking with desperation.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Beg me," he commanded softly.

"Please, please, I need more," you cried out, your body aching for release.

A satisfied smirk played on his lips. "Good girl," he said, his voice low and husky. He increased the pressure of his tongue and finger, driving you closer to the edge. "Now, let go for me."

With his words, you felt the dam break, and waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Your back arched, and a guttural moan escaped your lips as you finally reached your climax. He continued his movements, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from your trembling body.

As you lay there, breathless and spent, he gently kissed your inner thighs before moving up to your face.

You were still high when he unzipped his pants.

"Been waiting for this ever since I laid my eyes on you," he said, taking his cock and positioning himself on top of you.

You looked at him with dazed eyes.

"Like what you see, princess?" he asked with a smirk.

"I-I can't do this," you pleaded.

"You can do this, and you will," he replied firmly.

He pressed his cock against your entrance, bending you down. Without warning, he pushed his entire length inside, pinning your wrists against the bed. You screamed as your walls wrapped around him, your body struggling to adjust to his size while he fucked you deeply, not giving you any time to acclimate.

You were completely at his mercy, a plaything for his desires.

"Fuck! Princess, you feel so tight around me," he growled, thrusting in deeply.

You were breathless, disoriented by the intensity of it all. He drove into you with unrelenting force, hitting inside you to the extreme. Your back arched under him as waves of pain and pleasure coursed through you. His cock was so big it made an impression inside your belly where it hit.

"How does it feel, me ruining your pretty pussy, love?" he growled, sitting back on his knees and gripping your waist tightly.

Your eyes rolled back as he railed into you with brute force, the sensations overwhelming and consuming.

Whimpers escaped your lips as his hips thrusted against your pelvis. Skin to skin, the intense connection between you sparked a fire that threatened to consume you both. You hid your face in the soft pillow, the tears mingling with your whimpers, your cries echoing in the room like a haunting melody.

He chuckled at the sight before him, the raw vulnerability and passion in your every movement only adding to the intoxicating air surrounding them. "Look at you, eh," he murmured, his voice a low growl filled with satisfaction. "Taking me so well."

With a sudden move, he lifted you up by your waist, your heart racing a mile a minute, your vision blurred with the overwhelming sensation of being completely lost in him. "Oh my god, I am gonna die," you whined, the words a mix of fear and ecstasy that only served to fuel the flames of desire burning between you both.

But he just chuckled, his hold on you firm and reassuring. "Not on my watch, luv," he whispered, his voice a comforting anchor in the whirlwind of emotions and pleasure that threatened to consume you.

He pulled out abruptly, spinning you around and delivering a stinging slap to your ass.

You clutched the sheets as he seized your hips, pulling you towards him and plunging deep inside once more. A primal groan escaped his lips as he grabbed your hair, tilting your head back and driving himself deeper with each thrust.

Your impassioned cries only fueled his intensity. With a firm grip on your waist, he pounded into you relentlessly, embodying the raw, primal desire of a man possessed. Your body arched and trembled on the bed as he pinned you down by your head, pressing your face into the bed.

"I can't do this anymore," you begged him.

He pulled you up onto your knees, his free hand gently gripping your neck while his other arm rested between the valley of your breasts. His hold on your neck was firm but not painful, asserting his control. With a strong grip on your waist, he thrust deep into you.

You leaned against his chest, your face turning towards him as you neared your release. He captured your lips in a hungry kiss, swallowing your moans.

His cock twitched and pulsed as he reached his climax. His movements grew erratic as he poured himself into you, filling you with his essence.

Exhausted, you collapsed onto the bed, eyes shutting tight as the waves of ecstasy washed over you.

He settled beside you, carefully tucking you under the sheets while you lay on your stomach, peacefully asleep.

"Sleep well, princess," he murmured, his fingers gently caressing your hair.

The next morning, you woke to find him already seated on the couch, wearing the same skull-printed balaclava, his eyes still filled with menace. Your whole body ached and marked with hickeys. Last nights encounter spiralled in your mind.

"Good morning, princess. I hope you're feeling well," he greeted you, tossing an oversized t-shirt in your direction.

Confusion and fear gripped you. "Who are you? Why did you do this to me? What were you even doing in my class?"

"I'm Lieutenant Simon Riley, also known as Ghost," he replied coolly. "I was in your class because we've been keeping an eye on you. Now, get dressed. You have visitors."

You rose silently and headed to the bathroom to change. As you finished, there came a knock at the door.

He opened it, and police officers entered the room.

"She's all yours," he stated with a smirk beneath his balaclava.

"You'll regret this! I'll make you pay for this!" you screamed as they cuffed you and led you away.

"Fuck you!" You screamed.

He chuckled darkly, watching as you were taken into custody.

"I just did." He winked as you were taken away.

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