#i remember calling the guy i liked the most emergency room

[thesingingrevolution]

THE NICKNAMES WE THOUGHT WE WERE SO DISCREET

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.7 to lose someone you love

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 7/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 8.5k

a/n. sighhh i'm rly sorry for the wait. and thank you sooo much to the love for the last chapter omg :') this chapter is gojo pov and it's a bit different than the rest, but i still hope you enjoy and that it was worth the wait. if there are typos, they're not typos they're actually 100% intentional and you are the silly one

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 :: ch7 :: ch8 :: ch9 (pending)

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

When Gojo was just four years old, he called for the paramedics for the very first time. 

He had wandered around the house, wide and innocent blue eyes searching the room for the landline in the dim light of the evening, his lip quivering in a pout. His small arm reached up to pet around at the top of his parents’ dresser before his fingers wrapped around the phone. He couldn’t remember what the number was at first, the one his mother always told him to call in case of an emergency, but he remembered he scribbled it down somewhere with red crayon in one of his coloring books. By the time Gojo first realized he needed to call for help, located the landline, looked through all of his little portraits of dinosaurs and spaceships sprawled across the carpet of his room, found those three numbers, and then finally dialed them, his father had already been seizing and shaking on the bathroom floor for longer than twenty-four minutes.  

He was just a child. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know any better.

Gojo spent the remainder of that night hugging his mom in the hospital’s emergency room, his tears soaking through her shirt as she gently rocked him back and forth in her lap while whispering soothing words in his ear. His father lay motionless on the hospital bed before them, eyes shut, and Gojo will never forget the haunting sounds of the machinery that was keeping his father alive. It was a sudden onset seizure, likely stemming from the traumatic brain injury his father had suffered a few years ago, and the prolonged convulsions he experienced on the bathroom floor that night had resulted in severe brain damage. Gojo could still hear the echo of his mother’s silent cry when the doctors informed them that it’s unlikely his father would ever fully recover from this.

No reasonable adult would ever look a four-year-old in the eyes and say if you had called for help sooner or knew what to do, maybe your father would’ve still had the chance to live a long life. Yet, even at his young age, Gojo was aware of the energy in the room, and that explanation was the only truth his mind could grasp onto to make sense of what he had just witnessed.

After two weeks of clinging to life, his father miraculously woke up from his coma and persevered for the sake of his wife and son. Shortly after the incident, he began to have recurring seizures but fought through them each time. Without fail, he made Gojo breakfast in the mornings, even if it meant having to clean up the spilt orange juice on the counter every now and then because of how his hands could not stop trembling. He always walked Gojo to the bus stop, waving him goodbye, despite how troublesome and embarrassing he found it to use his cane. The love he had for his son was so palpable that it eclipsed the bitterness over how his life had ended up because of the blessing it had brought him.

In his prime, Gojo’s father was a renowned soccer player, so incredibly talented at the sport that he left a lasting mark on the way teams strategized, his presence on the field commanding respect, and he was one of the greatest talents the entire college division had ever seen.

He met Gojo’s mother at one of his freshman year games, a pretty lady in the stands that caught his eye from the sight of her laughter among her friends, her radiance drawing him to her from the field, and that’s how their love began. Exactly one year following that day, he stole one of his grandmother’s thrifted rings from her jewelry collection and that was what he used to propose. Gojo’s mother had accepted it with so many tears and so much snot running down her face, and he had never found her more beautiful. They married young and sweet, like most people back then.

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant. 

No one knew that would be the last game of soccer he would ever play.  

It was a freak accident, a distracted driver behind the wheel of a gray Chevy on a dark and rainy night, veered straight towards Gojo’s parents car to avoid a branch on the road. In a moment that could only be described as his instinct to protect, he quickly swerved his vehicle, taking the brunt of the impact on his side. His family surrounded him at his hospital bedside as they grappled with the news that he would be unable to play the sport ever again due to his traumatic brain injury that would lead to lifelong motor function loss. According to the doctors and police, had he not swerved to shield his wife and unborn child, the outcome would have been far more disastrous. After months of rehabilitation, he regained enough ability to walk and just enough function in his extremities to welcome his newborn son in his arms.

When Gojo was just six years old, two years after witnessing his father’s first seizure, he stumbled upon a dusty, forgotten soccer ball tucked away in the corner of the garage. When he eagerly presented it to his father, excitement gleaming in his eyes, he was only met with a scowl and the demand to discard it, to never bring such things like that to him ever again. His mother protested, ensuing in an argument, and as Gojo lowered his gaze to the ball in his hands, he noticed his father’s faded signature adorned with a heart and message of love for his mother. The ink, once vibrant, now faded with time.

It wasn’t until Gojo turned seven that his father finally relented to teach him more about the sport, knowing it was all his son wanted for his birthday. With determination in his heart, Gojo pleaded for his father’s guidance, eager to kick around a nearly deflated, weathered ball. His father watched his son, expression morphing from reserved and stoic, softening to surprise, then hopeful, and he found himself cheering on his son’s clumsy endeavors on the field despite how many times he tumbled and fell. Because that was his son, his pride and joy, reminiscent of him embracing the sport that he himself had cherished so many years ago. 

As Gojo grew older and excelled at the sport, securing victory after victory in every youth league, his father’s health steadily declined. The recurring seizures caused by the brain damage from his prolonged convulsions on that fateful night exacerbated over the years and started to take an increasing toll on his body. Yet still, he never missed even a single one of his son’s games. Whenever Gojo swiftly sent the ball flying through the net, the first person his eyes would search for on the field was his father, the joy in his eyes being all he cared about in the world. Gojo lived to make his father proud, because it was the only thing that made him feel like he could make up for what little he had done to protect his father that night.

You were just a child. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know any better.

The day following Gojo’s eleventh birthday, his father had his second major seizure, falling into another coma, but this time he never woke up. Two years later, his mother made the tough decision to end his life-support, and then he was gone from their lives. Gojo’s mother was inconsolable, and he knew that his father took a piece of her soul with him to heaven that night. The piece that allowed her to smile. 

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning. 

But why was he remembering all of that now? 

The shrill of Gojo’s alarm clock woke him up from the intrusive memories that were washing through the fore-front of his mind, and he grumbled to himself before whacking at his nightstand haphazardly to shut the thing off. He ran a hand across his face in an attempt to wipe the sleepiness away, features instantly settling into an annoyed scowl as he blinked his eyes open and the filtering sunlight through the windows harassed his vision. 

He laid there for a few seconds, mending to the pounding headache at his temples with his fingers rubbing circles, and then he finally sat up in bed. Blinking at his sheets, the images of last night start to flash through his mind. The heavy music, the dim lighting of the bathroom, the dizzying jealousy, and the taste of you on his tongue–

The memory is supposed to arouse him, and would on any normal day, but because you had left him standing there stunned with no release of his own at all, he instead just feels a pulsing, soul-deep throbbing pain at his crotch that could really only be due to the fact he was left high and dry by you last night. He groans at the sensation, palm pushing down on his lower abdomen to try and relax the torture, which barely helped. It’s either he jerks off or takes a cold shower, and given the former was likely not possible for him right now since his god-forsaken brain decided to push the traumatizing experiences of his childhood to the forefront of his headspace first thing in the morning, meaning it’s unlikely he’ll be able to settle into the memory of you bent over that bathroom counter for him, he decides on the cold shower. And it’s safe to say that today already fucking sucked.

The moment the chill water hits the skin of his body, he recollects the look you had on your face right before you walked out on him. Soft, searching, to him almost seraphic, but you also looked wounded. And something from your anger with him since before he even had you in that bathroom, to the agonizing moment you left him in there by himself, told him he’d messed up big time with you somewhere along the lines. 

He knew he had been a jerk last night. He didn’t really have much of a right to be seethingly possessive of you, but the sight of you kissing another guy had him seeing red and his knuckles turning white. He finds himself clenching his jaw at the unwelcome memory even now. He figured he probably ruined what would’ve otherwise been an enjoyable night for you, and so you decided to get revenge by walking out on him. However, he can’t shake the feeling that things are messy and complicated now, primarily because of him, and he felt like he needed to apologize for dragging you into his weird, confusing emotions.

He gets himself dry and dressed, grateful for the barely sufficient relief he had down south, and sighs as he grabs his phone and taps on your name, thinking about what to say to you, and just settles on typing out Hey, can we talk? and then presses send. He turns the ringer of his phone off, tosses the device onto his bed and then heads out the door. 

