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lostfracturess · 2 months

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symptoms and causes | ch. 11

ღ pairing professor gojo x med student reader

ღ summary he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

ღ wc 13.5 k (enjoy your meal lol)

ღ warnings [18+] this story contains substance abuse/addiction, overdosing, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive and abusive behavior, manipulation, (heavy) angst, mentions of death / illness / blood, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

ღ author's note hey loves!! thank you so much for your patience, i know it's been a while. buckle up, because we're taking another trip inside satoru's mind, so yeahhh. it's gonna be wild, oh and we're continuing right were we left off in the last chapter. this chapter is again in satoru's pov!! i've also updated the trigger warnings, so please take a look before reading (might be spoiling tho). and lastly, credit to the fanart in the cover, if you know the artist, pls let me know!! can't wait to hear what you all think & thanks for sticking with me!! ♡

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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They say before you can love someone else, you have to love yourself first.

And there lies the damn problem.

I don't know how.

Never have.

Why am I thinking this now?

I knew this was right.

Right for her.

But then why does my heart feel like it's being ripped out by the fucking roots?

Suguru will take care of her. He always does. That's the only thing that keeps me from screaming, keeps me from chasing after her.

I trust him, damn it, but it shouldn't be him.

It should be me holding her. Me, who knows how she likes to be held when the panic claws its way up. Me, holding her until the world feels less sharp, less cruel.

Me, who knows that she doesn't want to talk about it. Me, who knows to give her space. She needs space. My strong girl needs space first.

I hope he gives her space.

But he wouldn't know any of this. He couldn't comfort her in the ways I instinctively knew how.

Me, who knows how to soothe the invisible wounds, the ones even she denies exist. Me, who knows the soft words she needs to hear after it passes.

It shouldn't be him.

Sorry.

It shouldn't have been him.

Past tense.

It all might be past tense now.

And the thought is more than I could bear.

Shattered.

Was that the word?

Was there even a word for what I felt in that moment?

How could I ever convey this suffocating agony that's tearing me apart with mere words?

Words are meaningless in the end.

Meaningless when they couldn't be spoken to her, couldn't reach her, couldn't make her understand, couldn't heal the wound I'd carved into her heart.

So, yeah, maybe shattered is the right word.

The wrong word.

The sterile air was acid in my lungs. Each ragged breath felt like sandpaper against my throat. I held my breath, a desperate plea for the world to stop spinning, for the clock to rewind, for a chance to undo everything.

But time doesn't care.

It marched on, relentless, while I stayed trapped in this hell, drowning in the mess I made.

My lungs burned. My vision blurred. I waited until she disappeared. The world seemed to tilt sideways, losing all color and shape, leaving only the sharp, agonizing realization that I'd made her walk away.

I didn't want to breathe anymore.

Not in a world where every breath ached without her.

"Dr. Gojo?" A voice, distant, muffled.

Irrelevant.

My gaze flickered to Sukuna. He watched, a predator savoring the kill.

His twisted smile fueled rage within me. But there would be no fighting this. No grand defense. Not when her life was the bargaining chip.

So, I lied.

Each word a nail in the coffin of the connection I craved more than life itself.

Each word a drop of poison forced down my throat. A self-inflicted wound, a desperate mutilation of the only thing that had ever felt real.

Her eyes, those beautiful eyes I loved so fiercely, wide with confusion and horror. The strangled gasp, the way her body went limp in Geto's arms — a haunting image that would forever be etched on my heart.

Muscles screamed, a silent protest against my own pathetic stillness. But I remained frozen.

This was my punishment.

I had to watch her leave, had to sear the pain into my very being, an endless penance for the choices I'd made.

The door clicked shut behind them.

That simple sound, final, absolute.

My lungs filled with air, a betrayal. Oxygen I didn't deserve, didn't want.

My own body, this treacherous thing kept going, kept me alive against my will, kept me tethered to this cruel reality.

The room swam back into focus, the judges' accusing faces nothing but a blurry backdrop. The sounds of their inquest washed over me like meaningless noise.

"Dr. Gojo? Can we continue?"

I nodded.

They pressed on. More questions about the research, her involvement, their accusations of favoritism.

How stupid.

Of course, I favored her.

How could I not?

She is everything.

Oh, sorry. Forgot. Past tense.

She was everything.

Did I regret it?

Did I wish I could go back and treat her with the same damn indifference I afforded everyone else?

Yeah, maybe.

A familiar craving stirred my senses, the desperate need for the numbing escape that would mean failing her even more. My fingers clawed at my forearm, trying to replace the hollowness with physical pain. It wasn't enough.

My responses were rote, mechanical.

Yeah, I favored her.

Yeah, I let her into the OR because of it.

Yeah, and she outshone every damn surgeon twice her age.

No, she didn't know I'd set it up.

No, she never asked for special treatment. She just worked until her eyes were bloodshot, pushing harder than anyone else.

And hell no, she didn't do a single thing wrong.

Except maybe — maybe loving me.

After what felt like an eternity, the judges seemed satisfied, or perhaps just exhausted by my robotic replies.

They painted me the arrogant professor with a weakness for a young student, who abused his power, who played favorites.

Whatever they wanted to believe, fine.

Didn't even have the energy to care anymore.

Let them drag my name through the mud, tarnish the reputation I'd worked so hard to build.

Because the title, the position, the facade of success meant nothing when all I wanted was to rewind time, to undo the damage I'd done to the one person who truly mattered.

I didn't feel anymore.

I was done.

─── ·✧· ───

I burst out of the courtroom.

I needed escape, not just from this sterile prison of a room, but from my own traitorous flesh.

That itch.

It was a wildfire beneath my skin, a thousand insects gnawing their way to the surface. My fingers twitched, claws desperate to tear, to bleed out the poison of this relentless craving.

My legs moved without conscious thought, pushing me towards my office. Somewhere. Anywhere I would be able to breathe again. The guilt was a serrated blade twisting in my gut, each movement slicing me open anew.

Her terror-stricken eyes seared into my very soul.

The walls of my office closed in, the familiar space suddenly too small, too suffocating.

My fist slammed into the desk. Papers scattered to the floor, a meaningless sea of white against the dark wood.

They didn't matter. None of it mattered.

A half-finished coffee mug followed. Porcelain shattered. Dark liquid splashed against the wall.

My blood roared in my ears.

Across the room, my framed diploma. I ripped it off the wall. Glass smashed. Sharp edges bit into my palm, drawing blood. But it wasn't enough. I hurled the frame against the wall.

Blood, hot and slick, coated my hands, the pain nothing.

In the shattered frame, I caught a glimpse of myself — wild eyes in a sweat-slicked face, a man on the verge of collapse.

It was a stranger.

I was across the room before I even registered the decision.

The drawer.

My fingers ripped it open.

There, like a coiled viper, the amber vial gleamed, a venomous promise of oblivion.

Don't —

Don't come at me now.

Did you really think I wouldn't keep a backup?

My hand reached, then hesitated.

The world lurched to a sharp halt as a knock pierced the chaos. My breath hitched, the vial a burning brand in my bloodied hand.

The door creaked open.

And there he was. Sukuna.

He leaned against the doorframe, that sickening smirk plastered on his face. It was like a lit fuse to a powder keg. The rage that had been gnawing at my insides, tearing me apart, finally found its target.

Before a single rational thought could form, I was on him. Fist to jaw, heard the crack, felt it in my knuckles. He stumbled back, the smirk finally wiping off his face.

I pinned him against the door. Forearm across his throat, crushing his windpipe. His eyes widened, but even then, there was that damn flicker of amusement.

"Well, well," he choked out, "this is a nice welcome back."

"Funny to you?"

He coughed, a harsh laugh scraping out of him. "C'mon, Satoru, relax. I did you a favor," he sputtered. "Your precious little student, she's better off now. You know I'm right."

Every muscle in my body tensed.

He was right.

In his twisted way, he was.

And that's what made it all so much worse.

My grip on his throat tightened. But there was nothing, no satisfactio, no release in the violence.

Sukuna saw it, the hesitation. His mouth twisted into a smirk again. "See, you get it. Sweet thing doesn't belong in this mess, does she? It's not for her, Satoru. It's for us."

His words scraped like nails on a chalkboard.

Yes, she was safer now, untouched by the rot that festered within me. Some desperate, logical part of me clung to that. But how could I hold on to that when my heart was screaming for her closeness?

"Or maybe," Sukuna drawled, pushing the knife deeper, "maybe you wanted to see where this goes. Stain her a bit, make her just a little bit more like you."

My breath hitched. For a split second, the floor vanished beneath me.

"Hit a nerve, did I?"

"Shut the hell up!" I couldn't face it, couldn't face the ugly truth as it would tear me apart. "You twist everything. Play with lives just for your own sick amusement."

This was his game.

Sukuna thrived on chaos, on exploiting pain.

He knew my guilt, my fear for her, and wielded it like a scalpel, laying bare the raw nerve of my fragile sanity.

"Perhaps. But ain't I right? You needed to end it, but you lack the guts for it. Waited a bit longer, it'd be a total disaster."

I hesitated, then my grip on him slackened. I stepped back.

"You know I'm right," Sukuna continued. "You know how this would have ended. Suspension. Scandal. She'll be doomed forever for getting involved with her professor for favors. You wouldn't destroy her like that, would you? You're not that cruel."

"I'm not so sure." I ran a hand through my hair. It had taken everything in me to push her away.

But I can't deny that an ugly part of me wanted to keep her close. Drag her down with me.

See her drown.

"Damn, you hit hard," he said, rubbing his jaw. "Go beat up some students again, not me."

"Stop giving me reasons to punch you." Exhausted, I slumped into my desk chair, burying my face in my hands. My head pounded, the infuriating itch worsening with each damn moment. "Was this your plan all along?"

"What?" he scoffed.

I lifted a single eyebrow at him.

"You think that low of me? Honestly, Toru, a bit of credit, please. It was your pathetic indecision that made this entertaining. You basically gift-wrapped this mess and handed it to me."

"Besides," he continued, "let's be honest, you were holding her back. Now maybe she'll have a chance to become someone who might surpass you one day. You wouldn't deny her that, would you? No thanks needed."

He was right, and I hated that more than anything.

Sukuna sank into the chair across from me, a picture of smug satisfaction despite the visible bruise. "Damn, that punch still stings."

I opened my desk drawer and wordlessly tossed him the bottle of opioids. His eyes widened in surprise, before he gave the bottle a knowing shake. "Still on the hydromorphone?"

I didn't answer. The sound alone threatened to shatter what fragile control I had left. The itch was unbearable, each nerve ending screaming for relief.

Sukuna observed me, a predator watching its prey struggle. "Withdrawal never suited you," he said, popping a pill. "You always get so—" he paused, savoring the word, "—tense."

"Yeah, real supportive of you."

"Actually, I'm being incredibly supportive. I'm leaving for a little research trip overseas—four months. Ethics committee can't meet without me, so—" He leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. "Gives you time to get your shit together. Isn't that nice of me?"

"Shut the hell up."

"C'mon, I put in a good word for you too. No suspension for now. You can keep teaching, just no surgeries. Yaga really hates my guts, doesn't he? But hey, at least you're not totally screwed."

"You expect a thank you?"

"Relax, Toru, the show's over," he said. "Trust me, they don't want a scandal, let alone lose their star surgeon. When I get back, a slap on the wrist, maybe a semester's suspension, then you're back to the boring old grind."

A bitter laugh escaped me. "Last I checked, you were the one pushing for a scandal."

He rolled his eyes. "Someone had to do it. Knew you'd drag this out forever, playing the tragic hero. Needed a villain to get things moving." He gave a mocking bow. "At your service, my friend."

"Also," he continued, leaning forward in his chair, "the focus is off you now. The committee's sniffing around those implant engineers. Funny, isn't it?"

Sukuna paused, savoring the moment. "Honestly, never thought there was anything wrong with your surgeries. You wouldn't make that kind of mistake. Tech malfunction more likely."

Of course.

The bastard never doubted the damn research. It had all been a game to him — my career, my sanity, her — just pieces on his chessboard.

It should've made me furious, lash out, pound his face in again — but all I felt was a bone-deep exhaustion, a weariness that seeped into my very soul. I was too tired, too hollowed-out to do anything but swallow the bitter truth.

"That supposed to make me feel better?"

"A little," he said, tossing the opioid bottle back. "This, though? That'll do the trick even better."

I caught it, my fingers clenching around the plastic.

He rose, stretching with a theatrical sigh. "Well, time to go. Remember, you owe me big time. You should take one," he gestured towards the pills, "you look like shit."

My grip on the bottle tightened. I looked up at him. "When all of this is done, I never want to see your damn face again."

He laughed. "We both know that's a lie. You and me? We need each other."

"The only thing you need is some damn therapy."

"Ah, Toru," he dismissed me with a smirk, "you'll come crawling back soon enough. We both know how this works."

With that, he was gone. I was left alone in the echoing silence, the pill bottle a burning weight in my hand. The world seemed to sway around me, my eyelids growing heavy.

The will to fight simply wasn't there anymore.

─── ·✧· ───

Cruel.

Cruel how one little pill can undo everything.

Cruel how one little pill can silence everything.

Cruel how one damn pill can soften the world, make it — bearable, almost.

Unfair.

It's truly unfair.

The screaming under my skin, that relentless itch — it's still there, but it had dulled to a faint hum, pushed back by the familiar numbness.

Finally.

Oh, finally some fucking silence.

I let out a shaky breath. It wasn't peace, not really. I knew that all too well. Borrowed time, each second ticking closer to the inevitable crash, the return of that relentless screaming in my head.

But for now, it'll have to be enough.

I collapsed on the couch, smoke curling lazily before my eyes.

I knew I shouldn't mix opioids with cannabis. That's something they teach you within the first year of university. What I used to teach students within the first year of university.

What a hypocrite I am really.

Another drag — harsh, burning down my throat.

The urge to close my eyes, to sink into oblivion, was almost overwhelming. But sleep wouldn't bring respite. Only nightmares. I knew that only too well.

So, I lay there, staring up at the ceiling.

It really came down to me failing again, huh?

What was it now?

Attempt number five?

Six?

I started losing count.

Maybe this was my fate.

A broken record, stuck on the same damn track.

Deep down, under the chemical haze, guilt gnawed at me. It was a dull ache now, no longer the searing pain of earlier, but a constant, insidious reminder.

She were out there, her life forever marked by my choices, while I was — here. Hiding in a haze of pills and smoke.

God, I hoped Suguru was looking after her. Making sure she ate, making sure she was safe — that she didn't hate me too much.

I brought the joint to my lips again, the smoke curling up towards the ceiling. It left an acrid taste in my mouth.

I watched my hand for a second.

Bloodied earlier, the wounds had scabbed over, the blood dried. It was perfectly still now, the trembling smoothed out by the chemicals in my blood.

I clenched it into a fist, then unclenched, watching the movement like it belonged to someone else.

Traitor.

This body was a traitor — betrayed myself, betrayed her, betrayed everything I held dear.

Weak.

Broken.

A pathetic mess.

Was that it?

Living as a slave to these chemicals to patch up my crumbling sanity one day at a time?

Chained to pills, each dawn a ticking clock until the next dose, until I could silence the screaming for a few damn hours?

My eyes locked onto the half-empty vial on the table.

Took too many, didn't I?

I knew that, even through the haze. But a cold certainty twisted in my gut. There'd be more. Always more. Until there was nothing left.

Before I could think, I threw another down my throat. Bad idea, probably, after a few clean days.

Suddenly, the haze warped, twisting into nausea. Bile rose in my throat.

I lurched to my feet, the world tilting precariously with each step. Surfaces rippled, the bathroom light stabbing into my skull.

I barely made it. My stomach heaved. Each retch wracked my body, leaving me gasping, weak.

Too many.

Way too many.

How the hell did I forget? Forget my body's limits? Somehow, I felt like some reckless student again, stumbling through experiments, blind to the consequences.

Stupid. So damn stupid.

Darkness swam at the edges of my vision. Another wave of nausea, and I was back, hunched over the toilet.

I hauled myself up, hands shaking, clinging to the sink. In the mirror, a stranger stared back. Eyes bloodshot, a sheen of sweat coating his skin.

This wasn't me anymore.

I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away the acid burn. Didn't help. Drops of water ran down my face, felt like they were melting the damn skin off.

My knees buckled. I slid down the wall, my head heavy against the tile wall.

The bathroom light, needles in my brain moments ago, seemed impossibly distant now. Each breath was a ragged gasp, each pulse a dull throb in my temples.

I waited for it to pass, the nausea, the haze. But as minutes crawled by, a new, searing pain gnawed at me.

My fingers trembled against my abdomen, pressing into the tender spot. Liver, of course.

Wrecked it, just like the rest of me. I'd known the risks, had ignored the warnings, and now my body was demanding payment.

How pathetic.

Darkness gnawed at the edges of my vision, pushing back against the stubborn spots of light. My head felt heavy, detached from my body. Arms and legs useless.

Each breath a battle I wasn't sure I'd win.

Time warped. Stretching, then snapping, leaving me floating in nausea and pain. Then I heard something — muffled, distant. Footsteps, getting closer.

My eyes struggled to make sense of the shifting shadows.

Then, a voice. Soft, achingly familiar. I couldn't make out the words, but the warmth of it—

I knew that voice — would always recognize it.

Cold water hit my skin. Hands, gentle, but firm, on my face. I strained to focus, to see her, to soak in the sight I needed, yet feared more than anything.

Oh, how desperately I needed to see her. Needed her to be real.

But my eyes betrayed me.

She must be so beautiful. She always was.

Then, a touch on my outstretched leg, a flash of metal — was that a scalpel?

Agony ripped through me, shattering the haze. I jerked back, my scream ragged against the tiles. My head slammed back with sickening force.

Before I knew it, a needle pierced my skin.

The room spun as whatever she'd injected battled the comfortable blur of the pills. Nausea churned in my stomach, the numbness receding with terrifying speed.

Groaning, I shifted on the floor.

My vision sharpened, my senses returning with brutal clarity.

The first thing I noticed was the metallic glint of the discarded syringe beside my leg.

Then the cut, a ragged gash through the fabric of my dress pants where she'd stabbed the needle in — the unnecessarily deep and brutal cut — but in the chaos, I let it slide. Didn't even register the pain as I watched the blood drain from the cut.

I reached for the syringe and read the label.

Adrenaline.

Smart girl.

But as I turned it over, a frown creased my brow. Two fucking milliliters? Was she trying to give me a damn heart attack?

I lifted my head, the question burning on my tongue. But the words died unspoken as my gaze locked on hers.

She stood there, just a few feet away, her breath ragged, her eyes — those pretty eyes.

Terror.

There was raw, unadulterated terror etched in her eyes. But I was right. She looked as beautiful as ever. Even with those terror-stricken eyes she was breathtaking.

She stumbled back, slumping against the wall opposite of me with a choked gasp, pulling her knees up. I didn't move, couldn't move, my gaze locked with hers.

The terror faded slowly, replaced by a weariness that was far worse.

For a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of that familiar defiance, the spark I both loved and feared. But even that felt strangely muted now, as if even the energy to fight had been drained out of her.

She simply watched me. In silence, in that devastating silence.

How I hated her silence.

Because her silence was far worse than anything she could have screamed, any insult she could have hurled my way. Her stillness, her silence, was the most terrifying weapon she'd ever wielded against me.

And for the first time in a very long time, I was truly afraid.

Time stretched, then I choked out, "You're angry."

Her answer was blunt, devoid of emotion. "Oh really? What makes you think that?"

I glanced down. Blood still seeped from the gash in my leg. With a trembling hand, I fumbled for a towel and pressed it against the wound. "Your cut is kinda deep. Was that on purpose?"

She didn't say anything.

It probably was on purpose.

My gaze fell on the syringe. "Where'd you get that?"

"What happened to your hand?"

"I asked first."

"Don't try to play games now, Satoru. You're walking on thin fucking ice," she snapped.

"Shattered some glass," I said after a pause ", and punched Sukuna."

"Stole it from the hospital."

"What?"

"You think I'd date an addict and not have adrenaline on hand?"

My lips twitched into a weary smile. Oh my beautiful, brilliant girl, always prepared.

"But you know, two milliliters is a bit much." I moved my leg slightly to check if she had cut any tendons, which would complicate the healing a bit. "Or are you trying to kill me?"

Her gaze pierced me, colder than any scalpel. "Looks like you're doing a fine job of that yourself."

My smile faded.

Silence.

Oh, that cruel silence again.

She didn't say anything. Maybe I should be thankful for that, because if she said anything now, I'd probably crumble completely — if I haven't already.

Ironic, wasn't it?

How much power this woman had over me.

Yet it was me who destroyed her.

She dropped her head, ran a shaking hand through her hair, then looked at me again. "How much did you take?"

Huh?

Why would she ask that?

Didn't she see that it's over?

That I'm too far gone?

It was unbearable.

It was unbearable, how she could still look at me and see someone worth saving. It was unbearable, knowing she believed in me even when I didn't.

Almost pissed me off, how stubbornly she clung to that stupid hope. Because seeing that hope in her eyes — it made me hate myself even more.

I wouldn't change, couldn't. Not for her, not for anyone.

"Doesn't matter. It's over."

"Satoru, please," she choked out, pain raw in her voice, the pain I caused, "cut the crap and tell me. Now."

"It doesn't matter," I repeated, my voice cold. I couldn't bear the flicker of hope, couldn't bear to fail her yet again.

Then, the first tear rolled down her cheek and my heart shattered, the fragments piercing me from within.

I'd never wanted to be the reason those beautiful eyes filled with pain, the reason her sweet lips trembled. Every fiber of my being wanted to pull her close, erase the hurt I'd caused.

I would have given anything, sacrificed anything, if only I could make it stop.

But I couldn't.

Because I was the problem. I was the poison.

She buried her face in her hands. "I'm tired, Satoru."

"I know."

"I'm so fucking tired," she whispered through tears.

"I know, love."

My eyes burned as I watched her fragile body shudder. Each sob of her driving a stake deeper into my already bleeding heart. I bit my lip until I tasted blood.