Geto was sitting on the couch in the loft, rubbing an ice cube across his forehead as he sprawled on the cushions and let out low and consistent groans to himself. Gojo flopped down on the armchair across from him and assumed a similar position, rubbing at his temples to nurse his own headache. Geto opens an eye to look at him.

“Morning,” he grumbles. 

“I take it I’m not the only one that feels like they’ve been hit by a truck?” Gojo asks.

Geto makes a disgruntled noise and throws his head back on the cushion. “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. God knows how much I had last night.” He reaches over to the console table in the center for the bottle of Ibuprofen and tosses it to Gojo, who catches it and stares down at the label. “I didn’t really see you drink that much though. Don’t know why you’re hungover.”

Gojo sighs. He wasn’t hungover. His headache was from the fact that had a lot on his mind. Like the feeling of your skin last night. And then the pain of being blue-balled. And also for some reason his father’s death. Very exhausting to juggle those thoughts at once. 

Gojo twists the cap off the bottle of Ibuprofen and pops two pills, drowning them in his mouth with Geto’s glass of water, then runs a frustrated hand through his hair. The man across from him raises an eyebrow.

“You good?” he asks.

“Super peachy,” Gojo replies.

He sighs. “Well, whatever it is, just make sure it doesn’t affect your play today,” Geto warns him, sinking further down into the couch. Gojo lets out an exhale through his nose. Geto usually pushed further for answers whenever he was in a mood, so the fact that he didn’t this time meant that hangover was bad.

“I’m more worried about you. You think you’ll be fine in a few hours?” Gojo asks. Geto just waves his hand in the air in response as he grabs the hand towel on his chest and drags it up over his face, shielding himself from the light of the room.

“I have no choice but to be fine. We have to win this game,” is all he says through muffling cloth.

Gojo nods, resting his elbows on his knees and looking down at the carpet. It was finally the game of the 28th, arguably the second-most important game of the season. If they take home the win, they’re automatically seeded into top sixteen teams, which means they’ll only have to win four more matches after today to take home the championship. But if they lose, they’re seeded to the bottom, and then four turns into a daunting eight. In the history of the league, not a single team has ever lost their pre-seed game and still continued to win the playoff championship. So Geto was right, they have no choice but to win today. Otherwise, they could kiss goodbye to a 12-year UTokyo championship streak.

“Not going for your run?” Geto asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“Nah, not feeling up for it,” Gojo replies.

He clicks his tongue. “Never skip the pre-game ritual, man.”

Gojo groans, knowing that he’s right, and so he reluctantly gets up off the chair and heads back into his room. His phone lay there on the bed, facing down, and he felt so tragically taunted by it that he weighed the options of whether or not he should check if you replied back before his run or after his run. And then he’s wondering why you affect him this much in the first place.

He resolves to check after his run, and only gets one arm through his shirt before his hands betray him and he snatches his phone, eagerly tapping the screen to turn it on. 

He sees your name at the top, where you had just replied barely a minute ago. Sure, we can talk. He blinks at his phone when he sees the polite period at the end of your message, and the proper capitalization, not to mention a vocative comma? He was starting to feel really nervous.

He didn’t care that you had only replied a minute ago, he quickly typed out his response and sent it.

|| 10:35am Gojo: Do you know how to get onto the stadium field today?

He sees you typing, and he’s holding his breath.

|| 10:36am you: yes, I do. I’m going in w the newsletter journalists. Was this what you wanted to talk about?

What did he want to talk to you about exactly? Something like I’m sorry about being an ass last night, totally not cool for me to be that territorial over you, although I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again because seeing you kiss someone other than me kind of made me want to die. Also, I’m sorry for acting like you’re just someone I know, I don’t know why I did it. I guess it’s because I didn’t know if you thought of me as any more than just someone you know either, and that thought was frightening. Did I mention I hated seeing you kiss someone that wasn’t me?

He’s never really been good with words. Or feelings. 

10:37am Gojo: No, it’s not, it’s something else. I’ll come find you on the field before the game starts

He stands there, gaze fixed on his phone screen for the minute-long pause you took to respond, that for him felt like tortured eons, just for you to send-

10:39am you: k

Gojo finishes getting dressed for his run, anxiety brewing in his stomach drearily, and when he heads out the door of the house, the fresh morning air doesn’t help calm him down like it usually does. Of course, as he’s running, his thoughts wander to you. He’s thinking about the smell of your hair–or was it the perfume on your skin?–either way, it was intoxicating. The curve of your neck, that spot that made you whimper– fuck. Think of other things. Like the sound of your voice, soft and sometimes needy, but he enjoys it that way–makes his head spin. Or when you’re being sweet and thanking him for something you shouldn’t, because to him everything about you was a privilege and never a task. Even in the hot spring sun of the late morning, he finds himself missing the warmth from your body, and that look. That goddamn look in your eyes when you’re peering into his like you want him to–

“I’m sure he’s really proud of you.”

His legs stop him on their own, like they know something about the feelings in his chest that he doesn’t, and he’s standing still on the sidewalk of the neighborhood now. Short puffs of air escape his lips from his blood pumping fast through his body, and he could physically hear the sound of you in his head. Intimate enough to where he turns to the side slightly facing his surroundings, like there was no way it was just a memory and you weren’t actually near. He finds himself swallowing hard and having to consciously keep moving forward.

Gojo makes it back to the house, freshens up for the second time today, and gets dressed into his UTokyo soccer uniform with his signature #10 jersey. He leaves with Geto to campus, where all his teammates gather before eventually boarding the bus to the UTokyo stadium field ten minutes away. Coach Yaga yells their ears off in the locker rooms in an attempt to get their plays for today through their brains, and the exhilarating noises from the stands as they make their formal entrance through to the field fills Gojo’s senses, along with the obnoxiously loud music playing as pre-game rituals settle in. Gojo sets his bag down on the bench and joins the others in warm-ups for about fifteen minutes, before catching a chance to sneak away and look for you across the expansive pristine grass.

After lightly jogging around the perimeter of the field for a couple of minutes, he finally spots you, his raised eyebrows now flattening under the fringe of his hair as he relaxes. He didn’t realize he was tensing his shoulders until now. You were just beyond the sidelines near a hydration station, fidgeting with something in your camera case, lips pressed together in a frustrated expression, and he saw your body sulk with the sigh you let out as you must’ve realized you had forgotten something. The corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a slight smile, an unconscious reaction to seeing you look so damn cute from your troubled face decorated with a pout. And then he remembered he had been looking for you, and he had found you, and the only thing to do next was to be near you. 

He ambles up to you, and you only catch sight of him when he’s just a few feet away and finally standing in front of you. He sees your eyes widen slightly, lashes blinking once, twice, and then there’s a blush of color to your cheeks as you fidget with the stadium access badge hung around your neck. He noticed there were grass stains on your jeans over your knees when he looked down.

“Hey,” Gojo greets you over the loud music playing on the field.

“Hi,” he sees you say, and he realizes he can barely hear you.

“Let’s go over there,” Gojo yells, jerking his head over to the side.

He leads you over to an area tucked near the east side entrance, a corner slightly underneath one of the sectioned stands where the loud cheers of the stadium somehow reflected off less. It was about as private or silent of a place that the two of you could manage to have a conversation on a soccer field before a match, if you could just ignore the dressed up school mascots rehearsing their walk-ins and walk-outs through the entryway.

You take a few steps backwards until your back hits the concrete slab wall, and he’s in front of you as he watches you study him for a second, taking in the sight of his uniform, before your eyes finally meet his.

“Are you ready to take your photos today?” he asks you, poorly attempting to make small talk despite the images of you with him in that bathroom last night flashing through his memory. Now was seriously not the time to be turned on.

You nod, and respond “I am”, giving him absolutely nothing to work with.

He sighs. “Listen, about last night, I just wanted to apologize. For dragging you into that bathroom with me, although you did ask me to-” He sees you narrow your eyes and cross your arms across your chest. “Sorry,” he sighs, “Seriously, I just…I don’t know what got over me then.”

“You don’t know? Or you just don’t want to tell me?” you prod at him. He briefly considers pretending he doesn’t hear your question over the sound of the stadium, but he knows he wouldn't get away with that, not with the way you’re looking at him like he’s just one more fuck-up away from making you storm off.

He looks at your lips. “I guess the only thing I know is that I didn’t like seeing you kiss someone else.”

You shake your head and close your eyes. “I know you didn’t, Satoru. Otherwise last night wouldn’t have happened. What I’m asking is why.”

He’s struggling now, searching his head for answers, like he’s fighting for his life on a test that he didn’t study for. When he looks down, he notices your foot has been tapping impatiently. And when he looks back up, there’s that wounded expression from last night again. “I don’t know,” is all he can offer.