I hated myself, hated myself, hated myself, hated myself, hated myself because — because I was the reason for all of this.

She'd never wanted this, never wanted to fall in love with me to begin with, but I dragged her into it anyway.

Because I was selfish.

Knew how it would end.

And now, I could only watch — only watch in this unbearable silence as the woman I loved wept over the man I hated.

"It's for the best, believe me—"

"No," she cut me off. "You're sacrificing me for this—this reputation of mine you think matters. It doesn't. I don't want any of it without you. I don't want a future where you're not in it."

She looked up then, eyes red and filled with unshed tears. "Because I love you, Satoru."

What?

The words turned my blood to ice.

After everything — the lies, the ways I'd hurt her, the desperate attempts to push her away — there it was, the confession I'd craved and feared in equal measure.

My heart was being ripped apart and stitched back together again in that very moment — vulnerable and yet so unbearably full.

She loved me, she said it.

She loves me.

And I love her.

God, how I loved her. More than I thought possible.

I've never once loved in my entire life.

Not until her.

Not until she changed me completely.

What is that, anyway? Love?

How can I possible describe the type of feeling I feel when I'm with her? How can I ever convey the words when they are not even clear to me?

How cruel it is. How utterly cruel the type of feeling is, that she makes me feel.

Because how could I ever live without it.

Not when she showed me how to breathe.

How to live.

How could I ever go back to what I was before her — was there even something before her?

Not when she showed me how to breathe.

With her.

For her.

Because she is the air that fills my lungs.

The pulse that keeps me alive.

And nothing can ever change that. So how could I ever go back to what I was before?

Oh, how she tortures me, tortures me with feelings I rather not feel, tortures me with her love that I deserve so little.

Nothing.

I deserve nothing and yet she gives me everything.

Why can't I give it back? What chains me, binds this rotten heart? Why does it fail me so cruelly to love her the way she deserves?

Because she does.

She deserves everything.

She is everything.

Yet there is only my own failure in loving her. I'm failing her again and again. I hurt her again and again. I hate myself, hate myself for the pain I cause her.

Still—

How can I let her go, when she's the only good thing in my life?

It is selfish, selfish to say the least, to want to keep her close when all I do is fail her.

Her tears were molten iron searing my insides. But I clench my jaw, refusing to let them break me. If she saw weakness, she might hesitate. Might stay and continue to be broken by me.

Every fiber of my being wanted nothing more than to reach out, to comfort her, to tell her it would all be okay.

More lies for a heart that deserved nothing but the truth. So I swallowed down the love threatening to spill from my lips.

I would give her anything, my life, the last shreds of my sanity — except the one thing she asked for, the only thing she ever ask for.

Because loving her, truly loving her, meant letting her go. Even if it destroys me.

"I spare you," I rasped.

"No." She slowly shook her head. "You're killing me. Can't you see?" There was a cold edge in her voice now. "You're killing me."

"I can't change. Love isn't enough. I can't stop."

"You're the only one who thinks that." Her reply held a flicker of her old, beautiful defiance, a defiance I loved so dearly. "I'd follow you anywhere, Satoru. Even if you can't get clean, then so be it. I don't care. I won't leave you."

The sincerity in her voice was a blow, a beautiful, terrible blow. Complete, unwavering acceptance of who I was, in all my brokenness.

And in that moment, I finally realized.

It wasn't about saving her. It was about saving myself from the terrifying vulnerability her love demanded. From the weakness that threatened to drown me if I let her in.

Perhaps I'm just a coward after all.

My heart was too damn small, too messed up. Of course I had to push her out, deny her the love she offered so freely — because it terrified me.

Her love terrified me.

"I can't do this to you," I choked out, the words scraping my throat raw. "You deserve—" I swallowed, the words catching in my throat. "You deserve better."

"Better?" She leaned forward slightly. "You are my better."

Oh, love, that's not true.

You are my better. I'm your worst.

I wanted to say that, should've said that.

But I remained silent, unable to say anything.

"Say something, Satoru."

I couldn't, simply couldn't. Because mere words were too hollow, too insignificant against the depth of her pain.

"Say something, damn it!"

"It will get easier someday," I chocked out. Each word felt like a stone I was forcing down my own throat. Each word empty — we both knew it.

"Is that what you hope for?"

"I have to."

She closed her mouth. Her silence more devastating than any scream. She didn't explode, as I half-expected. Instead, she straightened, her movements slow, weary.

I watched her, unable to move, unable to look away, as a horrifying realization bloomed across her face. It wasn't anger, wasn't sadness — it was a terrible understanding.

She knew. She always knew.

Perhaps that's what I hated about her the most.

"That's it?" she asked.

"That's it."

She watched me. Not in anger, but with chilling detachment. Her eyes, usually so filled with warmth, were now as distant as those of a stranger.

Still, I burned the image into my soul, knowing it might be the last time.

Then, without another word, she turned. And walked away.

When she finally disappeared from sight, a wave of crushing despair washed over me. It wasn't just the loneliness. It was the terrifying certainty that there was no going back from this.

I had destroyed the best thing in my life — a sacrifice she didn't even ask for.

But then again, my sacrifice is really only an illusion after all, masking a desperate, terrified selfishness.

Because I'm selfish.

I do love her. Gods, how I love her.

But my fear was stronger.

And I was too damn weak to fight it.

─── ·✧· ───

Four weeks.

Was it four weeks?

I can't remember.

Time — it didn't tick or flow anymore.

It was a shapeless thing. Punctuated only by the empty thump of my heart in this wrecked chest.

Those first days — or weeks, who knows? — they melted together in a haze. After she left, I was — raw. One giant exposed nerve.

Each damn breath without the pills felt like scraping sandpaper across it, a reminder of what I'd lost — no, what I'd destroyed.

So I was barely sober.

My body didn't even protest. At first, it was almost — nice? The rush, the way it wiped out not just the pain but any thought at all.

But the crash was always brutal. Mornings, if you could even call it that, I'd wake up shaking, sick to my stomach, and terrified of — what was I even terrified of? Somehow of everything and nothing at all. But I knew the fix for that.

It was a sick, relentless cycle.

The phone rang, vibrated with messages. Suguru mostly. His messages growing more urgent with each unanswered text. Liver issues. Treatment. Something about irreversible damage.

It was all white noise compared to the screaming in my head.

Her name, though, cut through the haze.

There were nights — or was it days? — when a desperate, clawing need to hear her voice, to see her face, would rise up in me. I'd reach for the phone, fingers hovering above her name. Then the fear would crush that impulse.

I knew that reaching out to her would be the final act of cruelty.

So I stumbled on, each day collapsing into the next.

Until the next semester started and I remembered I had an actual job.

─── ·✧· ───

I stood in the corridor outside the auditorium.

My fingers fumbled with the familiar pill bottle. Just enough to numb the edge, get me through the lecture. With a bitter swallow, I tilted the pill into my palm, chasing it down dry.

Four weeks. Four weeks of barely holding it together, four weeks since I almost OD'd, four weeks since she left, and the weight of it all threatened to crush me at any moment.

Yet, muscle memory took over.

I limped slightly as I walked into the auditorium. My leg still hurt after she basically cut my muscle in half.

She definitely did that on purpose. She was too smart not to not know what she was doing.

The usual chatter died down when I walked in. Old routine. Time for the performance. Pretend I'm the professor, pretend like this whole thing isn't ripping me apart, piece by piece. It should have been comforting.

Once, perhaps, it was.

Wordlessly, I grabbed a marker, scrawled my name on the board. Like they didn't already know who I was, right?

Everyone on campus knows, especially after this summer's mess.

With a sigh, I turned towards the class.

And there she was.

My breath hitched, the marker clattering to the floor. My lips parted, but no words came.

Of course.

Of fucking course.

Second-year lecture.

How the hell could I forget that?

She was here, after everything, right in front of me. The pain of the past weeks, that suffocating emptiness — it all melted away, replaced by a pounding headache in that one instant.

My eyes clung to her, unable to look away, drinking in the sight of her. That stubborn tilt of her head, the pain in those beautiful eyes — God, how I'd missed her.

Yet with every beat of my yearning heart came a fresh wave of guilt. I longed to reach out, to apologize, to tell her how much I'd missed her.

But I knew it was wrong.

Then, it hit me. Every eye in the room was on her, following my gaze like a spotlight burning into her. Damn it.

Still, she didn't flinch.

Endured it like she has always endured everything.

Clearing my throat, I managed to speak as I adverted my gaze. "So, uh, let's start the lecture."

My voice echoed in the now tense auditorium, words tumbling out in a forced attempt at normalcy. The lecture blurred. My own words were just noise in my head. I pushed through the lecture. Don't even remember what I lectured about.

It was routine, should have been easy, but — not with her there. Never with her.

Every damn minute, my eyes flicked towards her, drawn like a magnet. I couldn't help it. Because all I could see was her. But she avoided my gaze.

Should've expected that.

Shouldn't make me angry, right?

Still did.

Finally, thank god, the bell rang.

I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

I remained behind my desk and gathered my notes. Students surged towards the exit, a faceless blur of motion. My traitorous gaze remained locked on her as the auditorium slowly emptied.

She and her friends passed by me. Before I could even think, the words tumbled out, "Wait, not—not you, first-year."

Silence.

Her friend's chatter halted abruptly. I hadn't meant to say it, hadn't thought before the desperate need to speak to her had short-circuited my brain.

Now, it was done.

Her eyes, those beautiful eyes, met mine. For a moment, time seemed to stand still.

Her friends exchanged glances. I could feel Zenin glaring daggers at me, didn't even need to look. She'd always been fiercely protective.

"I'll catch up later," she said then to her friends, a strained smile plastered on her face.

They left, leaving us alone in the vast, suddenly suffocating auditorium.

Silence again.

My heart hammered against my ribs, so loud I feared she could hear it.

Finally, she spoke. "You know I'm not a first-year anymore."

I rounded the desk, the wood rough against my fingertips. "Yeah, right. Sorry." Leaning against it, I crossed my arms.

"Didn't you get suspended?"

"They postponed it."

She watched me for a moment, those beautiful eyes drilling into me. Her eyes held a coldness I've never seen before. For a sickening moment, I thought I might throw up.

"How are you?"

"Don't," she snapped. "Don't ask me that. Don't you dare pretend to care after—"

She stopped herself, the silence louder than any accusation. After everything you did. After you pushed me away. After you nearly killed yourself.

She didn't need to voice it.

My hands clenched into fists against the edge of my desk, nails digging into my palms in a futile attempt to ground myself. Needed to maintain this thin illusion of control.

I do care. Dammit, I care more than you'll ever know.

I wanted to scream it, to tear open my chest and show her the bleeding wound she'd left behind. But the words stuck in my throat.

Pointless now, anyway.

Knuckles turned white, nails digging deeper.

She stepped closer. Her hand darted into her bag, then shot out, palm open. Keys glinted in the harsh light — the keys to my apartment.

I watched them for a second. Should've expected that. Shouldn't hurt me. Still did.

"You don't have to return them. I want you to keep them."

"Why? I won't need them anymore, will I? Or are you planning on overdosing again?"

Each word was acid on an open wound.

I deserved this, the anger, the contempt, it was all on me. But why the hell did it make me so fucking angry?

"Have you ever thought about how I felt when I found you?" she snapped, her voice rising. "How terrified I was when you wouldn't respond? When you couldn't even recognize me? When I thought you'd die on me?" She took a shaky breath. "Fuck Satoru, I held your face in my hands while you were barely breathing!"

I tried to speak, but she cut me off. "Don't. You. Dare."

"Four weeks," she went on, her voice sharp, laced with a fury that cut to the bone. "Four weeks of silence. Ever think I might be drowning, haunted by what I saw? Or were you too busy numbing yourself with pills? Hell, I didn't even know if you'd overdosed for good this time!"

Her words hit me cold, but they weren't the storm tearing me apart. It was the image of her, terrified, holding my barely-alive body, that ripped my insides out.

Those eyes — her eyes filled with a terror that was all because of me. The guilt choked me. Seeing my near-death through her haunted eyes is twisted a knife in my gut.

It was the look of someone who'd had a piece of her soul ripped out.

It was the look of someone who loved me.

"But then again, you never cared about me, did you?" she added, the raw hurt bleeding beneath the anger.

My stomach twisted. "Don't you dare say that," I rasped, the words ripping from my throat. "I care so much it damn near killed me. You were the only thing keeping me alive, the only reason I fought at all! Don't you dare say I don't—" I choked, the pain unbearable.

The room seemed to tilt, my anger threatening to consume me.

I took a step towards her, closing the distance in one move. We were so close, I could smell her damn shampoo. "Every damn thing I did, every stupid decision—it was all because I care about you too much."

Her eyes widened. But only for a second. Then, that cold defiance was back, and it cut deep.

"You're really pathetic, you know that?" she spat. "You talk about caring, but in the end you threw everything away. Because you are too terrified to let yourself love me. Because apparently your own damn peace is worth more than me."

Her words were knives, finding their mark with cruel efficiency.

"Shut up," I whispered. "You know nothing."

"Oh really?" She glared at me, "then let me paint the picture for you—the minute things got difficult, the second you had to face actual consequences for your actions, you used it as an excuse to back away. Shut yourself down."

She moved closer still. "Convenient, wasn't it? Pushing me away, destroying us—it absolved you from having to confront anything real."

Her accusations hit uncomfortably close to home.

And I didn't want to hear it from her lips.

Not from hers.

"Shut up," I growled.

"Don't you dare tell me to shut up," she snapped back, her voice rising. "You don't get to play the victim here. You did this. You ruined everything."

Fury ignited, not at her, but at myself.

Blindly, I reached out, my fingers gripping her jaw so tight it bordered on violence. I forced her to look at me, my eyes burning into hers. "Shut up, or I swear to god, I'll make you."

Her chin lifted, eyes narrowing. "I dare you."

The words set me on fire. Every rational thought, every vestige of self-preservation was devoured by a sudden, desperate need. My gaze fell to her lips, slightly parted, a vulnerable target I craved to claim.

Without even thinking, my hand went to her waist, fingers digging in as I pulled her impossibly close. My other hand tangled in her hair, forcing her head back. Our eyes locked, some kind of messed-up challenge.

I could feel her rapid breaths on my skin, smell that damn perfume of hers that I'd always loved, but now was driving me to the edge of control. Her heart pounding against mine.

Everything in me screamed to close the distance, claim those lips that had haunted me, haunted me for weeks.

I wanted to claim her, to silence her, to lose myself in her, but my last shred of sanity held me back.

Because pushing her further into my nightmare was the ultimate act of cruelty.

"Uncomfortable, isn't it? Getting confronted with the ugly truth?" she whispered against my lips.

My grip on her tightened. She really didn't know when to stop, or maybe she simply wanted to watch me burn. Perhaps both.

"Don't push me."

"Why? Scared of what you'll find if you let yourself be honest for once?" Her head tilted. Her gaze was fire, and I was already ash. "You run, Satoru. From everything, but most of all, from yourself."

"And that," she leaned closer, almost brushing my lips, "is what makes you the most pathetic person I know."

Oh, she could be so viciously cruel when she wanted to. So disgustingly cruel. It was one of the things I'd fallen hopelessly in love with. Even now, as it tore me apart, I still loved it.

But I also wanted nothing more than to fuck that attitude out of her right then and there.

"You're right. You're always right. Maybe that's what's terrifies me about you so much."

"You're not terrified of me," she whispered. "You're terrified of yourself."

The air between us crackled. Every rational thought in my brain begged me to stop. Still, I couldn't resist. I inched closer, helpless against the force that binds and burns us both.

My hands tightened their hold as I took a sharp inhale. Her eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling.

Our lips hovered, almost touching, two aching souls suspended in that impossible space. So much unspoken words, so much hurt, and the destructive pull between us that had always tethered us together.

Then, the auditorium door creaked open.

Her head snapped towards the sound. But I couldn't look away, wouldn't miss a second of her. Because this, right here, was all I had left.

Had to be Suguru anyway — anyone else would be screaming their heads off by now.

After a pause, she turned back at me. "You know, I'm still waiting."

"For what, love?"

"For it to get easier."

I looked at her, the woman I loved, and guilt clawed at my insides. That hurt, that anger on her face — I deserved it all. Because it was the consequence of the pain I'd caused.

"You said it would get easier," she added.

It was a lie. Nothing about this was easy. Nothing ever would be again. Suddenly, the room felt too small, the air thick and unbreathable.

"I don't know if it ever will."

Perhaps I was only meant to love her in silence.

In distance.

Because at least then I couldn't hurt her anymore.

Suguru cleared his throat. He stepped into the room, breaking the moment.

Reluctantly, I let go of her. She stepped back, eyes holding mine for a second, something flickering there that I didn't dare try to read. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away.

I watched her go.

Suguru approached me, stopping close by. He didn't say anything.

I leaned against the desk, running a hand through my hair. The adrenaline from that almost-kiss crashed, leaving behind a hollow ache.

The sound of the door slamming behind her echoed in the empty auditorium, way too loud.

Suguru's hand landed on my shoulder.

"You really have a thing for bad timing," I muttered.

"Bad timing," he echoed, "or good timing to stop you from doing something stupid?"

I didn't answer. The memory of her, so close, choked every thought out of my mind.

"You know it was the right thing to do. With everything going on, letting her go was the right decision."

"I know," I said, pushing off the desk and rounding it to gather my things. I couldn't meet his gaze. "I'm trying to remember that."

Suguru then started placing pill bottles on the desk with a serious expression. The first clink of plastic on wood cut through the silence.

"Prednisone for the liver inflammation." Another bottle. "Lactulose for the hepatic encephalopathy." Then another. "Vitamin B and K for the nutritional deficiencies."

"But you know the first step would be to—" he paused for a second then placed another two bottles in from of me. "Methadone, to manage the withdrawal and craving. And Naltrexone, to block the euphoric effects of your opioids."

Hesitantly, another bottle appeared. "Clonidine, in case you feel like you're dying."

"Suguru—" I began, but he cut me off.

"Satoru, you have to get clean. The pills won't do a damn thing if you keep wrecking your liver."

"Yeah, it's a little late for that, don't you think? It's the only thing keeping me sane right now."

He sighed. "You're the absolute worst patient ever."

"Aw, come on, I thought you liked a bit of challenge. You're the best doctor, you'll figure something out." I rummaged through my bag, pulling out a folder.

"Even the best doctor on earth can't help if you don't—"

I shoved the folder across the desk, cutting him off. "What's this?"

"It's a patient. An anyeurism. I'm still not allowed to do surgery, not until this thing with the ethics committee is over."

Suguru opened the folder, flipping through the pages. "You want me to do it? Is there something special about this patient?"

"I want you to take her with you," I said quietly. "She likes aneurysm clippings."

Suguru looked up, that familiar crease between his brows. "She'll figure it out. Sooner or later. Latest when you're in the hospital waiting for a liver transplant, not lecturing anymore."

Silence stretched. My eyes fell on the pill bottles lined up on the desk.

I sighed, then gathered them and crammed them into my bag. "Let's go. I need fresh fair," I said as I brushed past him, putting the withdrawal meds back into his hands.

Without another word, I left the auditorium.

─── ·✧· ───

My eyes snapped open.

I sat upright, a strangled gasp tearing from my throat. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat threatening to burst right out of my chest.

For a disorienting second, the world was a blur. Sweat drenched my skin. My lungs screamed for air.

Damn nightmares.

Another night of that shit.

I clutched at my chest, trying to quell the frantic pounding. Cold sweat made my shirt cling to my skin. The room spun. My pulse thundered in my ears.

I fumbled for the lamp, the sudden brightness stinging my eyes. But it didn't chase away the image seared into my brain. Her face, cruel, beautiful, cruelly beautiful, twisted in absolute terror. My stomach twisted.

My fault.

Always my fault.

I couldn't breathe right.

Sleep was a lost cause now. First decent rest in a week, and my brain decided to torment me again. Exhaustion was its own kind of hell, but it was nothing compared to this. That, more than anything, was the real torture.

I slumped forward, scrubbing a hand over my face.

I'd hurt her.

I'd hurt her, the one person who meant something.

Every day, it felt more like I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. Letting her go, pushing her away, I—

I hated myself.

Hated the way I ruined everything.

Hated the way I ruined every chance at something good.

It was like a damn curse.

Nothing good ever lasted for me. I should've known that by now.

Damn it, I knew it was wrong. But how the hell could it be wrong when it'd felt so damn right? When she was the only thing, the only person, that cut through the crap, made this whole mess seem like it might have some sort of meaning?

How could that possibly be wrong?

Guilt ate at my insides. Had I been a damn coward? Too scared to fight for something that made me feel, really feel?

Perhaps.

Easier to push her away, sabotage the whole damn thing, than risk actually letting her in. Letting anyone in. Losing control. But it didn't matter now, did it?

It was over.

I needed out. Out of my head, out of this apartment, out of my own damn skin.

The silence was unbearable.

I pushed off the bed, muscles screaming in protest. I slipped into running clothes, the routine automatic. As I laced up my shoes, a sharp sting shot through my leg from the still-healing cut on my leg.

That bitch.

The more I thought about it, the more sure I was she'd done it on purpose.

Good thing I was addicted to painkillers, huh?

I drowned a pill — no two, for good measure — before stepping outside into the pre-dawn chill.

Cold autumn air bit at my skin. Each step echoed on the empty street. The pills kicked in, dulling the sharp pain in my leg. Good. Long as the cut didn't split open, I didn't damn care.

I pushed myself, needing the burn in my muscles, the ache in my lungs, to drown out the constant echo of her voice, her name, in my head.

The world blurred. Streetlights, shadows, it all melded together. The only reality was the ache in my body, the cold air forcing its way into my lungs. My mind, for once, was mercifully blank.

No nightmares, no guilt, no memories of her haunted eyes — just the simple focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

I didn't set a goal, didn't choose a destination.

Just moving, pushing, escaping.

Sweat dripped, but I barely registered. With each mile, the crushing weight eased. Not gone, hell, not even close to forgotten, but — manageable.

I ran until the city was a smear of lights, until my legs burned and my lungs screamed.