You uncross your arms from your chest, lips parting slightly as your eyebrows pinch upwards with a disheartened look. He sees your gaze shift slowly across the features of his face, searching, and he wonders if you can see something within him that he can’t. The thought terrifies him. “Fine. It’s my turn to speak.”

He nods slowly. He wasn’t sure what you wanted to say to him. He imagined you would just cuss him out with a few choice words for being a raging asshole last night and then you’d be on your merry way. But he senses sincerity in your voice. Not that he was phenomenal at reading people, though.

He watches as you clench and unclench your fists at your sides nervously, then twiddle with the strap of your camera, then tuck your hair behind your ears, then blink rapidly as you look up at him, then worry your bottom lip between your teeth, then open your mouth to speak just to close it again.

“Do you need me here for any of this?” he says in an attempt at a joke to ease you, but when all you give him is a glare, he’s fearful enough to be serious again.

“I like you.”

He blinks. “Thanks? I like you, too.”

“No, no. I like you as in I have feelings for you,” you clarify. Gojo’s eyes widen at the confession, and he stands up straighter. 

“Oh,” he finally replies when he realizes he hasn’t said anything yet, “I…I wouldn’t have guessed that.” Holy shit, if that was how you felt, then he really has been a raging asshole this entire time. 

You roll your eyes. “I know. You’re a hopelessly dense, menacingly flirty, sleazy frat dude college athlete,” you sigh, “But I still like you. Unfortunately, tragically, annoyingly, much to my dismay, against my better judgment,”

“Okay, I get it-”

“I think it started that night you stayed with me when I was stranded with my flat,” you confess suddenly, your chest rising a little bit faster, and his expression softened. “I just really appreciated you being there for me.”

His voice is gentle when he speaks next. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I would’ve been there if it happened ten times over,” he pauses, “although I’d seriously question your ability to drive if it happened that many times.”

“And I think it started when you walked me out to the practice field for the first time, and you told me you cared about my dreams,” you say with a slight step forwards to him, unable to acknowledge his words at all, as if there was a script you needed to stick to that was the only thing keeping you from falling apart in front of him. 

He finds himself instinctively leaning towards you, close enough to where he notices you’re wearing a different perfume today. “But that was before the night of your car incident,” he reminds you.

“I know,” you nod, and there’s that look in your eyes that he loves, “and I also think it started that first night we met and you looked sad when I said we weren’t friends.”

Gojo’s eyes widen, his heart skipping a beat in his chest, and he finds himself breathing shallowly as he listens to your words. “y/n…I think you’re working backwards here.”

“I’m trying to say I’ve had feelings for you this whole time,” you say to him, “they were tiny at first, I didn’t really see them, but now they’re too big for me to hold all by myself.”

Gojo nods slowly, and he already knows what you’re going to ask of him next.

“I like you in a way that makes me want more from you,” you admit, eyes steadily on his with resolve, “I don’t want to be just someone you know, or someone only for sex-”

“y/n-” he tries to interrupt you.

“And I certainly won’t be someone that sits around to wait for a guy if he doesn’t want me back,” you say, but there’s an apprehensive look in your eyes when you speak next, “so, I need you to answer to my feelings.”

Gojo blinks at you, his heart beating fast in his chest from your confession, and he feels like with every testing second that he fails to answer you back, you slip further and further away from him.

He knew he had affection for you. He always wanted to be close to you, even when he already was, as if he couldn’t get close enough. He wanted to take care of you, and see that softness in your expression when he knew you felt safe and happy. He couldn’t stand the thought of you with someone else, and it took him this damn long to realize as he stood in front of you that he had no interest in being with anyone else either. So then why did his chest feel so tight? And why was he struggling so much to give you an answer?

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning. 

Gojo’s eyes widened as the memories of his life flashed through his mind, a chill running down his spine as they knock the wind from his lungs and he feels that same sense of dread that has been following him like a ghost since that day when he was just four years old, standing in the hallway, wondering why his father was having a nightmare on the bathroom floor when he should’ve known it was something far worse than that.

Gojo blames himself for so much that had gone wrong in his life. And he should know that it’s not his fault, but all of his grief was greedy to breathe and live, desperate to find a reason for why he had to lose someone he loved, and his grief found a home in all of his guilt.

And he was terrified to lose someone close to him again. Even if he decided to see what could become with you, even if he thought for a moment that he was allowed to feel any sort of happiness with you, the thought of falling short and failing frightened him. He was so tired of adding to a long list of regrets in his life. And he knew he wasn’t what you needed— what you deserved.

“I…” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way about you.” He knows he sounds convincing enough from the way the light in your eyes dimmed, anticipation faltering and replaced with a sad expression over your features. He needs to take a shaky breath to continue speaking. “It seems I’ve led you on in a lot of ways, and I apologize for that. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen anymore.”

You’re silent for a long moment, twiddling with your fingers as you look up at him. “I see…” you say, and when he sees your lower lip quiver slightly, he feels sick. His instinct is to reach out for you, pull you closer to him, but he knows that’s not a luxury you would allow for him, and he knew it wasn’t one he deserved either. 

Your voice is trembling when you speak next. “I appreciate you letting me know. And you don’t have to worry about not leading me on anymore, because this will be the last time you see me.”

His entire body runs rigid. 

“Why?” It’s a stupid question, but he asks it anyway.

“So I can get over you.”

All he can do is stand with the feeling of a chill in his bones.

“And I ask that you’ll respect my space while I do,” you add on at the end.

He’s silent for a long moment, then lets out the breath he was holding in. “I will,” he says, the promise leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

There’s a moment where you both just look at each other, as though the two of you were trying to hold onto the moment, but you’re the one to break out of it first, and he’s the one to wish it would’ve lasted a little longer.

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” The words already sounded like goodbye. “I’ll make sure you look nice in your photos,” you say with a small smile, holding your camera up slightly, “and good luck today.” 

He wonders if he’ll regret this moment.

“Thanks.”

He steps aside so that you can walk past him and back out to the field. Gojo takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and relaxes his shoulders. Well, that was intense. Definitely not the direction he thought that conversation was going to go in at all, but that’s fine. He handled it fine. Totally fine. Things were going to be totally fine. He just has to play the match now.

The first step he takes back towards the field, he feels his uneasiness return, with the second step the feeling of his heart beating becomes violent in his head, with the third step he swears he can’t feel the tips of his fingers, with the fourth he feels severely nauseous, and with his fifth- was he seriously about to throw up?

He barely makes it back onto the grassy field cutting across the obstacles of people at the sidelines, using all his strength to not double over before he reaches a table and grabs one of the water bottles. He sees a group of men, all dressed in suits and loitering near the team manager’s station, perk their heads up at the sight of him and he’s groaning internally. The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk to any damn recruiters, but he sees one of them bold enough to approach him in his periphery. He sighs, taking one last gulp of water, and tries to stand up straight and look like he wasn’t going insane.

“Hi, I’m Jousuke Tsuda, recruiter for Tokyo Metropolitan’s national league team,” he says and stretches his hand out for Gojo to shake. The man looked aged, with thick creases to his forehead that could only mean he’s witnessed a hell of a lot of life and he has the soul to prove it.

Gojo’s eyes widen at the mention of Tokyo-Met’s team, and he grabs onto the man’s hand in as firm of a handshake he could manage. “Gojo Satoru.”

The man laughs. It’s deep with a slight crackle. “I know your name, son. Every recruiter in the country does. You’ve got a lot of eyes on you right now.”

“I’m flattered.”

The man raises an eyebrow at him. “Surely you feel pressured.”

Gojo only hums to himself.

The man glances at his watch. “I know the match starts in a few, but if I could have a moment of your time. Take a walk with me?”

“Sure.”

The two trail down the line of the field. “I’ll get straight to the point, kid. Tokyo-Met’s really keen on scouting you for the national league following your graduation,” he says.

Gojo feels like he should be excited about that news, actually, he should be ecstatic and groveling at this man’s feet, but instead he just feels empty and hollow inside. 

“Forget the fact that you’ll be playing in the nation’s most revered team,” the man continues, “but compensation is high, too.” He pulls his phone out from his front suit pocket, tapping away at his calculator app, then turns the screen towards Gojo. Holy shit. “I’m talking about a 350 million yen per year contract here. I could advocate for higher based on how well you perform the rest of the season.”

“I…I don’t know what to say,” Gojo responds.

The man is silent for a second then sighs. When the two of them reach a somewhat secluded bench near the corner of the field, he sits down on it and expects Gojo to do the same, to which he complies.

“You know, I’m used to much more enthusiastic reactions from players that hear this kind of news, although they’re usually ecstatic for barely a hundred million a year compared to what I’ve just offered you,” the man says.

“I guess it’s the pressure,” Gojo says to him, “it’s got my emotional response circuit all fried up, y’know?” He was pulling excuses out of his ass. 

A small hmph noise is heard beside him before he sees the man pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his slacks. “I know your father has left big shoes to fill, kid. I can’t imagine the fear of feeling like you’ll fail, or the anxiety of an injury taking you out any time you’re on the field, not wanting history to repeat itself.”

Gojo’s eye twitches and he narrows his eyes at the man seated beside him. “My dad got injured in a car accident, not while playing the sport.”

“I know,” he responds, finally pulling a cigarette out of the pack, holding it between his two fingers as he rests his wrist on his knee. “The story touched the hearts of everyone in Tokyo, and the entire soccer community in general. I remember reading about it in the school newspaper. Back in the day when they still printed those things out.” Gojo’s surprised, and he’s only given a sideways smile before the man continues. “I knew your father, went to the same college as him.”

“I don’t think he ever mentioned you,” Gojo says.

He lets out a hearty laugh. “He despised me. I was a money-hungry finance major that saw a huge opportunity in mediator sports recruitment agencies. Figured if I could sign a player like your father to my start-up, I’d be set for life. He was a smart man not to sign, regardless of how things turned out.” He shakes his head musingly. “I gave up after that and got a real job. You’ll find a lot of your hopes and dreams die in college.”

“I see,” Gojo says.

The man leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and looks over with a serious expression on his face. “Tell me, son, what does this sport mean to you? Why have you dedicated your entire life to playing it?”

Gojo only gives him a cursory glance.

“Is it the fame and attention? The pride? The thrill? The prospect of earning millions and then retiring at thirty, and you get to watch your wife and kids playing in your grand estate’s pool on a sunny summer Sunday while you’re swirling around a glass of ‘90s scotch in your hand?” he asks, tone derisive but luring. “Or does it mean something more to you?”

Gojo looks down at his hands that were clenched tightly into fists. He relaxes them so that his fingers fall open weakly and his palms face the sky. He remembers the feeling of being a kid, the smell of freshly cut grass consuming his senses, the sight of bruises on his knees from how many times he fell on the field chasing after the ball, and the admiration in his father’s eyes every single time he stood back up. “It’s a chance to prove myself,” he finally says.

“Prove yourself of what?” the man pushes.

“That I’m capable of greatness,” Gojo admits, “like my father.”

The man nods slowly in acknowledgment. “Yes, your father was a great man. But not because of how he played the game. He was a great man because he knew which sacrifices were truly important.”

Gojo looks at him wearily. “Are you trying to tell a player you’re attempting to recruit that the sport isn’t important?”

He shakes his head, looking straight ahead. “No, it’s important. But it’s the meaning you give to your life outside of it that gives it importance.”

Gojo raises an eyebrow at him, not really sure what to make of the cryptic sentiment.

The man claps his hands together and stands up. “Alright, I’m sure that’s all the time you’ve got for me. Think about my offer, and if any other recruiters approach you with better ones, just know I’ll push for higher.” He hands Gojo his business card and brings his cigarette to mouth, balancing it between his lips. “Reach out if you have any questions.”

Gojo looks down at the card, his finger tracing the edge of it as he studies the shimmering gold lettering. “Why not just hit me with your best offer and leave? Why bother having this kind of conversation with me?”

The man pulls his cigarette from his mouth, pinching it between his two fingers once again. “We’ve all got regrets we want to make right, kid,” he says. And with his hands in his pockets, he walks away. 

Gojo watches the man as he makes his way down the sidelines back to the cluster of men in suits. When he hears the referee whistle, he shoves the business card in the pocket of his uniform shorts, and makes his way towards the center of the sidelines.

His teammates instantly come up to him with optimistic smiles and encouraging pats on his chest and back, trying to keep the energy high to manifest a win for today, but Gojo just feels exhausted and like he’s drowning. He has so many thoughts swimming around in his head, he can’t even begin to explain, and he just wants someone to see through him at this moment. 

The teams stand on the field for the national anthem, and then Osaka Uni’s team disperses while UTokyo’s alma mater plays. Coach Yaga yells for all the players to huddle before the coin toss and reminds them of their plays for the afternoon.

Nanami pulls his sweatbands onto his wrists, Geto pulls his hair back up into a bun, Chosou pulls tightly on the straps of his goalie gloves, and Gojo pushes his hair up off his forehead to snap his headband onto his face. He looks around to his other teammates and that sense of pride he feels to be a part of this team swells dully despite his emotions.

UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kick, and Gojo finds his place in the center of the field. The crowd is already cheering preemptively, their pride in their home team evident in the passion of the filled stands, and Gojo peers across the large expanse of the field as he rests his foot on top of the soccer ball. It’s a scene he’s seen a hundred times in his life, but the sight is daunting today. He takes his foot off the ball when he hears the referee signal the start of the match with a short piercing shrill of his whistle, and the second Gojo draws his leg back and his foot makes contact with the ball, sending it flying forward, he can already feel that something feels very off.

Every single time he had the ball in his possession, his footwork felt heavy and delayed. His teammates had set up more than three chances for him to score, and he shot wide every single time. The crowd’s cheers started to diminish, and he could feel the growing discontent and exasperation from all eyes on the field. Ten minutes before halftime, they were down 1-0, and stakes were starting to feel high. 

One of his teammates passes a ball right to Gojo’s favored foot, the crowd instantly erupting with noise and stands to their feet as Gojo shuffles the ball past the penalty line, through Osaka’s defenders, eyes locked with the perfect opportunity to strike. This was good, he had his rhythm back, even if just for a moment, and he can see it, clear as day–the trajectory to the goal. With the feeling of slick sweat on his face and determination in his veins, he withdraws his leg back to kick the ball. The world went silent in his head, the only sound being the beating of his heart, and-

“this will be the last time you see me.”

When he recalls your voice, everything moves in slow-motion as his ankle slips slightly on the grass from his moment of hesitation, and then the ball is swiftly stolen by an opposing team player and maneuvered past him. 

“Fuck!” he hisses, immediately turning his head around as he helplessly watches the opponents players move with fervor in pursuit of another goal. The crowd hushed in horror as Osaka passed the ball through UTokyo’s defense, swiftly steadying down the side and sending the ball flying through Chosou’s outstretched arms. 2-0, and the lead ref calls for halftime. 

“Dude,” one of his teammates comes up to him as they walk back towards the benches and throws his arms up in the air, “what the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Seriously, man, not a single goal in the first half? You know how many times I’ve set up a shot for you?" another one of his teammates chimes in, nudging Gojo’s shoulder way harder than he’d usually warrant, and shortly after, a blaming fest begins among the players.

“Enough!” Coach Yaga yells out. All of the players quiet down and look at him, some grudgingly gulping down water while others just try to regain their breath. Gojo’s arms just hang at his sides in defeat. “We’re pushing everything on offense now, we can’t afford to miss any more shots,” Coach Yaga says, his fear of losing the match evident too despite his rough tone, “Satoru, I’m switching you out. Dai, take his place.”

“What?” Gojo asks incredulously, charging forward so he’s in front of the older man. “I’m not getting benched.”

“You will, because I say so,” Coach Yaga says sternly, “you’re distracted, boy. I can see it all over your face.”

“I’m n-”

“Just sit down,” Coach Yaga lets out a disgruntled noise. “When players are distracted, they get injured. Have faith in your teammates.”

“Coach,” Gojo asks again, this time almost pleading. He hardly ever questioned Coach Yaga’s calls, he had a great deal of respect for the man. But something within him just absolutely refused to get benched today.

Coach Yaga stares at him for a long moment, and it’s only when one of the refs chirps their whistle that he finally exhales and gives him a reluctant jerk of his head towards the field.

Geto sets up the perfect shot for Nanami to sweep for a kick that barely lands through the goalie’s lunge for the ball, and then on the next play, secures another goal himself. The score is tied, 2-2, with eight minutes left on the clock. Gojo manages to steal the ball on a defensive play, and it’s only really a stroke of luck that he manages in one solid pass the entire game, straight to Geto’s foot, crowd roaring, and he watches his best friend shoot and sink within the last minute and a half of the game. 

3-2. UTokyo’s win. 