Finally, gasping for breath, legs threatening to give out, I stumbled to a halt. The neon lights of a Seven Eleven cut through the pre-dawn darkness. My throat was sandpaper. I pushed through the door.

Inside, the harsh lights stung my eyes. I grabbed a water, my body on autopilot as I shuffled toward the register. The bored-looking teenager behind the counter gave me a sidelong look as I fumbled for my wallet.

"Rough night?"

"Something like that." I glanced down at my leg, the still-healing cut a visible red line. Wincing, I shifted my weight, favoring the uninjured side.

I pulled out my card to pay, but then a flash of color caught my eye. Beside the cashier's register, stacked in a gaudy pyramid, was a display of energy drinks. I starred at them for a second, the name oddly familiar.

I knew why the name was so familiar.

I reached for a can and placed it on the counter. "And this."

Outside, I downed the water in a matter of seconds. Then, I cracked open the energy drink. The first sip hit my tongue. Surprisingly, it didn't taste half-bad without a shot of stale coffee to ruin it.

But the taste wasn't the problem, wasn't it?

Memories flooded back. Her, hunched over a massive anatomy textbook in the dim library, those beautiful eyes ringed with exhaustion. Beside her, half-empty, a mug of coffee — spiked with the sickeningly sweet energy drink I currently held.

Just the thought of that awful mixture made my stomach turn.

Still, a smile tugged at my lips.

Dammit, I didn't want to think about her. But to be fair, thinking, not thinking — it was all the same. The dull, constant ache of her absence throbbed beneath it all.

I chugged the rest of the energy drink, crushing the can in my hand.

Ah, fuck it.

Before my sanity could interfere, my legs were in motion.

I knew this was wrong. Knew every step took me closer to more pain. Knew all along this was stupid, reckless — inevitable.

I couldn't stop.

The pull towards her was too damn strong. I needed to see her, to confirm her existence, to know she was real, to fix — what? What the hell could I fix? What the hell did I even think I was doing?

Finally, gasping for breath, I stumbled to a halt outside her apartment building.

A glance at my watch confirmed the hour — well past 3 am. Insane. I hadn't expected her to be awake. Just needed the pathetic reassurance of her presence. But as I looked up, my breath hitched.

In a second-floor window, a flicker of warm light spilled into the darkness. And there, etched against that warmth — her silhouette. Unmistakable.

A heavy exhale escaped my lips.

She was there.

Here.

On this same cursed world with me.

My heart pounded against my ribs. I knew, I had no right to be here. But god, I needed this, needed to see her.

She sat on the windowsill, book in hand. My future wife. Even in the dead of night, she was studying. How I loved her.

My gaze traced the familiar curve of her shoulders, the way the soft lamplight painted her skin with warmth, highlighting the strands of hair escaping her messy bun.

In that stolen moment, I could almost convince myself that things were different, that my actions hadn't irrevocably shattered something precious.

But then, she moved. Rising from her seat, she stretched, drawing the fabric of her shirt upwards. Before my mind could catch up, she was at the window, pushing it open. I froze.

She was staring down — right at me.

Shit.

I held my breath. For what felt like an eternity, we simply stared at each other. A muscle in her jaw twitched. Then her gaze dropped, breaking eye contact.

"You're bleeding."

I glanced down. The edge of my shorts was soaked through, a fresh stain of crimson spreading. Damn it. The cut had reopened.

"Yeah," I said, looking back up at her, "I'm a mess."

I braced myself for whatever was coming. The anger, the disgust, the righteous fury — it would all be justified. I deserved it. But she simply watched me. Her gaze was steady, devoid of emotion.

"You know where the entrance is," she said finally, then leaned back into the soft glow of her room and closed the window shut.

Before my brain could catch up with how wrong this was, I walked toward the apartment building.

─── ·✧· ───

I sat on the edge of her bed, she on a chair in front of me, her hands already on my leg as she pushed the fabric of my shorts up. "How could you not notice that?"

I opened my mouth, but she cut me off, "Wait, forget it."

Yeah. Now she remembered.

With practiced efficiency, she began cleaning the wound. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, considering how pissed she must be.

The silence was heavy, broken only by the rustle of bandages and my occasional sharp intake of breath when the antiseptic hit a raw spot.

My eyes wandered. Her space, even small and half-finished, felt warm, lived in. Smelled like her. Books spilling everywhere, papers scattered on a desk, a yoga mat forgotten in the corner — the organized chaos was so perfectly her.

Then my gaze landed on the half-unpacked boxes stacked against the wall. She really still didn't fully move in. Occupied with my mess, huh?

Guilt flooded me. I didn't deserve this, didn't deserve her gentle hands on me, not after everything.

Yet, a selfish part of me wanted nothing more than to stay exactly like this, wanted nothing more than to keep her hands on me.

With a sigh, I sank back against her pillows. Exhaustion seeped into my bones. Pain returned as the effects of the pills wore off.

Her fingers brushed the reopened cut. I winced, throwing an arm over my eyes. The relentless pounding in my head threatened to split me open, spilling all the ugly thoughts onto her pristine sheets.

"You've had nightmares again, haven't you?"

Huh?

I lifted my head a fraction, struggling to meet her eyes. She glanced up briefly, her eyes guarded, then focused back on my leg.

"Yeah, something like that." My head thumped back onto the pillow. "Hard to sleep when your head won't shut up."

"What dose?"

"You really don't want to know."

"I asked because I do," she countered. The sharp tug as she tightened the bandage around my leg was enough to make me speak.

"Ten milligrams," I admitted, wincing. "The usual."

She scoffed, then another, even sharper, tug had me gritting my teeth. "Ngh—fuck," I moaned.

I really needed a pill now.

She stood, gathering the first-aid supplies. "Heals slowly, doesn't it?"

I knew it.

I popped myself up on one elbow, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Don't give me that look. You know damn well you deserved it."

I let out a dry laugh. "You really are a bitch sometimes." I dropped back onto the bed, my hand reaching for my throbbing head.

I needed two pills now.

"You've got some damn nerve. You show up here in the middle of the night, injured, high—"

"I'm not high—"

"Save it," she spat. "You know what your fucking problem is? You can't stand being alone. Alone with your thoughts, with yourself. So you run. You run to pills, to whatever distraction you can find, anything to fill the void."

Yeah, how the hell am I supposed to want to be alone after feeling what it's like to be with you, stupid.

"You're too damn scared to face your fears," she continued, her voice laced with a bitter edge, "and when someone threatens your artificial peace, someone who might actually force you to look in the damn mirror, you panic. You sabotage it, push them away before it all gets too real, too close."

She stepped closer. "Because it's easier, isn't it? Safer to stick with the misery you know than risk having to face that void."

Every word stung, but I couldn't deny it, couldn't lie anymore.

"You're right. And I'm sorry—"

"Don't." She rose a hand at me. "Don't pretend you care, Satoru. You've made it clear how little I matter."

How little you matter?

Oh, love, you couldn't be more wrong.

A harsh laugh escaped me.

"You find this funny?"

"No, love," I said, pushing myself up. My leg throbbed in protest, but I ignored it. Everything narrowed down to her. I moved closer, a strange recklessness fueling me. "Quite the opposite."

Something flickered in her eyes — surprise? wariness? — but the anger remained.

"Keep going," I insisted, moving closer. "Let it out. Yell at me, tell me how pathetic I am. Make me feel something, anything other than this damn emptiness."

She hesitated. Her eyes searched mine, and for a breathless moment, I hoped that her fury, her anger, would burn away the numbness, making me feel something, anything.

Because even her anger was better than her indifference.

I couldn't stand being indifferent to her.

Might as well make her hate me.

"You want me to yell at you?" Her voice rose, the first hint of the storm I craved. "Fine! You wanna be a pathetic mess? Go ahead! Piss away your career, your life, whatever the hell you care about, I don't give a damn anymore!"

Each word hit me, but there was a desperate relief in it. Finally, she wasn't looking at me with that chilling indifference, that cold pity that twisted a knife in my gut.

Her rage, it was fire — scorching and brutal, but alive. And I loved it.

Because it was prove she still cared, even if it was just to hate me with every fiber of her being. It was better than the void, that terrible chasm that had opened up between us after I'd pushed her away.

I closed the distance, enjoying the anger in her eyes. She flinched, but didn't back down.

"More." I grabbed her waist, lifting her with ease, and hauled her towards the bed.

"You're weak!" she spat, pushing against my chest, her voice rising with each word.

Yeah, so damn weak for you, love.

"You're selfish! So consumed by your own self-pity you can't see how you hurt everyone around you!"

Her words should have hurt. They probably would have, under different circumstances. But right now, I couldn't care less.

"Keep going," I rasped, my pulse pounding in my ears. I forced her onto the bed and hovered over her, my body trapping her between the mattress and my own. "C'mon, love, let it all out."

"You don't deserve me," she continued. "You don't deserve anyone who gives a damn, because you only know how to destroy things."

Each word was a knife. Yet, with each insult, the suffocating hollowness inside me eased a fraction. I wanted her anger, the full force of it, wanted the burn only she could inflict on me.

"More."

Her breath hitched, eyes narrowing. "You keep breaking my heart over and over, then come crawling back when it suits you, like it doesn't matter!"

"You're right." I leaned in, my thumb brushing over her bottom lip. The thin fabric of her shirt did little to hide her shivers. "C'mon, love, give it to me. I know you can do better."

In one swift move, I ripped my shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor. I leaned down again, my breath ghosting over her lips. "Hate me." My hands went for the flimsy waistband of her shorts. "Tell me how much you despise me."

Her breaths came fast, quick gasps against my skin. I could see it all over her face — the rage, the fear, and maybe — yeah, maybe that darker edge, the same desperation burning in me.

"I fucking hate you, Satoru. Hate that you made me care, made me fall for you, then crushed it."

"Don't stop," I said, my voice a hoarse rasp. "Say it again." Before she could react, her shorts were down, exposing her to the night air. My own pants followed hasty, desperate. "Say you hate me."

"I fucking hate that you treat me like I'm just another damn plaything to fill whatever void your messed-up mom or whatever left you with!"

Okay, now it gets personal.

"I fucking hate that you act like you can control me," she hissed, but her body betrayed her, shivered running down her skin as my hands gazed her collarbone. "Hate that you make my choices for me, decide what's good for me, like you got to have control over something when you obviously can't control yourself!"

Damn, Freud himself is on to something tonight, huh? She really doesn't know when to stop.

"You're a fucking hypocrite, you know that?" I leaned closer, my mouth close to her ear. "You hate who I am, but you crave this, don't you? Giving up control, being at my mercy. Admit it."

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. She lifted a hand, as if to slap me, but I was faster. I caught her wrists and pinned them above her head, pressing them hard into the mattress.

"You know it's true," I pressed, relishing the way she struggled against my hold. "It's hard always being the composed one, isn't it? The responsible one. It's draining. Maybe that's why you're drawn to me. You love the thrill as much as I do, don't you?"

She stared at me, silent, her lips a tight line.

"Prove me wrong, sweetheart. Call me a liar, and I'll show you just how wrong you are," I leaned in closer, my voice a harsh whisper against her lips. "We're the same, you and me. We feed off each other. Even if you hate to admit it, I fill that emptiness inside you same as you do for me."

"You arrogant piece of shit!" she spat, twisting and bucking against my grip. "You think you know everything, control everything!"

"Don't I?" My grip tightened, feeling her pulse throb against my fingers. "Seems I've got you pinned pretty damn well, wouldn't you say?"

"You know it's true. You love this. Makes you feel something your books, your fancy grades never could."

"Screw you, Satoru," she hissed, venom in her voice. "We're nothing alike."

"You really are a fool, for wanting to fix something so broken it'll cut you to shreds the moment you get close and then you cry afterwards—"

Her spit hit my face. I closed my eyes for a second, then a smile twisted across my lips.

My future wife just spit in my face — what a good anecdote on our wedding day.

"That's my girl," I rasped, shoving her legs wider. "Tell me how much you hate me. Scream it."

"I fucking hate you Satoru, I hate you—"

Her words died on her tongue as I thrust forward, filling her completely. I closed my eyes, letting my head hang heavy for a second.

My god, the things this woman's body could do to me. I could feel her body trembling beneath me, her heart racing as she arched her back.

How treacherous a body can be, huh?

"Hate you, Satoru," she managed to say before she closed her eyes, biting down her lip as I thrust deeper still. Her thighs spread further apart, inviting me closer, urging me onward.

She's so damn beautiful.

I grinned, my hands still holding her wrists in place over her head. "I know you do, love. But you know what?" My lips were only a breath away from hers. "I hate you, too. I hate how you make me feel, how you expose every broken piece of me, how I crave you like I crave another fix."

Hell, I might just be addicted to this woman.

I pulled out fully, before thrusting back into her. Her head fell back, pressing into the mattress as a strangled moan escaping her lips.

She felt incredible.

Pulling back slowly, I watched her body react to the absence, her eyes flickering open to meet mine. Those pupils dilated with need, mirroring my own hunger for her.

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not our fight. Not our problems. Not our insults that had left our lips moments before. Just us — two halves coming together in a perfect whole.

I pushed back into her, deeper, harder.

With each thrust, I felt myself sinking deeper into her, losing myself in her. Fuck, if there was anything better than this — well, I hadn't found it yet.

This woman owned me — plain and simple.

It was madness, this pull towards her.

Insane, perhaps.

But it was also undeniably real. So real that even though dawn threatened to break soon, stealing away whatever remnants of darkness remained, I couldn't help but chase after that high only she could provide.

Even knowing full well that when morning arrived, reality would crash down upon us, forcing us back onto opposite sides of the divide.

"Look what you've done to me, love. You're making a fool of me." I whispered against her lips without touching them.

Weren't together anymore after all.

Kissing would be too much.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath me. Her nails dug into my skin where my hands gripped her wrists. With each deep thrust, I watched her face contort with pleasure and pain, her features illuminated by fleeting streaks of moonlight seeping through the curtains.

I loved that look on her face.

I wondered if I could make that look even more pathetic.

I pulled out, dragging the tip of my length across her clit before pushing back in. She squirmed underneath me, arching her back. But I denied her, keeping my unhurried pace. I wanted to draw out this sweet torture for as long as possible.

Hours passed — or perhaps mere minutes. I couldn't tell anymore. All that mattered was this woman writhing beneath me.

Groaning in frustration, she attempted to break free from my grip. "Dammit, Satoru. If you won't finish what you started, then get off me!"

I smirked. "Why so eager, love. Can't handle the wait?" I leaned in to kiss down the side of her neck. She shivered beneath me, her breath hitching as my teeth grazed her skin.

With my free hand I reached down, running my fingers down her quivering stomach, relishing in the shivers that coursed through her body.

She glared up at me, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Stop calling me 'love'. I don't belong to you, not anymore—"

She gasped into my mouth when I found her clit. Slowly, deliberately, I began to circle it with my thumb, feeling her surrender to me. I plunged deeper, thrusting into her mercilessly.

Let her hate me all she wants. She can't deny the chemistry between us — a spark that refuses to fade, no matter how hard either of us tries.

She must have hated this — hated how she surrendered to me, even with all that anger. Made me wondered if I could rail her up even more.

"You think you're so much better than me?" I rasped. "So strong, so selfless, always putting others first? It's a lie, and you know it. You're just bored."

"You fucker!" Before I knew what was happening, she broke free of my grasp and had flipped us over so that she was now straddling my hips.

Without warning, she reached forward, gripping my throat with surprising strength as she leaned down, her hair falling like a curtain around our faces. I couldn't help but smile.

"Don't project your bullshit on me," she seethed, her face inches from mine.

Her words sent a chill down my spine, stirring up a fresh wave of desire within me. Damn, this woman was infuriating — and captivating in the worst way possible.

We glared at each other like enemies preparing for battle.

"Aren't you a little tired? Pulling up that act all the time?" I choked out, feeling her fingers dig in further. "Deep down, you're just as bored as me, you're just too righteous to admit it."

"Shut up," she hissed, pressing harder, choking the words out of me.

This was madness. Destructive madness. But for this one desperate moment, I didn't care. It was exhilarating, addictive. Because love, our twisted, broken love, wasn't supposed to be pretty.

It was messy, chaotic, and borderline abusive. But sometimes all you need is a firm grip around the throat to remind you that you're alive.

"Harder, love," I gasped, a laugh bubbling up in my constricted throat. "Come on, make me feel your rage."

Slowly, deliberately, she began grinding her hips against mine, setting a maddening pace that left me reeling. Fuck, I think I love it even more when she hates me.

"Ahh, shit," I gasped, clutching at her thighs as she rode me mercilessly. "That's it."

Eyes squeezed shut, my head rolled back. Chills prickled my skin, possibly due to the cool breeze drifting in from the window. Or perhaps it was merely her.

She rode me with increased speed, and I could barely contain the overwhelming sensations coursing through my body. Every fiber of my being screamed for release.

My knuckles on her thighs turned white from the force. "Oh, shit, you're going to kill me," I moaned between choked sounds that escaped my lips.

My lips twisted into a smile again. "Admit it. You love the chaos as much as I do. The thrill, the way it makes you feel alive."

"You're wrong," she said, increasing her pace making my cock twitch inside her. "We're nothing alike."

"Keep telling yourself that," I replied, struggling to catch my breath, as she made me lose my mind. "But I know the truth—we're two sides of the same coin."

"You really believe that, don't you?"

"Why else would you be here, like this, with me?" I countered. "Face it, we're addicted to each other—the highs, the lows, the constant push and pull. It's exhilarating, isn't it?"

"You're the only addict here."

"Liar," I rasped.

Her muscles clenched around me, drawing me deeper inside her. She was close. Each contraction of her pushing me further towards a peak that I knew would soon shatter me.

But I wasn't ready yet. Not quite.

I shifted our positions, sitting upright before spinning us around so she was now beneath me on the mattress. I positioned myself behind her, forcing her down onto the mattress.

I slowly slid my hand along her spine as I pushed her further down, feeling her tremble beneath my touch, the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips.

It was intoxicating to watch her submit to me.

"Fuck, you'll be the death of me."

Leaning down, I pressed my lips against the small of her back, feeling her shiver once more. My hand continued its descent, stopping just short of where she needed me.

"Satoru," my name fell from her lips.

Oh, how I loved it when she breathed my name like that. I couldn't resist her — could never resist her. I was at her mercy. Even now.

She arched her back, silently pleading for me to continue. I slid my hand between her legs. "God, you're so fucking wet," I murmured, slipped a finger inside her, then another. She was so tight, so warm.

I couldn't wait to be inside her again.

She gasped, pushing back against me. "Don't stop."

Curving my fingers, I searched for that spot that I knew would drive her mad. When I found it, she cried out, her hips bucking against my hand. Her hands scrabbled at the sheets, grasping for purchase as I started to move inside her.

"Yes, fuck," she moaned, spreading her legs wider. "Right there."

Oh, love. I know you like that.

I smiled, relishing the fact that I knew her body better than herself. I knew every inch of her, every freckle, every scar, every sensitive spot that made her squirm.

"More," she begged.

I happily obliged, adding a third finger and thrusting deeper. She was soaking wet, her juices coating my fingers as I fucked her with my hand. Her moans grew louder, more urgent. She was close, so close.

I increased the pace of my fingers, pumping them in and out of her as I used my thumb to apply pressure to her clit.

However, as her moans reached a fever pitch, I withdrew my fingers, denying her release.

She gasped, glanced over her shoulder at me, her mouth open, but said nothing — probably out of breath.

I brought my fingers to my mouth, savoring the taste of her. It was so uniquely her. I couldn't get enough.

Leaning in, I pressed my body against hers from behind, my hard length probed at her entrance.

I leaned down over her, my hand snaking into her hair. I grabbed it tightly, forcing her head up to meet mine. "I love you, first-year," I murmured against her ear.

She trembled, but her defiance remained strong. "I hate you."

I sighed — always so fierce, makes me wonder what it takes to fuck that stubborn attitude out of her.

"It's alright, I love you enough for both of us."

With that, I pushed her head down into the mattress. Her cry muffled by the sheets beneath her as I thrust into her once more, bottoming out inside her with a groan.

I began to move in and out of her. Faster now, harder until the headboard slammed against the wall. Her muscles clenched around me, drawing me deeper inside her. She clawed at the sheets beneath her, her moans muffled by the fabric.

As her cries grew louder, I quickly pushed her face further into the mattress. "Quiet, first year," I murmured as I angled myself to rub against her G-spot, making it harder for her to keep quiet. "Wouldn't want to disturb anyone in the middle of the night, would we?"

Neither of us spoke a word — not that she could but — perhaps because there was nothing left to say. Instead, we communicated solely through our actions, saying everything that needed to be said without opening our mouths.

I increased both the pace and pressure. Nearly causing her to fall forward hadn't I held her in place with one hand on her waist and one sill in her hair. Her breath hitched, her entire body tensed as she approached her breaking point.

Oh, how I loved feeling her tighten around me.

Bringing her closer to the edge was a thrill like no other. Watching her lose control, hearing her cries and moans, feeling her body tremble beneath me — it was intoxicating.

I could feel myself getting closer to the edge, my balls tightening as I approached my own release.

Her cries grew louder, more urgent, until finally, she shattered around me, her orgasm triggering my own.

With a final thrust, I emptied myself inside her, filling her completely. Her contractions milked every last drop from me, her body still quivering around me.

I stayed inside her, savoring the feeling. It might be the last time.

I was panting, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I tried to catch my breath. My cock was still twitching inside her. Reluctantly, I pulled out with a low moan.

I stayed behind her for a moment longer, admiring the curve of her waist, the sheen of sweat on her skin in the sliver of moonlight.

Don't know when or if I'll ever see that again.

Time seemed to stand still, suspended indefinitely as we tried to find our breath again.

Then she turned her head. "You're a fucking idiot," she finally said.

"Tell me something I don't know."

She shifted to face me, her expression serious. "Promise me something."

"Anything you want, love."

"Promise me, you won't kill yourself with your pills."

I swallowed hard. That's not what'll get me, I thought, as I felt a sharp pain lancing through my right side.

I moved closer, cupping her face with my hands that trembled slightly. For an insane moment, I wanted to kiss her, but I knew I couldn't — couldn't ever again. "I promise," I rasped.