Gojo sighs, exhausted as he makes his way to the bench, crouching down and zipping open his duffle bag. Spirits are low among the team despite the excitement from the crowd over their win because of how hauntingly close the loss felt during the last moments of the match, disinterested in celebrating at all as they meekly dispersed across the field. Gojo knew he was going to get a massive yelling-to from Coach Yaga and he could feel the searing disappointment from his teammates for not carrying the game more. This was just a bare win, could’ve gone either way, and his performance today wasn’t a good look for any recruiters either. He felt so emotionally and physically drained from this entire day, and he wasn’t sure how the hell he could feel any better.

Shuffling through his bag for a water bottle, his knuckles hit something cold and metallic-sounding tucked away inside. He hums to himself curiously before grabbing it and pulling it out.

strawberry vanilla soda.

Hm. This wasn’t the one you gave him a couple of days ago. He already drank that one. Did you sneak this into his bag? His brow furrows, and he stares at the sparkling smiling sloth on the label. When he turns the can in his hand, he sees a little note messily scribbled in black ink. 

good luck today! u got this :) ur a star

His eyes widened.

And putting his heart through a shredder would’ve hurt less than when he realizes what an idiot he’s been this entire time.

He’s instantly searching the field, peering through crowds of people, mascots, banners, flags, for any sight of you. He’s not sure how or why he goes in the direction that he does, but deep down it’s because he knows you like taking millions of pictures of flowers, and the west side exit has endless blooms of them. And so when he runs out that way, cleats tapping against the concrete pavement that leads out into the courtyard in the front of the stadium, and spots you standing there, he finally lets out the breath of air he feels like he’s been holding in his chest all day.

You’re aiming your camera at teal and orange petals scattered across the decorative florals lining the raised concrete planters, then pull it down from your face and twiddle with the settings, tilting your head to the side. You then pluck at one of the blooms that was spilling over the edges, bringing it to the tip of your nose curiously. And he just watches, chest heaving from the urgency that he rushed to get to you, heart aching from the desperation of wanting to be near you. He wanted to ask you how you were feeling, he wanted to know how your pictures came along, he wanted to know what you were doing after this, and he wanted you to be with him. But most importantly, he wanted to make sure that this wasn’t the last time he ever saw you again. 

It isn’t until a minute after that you seem keen on his presence too, and you swiftly turn your head in his direction, surprised. “Satoru?” you say. He wonders if he’ll melt. He wonders if those ice-cold barriers he’s built over the years could thaw just from the way you say his name.

But when he takes a step forward, you take a step back. And he halts. The expression on your face was unfamiliar to him. Once soft, curious, trusting. Now you looked at him like you were guarding something, keeping it safe from him, and he no longer had the right to intrude. And then he realizes the hell he’s put you through all this time.

He regrets pushing you away.

“I know I said I’d respect the fact that you want space,” he says through bated breath, “but I…I just can’t stand the thought of never seeing you again.”

You’re solemn when you look at him, reading the plea in his eyes, and then slowly shake your head. He feels like he can’t breathe. 

“I’m sorry. Goodbye.”

And then you walk out of his life.

a/n. thank you for reading! i have a few more author notes that explain a few things that i couldn't really find a way to fit into the chapter organically, but wanted to address before moving on, if you're curious you can find them here. hope to see you in the next one! pls lemme know if i missed any tags i'm sorry if i did :')

➸ take me to chapter eight!

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @lost-resonance @foulprincesscycle @purplehallow11 @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @erencvlt @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @hojoslutoru @drthymby @ninitoru @btszn @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @fvsm4x @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @cierocanteat (thank you to everyone <3)

[magics-neptunes-things]

Pretzel Chocolate

Hi guys!

This is a request I add some days ago, I know it kind of the same background as @alessiasfreckles current story. But I asked her before and she kindly accepted it. So thanks to her too ♥ (Go check her work, it really is amazing)

It's a little less sweet that what I usually write with Wally, but I hope you will like it.

TW : Accident, Loss memory, Angst but happy ending

______________________________________________________________

Clearly, you didn’t expect that when you innocently get in your team’s bus back to London. Like your girlfriend Lia, you’re a footballer and that’s how you got to know each other. You quickly fell in love with the Swiss girl and after some very disturbing flirting attempts on your part, Lia saved you from humiliation by asking yourself for a date. You agreed and the rest is history.

You were sleeping peacefully in the front of the bus when the accident happened. Most of your teammates had gathered in the back for a wild game cards, allowing you to catch up on your sleep peacefully. Over time, you get used to falling asleep with Mackenzie’s Australian-sounding curses when she loses, Kristie’s happy exclamations, or Katrina’s laugh.

You have no memory of the accident, you don't know why and how the driver ran straight into a pole, throwing you out of your seat under the violence of the shock and putting you at the top of the list of wounded with a vital emergency when help arrived.

Lia was at a team bonding and will remember perfectly when Mackenzie called Caitlin shortly after the accident, in shock of what had just happened. She will remember the blood that suddenly left her ex-girlfriend’s face and the horrified look she gave her. She will also remember that she needed to be told things three times so that the information was anchored in her brain and that Leah was more reactive than her, taking her to the London hospital where you were having your operation at that moment.

She will also remember the relief of learning that you are alive, but the distress of not knowing when and if you will wake up. Nor in what state. But she will also remember the unfailing support of Leah and Lotte who kept her company in the waiting room for hours.

********

When you regain consciousness, the first thing you face is a blinding light that make you close your eyes again quickly. You hear different beeps around you, whispers of voices and the sound of a chair being dragged on the floor that makes you open your eyes instinctively.

You are this time facing the faces of several people, who look at you attentively. One of them is dressed all in white, a man of about fifty years certainly who slowly approaches you by looking at you carefully.

"Can you hear me?"

You nod, bitterly regretting your gesture when your vision is blurred and a pain awakens in your skull. You wince and moan in pain, your eyes flickering when one of the two women in the room takes your hand in hers. She seems to be on the verge of a panic attack or passing out.

"Where am I?" you ask, difficulty articulating.

"At the hospital in London. You had a traffic accident two weeks ago. Do you remember?"

"No…" you frown, searching your mind for any information.

"It’s normal" the doctor assures you with a smile, noting a few words on his notepad "Can you tell me today’s date?"

As he looks up at you, he must feel the fear that begins to take hold of you. The hand on yours tightens around yours, but you are quickly diverted from this by the professional who talks again.

"What year are we?"

This time, you're way more scared. You know nothing about it. You are unable to be even close to the reality.

"It doesn’t matter, everything is fine. Tell me the closest memory of today that you have.”

"I…"

It’s the nothingness in your memory. You turn your brain upside down, without being able to get anything out of it.

From the corner of your eye, you see the two women exchanging a look, without you being able to understand what it's about. And, when you realize that you cannot give your own identity, it's panic that takes hold of you.

A few hours later, you finally come to yourself again. After your panic attack, the doctor gave you a sedative that sent you into the clouds. You come back to yourself, but your memory is still lacking, despite all the different stimuli tried by the doctors. Aside from getting annoyed and tired, it doesn’t change anything. And it's finally when one of the two unknowns women asks them dryly to leave you alone that it stops. You are grateful to her, you hope that the look you cast at her speaks for you.

You have no memory of your love life, your past, your present or your family. The doctors warned your parents who came immediately, apparently not living very far from London. You learned in the meantime that the two young women in the room are respectively called Lia and Leah, the pronunciation being the same, it confused you a few seconds. But when the brunette mumbled that she was nicknamed Wally, you decided to go for it too. You found out you were friends, Leah showed you some pictures to prove it.

Other friends came to visit you, including Mackenzie who came with a photo album so you could list the people who mattered to you. Lia is very often at your side, discreet, almost mute. You’ve noticed that her eyes get wet sometimes and then she apologizes before leaving your room in hurry.

"She cares about you and is worried" Mackenzie answered kindly at your questions.

"I think I care about her too, even if I don't remember. Seeing her sad make me sad" you mumble.

Mackenzie smiles at you, squeezing your hand in hers. She was in the accident as well and only got out with a slight concussion. Most of the players (you learned that you were a professional footballer) got away without serious injuries. There's only you.

You learned that you play football, like most people who come to see you at the hospital. And you’re playing pretty well. You play for West Ham but also in the England national team and you even won the Euro in 2022. Unfortunately, you are without a screen for many more weeks. So, Lia came back to see you once with photos of the event. You pose there beside Leah and other people who also came to see you. Beth, Alessia, Lotte and many others.

But you don’t remember that either.

********

Staring at the clock on the walls of your room, you wait for time to pass. Leah and Wally are supposed to come see you and you can’t help but feel some excitement at the thought. You appreciate when Lia comes to see you, she is calm, gentle and always very attentive to your needs. You seemed close before your accident and it’s probably stupid since she’s in a relationship with Leah, but you want to find back the bond you had.

"Hi there!" cheers Leah, entering your room soon after.

She carries Swiss chocolate and some flowers. She put the old ones in the trash to put the new ones on the table. You look at her, lying in your bed, a little bit tired. You had exercises to try to have your memories back all the afternoon, but it didn't go well.

"Thank you, Leah" you answer, slightly smiling. "Are you alone? Where is your girlfriend?"

"My girlfriend?"

Leah frown, looking at you. You frown too, you know you have a bad memory, but you saw both interact together.

"Well... Wally?"

"Wally? She's not my girlfriend" Leah laughs. "She's one of my best friends though."

"Oh... I thought... You look close."

You shrug your shoulders and you see Leah sitting on the chair next to your bed, tilting her head on the side while looking at you.

"We are. But in a friendly way"

She smiles at you and you smile back. You feel like she want to ask you something but didn't. You don't have anything to remember, so you try to work on your intuition to guess things. And you usually are very good at this. But you didn't insist, something else coming in your head anyway.

"We... We only were friends, you and me right?"

"Yes" laughs Leah "Don't get me wrong, you're very cute but..."

There is no but, because Wally is entering the room at this moment. She looks at Leah with a special gaze, making the blonde looking a little bit uneasy.

"Hi" you say, trying to dismiss the tension you don't understand.

Lia's eyes are coming on you and her face softened, giving you a small smile.

"Hi Y/N"

Her accent is special, you asked her where she's from the other day and learn that she's from Switzerland. After that, you asked one nurse what Switzerland looks like and she came back with a travel-themed magazine, the principal subject being Switzerland this month. You didn't ask Lia if you already went there, sometimes she looks so sad about your situation that you want to cry too.

She comes to kiss your cheek, before giving you the chocolate Leah was caring.

"Swiss chocolate. It's your favorite."

You look at the package with curiosity, turning it in your hands. Milk chocolate with pretzel in it.

Your loved ones have been instructed to give you secondary information about your tastes, preferences or things you like. But they must not give you information that you have not looked for yourself before. That’s why you don’t know anything about your love life, some of your past too.

You remembered some things, like how you hate artichokes so much or what your bedroom looked like when you were a teenager. Maybe you should have left this information behind when you think about the number of posters of all kinds that covered your wallpaper.

After hesitating, you open the tablet to take a square and eat it. It's not surprising that it's your favorite, the flavor is exceptional. As you enjoy your chocolate, a picture dances before your eyes. A living room with a fireplace located right next to a TV. The wooden floor is light and there is a coffee table between the sofa and the TV.

"Do I have a fireplace in my house?"

Leah and Lia exchange a look, and it's finally Leah who answers you with a little sorry smile.

"No, you live in an apartment.”

"Oh…"

You sigh softly, a little disappointed. You don’t realize that in Lia’s eyes looking at you, there’s hope for the first time since your accident. You strive to engrave this vision in your mind to forget as little as possible.

Lia sitting next to you, you instinctively seek her hand, mixing your fingers with hers. You realized a few days ago that the feeling soothes you and since Lia doesn't seem disturbed by this kind of gestures, you don't deprive yourself of it.

********

"Did Lia come to see you?"

You look up at Alessia, who has come to keep you company for the day. Her eyes are placed on the chocolate bar opened on your bedside table and a smile decorates her lips. Apparently, your chocolate tastes seem to be known to everyone.

"Yeah, she was here earlier with Leah."

You repost the crossword book that Alessia brought you, as well as some Spanish specialties received by Lucy, with whom you also play in the national team. You are apparently close to her too, but since she plays in another country and you aren't allowed to use electronic devices now, you haven't been able to exchange much. She wrote you several letters though, telling you about her dog, her love life and her life in Barcelona. That’s probably what you’re talking about when you call. It took you several days to answer something in writing, your concentration being still difficult sometimes. But you managed to do it.

"I thought they were together. Lia and Leah"

Alessia looks at you with an expression that mixes surprise, tenderness and fun.

"Many fans thought they were together before they denied the rumors. You remembered Leah’s ACL, right?" asks Alessia before continuing when you answer positively "Lia was very present for Leah at that time. I guess it brought them closer."

You nod thoughtfully, playing mechanically with the pen you always have in your fingers. You did remember Leah’s injury, which kept her away from the World Cup you apparently competed in last summer. You have a few images in mind, like kangaroos you saw with Ella or a laugh when Mary showed you a video of Alessia traumatized by a turkey.

You miss those moments we stole from you, and you can’t remember them. It’s frustrating and it makes you very sad sometimes. You wish you could get your life back, but it’s not working right now. Your parents come to see you regularly and show you photo albums of you as a child, with your brother and cousins. You seem to be numerous and you seem to be in the youngest of this generation.

"You’ll remember, Y/N" Alessia says gently, putting a hand on your knee.

You give her a little smile before you nod. Yes, you will remember. You have no choice.

********

Several things have been put in place to help you regain your memory. You have a medical treatment to take every day, you have psychotherapy and hypnosis sessions and you also have a sports routine to respect. This last thing isn't a bad idea since you are a professional footballer and if you want to get your life back, you must stay fit enough.

Sometimes you are accompanied by one of your friends, and today it is Mackenzie who helps you to return to your room. No release date has been given to you, but according to your doctors it will not be long. You don't know where you will go however, it has been highly recommended to you not to live alone for the moment. You didn’t have the guts to ask anyone. You would like to ask Lia if she would accept to host you for a while, but for a reason that you cannot determine you retreat every time you are about to ask her the question. And it’s been a few days now.

So, you are fucked up when the doctor comes back to see you in the room after your shower while you and Mackenzie watch a game on television.

"Did you find someone to have you when you left the hospital?" asks the doctor.

You feel yourself blushed and you see Macca’s face turning in your direction.

"Um… Mackenzie, I haven’t asked you this yet, but if you’re okay, I thought about you?"

Just a beautiful liar.

"Oh… yes, of course. I thought… whatever. Of course, my guest room is at your disposal."

"Thank you" you answer with a slight smile.

The next day, when Lia comes to see you and you tell her that you are going to settle for a while with Mackenzie, it would be hard not to see her face fall. You don’t understand the pinch in the heart that it makes you, but she recovers quickly, making sure that she is very happy to learn that you are better.

"Will you keep coming to see me? At Macca's?" you ask, almost timidly.

A few seconds pass during which she looks at you intensely, before nodding.

"Of course. If you feel like it"

"It would make me very happy."

She smiles at you, but with that sad smile that doesn't reach her eyes, before diverting your attention to the newspaper she brought you. You listen to her read you the latest news and you decide to offer yourself a new square of chocolate that Lia brought you, that you save with precious care. Barely in your mouth, you feel a new image coming before your eyes, pushing Lia’s voice in the background.

You’re in the same living room with the fireplace and the TV is on this time. There is a presence beside you and you hear a laugh, a laugh that gives you a strange sensation in the hollow of your belly. When you open your eyes, Lia doesn’t seem to have noticed anything. But these images caused a question in your mind and you interrupt the reading of the Swiss.

"Lia?"

"Yes?"

The brunette raises the nose of the newspaper with a curious air, looking at you attentively.

"I just… don’t take this question for what it isn’t, but I’ve never heard you laugh since you came to see me."

"It’s not really a question" ended up answering Lia after long seconds of silence.

She’s not wrong and you bite your lip, looking for the best way to put your point of view in a better light.

"I just don’t want you to feel obligated to come here, if it weighs on you. I love your presence here, but if it’s too heavy for you…"

"No. It’s important for me to come and see you."

Your eyes cross for a few moments and you only see sincerity in the green eyes of your interlocutor. You end up smiling and holding out a hand that she doesn’t hesitate to grasp. Only then do you notice the ring she’s wearing on her finger. It’s not an engagement ring, but the kind of ring you get for duck fishing at the fair. You find it strange that Lia is wearing something that is quite suitable for children.

"What is this ring?" you ask curiously.

It reminds you something, but you feel like you’re looking for a needle in a fog. Lia seems to have understood, since she looks at you briefly before answering you.

"What do you think?"

You bite your lip, searching again and again. Lia gives you time and unlike the exercises you do for your memory, you feel no pressure. Lia exudes kindness and the way her thumb caresses the back of your hand helps you a lot.

"I gave it to you."

You leave the ring colored rainbow to focus your eyes on Lia whose face is suddenly radiant. You don’t remember all the details, but you do remember the decor around you when you take out this plastic ring from its paper packaging. And of your insistence on putting it on Lia’s finger, the latter accepting not without rolling her eyes.