The words heavy with a lie we both knew.

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note: wooooaaa, another insane!gojo chapter lol. this chapter really killed me, was crying, screaming, throwing up while writing.

i'm equally scared and excited to hear what you think about todays chapter, ngl. originally i didn't plan a smut scene in this chapter, but you know, somewhere down that line gojo just happened and here we are.

also like, i think now both their's darkest secrets are now out — in the worst way possible. also because i keep getting messages regarding how much chapters are left of the story, idk i write form chapter to chapter. we're down somewhere the 60—70 % line with the story i guess, but we'll see. still more to uncover of gojo's past and all that.

also sorry for the people asking of for more fluff and happy moments, ehhh, there will be some in the future?? also i'm still sticking to the plan of a happy ending, so don't worry!! gojo fucked up big time and the next chapters will center about him trying to fight his fears and get shit together — let's see if he can do that. curious myself.

so thank you so so much for sicking by with the story. sending kisses to all of you lovely people seeing me messages, leaving likes, comments and reblog stuff. it really makes my heart happy everything i see a notification. love you all sm!! ♡

okay my last note, just so you know, i'm going on vocation soon, so the next chapter will be a bit delayed again, sorraaaayyy!! wishing you a great day or night and an awesome weekend ahead! ♡

🏷️ @sad-darksoul @aerithsthingss @mylovelessnightmare @bbyxxm @musababy @neuviloved @ykehqqy @hexrts-anatomy @fvsm4x @tw0fvced @heijihattorisgf @sadmonke @thatsopanu @sirencholia @sugurusdiscordmoderator @erwinslut @shervinss @certainlysyko @mechalily @purplehallow11 @kendall0111 @bloopsstuff @therealestpussyeater @louoi7 @whereflowerswenttodie @billiondollarworth @deluluforcarlos55 @starrynight-777 @vina21 @michelleeveline @boba-is-a-soup @cre8inghavoc @love-jelly @daimiyu @d0nk3y-k0ng @mo0nforme @smolbeanzzz @oneiricals @ynishalee @gojolvrr34 @nanasukii28 @ariiiii0938 @kelppsstuff @tojisdollx @drakenswifeyy @bakarinnie @vina21 @phoenix-eclipses @nanamis-baker @neptnszn (pls comment on the series masterlist to get tagged in the future!)

#symptoms and causes #gojo saturo #jujutsu kaisen #saturo gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x female reader #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo angst #gojo angst #jjk smut #gojo satoru #jjk x you #jjk fanfic

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vlrspace · 1 year

Text

in which bakugou waits years till you finally come around

cw: reader is a bit of a grudge holder and has trouble to see bakugou in a different light, mention of injuries, there is a (1) very heated moment towards the end - MDNI!!! -, bakugou is soft towards reader the whole time, a bit angsty but there is comfort

wc: 9.5K

an: this is quite clumsy and there might be errors. i hope you all are doing well!! <333

bakugou knew you ever since the two of you were babies.

he was nearly a year older than you and he always made sure you knew that and it worked, while the two of you were younger. you always looked at him with stars in your eyes, drinking in every word he said, followed him around and let him take your hand. he didn’t understand back then why you started to distance yourself from him, he had a strong quirk and he could already read, so why were you more interested in that quirkless nobody?

his superiority complex and the need to be better than everyone didn’t help the situation either. he started to bully midoriya and when you kept sticking up for the damn nerd, he truly felt like he lost. the breaking point between the two of you was when he told midoriya to jump off a building so he might get a quirk in his next life. he never seen you so angry before that. you didn’t talk to him afterwards, not even after he got attacked by a villain, you only praised midoriya for helping him. not even when all the three of you got accepted into ua until the usj attack.

bakugou managed to save you from a villain that was trying to stab his knife through your chest, thankfully just in time he blasted the bastard away. you guys didn’t have the chance to talk, too busy to save your other classmates and you ran off to see midoriya again after he got injured at the end of the fight. later that night, you did drop by with some mochi from your favourite bakery and quietly thanking him for jumping in and not letting you die. he only mumbled a quiet ‘your welcome’ before you swiftly made your way out of the bakugou’s gates.

——

he always wanted to show you how strong he was, that he can protect you from anything that life throws at any moment, deku didn’t even have a quirk until it randomly appeared (he often wondered if you knew about it, were you hiding it together?) and now he seems to surpass him in everything. could he protect you better from the world than bakugou would ever be able to?

then the sports festival came around, you were all over deku again, congratulating him when he won the first round with a hug and at the back of his mind he wished it was him that you hugged. when he won the festival (he thought he didn’t deserve it with how half n half fainted), he hoped that you’d say something to him too. you didn’t say anything to him and he tried not letting it get to him. however, later that night he received a message from you, congratulating him on his win and he was glad no one saw him because his face felt like he was on fire. that made him so proud of himself, maybe you two will get along again?

——

you still don’t talk to him though, even when you needed help with some subject around midterms, you only asked deku again and that smart girl to help you. if you would’ve looked at him with your bright eyes, you would’ve seen how eager he would’ve been tutoring you and not shitty hair. when midterms pass and you both pass, he feels relieved that you’re coming to the training camp as well without any supplementary classes needed. he didn’t think at the time that the fact he got kidnapped will be the first time you come around and hug him in years.

you came to help them a second too late, only seeing him being warped away and telling deku to not follow him. you rushed to help deku after seeing his arms, trying to ignore the fact that bakugou just got kidnapped. when kirishima decided to take control and you guys should go and save him, you went along. you didn’t hate him, but you didn’t know where you two stand after all the things he did to your best friend in the past ten years. so when you saw him surrounded by villains before iida, midoriya and kirishima flew him out to safety, you felt relieved. yes, you don’t know where the two of you stand but you still care for him. you can also tell he looked surprised when your group reunited to watch all might’s last fight but you offered him a small smile after seeing there were no injuries on his body.

ua closed its gates three days prior to bakugou’s rescue and it remained closed for another week to become a boarding school with dorms. after further discussions between parents and teachers to ensure the safety of students, everything returned to normal.

two days before moving in, the bakugou’s bell was rung, and bakugou mitsuki was the one to answer the door. to say she was surprised to see the (h/c) coloured girl stand shyly in-front of their house was an understatement. mitsuki might be older, her son might think she’s a nagging old hag but she wasn’t stupid. the silent fallout between you and her son is still up in the air but she could never hold a grudge against you, she knows her son could be an outright asshole. mitsuki really believed that if god is real, then there is hope for the two of you to get along again.

“good afternoon sweet girl, long time no see, how have you been?” her warm smile instantly put you under ease and you gave her a timid smile of your own.

“good afternoon mitsuki, i’m doing alright, thank you. is katsuki home?” you quietly ask after you politely answer her question and the older woman can barely hide her smile widening at the fact that you still call her son by his first name. maybe things aren’t that bad anymore.

“yes, he is. the police advised for him to not go outside till school starts again. would you like to come in?” she moves to stand aside, but you shake your head at her invitation.

“no, no i just wanted to talk to him, if that’s okay” you look down to avoid her eyes that is the exact resemblance of her sons, well katsuki is the exact replica of mitsuki. she won’t push you to come in, so she yells loudly like usual for her son to come downstairs because someone is here to see him. when she turns towards you again is when she sees the plastic bag that you’re holding, seemingly full of things that looked like katsuki’s favourites. that made her feel warmth spread through her chest, you still remember what he likes.

“what is it old hag? can’t you just tell ‘em to-“ katsuki stops in the middle of his yelling when he reaches the front door, only to see you standing there. “hey” he stops next to his mum, his voice recognisably softer, which his mum would tease about but she decides against it, it’s not time for that yet.

“hey” you mumble, curling into your hoodie from the two pair of eyes (why do they look the exact same, it’s scary) staring at you. before bakugou could yell at his mum again to back off, mitsuki slips away after telling the two of you that she’ll see what masaru is up to. the both of you are grateful for that. after a few minutes of quietly standing you find the courage to talk to the ash blonde boy in front of you “i bought you a few things, i hope you’re doing okay with all the things that happened” you don’t look up to him instead you watch your fingers fiddle with your hoodie.

bakugou on the hand is focused on your head, waiting for you eyes to meet his, before gathering his thoughts. he’s slightly taken aback that you came to see him, even if it’s only because he got kidnapped but it means a lot to bakugou that you came to check up on him. “i’m good, heroes need to be tough and get though anythin’ that’s thrown at ‘em” he shrugged, wanting to come off cool and ignore how fast his heart was beating.

without saying another word, you gently wrap your arms around his middle and bury your face into his sturdy chest, fearing he might slip away again. bakugou’s eyes widen at the contact, suddenly not knowing what to do with his hands before clumsily circle them around your shoulders and pull you closer to him. he rest his chin on the crown of your head, noting to himself that you smell like strawberries and peaches and hopes you can’t feel his heart rate quicken (you did, your heart was beating fast too). after a while you pulled away, giving him a small smile before extending your hand with the plastic bag towards him. “i got you a few things, i hope they will cheer you up from all the trouble that you’ve experienced”

he takes it from you, feeling the blush on his cheeks spread. “thanks” he whispers and he hoped you know that he’s grateful for your hug too. before he could ask if you want to come in you slowly start to back off towards the road.

“i’ll see you in school katsuki, be good” your smile never faltered and you gave him a small wave. bakugou felt like maybe things were starting to change between the two of you for good as he muttered a “you too” after you and walked inside after you disappeared from his sight.

mitsuki, who’s been watching the two of you the whole time from one of the windows smiled to herself, maybe there was hope after all.

——

from them on, your interaction with bakugou increased by a bit, now you greet him around campus whenever you see him, but no more than that. bakugou longed to make conversations with you about literally anything, yet he didn’t force himself on you, happy either way.

after a week or too, you didn’t miss the way bakugou treated izuku before walking away, you know he said something to make the green haired boy stand there with slightly wide eyes. when the ash blonde was out of earshot, you walked up to izuku to make sure he’s alright. when you reached him, he motioned for you two to go outside and when you two walked through the doors, you both sat down on the stairs.

“i think he knows about ofa” izuku mumbled nervously, hands twitching in his lap as he stared ahead. “i mean it was expected, kacchan is very smart and-“ izuku went on his own train of thoughts and you gently grabbed one of his hand.

“it was inevitable either way, katsuki won’t tell a soul either way, we both know he’s not the type” you reassure your best friend, giving him a small smile.

“i know, he’ll probably get mad though haha” izuku lets out a forced laugh and you just move your hand to rub his back.

what you didn’t expect the next morning was that you’d find both boys wrapped in bandages and in a pretty beat up state. well if you had to guess, you were sure with katsuki, that the conversation between them would never had been just sitting next one other and discuss what’s on your mind. you were even more surprised when izuku told you that they are both in house arrest for a few days and have to clean the building. aizawa sensei did not go easy on them with the punishments.

bakugou only looked at the two of you while waiting for everyone to leave for classes, wishing you’d come up to him as well, but he decided to talk to you tonight about his conversation with midoriya and you were quite surprised later that afternoon when he walked up to you, asking if you two could talk somewhere private. you only nodded and followed him up to his room.

when you two reached your destination, he let you in first and you looked around his room since this is your first time here and it was very bakugou like and you swear you saw a few all might figurines and were those romance novels? you didn’t have much time to think about when he cleared his throat from his spot on the bed where he seemingly sat down while you were looking around.

“you knew about it, didn’t you?” he quietly asked, looking directly in your eyes with an unreadable emotion. you looked right back at him, thinking of the right answer, but he continued. “you always favoured that damn nerd” he added somewhat bitterly while looking away from you.

“it’s not about favouring anyone katsuki” his heart quickens when he hears you calling him by his first name “and it wasn’t my place to tell you about the inheritance of one for all.” he knows you’re right with the slight sharpness in your tone. “i found it out by accident too if it calms your nerves. i know him like the back of my hand so i knew something was up when he suddenly couldn’t spend time with me. so i followed him and saw him with all might, then there was no point in hiding it” you shrugged but your soft gaze remained on him.

bakugou decided to not try and argue with you, not wanting to lose the small amount of involvement you two built up. so he only nodded while standing up and walked you back down the common room without any other words being exchanged. you were kind of expecting him to go off on you but you didn’t want to talk about it any further, this is izuku’s business not yours, you’re just happy that he was given a chance to prove himself to be a hero.

——

the two of you go back to how things were before your conversation and soon enough winter approaches. after the matches with 1B, bakugou walked up to you while you were walking back to the dorms. you were talking with uraraka about todays events when he brushed his hand against your back with such gentleness that you thought it was one of the girls. when you turned around you abruptly stop and look at him, eyes round with wonder.

“can i talk to you for a second?” his rough voice makes it hard to understand his words at first with how quiet his voice is and you turn towards ochaco, who looked at the both of you with curiosity.

“i’ll meet you back at the dorms” you flash her a smile and she walks away from the two of with a nod. “is everything okay?” you ask bakugou as the two of you walk in a comfortable pace.

“i just, i wanted to tell you that you did great today” he slowly said while looking ahead. “i uh, i think your new move is quite cool” he added, feeling the redness spread across his cheeks.

“you think? it took me a while to get it right but i’m so happy that i was able to use it just like how i planned” you explain to him how you put the whole move together and all of his attention was on you, drinking your words in. this is probably the first time you talked this much to him since your childhood. “you know, i’m glad you’re becoming a team player” you add at the end and he knew you meant that he involved his team in his plans instead of just fighting on his own.

“yeah, as long as they follow what i say, anyone with me will win” he smirked as the two of you reached the dorm building, you turn towards him with a smile and he feels like he made a small accomplishment with you.

——

the next time the two of you have this amount of conversation is when when he wakes up from his coma after pushing izuku out of the way before shigaraki could hit him. you knew the two have been training together more recently after izuku manifested a second quirk during the training fight against class 1B and then thanks to todoroki, they both were able to do their hero work studies at endeavour’s agency where all three of them improved drastically. you were lucky enough to land a position at mirko’s agency where you learned a few new skills yourself. then bakugou accompanied izuku back to shigaraki to fight along and protect him, which resulted in him getting seriously injured.

you were waiting for izuku to wake up when you heard him stomping against the cold tile floor, shouting that izuku needs to wake up. your heart swells at the fact that he’s worried for your childhood friend, yet you were also worried for him, so without thinking you jump up and stop him abruptly when you gently hug him. you didn’t want to hurt his wound on his lower stomach nor the one on his shoulder so you pulled away soon after and that was enough time for the others to pick him up and take him back to bed and you followed them.

the rest of your friends walked out of the room the second you stepped in and closed the door behind them. you took a seat on his bed, right next to his hand and you took it in yours. you held it delicately, your tender caressing putting him at ease as you moved it into your lap. your uniform’s skirt slid up a little bit so his naturally warm hand was touching your bare thigh and he tried his best not blush at the contact. he was waiting for you to talk first when he felt something wet drop on his hand, so when he heard you sniffle, he instantly felt alarmed. he moved his hand up from your lap to cradle your face and turn you towards him. no words were needed as he pulled your shaking body towards his, engulfing you in a hug while stroking your back and face while hiding his face in your hair (if only the two of you knew back then that no less than two months later you’ll be in the same position with even more emotions).

——

the first time bakugou saw you truly angry with the deku was when he decided to leave you all behind, only leaving letters to explain how he’s putting everyone in more danger if he stays in one place.

“it’s not all for one who will kill him, i will, he should be more scared of me” you pave back and forth in the common rooms where everyone is gathered to find a way to get izuku back. “what is he thinking, does he think he can take them on without any back up? the second i see him, i will end him for real” your rant is not taken seriously by anyone, they were sharing your opinion but maybe they weren’t to as aggressive about it (izuku later admitted that he was indeed scared of your wrath and offered you a limited edition figurine of all might, which you refused to accept).

no one heard of him for a while now and none of you could sit around any longer and hope for a miracle. so when you all managed to get endeavour to meet with principal nezu in his office and find out where he was currently at, you all feel somewhat relived, now all you had to was bring him back.

you all reached the mall after saving him from the villain dictator, though he still put up a fight, thinking that no matter what, he’ll be better off alone. everyone told izuku something that influenced them thanks to him but he still didn’t listen. it was hard to look at him, all beat up and tired and you wonder when was the last time he had a proper meal and a good nights sleep. he only stopped hopping around, when bakugou started to talk to him and apologise for how he treated him all those years. your eyes felt glossy when bakugou rushed towards izuku’s fainting body.

——

you and bakugou didn’t talk much since then, too focused on training for the war. the two of talked again when you reached your temporary dormitory the day before luring all for one to you. a knock was heard on your door around 8pm and you wondered who it was. bakugou stood there, now changed out of his hero costume and only wore his usual comfy outfit. you let him in right away and you both sit on your bed. his fingers linger on your arm first before he slides his hand into yours, lacing your fingers together.

“you better not die out there (y/n)” the use of your name makes it sound more sincere and serious, the gentleness of his voice makes your heart flutter. you squeeze his hand as you grin up at him and lean your head against his shoulder.

“you better not die out there either katsuki” you add quietly, the both of you sitting on the edge of your bed in silence.

if only the two of you knew back then.

——

everything is blurry when you open your eyes, the lights are too bright and you swiftly close your eyes with a wince, suddenly aware of the amount scars you must’ve suffered from the war. your mind feels hazy as you try to find your bearings again. how long have you been out for? how is everyone doing?

you don’t even bother to sit up so just lay there with staring up at the ceiling, you’re alone in the room, maybe your injuries were too severe and as fast as you possibly can, you check if you still have your limbs attached to you. your left leg is hang up, seeming broken while the other one is only bandaged up. your arms aren’t broken, only a few of your fingers and out of the blue you remember taking a hit with your right shoulder. you don’t even want to think about the state your chest must be in. you rest your head on your pillow again as you force yourself to remember.

you remember winning, that’s for sure.

you also remember hitting your head so hard you barely managed to continue on fighting and that kind of answers why you have a hard time getting flashbacks. you’re so deep in thought that you don’t even notice someone walking in.

“oh my god shoji, she’s awake! go and get a doctor” you recognise jiro’s voice before you see her and you turn towards her direction. “you’re the last one to wake up, we were so worried!” she rushes to your side, her tone is full of worry.

“so i had been out for a while huh” you wish you could tell her that your ears are acting funny but you don’t have the heart to say anything when you see one of hers wrapped up, meaning her quirk is damaged. you are barely acknowledging how the door of your room is getting more busy, when a doctor walks in with a nurse.

“miss (l/n), you spent nearly two weeks in coma. although from those severe injuries you collected during the war needed time to heal.” then the doctor goes on about fractures, broken bones and you have a concussion as well. you only hummed in response as you stared up the ceiling again. according to the nurse, your bandages are holding up nicely and so are the machines around you but told you that she’ll be back in a few hours to check up on you.

once they leave your room, your family is the first one to come in. your mum sits down right away, next to your bed and you see her eyes are red, probably from crying all day and night, hoping you wake up soon, but she smiles at you with so much care you feel your eyes water. your dad is sitting down on your other side, his whole face looks relaxed now that you’re awake. you listen to them as the kindly scold you but they reassure you how proud they are of you for being so brave. your mum even told you that’ll she cook your favourite dish tomorrow and bring it in for you. they left two hours later, but your room became more busy after that.

your friends crowded around your bed, all feeling relief that finally you’re awake too. they are all bandaged up, but the happiness on their faces made you feel better. they all filled you in on their own journey with the hospital. when izuku walked in through the door, they all said their goodbyes and get well soons, promising to visit you tomorrow.

izuku was in no better state than you, needing a crutch to walk around. a wide smile is stretching on his face, as he looks at you and you return it.

“the hero of our future, how are you?” your voice is still rough from not using it in a while.

“it’s only because everyone helped me taking down all for one and shigaraki, we did it together. besides i’m feeling so much now that my best friend is awake.” he replies with fondness in his voice.

“who would’ve thought three years ago that we’d be here today like this” you let out a soft snicker.

“i’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me, ever since we were kids” izuku tears up and you would wipe his tears for him if you could move your fingers. “kacchan is outside, you two should talk as well” he adds with a gentle tone and you only nod.

you remember him getting a deadly shot.

as izuku walks out, kirishima rolls bakugou in, he’s body in a wheelchair. he isn’t as moody as he usually is and his face looks so tender when he finally looks at you. when kirishima left, he leaps out of the chair and slowly sits next to you, just like you did two months ago. you wish you could feel his touch around your hand when he gently grabs it and when the two of you finally look at each other, your tears are unstoppable. he lefts your hand up to cradle his cheeks, seeking your comfort while sniffling and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this. no words are said this time around either, the both of you happy to be around the other.

——

it will take japan a long time to get back on track after the destruction, the war had caused. everyone is still experiencing the aftermath, but things are looking bright.

you’re reading an article about another city being successfully built up again as you walk towards your classroom. your third year only started two months ago, the pressure of graduating and becoming an actual, full time hero is somewhat taking a tool on all of you. however some of your classmates know how to bring the fun in during stressful times.