"Yes, it’s you" confirms Lia in a soft voice despite the excitement that seems to have gripped her.

"I don’t remember when it was" you mumble in an apology tone.

Meanwhile, Lia got up from her chair to sit on the mattress of your bed, on which you are sitting too. She always have her smile, a real smile this time. And when she affectionately passes her hand through your hair, you feel like butterflies in the hollow of your belly.

"It doesn’t matter" Lia gently says "It will come back. I know it."

You want to kiss her suddenly. You wonder what sensations her lips might give you. But, before you can answer this urge, knocks are made at the door of your room, letting in Katrina, Clara and Harper.

"I’ll leave you with your new guests" decides Lia.

You’re having a hard time covering up your disappointment, even though you’re happy to see Harper.

"I’ll see you tomorrow before we leave for Manchester." Lia informs you before putting a kiss on your head.

********

"Why does Lia looked sad when I told her I was going to live with Mackenzie?"

You are walking Leah Mom's dog with Leah, during a rather cloudly afternoon. You doctor asked you to stay in shape and because you're not ready to go back to training, you do as much as you can to move. You go to the stores walking and your coach sent you bodybuilding and endurance exercises to do every day.

Leah looked at you for some seconds, before answering you. You know you were friends before your accident, but you don't know if you talked to the other a lot. Still, you feel safe with her. You know you can talk to her.

"I feel like you already know the answer for this question."

You bite your lip, looking at Bella running after ducks. And Leah running after Bella soon after, trying to protect those poor ducks. When the blonde come back next to you like nothing happened, she pats your arm.

"Talk to her. Wally really cares about you and I'm sure she misses you"

"She said she will still come to see me. But she never came" you mumble, without looking at Leah.

You don't understand. You thought you were close and Lia's absence made you realize that you maybe have like a crush on her. Which is stupid, why in the world would she have interest in someone broken like you are? But you still miss her.

"She's going to kill me for saying that" Leah sighs, pinching the base of her nose, before looking at you "She thinks you are developing feelings for Macca. Like romantic feelings"

"What?! That's the stupidest thing I ever heard since my accident."

Well of course Mackenzie is sweet and you understand why she was your best friend before and you really like the idea that you can still have that after all that. Of course, you don't know her like Caitlin or Alanna does, but of all your teammates, she's the one you’re closest to.

Leah shrugs and call Bella to going back home.

"Like I said, talk to her."

You hum for any answer, your hands stuck in the pockets of your jogging and the brain turning a thousand an hour. It’s only after saying goodbye to Leah on her doorstep that you realize that it doesn’t explain why Lia would stop seeing you if you were really in love with Mackenzie.

She’s watching a movie with her own girlfriend when you come back home. Since they have been waiting for you to eat, you sit at the table with them and try to stay focused on the discussion, but your mind is elsewhere. You are relieved to have the opportunity to find the calm of the guest room, in which you decide to offer yourself a new piece of chocolate offered by Lia.

You were disappointed to find that no other square allowed you to remember other things as the first two times. This is the last squares you have left; you will have at worst the excuse to want extra chocolateif you need excuse to contact Lia.

Lying on your back, on your bed, you swallow the last chocolate crumbs you have left, your eyes fixed on the ceiling.

But, while you don’t expected more, a new flash comes dancing before your eyes.

The same living room, the same television, the same fireplace and the same laugh. Except this time when you turn your head, Lia is sitting next to you. She looks much happier than you’ve seen her since you opened your eyes. And the way she looks at you… Like you’re the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

When the image dissipates, you blink several times.

You remember.

Not necessarily in every detail and in order, but you remember.

You remember Lia, how much you hate that nickname of Wally that others give her, your relationship, your first kiss and the long weekend she took you to Switzerland.

You remember.

Your hands shaking, you’re getting out of bed. You’re as wrinkled as if you’d been running a whole game. Other memories are jostling in your head, but the only thing you want now is to go see Lia.

"I’m going to Lia's!" you shout at Mackenzie down the stairs.

You barely take the time to throw your coat on your shoulders before going out and slamming the door. When you see the rain falling on London, you congratulate yourself.

********

It’s with frowns that Lia picks up her phone some time later. There’s basically no reason for Caitlin to call her so late.

"Hello?"

"Lia? It’s Caitlin… Listen, I’m calling you from Mackenzie, she doesn’t have your phone number and uh… Did Y/N make it to your house?"

"Y/N? No? Why would she be at my house?"

Other voices are audible behind Caitlin and there are different noises before Mackenzie’s voice sounds in the phone.

"She left my house almost two hours ago, without her phone, telling me she was coming to your house."

"She’s not here" Lia replies, standing abruptly on her couch, feeling panic take hold of her. "Why did you let her go by herself?"

"I thought she ordered an Uber or something. But without her phone…"

"Do we call the police?" asks Lia.

"They will laugh in our faces" replies Katie’s voice, which is apparently there too.

It’s not surprising if Mackenzie went to see Caitlin. But this is probably not the time to ask these questions.

"I’ll go get my car and do some research in the neighborhood" Lia decides.

After deciding to do the same and giving herself directions not to turn in the same places, Caitlin and Lia hang up their phones before starting to look for you.

For your part, it’s not very glorious. Persuaded to find the way back to Lia’s house now that your memory has returned, you have dug into the streets without thinking too much. Except that you suddenly had a hesitation, then another and a third, which eventually led you to no longer know where you are. Or where you’re from.

To top it off, it’s still raining and you haven’t taken your medication to fight your chronic headaches since the accident.

Long story short, you are now in tears, sitting on a sidewalk of an unknown street, in the rain.

Finally, while she had lost hope, Lia sees your silhouette sitting out in the light of a lamppost. Her cry asking Leah, who came to the rescue, to stop, gives her a start of cardiac arrest. But the blonde obeys and Lia hurries out of the car, running in your direction.

You jump suddenly when someone sits next to you, your first reaction being to get as far away from that person as possible. But you realize quite quickly that it’s Lia and anyway she doesn’t leave you much choice by squeezing you suddenly in her arms. Hard.

“God, are you ok? What happened?” Lia asks, taking your face between her hands to look at you.

“I thought I can remember where you live, I needed to see you but then I got lost and I didn’t have my phone with me.”

“Why didn’t you call me?!”

Lia raised her voice a little and you flinch, but the Swiss woman seems to regret it as soon as it happened. She takes you once again against her, her arms firmly tightened around your body. It makes you feel safe. You’re tired, exhausted to be honest. But you know you still owe her an explanation.

“I wasn’t sure you will take my call. You said you will come to see me, and you didn’t even if I’m at Macca’s since almost two weeks now, and…”

“I’m so sorry” Lia cut you, looking at you with tears in her eyes. “But I just… I couldn’t.”

“It’s ok” you breath before staring deep into her eyes “I remember.”

A silence passes. Lia is looking at you, too.

“What?”

“I remember. My past, my childhood memories. It’s you who have a fireplace in your living room. I remember you, mein Schatz. I remember us.”

After that, it went a little chaotic. When Lia starts to cry for good, Leah almost gets out of her car, but then she see you both kiss and she understands. She takes her phone to ring Caitlin and let you some minutes before taking you both back in her car. She drops you at Lia’s, giving you one big hug before leaving you.

********

Hours later, you’re in Lia’s bed after a good hot shower. Lia gave you some fresh clothes and you can’t stop smelling them. They smell like her, like your girlfriend.

Your girlfriend who is actually looking at you like you will disappear at any moment. You can’t blame her though, so you just grab her hand and take her against you to kiss her.

“Why didn’t you tell me everything?” you mumble after the kiss.

“They didn’t want me to. They said it would be too much for you or that you won’t remember everything if we told you the truth. Your brother fights with the doctors against it, but he didn’t have the last word. I should have fight against it too, but I wanted what was the best for you, and they were the doctors, so…”

Lia shrugs, her head on the cushion, still looking at you. You can’t imagine what she went through.

“It must have been so hard for you” you whisper, stroking lightly at her face

“It was. But I knew I had to do if I wanted to have you back at some point. But then after you choose to go to Mackenzie’s and I kind of freak out. What if, even if you remember in some days, you realize that you’re in love with her and not me anymore?”

“I don’t. She always had been my friend, nothing more. It has always been you, since we crash your team” you add with a smirk.

You met Lia during a friendly game between Switzerland and England in 2022. Leah Williamson had made the presentation between you and since then you never stop talking. She asked you on a date after two weeks of texting, you said yes and everything went great since then. Even if you’re a West Ham player dating an Arsenal one.

“I thought you were with Leah, the first days after the accident” you confess at your girlfriend.