“y’all, barbecue night tomorrow, how does that sound?” mina loudly asks as she looks around the room and everyone gets rather excited about the idea, excitedly chatting with each other. you walk towards izuku, to show him the article on your phone, knowing he still feels like he was the cause of the war, so news like this reassure him somewhat, that no one blames him. he leans down to read it and he excitedly rambles to you that half of japan had been rebuilt already with some help from overseas. the two of you continue talking until aizawa sensei walks in tiredly as always and the chatter among the class dissolves and everyone sits down to their desks.

the rest of the day goes by uneventful, everyone is preparing to blow some steam off during the weekend. bakugou comfortably sits on one of the sofa’s with legs spread, his arms is resting on the headrest as he lazily scrolls through his phone. it wasn’t his turn to make dinner tonight either and kirishima is away training with a few others. bakugou prefers to train early in the morning so he doesn’t have to listen to the nagging of his friends about not spending enough time with them in the afternoons.

he feels someone plop down next to him and when he turns his head at the person who interrupted his rather ‘productive’ time, he stops the shout bubbling in his throat when he sees your bright (e/c) eyes staring at him. his features visibly soften as he takes in your face, he knows you came back from training and just got out of the showers, your usual scent of strawberry and peaches fills his nostrils and your hair still damp. you’re dressed comfortably, wearing shorts and a baggy shirt and you’re eating a granola bar.

your relationship with bakugou hadn’t changed much since the war ended apart from the two of you talking much more than before. your second year was hectic, the war caused difficulties for everyone, the two of you didn’t really have that much time to be around each other, either way the both of you are happy that the two of you are working your way towards a blossoming, strong friendship. bakugou’s behaviour changed since his first year, he matured and learned to keep his anger under control, mainly around you. he’s also larger than before, his tank top barely hiding the bulging muscles or the baggy pants are barely loose around the thick of his thighs. bakugou looks much more grown up as well, sometimes sporting a stubble and his hair is more tamed at the top with a visible undercut and easily towers over people.

it’s not just him though, you’ve grown into a beautiful young lady as well. you’re hair is longer than it used to be, you lost your baby face and gained sharpness to your cheeks and your curves are more defined. kindness always radiates from your form whenever you’re around and (to bakugou’s dismay) admirers found their way to you, but you politely rejected their advances.

“dinner’s ready soon, so don’t stuff yourself full off that” he gently scolds you and your lips curl up in a smile as you take another bite.

“i know katsu, but it was yelling my name! how could i just leave it there?” you giggle as you fake a pout and you lean more into the sofas cushions with your side and bakugou shakes his head, but a small grin finds its way to his lips. the two of you engage in a small talk about how kaminari electrified sero by mistake, make the poor boy push against a passing midoriya, resulting the both roll around the floor.

during your conversation with the blonde, more people started to make their way into the common room and soon enough dinner was ready too. bakugou helps you stand up from the couch as he extends his hand for you to take and pulls you up tenderly and you’re pressed against his for a second before you thanked him with a smile for helping you and left to join uraraka at one of the tables (he wished you’d sit with him).

the next day, the height alliance was echoing of laughter, the atmosphere was welcoming as 3B joined your class for the night. there are a few games planned, like mario kart, uno and other board games, the playlist jiro put together was playing on the speakers. you were standing next to uraraka as you listened to some of the girls talking about a new boy band that recently came out but you often found your attention slip away and your eyes involuntarily found bakugou every now and then. he was sitting on one of the couches, seemingly in a conversation with a few others. everyone is wearing causal clothes instead of the comfy joggers and shorts and you have to admit, bakugou looks very hot in his black jeans and his simple black shirt. it doesn’t mean that bakugou doesn’t sit like he usually is, his thighs are spread but this time his hands in his pockets.

you never really focused on your romantic feelings towards anyone, you might be a late boomer for that, but even if you and bakugou had a fallout, for some reason it was always obvious that you had some sort of feelings for him. he was the very first friend you made, of course he’ll have a special place in your heart, even so the way he treated midoriya during your middle school years, barely giving him a chance to have a somewhat normal childhood set you off. for a long time back then, you weren’t sure if there was any way of the two of you becoming friends again, but he kept proving himself from time to time that he isn’t the same as he was back then.

the realisation of your feelings was around the time when uraraka and midoriya got together. uraraka shyly asked you one day, if there was anything going on between you and midoriya and you knew of the brown haired girl’s crush on you best friend and at first you weren’t sure what to say to her. you never thought of midoriya that way, you two were more like siblings rather than lovers materials and in the best way possible, you tried to explain that to uraraka. unbeknownst to her, you also knew about midoriya’s crush on uraraka and you helped to set the two up together. the three of you were walking around campus, the couple were holding hands and when you looked at their laced fingers, bakugou popped into your head with a warm feeling and how nice it would be to hold his. you abruptly stopped at the thought of him in that way and you start to shake your head, making the couple walking with you to slow down and you watch at you with a concerned look.

“what’s wrong (y/n)?” midoriya’s voices reaches you and you stop shaking your head. when you turn to look at them, your eyes wide and your face is flushed red. uraraka opens her mouth to talk but you’re faster.

“i think i might have feelings for katsuki” you whisper, hoping the two catched what you said. midoriya’s face looks more calm than a second ago and uraraka’s lips are stretched in a wide grin. “okay, let’s go! do not tell a soul or bring it up again!” you quicken up your pace and start walking ahead of the couple and after a snicker they follow after.

“we should play truth or dare!” mina’s voice brings you out of your rather embarrassing memory and you see everyone moving towards the sofa’s. there is many of you so the chance of you getting picked is low, so you make your way where everyone is gathering. you make eye contact with jiro when you’re looking around for an empty space and she’s flashing a small smile, patting the seat next to her and you beam at her for offering.

when everyone is settled, the game begins. at first it starts out innocent, with a few easy questions like ‘what’s your most embarrassing story?’ or ‘worst date’, but after a while the boys start to feel risky with the dares and suddenly there are faces covered in lipstick marks, izuku had to shout ‘i’m here’ from the rooftop and so on. things were light till mina turned to bakugou.

“truth or dare, mr. grumpy pants?” she smirks at him, eyes glinting in slight mischief and that’s never good.

“raccoon eyes, i’m not even fucking playing” bakugou shouts at the pinkette, making her smirk widen.

“are you scared?” she taunted.

“i’m not! truth” he mumbled the last word.

“do you have a crush on anyone kacchan?” kaminari leans in before mina could ask him the same question before quickly pulling away so he’s face doesn’t get blown off.

“what’s it to you? i do, whatever. now leave me the hell alone” bakugou growls while standing up and retreats to his room before anyone could get more information out of him. kirishima smiled knowingly after him and made eye contact with you, which made you furrow your eyebrows. so bakugou likes someone, she must be pretty lucky then, you think, trying to not let the sadness be apparent on your face.

the rest of the night went by, despite the bomb bakugou dropped on everyone about having a crush, the bakusquad started to make plans to get the ash blonde tell them who it was. later, around 2am, everyone decided to wrap the party up, thanking for 3B for joining you all and you’ll clean up the mess in the morning, too tired to get it done this late.

you take in a huge breath when you step into your room, relieved to finally be alone. it’s not like, you hate being around your friends, but sometimes this amount of people make you feel overwhelmed. you also can’t stop thinking about bakugou, your heart too loud to hear your thoughts and you wish so badly to be able to sleep right now and not feeling this ache of wanting him, knowing he probably wants somebody else.

——

the next few weeks are all the same, packed with tests, training, homework and the excitement for the training camp bubbling in your stomach. although, all of the stress leaves you in a second when you pass all of your tests and pack for the camp. you’ve been thinking about bakugou more and more and you managed to avoid him for your own sake. the uncertainty of having a chance with him made you feel nervous being around him, like you aren’t delusional, it would be weird if he actually thought of you that way since your fallout and all. you also don’t want to lose the friendship the two of you managed to build up again, so you’d rather stand aside and watch him be happy with someone else than losing him.

with thoughts like that, it was hard to get a decent amount sleep, you woke up quite groggy and moody the next morning. you took your time to get ready, coaxing (trying) yourself into a happier mood before anyone realises that something is off. you aren’t in the mood to explain yourself to anyone and you’re more than grateful for midoriya and uraraka for not bothering you about the whole thing you admitted to them.

a knock interrupted your thought process and you loudly asked the person on the other side to wait a second before opening the door, you were in the middle of dressing up in your uniform. bakugou was leaning against the door when you opened the door, watching you fumble with your tie and he quietly scoffed to himself before gently pulling your hands away and helped you. the sudden shock of seeing him caused you to freeze up at first but you let your hands fall down next to your sides while staring ahead of you.

“there dumbass” he rasps, the morning voice is still evident, making your brain hazy. “do you need help with your luggage? the bus just pulled up and we are putting our shit in” his voice is low as he slowly talks, wanting you to look up at him with your pretty hues, however your eyes remained on his shirt.

“that would be nice, thank you” you don’t look at him, instead you’re making your way back inside your room, then pull a large suitcase towards him.

bakugou picks it up without effort, vermilion eyes still trained on your figure “oi, are you okay?” his voice is now gentle compared to his usual harsh tone, stepping closer to you and you don’t move.

“yeah, i just didn’t sleep well last” you mumble out. “but it’s okay, i’ll just sleep on the bus” you force a smile on your face and before he could call you out on barely sleeping, you swiftly turn around to get your backpack and close your door. “let’s go, we’ll be late” you grab his arm and make your way down to the others. once you walk out of the building, you let go of bakugou’s arm and quietly walked towards the others.

bakugou won’t admit it, but he liked the warmth of your hand on his arm. although lately he feels like you’ve been pulling away from him, had he upset you somehow? bakugou doesn’t even want to think about the two of you falling out again, he knows he won’t be able to take it and that will tear his tough exterior down, he can’t let neither happen. bakugou decided the second the bus left and kirishima sat down next to him that during the one week of training camp, he will talk to you about his feelings, even if he knows that you won’t reciprocate them.

the ride towards the destination where your training camp will take place is three hours away from the school. uraraka asked you if it’s okay for her to sit with midoriya, to which you gave her a reassuring smile with a small nod. tsu takes a seat next to you a few minutes later, asking if you’re doing alright and you just put your head on her shoulder while mumbling about how tired you feel. you don’t even realise how you fell asleep till you feel tsu gently nudging you to wake up because you arrived. you don’t feel any less tired nonetheless, the aching feelings never leave. the boys help you girls with your suitcases when you step down from the bus and you all walk inside the large house you’ll be staying at.

this time, two people will share one room instead of everyone sharing one with their genders. mina jumps on you right away, begging for you to join her and you only grab her hand and drag her towards one of the rooms. the second you walk into the room, you plop down on the bed that’s closer to the window.

“we aren’t doing anything today, right?” you ask mina with your eyes closed.

“no we only start on monday, so today we can just relax and settle in!” she excitedly replied and you hear a bunch of things scatter around the floor already.

“good, i’m taking a nap” you pull the covers on top of you, only realising how drained you feel mentally. maybe you should talk to midoriya and uraraka about it, in hopes of feeling better, yeah you’ll do that once you slept.

“girl, what-“ mina doesn’t finish her sentence, already hearing your even breathing. she wonders if you’re doing alright, you’ve been kind of strange lately. at first she thought it was because you were stressed over the exams but she isn’t so sure anymore and mina damn well knows that a certain ash blonde boy is worried about you. mina didn’t have to ask bakugou if he liked you more than a friend, it was always evident since first year how he’s much more gentle around you. she decided not to push it with bakugou though, she doesn’t want to make you or him uncomfortable and mina knows that bakugou knows what he’s doing, she’s just there to support him even if she doesn’t know how you feel towards him.

after a few hours, you wake up to find your room empty. mina’s colourful things, mainly pink, fill up the half of the room and you’re surprised to see how the room isn’t a mess, well yet. you look at your phone to check the time with wide eyes when you realise, you’re already in the evening. there was a message from your pink friend to let you know that she’ll come and wake you up before dinner if you are still asleep then. you stand up from your bed and lock the door so no one walks in on you while changing. you change into a pair of gym shorts and a loose fitting shirt and you unpack your clothes and other necessities first before unlocking the door and leave your room to join the others. you hope they aren’t mad at you for not being around them lately (they are more worried than mad).

everyone is hanging outside, the camp had a large garden with a small pond at the back and a few benches with tables paired surrounded it. there was a larger table set up as well with snack and drinks for now, with cups and plates as well and you headed towards it.

“look who decided to join us!” kirishima exclaims loudly with a large smile plastered on his face and swings his arm around your shoulder, around you everyone cheers “you good?” he asks with a quieter tone, knowing it’s only a matter of seconds before everyone else surrounds you.

“yeah, just awfully hungry!” you let out a small laugh when you grab a bag of chips. “when’s dinner anyways?” you turn towards him curiously, knowing your appetite won’t go away till you had eaten a proper dinner.

“in half an hour” kirishima chuckles as he lets go of you (he felt his best friend’s red eyes on him the whole time and he doesn’t want to die anytime soon) and asks if you wanted to join him and the others which you only nod to, mentally preparing to face bakugou after your rather awkward encounter earlier that morning. towards your way to the table, mina stands up to greet you with a hug.

“i hope i didn’t wake you, i tried to be quiet while unpacking.” she says with a grin while rubbing your arms. you shake your head, mirroring her expression and she ushered you to sit down… next to bakugou.

“hi” you quietly greet the grumpy boy with a small smile, trying not to make him feel uncomfortable for pressing against him too much because mina took a seat next to you, sitting too closely. his left hand is resting on the backrest of the bench between you two and he’s only wearing a red wifebeater with black shorts, your thighs press tightly against his and you’re grateful he’s sitting like this because you’re not sure if you could handle being pressed against his hard chest. he only gives you a nod before he drinks from his water battle, his eyes are unreadable, his feature are blank. you must’ve made him upset because even when the two of you weren’t on talking terms, he never acted like this, so close yet so far away from you.

maybe he knows about your crush on him?

before you could overthink, mina turns towards you excitedly with sero and kaminari, asking for your opinion of something. it lead to you easily engaging in a conversation with them nearly forgetting about bakugou sitting next to you, realising that he hasn’t talked since you sat down. maybe he didn’t want to talk with you around?

“i’m gonna go and find ochaco, i’ll talk to you later okay?” you stood up and smiled at your friends as you excused yourself, kirishima looked at you with both brows raised, seemingly returned from somewhere. you only gave him a smile that didn’t reach your eyes but he only gave you a warm one back before turning towards his friends.

you walked towards where uraraka was sitting and when she made eye contact with you her rosy cheeks spread with a smile. you sat down next to her and she excitedly included you on what they were talking about with the dekusquad, feeling the lingering gaze of bakugou’s eyes on you, but you didn’t look at him at all.

bakugou didn’t want you to leave them, he knew he was acting differently and he didn’t talk during your conversation but he missed hearing you. hearing your voice is like a remedy for his aching heart and when you sat down, nearly pressing up against him, it took every ounce of his self control to not pull you close and have you nestled in his arms. like when kirishima had his arms around your shoulders, he so damn wished it was him holding you close like that and that’s why, he’ll ask you to talk to him after dinner.

dinner rolled around and you ate like a madman, snacks can only satisfy your appetite to a certain extent and the food that was served tasted like heaven. you still prefer bakugou’s cooking though. after dinner, a few still remained in their seats while others started to mingle. you were peacefully chatting with uraraka when her eyes jumped up and back down to you and before you could look up, a warm hand gently brushed against your shoulder.

“can we talk?” a deep voice rasps, your eyes look widely at uraraka who in turn only gives you a reassuring smile and you turn around to face bakugou.

“yeah, sure” you nervously smile and you swear your heart will come out of your throat at this rate. the rest of your way towards bakugou’s room is a blur as you follow him, your knees feel wobbly and you could empty your dinner on the floor.

bakugou let’s you in before himself and closes the door after the both of you are inside. it seems like he’s sharing a room with kirishima because the crimson riot blanket is something the redhead would own. that makes you feel a tad bit better and you sit down on kirishima’s bed, fingers finding the soft material of the blanket. bakugou sits down on his bed across from you, leaning back on his hands, vermillion eyes taking you in. his posture makes him look so sure of himself but that’s further away from how he actually feels. bakugou doesn’t know how to talk to you without feeling his heart racing or the tips of his ear turn red and the so called butterflies go wild in his stomach.

you patiently wait for him to start, the floor seems to be a great spot to look at and your leg is bouncing but it all stops when he finally starts talking to you “have i done somethin? you’ve been ignorin’ me lately.” he lowly grumbles, eyes never leaving you.

“i didn’t, no i-“ you don’t even know what to say, too caught off guard by his question. “i wasn’t uh ignoring you” you whisper nervously and you could faint right this instant.

“ya weren’t? ‘cos it felt like it” his voice sounded louder than before and now he leans back up with his arms crossed. “thought we started to get closer ya know” you look up at him when he says that, eyes slightly widen and he’s looking away from you now, pouting. he’ll knew if you lie to him, so you don’t know what to tell him. you’re scared to tell bakugou the truth about your feelings for him because you could ruin everything (you wouldn’t) you have with him.

“i couldn’t be around you knowing you like someone else” the words come out before you could stop them and you quickly cover your face after the realisation hits you. “i’m so dumb, i’m sorry. i know there is no chance of you liking me, like i didn’t even talk to you for years before ua because i was so damn mad, for how you treated izuku. and like i know i didn’t have a reason to, even izuku told me to not be afraid of you, i didn’t know if you’d end up hating me too during middle school. but you’re not a bad person on the inside, i’ve come to learn that and i really like being around you, i’ve realised there isn’t really anyone else for me but you and it hurts how much i need you knowing you don’t want me” you’re sobbing into your hands as the words come out wobbly and you can’t stop them leaving your lips.

it takes bakugou a few minutes to actually understand what you’re saying and he feels relieved knowing you feel the same as him. he quickly gathers his thoughts because you are literally breaking down infront of him and he’s just sitting there pouting like an idiot.

“oi, look at me” he gently pleaded as he kneeled down infront of you, large warm hands attached themselves to your smaller wrist to tug your hands out of his view. when you let him, your eyes are glossy and red, yet he still thinks you’re beautiful. “i- fuck, i was worried you’d never talk me again after how i acted. fuck, i don’t even know what i did to deserve even the smallest moments with ya.” he lets out a dry chuckle, but his eyes never leave yours. “when you started to be more open towards me, as much as i wished to, i didn’t want force myself on you and lose you again. i’ve always known since we were kids that i want to be with you.” his thumbs started to stroke your cheeks as he takes a hold of your face and you look at him bewilderingly from his confession. “and now you’re here tellin’ me what i’ve been craving to hear for years now, it feels fucking insane.” he leans in closer now, looking up at you with love filled eyes, hands wondering down from your face to your hips. “if you’ll have me, i’ll treat you like you deserve. so please have me (y/n)” he’s begging now, he will take whatever pain life throws at him, as long as you’re by his side.

“katsuki..” your voice is small, barely audible as you try to process what is going on, bakugou likes you. it’s you who he likes and he wants to be with you just as much as you want to be with him. “i’ll die if it isn’t you i’m with” you whimper and he pulls you closer to meet your body halfway. one of his hands sneak back up to your cheek and your arms wrap around his neck.

your lips finally meet, moulding perfectly together and it’s quite clumsy since it’s both of your first kiss, but it doesn’t matter. your hand sneaks up into his ash blonde hair to pull him closer to you before he leaves for a second to breath, and then leans back in, both hands now placed on your hips again and pulls you impossibly close. his tongue is licking at your bottom lip to let him in, which you do and completely let go of yourself.

suddenly you feel your back pressed against the soft mattress and bakugou is above you, kissing you like it’s your last one. a hand wanders down your thighs and he pulls away a little to ask for permission and when you lean back up for more, he moves your thigh out of the way and presses himself closer. now with your hips touching, you whimper into the kiss when he ruts into as gently as he can, he pulls away to kiss along your jaw and down to your neck, trying to find that sweet spot of yours. you moan when he kisses where your shoulder and neck meets and he starts to kiss, lick and suck at the spot all at once.

your thighs squeeze his waist as his movement never stop and the repeated actions on your neck doesn’t help either. when bakugou finishes he leaves with a small kiss on the bruising spot and moves back to your lips. the kiss this time is more hungry and hot, but before things could be taken any further, bakugou leans back and moves so you two can see each other.

“let me take you out first, princess” he looks down at you with a soft look and his lips are plump and wet from the kiss.

“okay” you smile wildly at him and he pulls the both of you up so the both of you are sitting up and brings you in his arms.

“i’m so fucking happy that you finally came around, it was worth to wait all these years” he whispers against your ears and you let out a giggle.

“thank you for waiting for me kats” you peck his lips and for the first time ever, bakugou’s face breaks out in a large grin.

(midoriya, uraraka, kirishima and mina were all standing outside the room until the two of you started kissing. they all smiled to each other, feeling happy for their friends and relieved that the two of you finally confessed)

#bnha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x yn #bnha x reader

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tarotwithavi · 1 year

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You from the eyes of your future lover/future spouse

Read part 1 here

How to choose a pile?

Take a deep breath and close your eyes. Kindly ask your spirit guides to show you the right pile for yourself and then open your eyes. Whichever pile catches your attention is the right pile for you.

For my female audience , I'll be using she/her pronouns in this post.

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Pile 1

When I'm with her, I feel an overwhelming sense of strength and confidence, as if I could conquer any challenge that comes my way. She embodies everything that brings me joy and fulfillment. Being in her presence makes me feel like the luckiest person in the world because I have her by my side. Her mere existence has the power to make my wildest dreams a reality. Not only does she inspire me to reach for the stars, but she also motivates me to become a better version of myself. Her influence pushes me to strive for greatness in all aspects of life. Just knowing that she is there for me, supporting me, and believing in me, helps me heal wounds that were never caused by her. Her presence alone has a transformative effect on my well-being, bringing me solace and restoration. If her love were poison, I would willingly drink it without hesitation or remorse. Such is the depth of my devotion and the extent to which I value her affection. I yearn to be of assistance to her, to be a reliable pillar she can lean on. I aspire to be her rock, her unwavering support, providing comfort and strength whenever she needs it. Being with her fills me with an indescribable sense of empowerment and joy. She is my beacon of happiness, encouraging me to strive for greatness and inspiring me to become the best version of myself. Her love and presence heal me in ways I never thought possible, and I am eager to reciprocate by being her steadfast support and ally.

Pile 2

Describing her is a challenging task, for she possesses a depth that transcends the confines of ordinary words. She carries an aura that attracts wealth and prosperity wherever she ventures, as if they were faithful companions by her side. From a distance, she appears strong and bold, yet I sense a vulnerable little girl hiding within her, fearful of the harshness this world can wield. She has distanced herself from those around her, for nobody has truly comprehended her essence. No one has made an earnest effort to unravel the intricate puzzle of her being. My deepest desire is to be the one who unravels that enigma, the person who embraces the challenge of understanding her complexities. I yearn to discover every missing piece and gently place it in its rightful position, completing the beautiful picture that is her. I want to penetrate the walls she has built, to listen to her unspoken fears and insecurities, and to offer solace and understanding. By becoming the person who comprehends her deepest self, I hope to bridge the gap between her and the world that often fails to perceive her true nature. I want to be the companion who supports her unconditionally, providing comfort and encouragement as she navigates through life's labyrinth. It is my aspiration to create an environment where she can fully express herself, knowing that she is truly seen, heard, and appreciated.

Pile 3

The moment our eyes met, I was immediately captivated by her essence, as if an invisible force had bound my heart to hers. Prior to meeting her, I had been skeptical of love at first sight, dismissing it as a mere romantic notion. However, in her presence, all doubts were washed away by the sheer brilliance of her beauty. She has bewitched me completely, leaving no room for retreat. Even if her allure leads to my demise, I would embrace it willingly, for the privilege of experiencing her presence outweighs any consequences. Her presence has an intoxicating effect on me, causing me to lose my composure in the most enchanting way. It is as if she holds the power to unravel the layers of my soul, igniting a fire within me that I cannot control. My hands yearn to touch her, to explore every corner of her body, as if searching for an uncharted territory that only she possesses. Every flaw she may perceive within herself, I view as perfect imperfections, enhancing her unique beauty and making her all the more irresistible. Words fail to fully express the depth of my admiration for her. She is a work of art, a masterpiece without blemish in my eyes. I am eager to shower her with praise, to extol every facet of her being, and to make her feel cherished beyond measure. In her presence, I find myself stripped of pretenses and laid bare, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. It is an indescribable sensation, this all-consuming affection, where reason and logic are overshadowed by an overwhelming desire to be closer to her. She has become the center of my universe, a gravitational force pulling me toward her. To love her is to lose myself willingly, surrendering to the magnetic power she holds over me.

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enter-the-bogman · 1 year

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Reading through the Tortall books in publication order is funny because you start with Alanna “the village healing woman taught me all she knew” going off to become a knight, and end with Numair “world’s most powerful mage” as young Arram Draper first learning magic at the Carthaki university. Because of the 40 intervening years and five(?) different series further developing the Tortall universe, the magic system is now SO much more complex. Arram is learning an elementally-based, heavily theory-dependent form of magic where conceptual power is applied to physical objects or energy constructs. His teachers make him develop skills in non-magical areas like juggling, jewelry making, and gardening so eventually they can safely guide him through complicated applications of magic. In comparison, Alanna complains that Duke Roger is spending too much time on theory in order to prevent her and her peers from learning “actual magic” and becoming his rivals. And then she throws purple light at things until they explode or she passes out! We also learn from Arram’s misadventures that most of “magic” is creating methods of applying, storing, and accessing power so the user doesn’t drain their own life force and pass out or die. Alanna uses NONE of these techniques; instead, she pulls her magic directly out of her own life force, thinks about what she wants it to do, and hopes she reaches that goal before draining herself. She even (sometimes) factors in the impact of magically draining herself of energy while attempting tasks that require both magical and physical endurance (such as when deciding how much magic to spend warming herself when making her blizzard hike to claim the Dominion Jewel.)

For one thing, this makes Alanna insanely powerful. In In the Hand of The Goddess, she breaks open Roger’s magically locked door (presumably designed by Roger himself-- an immensely strong and well-trained sorcerer) by shoving her own magic into it until it MELTS. This builds an Alanna who decided magical theory was useless at age 12 because she has an immense access to magical potential energy, and who never learns the basic life-preserving models of magic usage that are taught in intro-level classes. She doesn’t have an interest in learning more sophisticated forms of magic, except in healing, which she cared about enough to learn non-magically. So when she heals, she uses magic as a guide or a supplement, rather than depending on it and then draining herself. Since she isn’t attempting complex magic, most of the time the limitations of drawing directly from her own life force doesn’t impact her that much. The things she does magically all have much more efficient alternatives, but they require an understanding of magical theory and ability to store energy that Alanna never learned! If she wants to do larger spells, she just keeps feeding energy into it until it breaks or she does.

The intervening series and Numair’s story makes Alanna’s simultaneously more and less believable. It now makes sense why everyone with even a slight understanding of Alanna’s type of Gift gets angry at times and tells her she’s using magic irresponsibly. (Before, we only understood Alanna’s side of the argument: “Well, I didn’t die and it worked, so calm down.” !!!) The fact that she never actually dies and only rarely is seriously harmed through her own magic use now requires some suspension of disbelief!

#I would love to see the moment when numair first saw alanna use her magic #and realizes that she pulls from her own life force to light a CANDLE #i'm sure they'd have a huge fight with numair trying to convince alanna to at least TRY meditating and alanna refusing out of stubborness #tamora pierce #sincerely cockleburr #tortall #alanna of trebond

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pugh-bug · 1 month

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No.42 Chapter 1

Art Donaldson x reader : slow burn friends to lovers

I finally wrote chapter 1, I hope you all enjoy it! I’m excited for this slow burn

You widened your eyes at Patrick’s casual declaration. As his words: ‘Art’s gonna come live with us for a while’ hung in the air, you watched your best friend of ten years destroy a churro like it didn’t matter. Flat No.42 had been your sanctuary for four years with nothing but Patrick’s film commentating disrupting your peace. The two of you had a rhythm. An understanding of how the other lived and wanted to live, a schedule for taking out the recycling that Patrick stubbornly ignored.

You had game nights, movie marathons all without anyone having to third wheel. You weren’t ready to give that up, not even for Art Donaldson a man you’d been acting a fool around since Patrick introduced you.

‘Y/N,’

As usual your face concealed nothing.

‘Be good about this okay? Liam kicked him out to move in with his girlfriend, the least I can do is let him live with us for a while.’

You tried to picture watching tv with Art or looking up from your cereal in the morning to be greeted with his sleepy, cute face and messy curls. It took half a second before Patrick asked why you were smiling and even less for you to force a complexed frown.

‘Okay so when’s he moving in?’

Patrick wiped his sugar dusted hands on his ‘I told ya’ shirt, gaging your reaction with amusement. ‘Today, probably 6.’ So much notice - not that you were surprised the man once woke you up 2 hours before a flight he forgot he’d booked for the two of you.

‘Thanks for the heads up.’

——————————————————————

Forever the most organised member of the fire and ice duo, Art was at your door at 6pm exactly. Patrick opened the door as if it was Christmas Day and Art was Santa himself, you’d seen him smile brightly countless times but he actually glowed around Art. It was sweet, only sometimes sickeningly, and you understood the obsession. Art was the type of person lonely people craved.

‘Have my room, I’ll take the sofabed.’

Art broke away from Patrick’s bear hug to widen his eyes. You couldn’t help but smile at Art’s reaction to his friends generous offer. Patrick had a way of being there for his friends in such a way that never made them feel like they owed him. He had always been kind because of who he was, not for any accolades yet it somehow seemed to amaze Art every time.

‘Y/N,’ He turned to look at you, walking over confidently. The two of you had only started hugging in the last month, and usually only at the end of days spent with Patrick. He always hugged Patrick first.

‘Welcome to our piece of shit flat,’ you chuckled, as Art pulled you into a short but sweet hug. It took all of your strength. and did every time, not to pull him even closer to you. He always smelt of strawberry scented shampoo and the occasional cigarette which on anyone else you would have hated, you didn’t smoke, but on Art was heaven.

Art liked his own space, as did you, so for a few hours you let him unpack and relax on his own whilst you caught up on work. It wasn’t until Patrick ransacked his/Art’s room for a tie that the equilibrium of the flat was disturbed. ‘I’ve got a date!’ He exclaimed, ignoring the horror in Art’s face. He’d been on his twentieth push up and hated being watched.

Rushing out the door, using one hand to dress himself and the other to text the girl he was going to be late, Patrick made a lot of noise. You and Art were stood in the living room watching his antics with equal amounts of amusement and judgement. When he finally made it outside, Art watched you lock the door behind him.

‘Lucky girl.’

You raised an eyebrow, not sure if he was joking.

‘She won’t feel it when he eats all her food as well as his.’

Art smiled at your quip, knowing it was absolutely true, and thought to himself how nice it was going to be to get to know you better.

Chapter 2

#challengers #challengers art donaldson #art donaldson fan fic #art donaldson fanfic #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson friends to lovers #art donaldson slow burn #challengers slow burn #art donaldson #no.42

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joelscruff · 1 year

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stress relief (boyfriend's dad!joel x f!reader) 18+

this is part of my boyfriend's dad!joel series and takes place relatively early on in their relationship, between "safety" and "quickie". so due to me getting covid, i haven't written anything in the past little while. i'm still struggling with a lot of brain fog but i needed some more boyfriend's dad!joel in my life so here we are. hope yall like it 💕 and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip (completely optional but always appreciated). summary: joel has a deadline he has to meet. perfect time for you to try cockwarming ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ratings: 18+ explicit (mdni) warnings: age gap, daddy kink, unprotected p in v sex, cockwarming, creampie, biting (blink and you'll miss it), cheating word count: 3.4k

sex with joel starts slow and easy.

the next time you see him, about a week after that tender moment between the two of you, you have sex with him in his office. it's quiet and careful, a private rendezvous that your boyfriend is blissfully unaware of. he games downstairs in his bedroom while his father pushes his cock inside of you and kisses you sweetly, over and over. your hands tangle in his hair, his glasses bumping against your nose until they fall to the floor along with your panties and his belt.

"oh honey," he groans in your ear as he fucks you deep, your hands digging into the cotton of his sweater as you lay beneath him on the couch, "that's it, sweetheart, there you go." his words have a power over you that you can't define, can only feel. you shudder and pull him closer as you come on his cock, whimpering in his ear.

"daddy," you find yourself whining; it's the first time you've said it out loud, and for a moment you're scared he'll stop, your hands still scrambling against his back and trying to pull him closer in case he does.

he doesn't say anything at first, but he pulls back and looks down at you with a curiosity in his soft brown eyes that doesn't seem disgusted or angry. your fingers dig into his back and you pull your lip between your teeth, panting as he continues to fuck you slow.

"daddy," you whisper again, staring directly in his eyes; a challenge? a message? you're not sure. he stares back for a few more moments, a few more thrusts. and then-

"that's right, babygirl," he murmurs, picking up the pace and reaching down to cradle your face in his big hands, thumbing your warm cheeks, "takin' it so good for your daddy, aren't you?"

and that's it. no complex conversations, no questions or arguments, he takes it at face value and that's that. he understands you. he knows that you need this. no judgement.

he finishes inside you - upon your request. you've been on birth control for a long time and you trust him, somehow even more than your own boyfriend. he wraps his arms around you tightly on the couch, pistons into you while you tug at his hair and moan against his lips. he fucks his come deep inside you until you see stars, then kisses you all over and murmurs the sweetest things, tells you you're perfect, that you did so well. the words and actions leave you in a state of pleasure and contentment you've never felt before. not until him.

he cleans you up and gets you dressed and then holds you in his lap while you bury your face in his neck and tell him all the things that have been bothering you lately. he listens and hums and kisses your nose and tells you he'll be here for you always. and you believe him.

"thank you, daddy," you say softly to him as you leave his office; he seems surprised by the word in a non-sexual context, eyebrows going up. but his surprised expression quickly fades into a tender smile.

"you're welcome, sweetheart," he says, voice soft and kind, "text me if you need to."

the next time you go back, you're afraid he'll have changed his mind. now that he's had you, fucked you, part of you anticipates that he'll end it, especially considering the daddy shit. you plan out in your head what you want to say before he can get a chance to break it off: i've never called anyone it before, it just slipped out. i just feel so safe with you. if it makes you uncomfortable i won't say it anymore, but please don't leave me. please.

it turns out your speech is unnecessary. when you find a free moment to sneak up to his office, he immediately pulls you into his arms and kisses your forehead, trails his fingers up and down your back and whispers, "how's daddy's girl?"

you don't worry about it anymore after that.

"are you stressed?" you ask him one evening, that special day of the week when your boyfriend is beyond distracted by a tournament and barely even registers your existence; you'd come up to joel's office about fifteen minutes ago and he still hasn't noticed you never came back.

you've been watching joel work; that's what you like a lot about this relationship - it's not always about sex. sometimes you just sit in each other's presence, him working while you study a bit for a community college exam you've got coming up. you feel so safe just co-existing with him, never bored or on edge like you are when you're with your boyfriend.

joel is poring over blueprints at his desk, running his hands through his hair and grimacing down at the stack of papers like they're his worst enemy. he looks up at you when you speak, throws you a crooked smile.

"a little bit, honey," he says, eyes scanning back down at the papers as he gnaws his bottom lip, "got a job comin' up and we don't have nearly enough people to get it done in time. tryin' to figure out a schedule without overworkin' these poor folks."

you smile softly, "you're a good boss."

he shakes his head and chuckles to himself, "i don't know about that, but i'm sure as hell tryin'."

he leans back in his desk chair and sighs deeply, pushing his glasses down his nose and thumbing the space between his eyebrows like he always does when he's a little stressed. the way he pushes his legs open, presses up against the back of the chair... it looks like the perfect place to sit.

you get up from the couch and seat yourself in his lap, smirking when he doesn't even protest. he just leans back and smiles up at you, clicking his teeth and shaking his head, "you here to de-stress me?" he asks playfully, one of his hands coming up to squeeze your ass through your shorts.

"maaaybe," you reply melodically, rotating your hips a bit and smiling when you feel his cock already starting to harden in his pants, "if you'll let me."

he sighs to himself, still smiling but shaking his head, "you know i can't today, babygirl. got so much on my plate, need to have it done by five."

"i know," you pout, bringing your hands up to massage his shoulders a bit; his eyes close at your touch, lips parting as he enjoys a brief moment of pleasure, "i just hate seeing you stressed."

he grunts at that, eyes still closed as he leans back even further in the chair. you take this opportunity to grind your hips down into him again, your clothed pussy already getting wet with the sensation. he's almost fully hard now; it's so easy to get him turned on, to make him hard. how he has a better sex drive than your boyfriend is a complete mystery to you - the man is in his 40s and still manages to fuck you every time you ask for it, no pills necessary, sometimes not even any foreplay. meanwhile you can barely even recall the last time your boyfriend gave you any kind of worthwhile experience.

you lean forward to rest your head in the crook of his shoulder, still rubbing and grinding as you whisper in his ear, "want you inside."

he groans, low and quiet, "fuck, sweetheart, why are you doin' this to me?" he doesn't sound irritated, proving it to you when his hands come up to slowly caress your back, "you know how hard it is for me to say no to you."

"then don't," you whisper, breath hot and wet in his ear. your hands move from his shoulders and carefully begin to undo his belt, fingers fumbling slightly due to the odd angle.

"honey, i gotta do my work," he murmurs, but you feel him press a soft kiss to the side of your face, almost like he's encouraging you to keep going, "daddy's busy right now."

you free his belt from its loops and toss it aside, your thighs loosening around him as you go for his zipper and start to pull it down, "then keep doing your work, i just wanna sit on it."

"oh fuck," he mutters, swallowing tightly as you finish unzipping him and begin to tug his waistband down. you both watch as his cock springs free, big and solid between you. you're practically dripping in your underwear, only getting wetter at the sight of him.

"can i sit on it, daddy?" you breathe, pulling back a bit to look into his eyes and give him your most innocent and pleading stare, "please?"

he groans again, shaky and husky as he begins to quickly nod, "yeah, okay, babygirl, you wanna sit on it? you sit on it."

with elation warming your chest you hurriedly stand up and yank off your shorts and underwear, loving the feeling of his eyes on your pussy for the briefest moment before you're back in his lap. he's dripping precum and you use it to your advantage, thumbing it from the tip and spreading it along his length in a few slow pumps. he moans softly and you smirk as you pull yourself up to position him at your entrance, warm and wet.

"you just keep doing what you're doing," you murmur in his ear as you slowly ease yourself down on his cock, letting out a few shaky whimpers, "a-and i'll just sit here 'til you're done."

he waits until he's fully sheathed inside of you to speak, one of his hands squeezing your ass again as he bottoms out, "and you really think you can just sit there without movin', huh?"

you nod, burying your face in his neck again and pressing your body tighter against his, gasping slightly when you feel the head of his cock prod your favorite spot deep inside you. he's so big and thick, exactly what you need every single time.

"i guess we'll see," he says softly, then carefully wheels the chair a bit closer to his desk, hands moving to grip your thighs as he goes back to his blueprints. the movement makes you whimper again, eyes shutting as you gasp into his skin, "i know, babygirl," he murmurs, "i know."

you both do surprisingly well for the first ten minutes or so. it's certainly an adjustment, having joel's cock so deep inside you without any sort of riding or thrusting, or any movement at all for that matter. you close your eyes and just focus on the feeling of being held, being full. you inhale his cologne and bask in the comfort and safety of it, nuzzle against the scruff of his beard and settle more loosely into his lap.

joel manages to do some work, pencil scratching here and there as he crosses things out and adds new things in, consults lists and tries to organize things better. you like listening to him work, like it even better when you can sit like this and be so close to him while he does it. why haven't you tried this sooner? there's something so relaxing about it, so soothing.

you wonder if your boyfriend has noticed your absence yet; it's almost like a game for you at this point, finding out when exactly he cares to notice that you're not in his room anymore, that you're not just sitting on his bed watching him yell at people online. it usually takes about an hour or so, and by that point you and joel have usually finished. you wish you had more time to spare with him, wish you could just be with him like this without the constant time limit looming over your head.

"feels so good," you find yourself whispering softly, and the sound of your voice makes his cock pulse inside you; you smirk at the reaction.

"it does," he agrees quietly, typing something into his computer but wasting no time in turning his head slightly to kiss your temple, "so tight around me, baby."

"love being full of you," you murmur, placing a kiss against his jaw in return, "love your cock."

he hums and noses your cheek, still typing something as he does it. you can't help but think of all the times you tried to show your boyfriend some affection while he was gaming and had just been met with anger and irritation. meanwhile joel has a deadline he's trying to meet but still makes time for this. the difference is staggering.

things start to get a bit difficult around the twenty minute mark; joel had moved the chair slightly and it had somehow resulted in his cock pushing just a little bit further inside, brushing the spot that makes you crazy. you're tensing around him now, breaths coming out a bit shorter as you dig your nails into his back and try your hardest not to move. he knows something's different, can feel the way your body language has changed in his lap.

"just a few more minutes, babygirl," he whispers, one of his hands dancing soothingly along your back, "almost done."

"i can't," you find yourself whining, thighs tightening in his lap as the head of his cock pulses and throbs against the deepest part of you, "i can't daddy, it's so much."

"i know," he murmurs, still rubbing your back as he clicks a few things with his mouse, "i know, baby, it's so deep, huh? but you can do it, just two more minutes."

you nod against his shoulder and whimper pitifully, wishing and hoping internally that it'll somehow be less than that. you're so wet, body aching as you brace down on his cock and wrap your arms tightly around him in the chair. you can feel every inch of him within your walls, every vein, every heavy throb, so big and thick inside of you that you almost want to cry. you're so full of him and so overwhelmed by his scent surrounding you, pulling you in.

"daddy," you whimper, biting down on your lip to try and keep your voice down, "daddy, i'm gonna come."

he's done clicking the mouse and back to typing, hand coming down from your back as he does the last few finishing touches to the schedule he's been working on this whole time, "that's alright, honey," he says quietly, "that's okay, you can come."

"n-need to move, just a little bit," you whisper, "just for a second."

"thought you said you'd be able to stay still, babygirl?" he murmurs, a hint of playfulness in his voice, "thought you just wanted to sit on daddy's cock, nothin' else?"

you whine in his ear, arms tightening around him, "i can't," you moan, almost shaking as your orgasm stirs in your belly, so close but so far, "it's too much, it's too big, i-"

"shhh," his hands are suddenly at your hips, fingers pressing into the soft skin as he holds you firmly on his cock, "it's okay, baby, i'm done, i'm all done."

"you are?" you pull back to look at him and you're ridiculously surprised to see that he looks just as wrecked as you feel; he's taken off his glasses, brow furrowed in pleasure while spots of red bloom across his skin. his eyes are dark and hooded, lips wet and red like he's spent the past half an hour biting them - he probably has.

"i am," he says, voice deep and husky, "you did so good, sweetheart, so good for me," his gaze falls to where you're connected, and you can both see the way your wetness has stained his jeans, his underwear. he groans at the sight and pulls you against him again, one hand pressing flat against your back while the other travels upward to tangle in your hair, "hold on to me, angel."

it's all the warning you get before he's fucking up into you, hard and fast. it's like you haven't both spent the past twenty five minutes in quiet agony, the way he holds you tight and fucks you like you only have a few minutes. and maybe you do - you never know when your boyfriend might knock on the office door, wondering where you are. but that's part of the fun.

"there you go" he grunts in your ear, and you swear you feel him smile against your skin when you start to come, body shaking around him as you cry out and hold onto him tighter, "that's what my babygirl needed, huh?"

it's so hard to be quiet when you're having sex with joel - it's arguably the best sex of your life every single time. you're so close to screaming from the pleasure, from the relentless thrusts of his cock against your cervix while his balls slap against your ass. you have no choice but to dig your teeth into the thick cotton of his sweater, hoping he'll be okay with it, that it won't hurt him too much.

"oh fuck," he groans; clearly he's okay with it because the second your teeth dig into him he's gone, hips stuttering as he stills inside of you and pumps you full, fingers digging perfectly into your hips just the way you like.

you try to say daddy but your mouth is too full for the word to sound like anything substantial, though somehow he knows what you're trying to say. his hands come up to hold you close to him again, his lips pressing kiss after kiss along your cheek and jaw, murmuring praises until he's finished.

both of you sit there in silence for a few moments, catching your breaths and just existing with each other. eventually you have to clamor out of his lap, cock slipping out and making you both moan at the loss. it feels so strange to not have him inside anymore, not after being connected for so long.

he stands and tucks himself back into his pants, zipping himself up and looping his belt while you tug your panties back on. he watches, eyes still dark as you finger some of his come back inside yourself before pulling up your shorts. if there's anything you've both learned from these secret sessions, it's that you love being full of his release. and he loves that you love it.

"that was certainly something," he says with a breathless laugh, eyes coming back up to meet yours, "lasted much longer than i thought i would."

you grin, "did you actually get your work done?"

he grimaces, eyeing the computer, "i think so, but i'm gonna have to check it again and make sure i didn't accidentally put something about your pussy in there."

you feel yourself flush, looking shyly down at the floor, "yeah, that'd be bad."

he takes a step toward you and brings you in for a hug, kissing the top of your head a few times before settling his chin there. you shiver and press your face against his chest, unable to stop tears from pricking in your eyes. you squeeze him tighter and he tilts his head down a bit, nosing your hair, "what's on your mind, sweetheart?" god, he always knows when your mind is somewhere else, can always tell when there's something you're not saying.

"i just..." you sigh contentedly against his chest, squeezing your eyes shut and reveling in the safety of his embrace, "i just really like being with you, joel."

you don't say the other thing you're feeling, the big L word that's starting to feel like a weight on your chest every time you're with him. but it's only been two months, not to mention you're literally dating his son. how did you manage to get in this situation? how have you managed to fall in love with your boyfriend's father?

"i really like being with you too," he whispers softly, presses another kiss to your hair.

and it's enough for now.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #*#fic: bd!joel

2K notes · View notes

animehideout · 8 months

Text

HAIKYUU BOYS RED AND GREEN FLAGS ( IMO ) Part I ❤️💚

check out part II here

A/N: It's been a while since I last posted kn tumblr. I've been posting on Wattpad so If you want to check my books there here's my ID : narae_99.

I hope you enjoy this, I'll post the other parts soon..

Characters: Kageyama - Oikawa - Kuroo - Kenma.

➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖

Kageyama Tobio:

Green flags 💚:

• A good listener

• Gives you 100% honest opinion.

• Smells really good.

• Won't cheat , like never.

• Gives you personal space.

Red flags ❤️:

• Type to give you the silent treatment.

• Would be serious most of the time.

• Would take time to get used to your humor.

• Would judge you lowkey, and feel the second hand embarrassment if you ever did something weird.

Oikawa Tooru:

Green flags 💚:

• Smart.

• He loves skinship.

• Not afraid of pda.

• He motivates you.

• buys you gifts.

• He's open about your relationship ( shows you off ).

Red flags ❤️:

• Egocentric even in the relationship.

• Flexing all the time it may lead to you feeling insecure.

• God complex.

• can be offensive sometimes.

• Would make fun of you in a joking way but it could be really extreme.

Kuroo Tetsuroo:

Green flags 💚:

• Romantic af.

• A gentleman.

• Committed and very serious about you.

• Talks about your future together.

• Manly 🤌🏻

• Expect a lot of gifts 🎁.

Red flags ❤️:

• Very possessive.

• Overprotective.

•He's the captain so expect him to be bossy even in your relationship.

• Tries to dominate you in almost everything.

• Gets extremely jealous over the slightest things.

• Won't allow a man breathe your direction.

Kozume Kenma:

Green flags 💚:

• Loves you truly.

• Would never cheat on you.

• Respects your boundaries.

• Comfortable silence.

• Understanding and patient.

• Takes good care of you when you're sick.

Red flags ❤️:

• Can't express his feelings.

• Wouldn't initiate any kind of skinship.

• Most of the time he's busy playing video games, so he wouldn't give you much attention.

• Type to give you the silent treatment as well when he's angry.

A/N: Who would you date?

616 notes · View notes

bvidzsoo · 10 days

Text

Love Me Like A Rockstar (Special Chapter)

Special Chapter: High In Low Places

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Song Mingi x female reader

Warning: cussing

Word count: 8k

Genre: university!au, enemies to lovers!au, rockstar!au

Rating: sfw

Summary: Love. You wanted none of it. You had already been heartbroken very badly once, you didn't wish to go through that ever again. But the Universe works in intricate ways and, somehow, you found yourself webbed up in a local rockstar's life, Song Mingi. He was everything you expected him to be, yet nothing like you imagined him he would be. What happens when you find mutual understanding and have heartful conversations? Will he be able to break down your walls? Will you be able to chase away his darkness?

A/N: Hello, loveliees! As promised, you won't have to wait so much for updates anymore! ^^ I am so-so curious of what you will think of this chapter, I think it has a special place in my heart. I think I could have written it much better, but this is how it turned out, I hope it's still good. Before you start reading, I'd like to point out that reader (y/n) in this chapter is referred to as: she/her! ^^ Listen to High In Low Places before or while reading this chapter, and check out the author's note at the end of the chapter as well, it's important hehe! Let me know your thoughts and as always, I hope you enjoy, happy reading! divider

Taglist: @orshii @or5i @lovely-red2 @scarfac3 @juicy-red

@sunaswifes-blog @voicesinmyhead-rc @teez-the-time @maru-matt @kyeos4ng

@deathbyyeekies @chicksmoothie @mjlbn01 @xhexy @tmtxtf

@hwashiningstar @thatfavouritesong @ateez-atiny380

⟨Series M.list ↭ Previous Chapter⟩

♫Playlist♫

Mingi’s POV:

The studio apartment Mingi can afford for himself isn’t the biggest, let alone the fanciest, but it’s a nice home. It’s cozy now that he’s finally decorated it to his liking. Yunho always complained about the emptiness of the walls whenever he came over, so now, they are decorated with prints of Mingi’s favorite artists, musicians, and anime posters. Yeah, Mingi, apparently, is still into anime. It appears so that his mother’s ‘predictions’ of him outgrowing his ‘phase’—ironically, she’s said this both about his ‘phases’ when he got into anime and on the day he finally mustered up the courage to tell her that he wanted to become a musician—so, to put it simply, yes, Mingi is still into anime at the fragile age of twenty-three, and yes, he will always be into anime, even at the not so fragile age of seventy-five.

However, about the musician part…if Noir Zenith have a break-through and make it into the industry, all of Mingi’s dreams will be accomplished. Well, most of his dreams. He fears he cannot beat the record of eating seventy-six hot dogs in ten minutes—what an accomplishment it would be though. Mingi knows he’s good—surprisingly, around two years ago, he finally started believing in himself—and he has a silver of hope that if Noir Zenith don’t make it big, he can have a successful solo career still. His professors say so, at least, and so does Yunho. The second person who’s opinion counts the most to Mingi. The first would be his professors’ opinions—and maybe hers, but Mingi isn’t yet ready for that conversation. Not that there needs to be a conversation about it. Yeah, Mingi is pretty hardcore into her and sometimes he wonders if others can see it. If she can see it.

She’s like an enigma, hard to read, yet, at the same time an open book. That’s how Mingi sees her, at least. He thinks he’s never met such a complex and beautiful person inside out. He wonders if she wouldn’t have been so animus towards him at the beginning, whether they could have started out as something other than friends—considering the wishful fantasy that she did recognize the progress that’s been made between them, leading to a potential friendship. At least that’s how Mingi sees things. He wants more, of course he does, but he will never force her into doing something she’s not comfortable with. Maybe she’ll never like him the way he likes her, and that’s fine with Mingi. He can sit back and support her from the shadows if that means he gets to see her happy and content with herself and her life.

Will it absolutely crush his heart and turn him into the emo boy he was back in highschool? Absolutely. Does that stop him from silently yearning for her to return his feelings at the end of each day? No, it doesn’t. But that’s just who Mingi is. A sore loser who loves deeply, cares about everyone else first before he cares about himself, sacrifices himself for them and regularly throws himself under the bus for these people. Maybe that’s why having Yunho as his best friend is such a blessing in disguise. Yunho had taught him a few tricks, helped him become more independent and less sacrificial—but you know, Mingi could never fully get rid of that core part of his personality.

He's cooped up at his makeshift studio at home—really, it’s just a large oak desk pushed up against the wall of his bedroom, a mixer and laptop placed on it with tons of notebooks and scattered pencils around, his expensive headset that was totally a gift from Yunho when he started university, and his shitty microphone that he should change soon if he wants to keep producing at home—and then there’s a distant rumble in the distance, the storm is coming back. It’s been raining quite often lately, and Mingi hates the rain. He prefers to cozy up underneath his favorite blanket—yeah, it’s totally yellow and it totally has chicks on it, sue him, it was a gift from Wooyoung, after all, for his birthday two years ago—and whenever it rains, Mingi likes to drink some hot chocolate and watch a really sappy movie. If he cries, no, he doesn’t, at least he wouldn’t admit it to anyone—maybe Seonghwa, but that would be embarrassing still. He has an electronic piano in his living room snuggled up in the corner of the room, taking up quite the place of his already small enclosure, but Mingi is a musician, he needs his instruments at hand at all times. Hence the three guitars lining his wall in his bedroom, behind his back, as he’s currently clicking through folders on his laptop.

He needs to work on his music—he’s behind on two assignments, and the thing is, Mingi’s been inspired often lately, and so, there are many unfinished lyrics and beats waiting for him to return to and complete them, but most require of him to be in a certain mood. Like the one he is in right now, jittery a little bit, and maybe caffeinated to the point he should make sure his heart wouldn’t bail on him. Fear not, though, it’s not his first time. After all, Mingi is a university student and this is nothing compared to the three all-nighters he pulled one after the other last year after he procrastinated badly. If it wasn’t for Seonghwa and his worrisome nature—okay, maybe Mingi wouldn’t be here right now, but he tends to stop his brain from straying towards thoughts as such. He’s had dark moments in his life before, and recalling them would completely destroy his mood.

As he clicks open another folder, Mingi pauses. Okay, so, the thing is…Mingi is a loser. And he’s so deep in this unclear relationship—friendship—that’s got his mind preoccupied lately, that if anyone were to see the folder with her name in his laptop—yeah, he’d be mortified. You see, these songs aren’t about her, per se—they totally are, but Mingi is a scared loser and he won’t admit it just yet—these songs are for her. You know, from a friend to a friend—he hasn’t dedicated any songs to Yunho yet, but let’s ignore that detail—and Mingi really hopes that one day she’ll be able to listen to these totally friendly songs that aren’t about her. Yeah.

Mingi opens the newest folder and his eyes fall on the latest documents he’s been working on. He had composed the beat for this song a while ago, when he was still unsure whether Seonghwa and Wooyoung would be up to explore something that is more indie, but now it’s been the center of his attention for a while now. For two weeks, precisely. He’s meticulous when it comes to lyrics writing, it’s an irritating defect he has, at least that’s how he sees it. But his professors always praise him for how lyric and poetic, at times, his lyrics are, so he takes pride in that and tries not to get mad at himself for taking so long to finish one goddamn lyrics.

He licks his plush lips and pushes up his glasses on the bridge of his nose as they were close to slipping off. And sue him, really do so, but he has noticed her staring at his glasses quite often. And her eyebrows always furrow just a little, deep eyes hyper fixating on his nose and glasses. Mingi can’t say for sure, but he’s pretty sure she’s bothered by his lack of unbotheredness whether his glasses are slipping off his nose or not. Sometimes he forgets he’s wearing his glasses, that’s why. He clicks on the document and it opens, so he takes his headphones and puts them on, pursing his lips as he grabs one of his notebook’s and a pencil.

‘Me and you/Me and you are fireproof’ – The beat starts off simple, nothing too crazy or jumpy. Mingi wanted the beats to be calm and chill, kind of crawl in your ears at the first listen. His raspy voice is smooth too, void of its usual raspiness this time. He can rarely control that, but after much experimenting, Mingi realized if he loosens his throat enough and sings deep in his throat, his voice comes out softer and less raspy.

‘Always try to blame my youth/I just wanna be your muse’ – The beat is steady, Seonghwa will love the fact that he gets to play the drums so early into the song, and Mingi’s voice drops significantly. He loves playing with intonations, he loves putting emotion into his words, into his voice. It’s like a play for him, a game of playing hide and seek with whichever emotion he wants to show or mask through his voice. Right now, it’s sultry, it’s breathy, and it’s exactly the way he’s intended it to be.

‘Neon light leads us to the end of time/'Cause I can see infinity in your eyes, in your eyes’ – Mingi closes his eyes as he lets the music take over him, pencil tapping against his notebook rhythmically. And he’s taken by his own words, finding himself relating to them more and more as days pass by. Whenever he closes his eyes, he can see hers, deep and dark in its color, blending in with his, always holding his gaze fiercely. Mingi’s been told that he’s an intimidating person at first glance—eyes, nose, cheekbones sharp—his face expressive and rarely hiding how he’s truly feeling, but that’s just first impressions, because Mingi is anything but cold or unfriendly. And whenever she holds his gaze, Mingi cannot help but try to ignore the way his heart jumps in his chest, pulse quickening. And whenever she smirks or her eyes crinkle from her laughter, Mingi thinks he’s getting deeper and deeper into this mess he’s created for himself.

‘You and I got some troubles we're facing/I know we can make it staying high in low places’ – The beat drops for a second, and then the instruments are back with Mingi’s voice, accompanying each other well, the rhythm picking up just slightly. Mingi can feel the words crawling together in his brain now, his body jittery again as he grins, gripping his pencil tighter. The chorus is good, but he hasn’t been able to write past it, but it’s coming to him right now.

‘Never mind all the tears that we wasted/I know we can make it staying high in low places (ooh)’ – And Mingi remembers the night he found her in his favorite diner, looking like she’s been crying for a while now, eyes rimmed red and nose and cheeks flushed. The rain had soaked her clothes, her hair sticking to her face, and Mingi swears he hasn’t seen anyone more beautiful than her. He wishes he knew when it all started, this—infatuation he feels towards her—but he’s clueless. Or maybe he’s not, maybe he’s just afraid to admit that he’s seen her around campus before and found her breathtaking. Maybe Mingi always has had his eyes on her and has just opted to remain in the shadows, because quite frankly, he sucks at approaching people and initiating anything. And maybe the day Wooyoung showed him pictures of Seulgi on her Instagram account, he had spotted her next to Seulgi, maybe Mingi’s heart had started racing with a stupid flicker of hope in it. Maybe Mingi really is on the brink of dropping a random ass confession onto her, but he knows she’s not ready, and he’d hate himself if he ever made her feel uncomfortable. He knows someone has hurt her gravely, and he wants things to go right this time. He can’t fuck it up.

‘In your arms, in your arms (ooh)/High in low places’ – Mingi thinks she can take him higher than anyone else, show him a whole new world. If there’s one thing he thinks can compete with her beauty and wits, it’s her art. Mingi doesn’t know much about fine art and paintings, but he knows goddam well that whoever that Monet guy was that she loves so much had nothing on her—and as you can see, Mingi is down bad, because Claude Monet was, and still is, a legend of Impressionism.

Mingi ruffles his dark hair, it’s gotten a little longer, and adjust his glasses again before he grins, jotting down the next words that will turn into the lyrics of his song. He’s composed the song with Seonghwa and Wooyoung’s timbre in mind, and he knows their voices will fit beautifully, complete it with a harmony that his unfortunately lacks. But that’s the beauty of their band. Each one of them has a particular charm that the other one lacks and they complement each other in a subtle, yet obviously gorgeous way—and well, Mingi isn’t a narcissist, but he is a Leo, and he can’t deny that their looks aren’t eye catching as well, definitely another asset of theirs that just so happens to add to the charm of Noir Zenith. – ‘Wasted days/Wasted 'til we're MIA/Stuck inside a desert haze/I just want to slip away’

Friday (11:30 am)

Me: i see u still haven’t checked my message… nothing too worrisome u certainly know how to make a man yearn for you lol that was a joke…dont freak out on me pls (lowkey true tho)

Mingi was restless. He thought that when had texted her that he got home safely—you know, after they hung out at her place, waiting for the rain to stop while killing the time by watching a movie and they have almost kissed—Mingi really thought she was just busy. And he still thinks so, because why would she ignore his messages? He’s texted her a few times already and she didn’t even bother to read them. Mingi wasn’t expecting anything from her, wasn’t trying to push her, but he was a little bit restless now. Sue him, but he couldn’t help himself. He took another glance at his phone, waiting for his messages to be read, for her to finally start typing back, but there was nothing. And the fact that her contact name stared back at him as if it was mocking him wasn’t helping with Mingi’s racing thoughts. He was an overthinker, after all. In case you were wondering, Mingi has saved her in his phone as: her (my artsy girl).

Yeah, maybe Mingi was a lot more into her than he had realized at first. But to be fair, there was nothing wrong about saving her like that. She is an artsy girl, and she’s—Mingi doesn’t want to elaborate on that just yet. And so, he’s pacing up and down in his not so big living room, walking around his couch and glancing down at his phone every few seconds. Okay, he’s effectively going crazy right now and he wants to pull out his hair. Which isn’t a smart idea, he fears his handsomeness stops at him going bald. And okay, maybe he’s spiraling. Maybe his heart is about to fall into his ass, and maybe he’s trying to take deep breaths in order to not pass out. Maybe Mingi is handling the radio silence horribly. Actually, make that horrifyingly bad, that’s how he’s not handling all this.

If he stops for a second and takes a deep breath, ripping his glasses off in frustration and rubs at his eyes quite painfully, he can feel it all coming back. The warm feeling he’s felt while they settled into her bed, the way his eyes lingered on her pursed lips as she searched for a movie to watch. And her room—let him not even get started on her room, Mingi fell in love with it. It’s just so her that he feels like he knows her a lot better now that she’s allowed him inside her safe place. Her drawings and paintings were breathtaking. He—he saw the drawing laying on her bed, sketchbook all open and shit, and yeah, he fought every muscle in his body to not grin and jump up and down in excitement at the replica of him in her own sketchbook. Mingi knew she would draw him sometimes, but now he’s wondering just how often she finds herself drawing him. Does that mean she thinks of him often? Or does she just simply get carried away and mindlessly draws whatever person comes to mind first? But if that’s the case, why would he come to her mind when she wasn’t even fixating on him?

Mingi is a mess, alright, he’s panicking. He’s panicking because he can still feel the ghost of her warm breath against his cheek, the feel of her soft skin. He was right there; the opportunity had been beautifully given to him—and he does not regret not kissing her. Yeah, he kissed the corner of her lips, because he wanted it to be her choice whether they actually kiss or not. Don’t get Mingi wrong, if it were after him, he fears he would have devoured her ages ago, but after so many years of struggling with his own emotions, he became really good at restraining himself, at having control over himself in tense situations. It’s both a curse and blessing in disguise, because he really just should have kissed her, dammit. Why is he such a considerate gentleman? They didn’t even kiss and she’s ignoring him now. Great job Mingi, you tried to avoid a disaster only for it to still become reality. Sometimes, he hates himself, but he thinks that’s okay. Everybody hates themselves a little bit at times, even if they deny it.

Mingi chews on his bottom lip and decides to place his phone face down on his couch and meditate—Mingi doesn’t know how to meditate. The air is chilly outside and maybe he forgot to pay some bills so his heater isn’t exactly working at the moment, but fear not, Mingi is a big boy—he’s a man, alright—and he will pay his bills. Tomorrow. So, due to this itsy bitsy tiny little fact, he might be bundled up in his sweater. Well…the sweater’s his now. It wasn’t his two days ago. It was her cousin’s, more precisely, but since she gave it to Mingi, it’s his now. And if he wears it almost every day, no, he doesn’t. It bogs his mind a little bit that it just so happens to resemble the same sweater Yunho used to love, to the point his mother had to hide it from him, that’s how often he’d wear it—and maybe this is another factor that makes Mingi cling to it that much more. Maybe the fact that it’s from someone he really likes, and the fact that it makes him remember someone he really loves, fucks with his mind. Especially if seasonal depression is hitting hard. He’s trying to fight it; he’s trying to do better—he’s promised Yunho and himself that he’d do better—but he feels his chest get heavy, and he hopes Seonghwa hurries his ass over before he can spiral even further into the madness his thoughts bring with themselves.

And Seonghwa, like the angel he is, does indeed save Mingi from the doom that has been looming over his head. There’s a knock at Mingi’s door and he jumps up from the couch, racing to the door. He makes it there in three long strides, his apartment really isn’t that huge. Seonghwa is smiling at him softly as Mingi opens the door for him, and so very out of character, Mingi lunges for his close friend and engulfs him in a tight hug, “Thank you for coming.”

Seonghwa is speechless and frozen for a second, but then he chuckles, “My, my, my, you must have been really lonely if you’re so happy to be in my company.”

“I’m always happy and eager to be in your company, Hwa.” Mingi says with a pout and makes way for his friend to step inside. Seonghwa chuckles, his round eyes twinkling under the light of Mingi’s lamp. It’s barely noon but rain clouds are gathering outside once again, and Mingi hates it with all of his soul. Why is it raining so much lately? Isn’t it supposed to snow, rather? It is almost the end of November, after all.

“I know.” Seonghwa whispers as he ruffles Mingi’s hair, having shaken off his coat and discarded his shoes at the door, he walks further inside Mingi’s apartment. He’s been here plenty of times, and he knows he can make himself at home and do whatever. Mingi doesn’t really mind. Seonghwa has a tote bag in his hands as he nears Mingi’s round table in the kitchen area—Mingi’s living room and kitchen are just one big room, divided by nothing—and Seonghwa starts emptying his bag onto the table. Mingi walks closer, peaking at the items Seonghwa has brought over. Dye and bleach. Okay, maybe Mingi’s at the brink of a lapse of judgement, but he knew Seonghwa wouldn’t bat an eyelash if he randomly called him up and asked him to help him change up his hair. Mingi’s been wanting a change for a while now, it’s almost unfortunate that she is the one that pushed him into enough ‘madness’ to finally do it. She is a catalyst for quite a few things happening in Mingi’s life right now, or so he had noticed.

“Are you sure you want to bleach your hair, Mingi?” Seonghwa’s voice carries doubt as Mingi leans his hip against the table, grabbing the bleach out of Seonghwa’s hands.

“Yup, pretty sure about it.” He mutters, his lips pursed as he turns the box over a few times.

“How come?” Seonghwa mirrors his pose, hips resting against the table and arms crossed in front of his chest. He has that critical look on his face, and Mingi considers for a second if it was smart to ask Seonghwa over Wooyoung to help him. Wooyoung is nosy, but at least he can be easily distracted. Seonghwa, however, he presses and presses until he gets the truth out of you. Mingi sometimes hates that, there are no secrets in front of Seonghwa, yet he holds too many secrets.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, actually.” Mingi tries to sound nonchalant as he absentmindedly lets his fingers run through his dark locks.

“But?” Seonghwa raises one eyebrow and Mingi’s lips purse as he averts his eyes.

“Can you not interrogate me this time?” Mingi’s voice is whiney, nothing Seonghwa isn’t used to, “I just really need a change, no big deal.”

“Okay, fine, I believe you.” But Seonghwa doesn’t sound completely convinced as he says that, and Mingi offers him a very fake grin, smile boxy and full of teeth. It makes Seonghwa chuckle as he takes the bleach out of Mingi’s hands, and grabs his tote bag before he makes his way to Mingi’s bathroom. Like a puppy, Mingi follows after him as he grabs the dye, and turns on the light switch for Seonghwa as he places everything in his hands down on Mingi’s counter in the bathroom, “Silver blonde, then?”

Mingi hums and closes the lid of toilet, sitting on it as he watches his friend, “It’ll be a hard process though, I don’t promise I’ll be able to pull it off right away.”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind.” Mingi shrugs, fiddling with his fingers in his lap, “You’re pretty great at these type of things, I trust you.”

“Yeah, well, Hongjoong didn’t see my vision when I dyed his hair half blonde and half black.” Seonghwa huffs under his breath, still pretty salty about his boyfriend not liking the look as much as Seonghwa, and quite literally everyone else around him did. Mingi chuckles, still remembering Seonghwa sulk for a few days because of it. It was endearing how much Hongjoong’s opinion mattered to Seonghwa. When the two were together, Seonghwa’s eyes sparkled, and his skin glowed, his laughter more frequent, and disposition overall just happier. And Hongjoong—Mingi’s known him for four months now, that’s how long the two had been dating for—and despite Hongjoong trying to remain impassive around his lover, it was so very obvious of how in love he was with the taller one. Hongjoong rarely smiled, but when he was with Seonghwa, his cheeks would hurt and flush a light shade of red. Mingi quite quickly realized Hongjoong loved looking at Seonghwa, his eyes somehow always straying onto his lover, lingering there with profound love written all over his face. Mingi was witness to the almost disastrous end of their—at that time—short lived relationship as Seonghwa’s insecurities got the best of him and drew him away from Hongjoong. But Hongjoong didn’t give up, and partially thanks to Mingi—and Wooyoung—here they were now, happy and in love, looking forward to many more years together.

“Hongjoong is quite daft at times.” Mingi finds himself saying as he rolls his eyes, making Seonghwa pause his actions as he looks at Mingi sharply.

“You would never dare say that to his face.” And Seonghwa was right, Mingi would rather shit himself than badmouth Hongjoong to his face. That man might be shorter than Mingi himself, but he’s certain Hongjoong would drag him through all levels of hell and embarrass him to the point he’d be on the verge of tears—simpler put, Hongjoong is ruthless and sharp, and Mingi is scared of him.

“Of course, I wouldn’t dare say that to his face,” Mingi shudders, making Seonghwa almost smile, “He’d make me suffer in my next life too, if I did.”

“Serves you right for always talking shit about others.” Seonghwa chuckles, making Mingi scoff.

“I don’t even do that, hey, I’m just honest.”

“And dumb, but what’s new.”

And just like that, Mingi finds himself half an hour later sitting on the cold tiles of his bathroom floor with Seonghwa, second round of bleach all set on his hair and burning just a little bit his scalp—Seonghwa reassured him multiple times that he wouldn’t go bald, but Mingi is still skeptical about it. A little bit too late for that now, I guess. Seonghwa had placed two towels on Mingi’s shoulders, one at the front and one at the back, to protect Mingi’s sweater in case the bleach dropped on it, and they were kind of dragging down Mingi’s sweater’s collar, but he wouldn’t complain about it just yet. They would be taking the bleach off soon, and he knows Seonghwa would go off on him for whining when all of this was Mingi’s idea in the first place. Music is playing softly in the background, and Mingi tsks as Seonghwa accidentally overlines his pinky nail, smudging his skin too with black nail polish.

“You’re so bad at this, Hwa.” Mingi groans, grimacing as Seonghwa’s tongue is stuck out as he concentrates on painting Mingi’s nails black. They were far from perfect, and Mingi’s heart mourns for a second, until he realizes it kind of looks cool. Edgy. Maybe Seonghwa is onto something.

“Yeah, because it’s usually Hongjoong who paints our nails, and not me.” Seonghwa’s gaze is sharp as he throws Mingi a look, Seonghwa’s own nails painted, but an obnoxious neon pink. It is a little bit out of Mingi’s comfort zone, but Seonghwa said he liked the color and wanted to try it out. And who is Mingi to judge? Plus, he would’ve been a really bad friend if he didn’t do as his close friend wished.

“Okay, done!” Seonghwa grins, closing the black nail polish and putting it aside, “We should wash out the bleach too, before you actually go bald—”

“Seonghwa!” Mingi screeches, getting to his feet in an instant as he faces the mirror on his wall, gaping at himself. His hair is a yellowish color; however it is turning whiter by the second.

“I’m just kidding.” Seonghwa snickers, and then, as if a bulldozer hit the side of the building of Mingi’s apartment complex, his front door is thrown open, and a loud screech resounds through the open door of his bathroom.

“I’ve arrived!” Undoubtedly, the high-pitched voice belongs to none other than their dear friend, Wooyoung, “And I’ve got pizza!”

“Lock the door!” Seonghwa calls out as Mingi leans over his bathtub, letting Seonghwa rinse out the bleach tenderly from his hair. Finally, Mingi’s scalp had felt like it was on fire, but he was too scared to let Seonghwa know. Now, he prays his fair won’t fall out completely. There is shuffling outside the door and then, Wooyoung in all of his glory, barrels through the open door.

“Damn, it smells like poisonous gases in here.” He gags, placing the pizza boxes on the floor as he beelines it for the small window, “And your music sucks.”

“Fuck off!” Mingi hisses, twisting his arm to give Wooyoung his middle finger, “Limp Bizkit is a great band!”

“Yeah, if you like noise.” Wooyoung huffs and suddenly the music is stopped, making Mingi groan as Seonghwa just chuckles, massaging the strawberry smelling soap into his hair.

“You are the noise here, Wooyoung.” Mingi fires back, making Seonghwa snort loudly as Wooyoung puts on some pop music, making Mingi groan. He isn’t in the mood to listen to pop music right now.

“Stop bickering,” Seonghwa says, rinsing the soap out of Mingi’s hair, “and feed me some pizza, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung happily obliges as he opens one box, a slice already missing as he had eaten it on his way up to Mingi’s apartment, and he takes a slice for Seonghwa. He walks over to his two friends, and before he can feed Seonghwa, Wooyoung throws his left arm around Seonghwa’s waist and nuzzles up against his back, making Seonghwa sway and spray the side of Mingi’s face with water.

“Hey!” Mingi yelps as water enters his nose, making Wooyoung cackle into Seonghwa’s back as he hides his face in his friend’s back, inhaling Seonghwa’s familiar scent. Wooyoung can be a complete menace at times, but Mingi and Seonghwa would never admit they love him the way he is. It is hard not to when Wooyoung is such a good and respectful person.

“Oops, my bad!” Wooyoung giggles as he finally releases Seonghwa and holds pizza slice up to his mouth as Seonghwa takes a bite while putting conditioner in Mingi’s hair.

“You can see yourself out if you’re only here to disturb our piece of mind—Wooyoung!” Mingi, it seemed like, is Wooyoung’s target for the day as he had slaps Mingi’s ass hard, enjoying the way he is bent forward and over the bathtub. It makes Seonghwa laugh loudly, the cute sound has Mingi giggling too, and in no time, the three of them are shaking with laughter, reveling in each other’s company. There is nothing more healing to Mingi than spending his time with his closest friends—and Yunho, of course.

『In your arms, in your arms

Staying high in low places』

More days passed and Mingi was helpless. He really doesn’t understand whether he has done something so deeply wrong to deserve this—to be ignored by her. It’s Sunday, and his texts weren’t even read. He thought of calling her, but ultimately talked himself down and found something else to do. Like write his sappy lyrics that is about her. Okay, Mingi has to admit this one. He feels like he is going crazy, and the problem is that he could talk about it to someone, but he just doesn’t want to. Not yet, at least. He is scared if he says it out loud, it would become reality. Her, leaving him. Not that they are together or anything, but Mingi just simply doesn’t want to lose the friendship that’s blossomed between them over the month. It was gradual and not sudden, he knew she still had some prejudice about him and didn’t fully trust him, but they were making progress. And now Mingi hates himself for the near kiss. If he had been a little bit smarter, more in control of himself, it would’ve never happened. And it kills him that he can’t turn back time, but would it change anything? Would he actually do it differently? Would he when she was looking at him with eyes that were shining with curiosity and want? When her expression was inviting and warm and yearning? Yeah, no, Mingi has self-control, but not to the point to stop himself from giving in when someone looked to be wanting just as much as him. And Mingi has to stop thinking about her, for God’s sake he’s been trying so hard over these past few days that he’s convinced he’s finally going mad, so when Wooyoung texts him that they are going out for dinner later tonight, Mingi jumps in delight and starts getting ready.

And they go to his favorite diner too—where him and her had met, and she was all wet from the rain and crying due to something unknown to Mingi—and he has to stop thinking about her when he’s with his friends! The atmosphere is light and cozy, lightning dim but not to the point you can’t see, and the music playing is retro and if Mingi turns around, he can see an elderly couple dance around happily, laughing and talking to each other. His stomach coils at the sight, and he tries to fight the yearning and sadness that tries to overtake him, he really does.

“So, Seonghwa,” Wooyoung breaks Mingi’s intense gaze and mindless thoughts, “how’s that art gallery looking?”

Seonghwa blushes for a second, and hides his mouth behind his palm as he tries to chew his chicken nugget faster, “Good, good. I found a spot for it, finally.”

Wooyoung beams at that and Mingi can see Hongjoong trying to bite down his smirk, “That’s amazing! Why haven’t you said anything?!”

“He thinks he’s gloating if he says anything,” It’s Hongjoong who answers instead of Seonghwa, and his answer makes both Mingi and Wooyoung roll their eyes at his words, “He thinks everything he’s achieved lately isn’t because of his own merit—”

“Hongjoong!” Seonghwa flushes even more, his cheeks already tinged pink from the alcohol he had consumed during the evening, “Why would you say that to them?!”

“So that there’s someone else other than me praising you for your hard work and letting you know that you are the reason these things are happening to you, my love.” Wooyoung pretends to gag when he hears the endearing words leave Hongjoong’s mouth, but Mingi just smiles and takes a sip of his own beer. It’s been a while since he had drunk, he felt the need tonight. He had hoped it would help him unwind—it wasn’t working so far.

“You need to stop having this impostor syndrome, Hwa.” Mingi hears himself talking, eyebrows furrowed as he steals a fry off of Wooyoung’s plate. The shorter one makes a sound of displeasure, and in a petty revenge, steals a pickle off of Mingi’s plate.

“Let’s stop talking about me, please.” Seonghwa says with a sigh, eyebrows furrowing, and it’s obvious he isn’t feeling comfortable. Mingi pretends he doesn’t see Hongjoong place his hand on Seonghwa’s thigh and squeeze. Mingi pretends he doesn’t suddenly feel a pang of jealousy towards the couple. They worked through their differences and doubts, and here they were, in love and going forward. Why could Mingi not have that too? Why did everyone abandon Mingi in the end? His parents told him he had to fend for himself if he chose to be a musician, and if it weren’t for his grandparents funding him until he has finished university—he doesn’t want to think where he’d be. Yunho had once abandoned him too, left him alone in this city, letting him unknowingly almost destroy himself. Wooyoung, now, has Seulgi and he spends a significant amount of his time with her, and is rarely up for their schedules gaming nights, Mingi feels abandoned. Seonghwa is like he has always been like, but he’s not as spontaneous as before. Sometimes Mingi just wants to go on night drives and listen to music and Seonghwa isn’t available because of Hongjoong anymore, Mingi feels abandoned.

“How’s the deal with the label going?” Hongjoong speaks up after the prolonged silence, not uncomfortable by any means, and Mingi heaves a sigh as he downs his beer in one go. Wooyoung raises an eyebrow at that.

“We’re still negotiating the terms, payment, and all the gist.” Mingi mutters, placing his chin in his palm. He’s not drunk, nor tipsy, but he feels a light buzz in his head. One more pint and he might just become tipsy.

“I see,” Hongjoong hums, rubbing his lower lip with two fingers, “But they’re treating you well, right?”

Hongjoong, as usual, is wearing fancy clothes. It’s a Sunday evening, yet he’s dressed to the nines. Mingi feels a little uncomfortable because of that—and just what’s his problem?! What’s gotten into him today? He’s never been like this before; he feels annoyed at himself.

“Yeah, yeah.” Mingi mutters, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Wooyoung, despite being labeled as someone who talks and talks without paying attention to those around himself, has picked up on Mingi’s displeased mood, and scoots his chair closer to his. He grins widely at Mingi and throws his arm around his friend’s shoulder, pulling Mingi into his side. Mingi doesn’t say anything despite not feeling up for the physical closeness, and allows Wooyoung to pinch his cheek.

“Lighten up, dude, what’s wrong?” Wooyoung asks, but not loud enough for Seonghwa and Hongjoong to hear as they have started softly conversing about something. Seonghwa is smiling, eyes narrowed and the way he’s leaning towards Hongjoong have both Wooyoung and Mingi knowing that he’s saying something inappropriate, and if Hongjoong’s eyes widening isn’t confirmation for Mingi and Wooyoung, then Hongjoong choking on his water certainly is.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Mingi gulps, picking around his food before he steals another fry from Wooyoung’s plate and dips it into his own ketchup, “I think I’m tired.”

“Dude, it’s a Sunday evening, how are you tried?” Wooyoung is confused as he finally releases Mingi, and he tries not to let it show on his face that he’s happy for the separation.

Mingi thinks for a second, though, and makes up a stupid lie, “I still haven’t recovered from yesterday’s game.”

“Right.” Wooyoung doesn’t believe him and it’s nothing new to the both of them, Wooyoung sees right through Mingi’s lies. Everyone does, actually, he can’t lie to save his life, “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“I just—” And Mingi almost goes off, but he abruptly remembers where he is as people start clapping behind him, “Nothing, I’m just tired. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Okay.” Wooyoung whispers while looking disappointed, and Mingi suddenly hates himself for making his friend feel like that. He can’t help but think he’s made Wooyoung feel like he’s not worthy of knowing Mingi’s thoughts, of knowing what his heart desires. And he wants to talk about how much it affects him that she hasn’t texted back—and probably won’t, Mingi came to the realization—but there’s a lump in his throat that is kind of making him choke up right now. And when he hears Seonghwa giggling, and he looks up, Hongjoong is leaning towards Seonghwa with a mischievous look on his face, and then Seonghwa steals a kiss from his boyfriend that makes Hongjoong freeze. Wooyoung is typing away on his phone, and Mingi knows he’s talking to his girlfriend, Seulgi, because who else would Wooyoung be talking to? And the lump in Mingi’s throat tightens and he abruptly stands, heartbeat quickening. His three friends look up at him alarmed, and Mingi’s embarrassed, but he can’t help himself as he grabs his phone off the table and pushes it in his pocket.

“Sorry, guys, I’m not feeling well.” Mingi croaks out, clearing his throat as his tone wavers, “I’ll head home now, you enjoy yourselves.”

“Hey, Mingi,” Hongjoong has concern written all over his face and it makes Mingi almost cry. He hates how sensitive he is, “I can drive you home—”

“That’s cool, man.” Mingi is shaking his head at the offer, he needs fresh air and a long walk to try and clear his mind, otherwise he’ll have a panic attack. He can feel it, and he does not want that.

“Mingi—”

“Seriously.” Before any of his friends could insist more, he throws his jacket on and waves at them. And then he’s out of the diner in a second, feeling a little bit bad for not greeting Dahyun first, but the place feels too stuffy and warm for him to stay inside anymore. He takes off and tries to take deep breaths, but his lungs won’t expand fully. His hands are slightly shaking as he grabs his phone out of his pocket and he unlocks it, staring down at her contact. Nothing, still. Mingi’s heart clenches and he bites his lower lip, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. He can’t do this anymore; he feels like he’s breaking. He doesn’t understand why she won’t at least give him an explanation. Fine, she doesn’t want to be friends with him anymore, but she has to explain why. Mingi won’t rest until he doesn’t know the reason, and it’s making him crawl up a wall. He dials a number before he can even think more about it, and he finds himself teary eyed at the familiar male voice.

“Hey, Ming!” It’s cheery as always, and Mingi knows Yunho is smiling on the other end, “Fancy seeing you call, it’s not like I haven’t heard your voice like—four hours ago.”

“Yunho.” And Mingi feels horrible for worrying Yunho, because the last time he called his best friend and sounded like this—things were bad. And by the way Yunho goes quiet before he gasps quietly, Mingi knows he fucked up and he shouldn’t have called when he feels so all over the place, but he needed to hear his best friend’s voice, he needs Yunho. Because there’s no one else like Yunho in the world. No one else who understand him like Yunho. No one else who knows him like Yunho. No one else who’s always been next to him like Yunho has been. No one else who loves him unconditionally like Yunho does.

“Mingi, what’s wrong?” Yunho sounds panicked and before Mingi can stop himself, a tear falls down his cheek, “Please, talk to me. Do I—do I have to come home? I can drive down right now, but it’ll take two hours—”

“Yunho,” And Mingi’s now crying as he crosses the road quickly, walking to a park that’s dimly lit so he can cry in peace, away from prying eyes—not that there are many people out at this hour, “You don’t—don’t have to come home, I just—I’m so confused, and I’m tired, and I need someone.”

“Mingi, you have me, tell me what’s wrong.” Yunho’s voice is soft and Mingi is grateful they aren’t on facetime, because he’s positive Yunho’s eyes are filled with tears right now, and that would just make him cry harder. He tries to wipe at his cheeks, but the tears just keep coming, and the lump in his throat gets harsher and makes it a little hard to speak, but Mingi powers through.

“I met this girl,” He sniffs loudly and takes a deep breath, and Yunho is quiet, listening closely, “you know her, I’ve talked about her a few times.”

“The girl who paints and draws, right?” Yunho asks just to make sure.

“Yes.” Mingi sniffs, his tears becoming fewer, “And she’s—there was a heavy rain on Thursday and I drove her home before it got that bad, but I would have had to wait for it to pass in my car—but she invited me inside. And it was fine, it was fun and everything went well and then—then I—she—we almost kissed. Her mother got home and she interrupted us, and it’s just, she was a little weird right after it, but—she—she hasn’t texted back since Thursday, Yunho. She didn’t even look at my messages and I sent her plenty. I—I don’t know what to do because I think—I think I like her a lot, Yunho, and I don’t want to lose her over something so banal. We’re not even a thing, we’re just friends, but I—I don’t want to lose her too.”

What a word-vomit, Mingi thinks, as he sniffs loudly and rubs at his nose and cheeks with the sleeve of his jacket, sitting on a bench as he pulls his legs up and hugs them to his chest. Yunho is quiet for a second on the other end, until he sighs long.

“Oh, Mingi,” He sounds sad, and it makes Mingi chew on his bottom lip again, holding back a new flood of tears, “That’s so fucked, what the hell! I know you feel like shit, and I know what you are thinking right now—I’ve known you for my whole life—so, please, stop blaming yourself for her own actions and reactions. You didn’t do anything wrong and she should treat you better. You don’t deserve to be ignored and you do deserve an explanation. I’m sorry I can’t be physically there for you.”

“This is enough.” Mingi whispers, feeling his heart less heavy now that he’s said all that, “It’s enough that you listen to me and reassure me. Hearing your voice is enough too, Yuyu.”

Yunho chuckles on the other end and Mingi cracks the smallest smile, “You’re so sappy, but I’m glad I’m able to help even if I’m not there with you. I would tackle you in a big hug right now and definitely buy your favorite chips and go on a drive with you, if I could.”

Now, that makes Mingi sad again, dammit, “You know what? Maybe you should drive here tonight.”

Yunho snorts, and Mingi stands, determined to walk home now, “I am planning on going home in a few weeks, actually.”

“Why not tomorrow?” Mingi insists, eyebrows furrowing at having to wait that much more. It’s been almost two months since Yunho has come home.

“We’ll, I’ve already got—”

“Stuff to do and shit.” Mingi cuts his best friend off, already knowing what he would say. They snort at the same time and then break into quiet giggles. Mingi is content all of a sudden, head a little clearer and lump from his throat gone, finally.

“I miss you.” Yunho beats Mingi to it, and Mingi smiles from ear to ear as he turns onto his street, he doesn’t live that far away from the diner.

“And I miss you too.” Mingi says it back, tipping his head back as he looks up at the night sky. The sky is finally clear and he can see the stars and the moon. It makes him smile again, Mingi loves the moon a little bit too much, perhaps, “I love you, Yuyu.”

“I love you, Min.”

And to Mingi, there is nothing more therapeutic than talking to his best friend, hearing his voice, being in his presence and able to share his affections towards him. Yunho is too precious to him.

Sunday (1:01 am)

Me: …you’re ignoring me, arent u? im sorry, y/n, i dont know what i did wrong, but we can talk about it we’re friends, after all…right?

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A/N: So, hi again. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, because I have another surprise for you all hehet. If you are interested in Seonghwa and Hongjoong's story, I can happily tell you that I have created their own spin-off on AO3 and it's called Our Atoms Fusing. It's on-hold currently, but I am happy to announce that I will be picking up writing for that too, and it will have in total around 7~8 parts. So, check it out if interested! ^^ I've kept this a secret for long as I wanted the timing to be right lol, despite the hints I have dropped about them, I am so glad I can finally talk about it. Istg, I'm obsessed with these two, I can't wait to continue their story too! And sorry if there are mistakes, I'm spent lol.

Also, if you happened to notice the mistake I made, no you don't, shhh.

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