Lia frown, looking at you oddly.

“Why did you?”

“Dunno. You were like always together, but I understand now. I’m glad Leah was there for you.”

You are confident in your relationship. Even if the fans seems to like Lia and Leah together, you trust your girlfriend and your friend deeply. Plus, you’re kind of a fan of their friendship. Maybe people would find strange that your girlfriend went to live with another girl like Lia have done when Leah was injured, but you didn’t. You know how good Lia’s heart is.

“I love you” Lia whispers, before kissing you.

You smile against her lips and she doesn’t let you the time to answer before kissing you once again, hard this time. You let her. You still can tell her how much you love her later.

_________________________________________________

It’s way longer than I thought at first 😅

[lvrdrafts]

Unspoken Apologies

Summary: You are in the hospital and you confess to Bucky the pain you felt during the relationship, but Bucky doesn't deny his true feelings toward you

A/N: I GOT 100 FOLLOWERS OMG TY GUYS SO MUCH!!

Part 1 Part 2

Y/N lay in a sterile hospital room, her body weakened by the torture she had gone through. The doctors had delivered the devastating news that the torture you went through had caused severe damage internally. They had said she wouldn't make it. It was a bleak reality that Y/N was struggling to accept, but there was one person who refused to give up hope - Bucky Barnes.

Bucky paced back and forth outside the room, his heart heavy with worry. He had never seen Y/N so fragile, so vulnerable. The thought of losing her was unbearable. He blamed himself for not being there sooner, for not being there when she needed him the most.

A soft knock on the door interrupted Bucky's restless pacing. Y/N's weak voice called out, "Come in, Bucky."

He entered cautiously, his eyes brimming with concern. Seeing her lying in the hospital bed, her breathing slower and her body more pale, tore at his soul. Bucky had always admired Y/N's strength and resilience, and now it seemed to be slipping away.

Y/N managed a weak smile. "It's so funny, isn't it?" she said softly, her voice filled with a mix of sadness and amusement. "All of this started because I overheard you in the bar, calling me clingy. I tried avoiding you and I wanted you to say 'Hey I miss your clinginess' " you pause holding back tears "but you never did".

Bucky's heart sank as he remembered that conversation. It had been a misunderstanding. He was just stressed and found you as an excuse for his problems. He wanted to apologize, to tell Y/N how wrong he had been, but his words caught in his throat.

"Y/N," he began, his voice choked with emotion. But before he could say anything else, she continued.

"I've always felt like I burdened you, like I was too much for you to handle, and this situation proved my point" Y/N confessed, tears welling up in her eyes. "I guess I just wanted to hear it from you. Am I really a burden to you, Bucky?"

Bucky's silence spoke volumes, and Y/N's heart shattered into a million pieces. The truth was revealed without words, and it was more painful than she could have ever imagined.

Tears streamed down Y/N's face as she clutched her chest, struggling to breathe. Bucky rushed to her side, taking her hand in his, but it was too late. The doctors rushed in, their urgent voices fading into the background as Y/N slipped away.

Bucky knelt beside the lifeless body of the person he loved, overwhelmed with grief and regret. He had allowed his fear and pride to cloud his judgment, to push Y/N away when all she needed was his reassurance.

In that heartbreaking moment, Bucky made a promise to himself. He would carry the weight of his mistakes and regrets for the rest of his life. He would never forget the sound of Y/N's voice, filled with hurt and longing, nor the look of desperation in her eyes as she questioned her own worth.

As Bucky emerged from Y/N's hospital room, his face etched with anguish, he found himself face-to-face with Sam Wilson, who had been anxiously waiting outside.

Sam's eyes widened at the sight of Bucky's devastated expression. "Bucky, what happened?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Bucky's voice trembled as he tried to find the right words. "It's... it's my fault, Sam," he finally managed to say, his voice filled with regret. "Y/N... she overheard a conversation we had, and I never got the chance to make things right, to tell her how sorry I was. And now... now she's gone."

Sam's expression softened as he realized the weight of Bucky's remorse. "What did she hear, Bucky?" he pressed gently, knowing that the answer would reveal the depth of the pain caused.

Bucky's voice cracked as he spoke. "She heard me call her clingy, Sam," he admitted, his voice filled with self-condemnation. "I was stressed, and I took it out on her. I pushed her away when all she needed was my support. I didn't realize how much those words would haunt her, how they would make her doubt her worth. And now... she's paid the price."

Sam's gaze turned cold, his disappointment evident. "She died thinking I hated her," he said, his voice filled with frustration. "She was the only person with me after-"Bucky pauses realizing he's all alone again, as if fate wanted him to be alone. "after Steve left me. She was like an angel who was there and and now she is gone because I was a fucking idiot" Bucky says kicking a trash can to the other side of the hallway.

Bucky's shoulders slumped, his eyes welling up with tears. "I failed her, and now she's gone. I've lost her..."

@marygoddessofmischief @specialsnowflake-gabbi @openup-yourmind @madi-is-kinda-lame @maddieislost @666yourmomdotcom @kentokaze @floralwslokicjand10 @vicmc624 @theroyalmanatee @kandis-mom @elite4cekalyma @sargentbarxes @milanaasblog

[skzdarlings]

the heist team | the threesome series ; skz ; minho/reader/changbin

masterlist.

threesome series part 2/4.

pairing: lee minho/reader/seo changbin content info: sexual content. threesome. friends2lovers. very cheesy criminal heist shenanigans (very "we're in" style hacking and some laser grids lol). "fake" kissing, getting sexy as a distraction, giving sex directions, sexual tension that gets resolved. pussy eating, dick sucking, coming inside. purple haired minho bc meow <3

-

The camper van was the best idea you ever had.  It is much easier to enact dastardly schemes while inconspicuously hiding in plain sight. 

On the outside, the van looks like any civilian camper, but the inside is a veritable den of high-tech con-artistry.   It has a place for Minho to hang the get-ups for his grifting gambits, a compartment for Changbin to store his weapons and down-time dumbbells, and it has the sexiest, sleekest, most mouth-watering computer apparatus that has ever existed.  You love it more than anything in this world. 

Every job, you sit in the midst of your beloved computer screens, directing the operation while your boys do the ground work.  Despite knowing of your undying love for this system, your best friends and partners-in-crime are presently trying to separate you from your baby.

“Is she calling the computer her baby again?”  Minho asks from where he is getting dressed behind a curtain. 

“Yes,” Changbin says.  He is sitting in your computer chair with his arms distractingly crossed, his biceps bulging in his tight black shirt.  He is wearing a lot of lycra, having formerly anticipated he would be doing physical work tonight.

That all changed when you realized the nature of tonight’s job. 

You only ever target the obscenely rich, the kind of wealth that is obtained through its own nature of theft and villainy.  Tonight’s targets are a bunch of pompous elites celebrating themselves.  Upstairs is a gala kicking off a week-long set of dinners, auctions, and celebrations.   Downstairs is millions of dollars worth of art and antiquities, set to go up for auction the following day.  

It looked like a typical job, the kind where Minho could sweet-talk some fools while Changbin punched some security guards and you hacked the vault from the van.  The security system around the haul turned out to be far more advanced.  Operating with a form of artificial intelligence, it essentially learns as it goes, meaning hacking it from the outside is incredibly difficult as it will understand and respond to invasion.  It will be easier to outsmart from the inside, where you can reach your hand into its virtual heart and pluck its digital ventricles one by one. 

The boys do not have that kind of computer knowledge.  So now Changbin is in your chair, Minho is doing his make-up, and you are waving around an emergency cocktail dress. 

“Who’s gonna watch my baby if I’m in there!”  

“Yah! Rude woman!  You remember who helped you build this thing?” Changbin pats one of the computer towers to make his point.  “I can do the basic work in here, but I can’t do your complicated nerd things.” 

“I’m not a nerd!”  You definitely are.  You stare at the cocktail dress morosely.  “You’re forgetting something super important. That I am a total weirdo and I panic whenever someone looks at me! There’s a reason I don’t do the people side of things!  That’s what you guys are good at!”

“Technically I just hit them,” Changbin says. 

“You are plenty charming when you want to be and you know it,” you say. 

Changbin folds his hands behind his head, flexing all his muscles while grinning. 

“How charming?” he teases, cocky.  “Describe it to me.” 

“Shut up.”  You hit him with the cocktail dress to hide the fact he got you genuinely flustered.  “I can’t go in there.  People will know I don’t belong the second I walk in the room.  We won’t even get close enough to the computer bank for me to disarm it because they’ll get one look at me and throw me out the window.” 

“That won’t happen,” Minho says.   His changing area is behind you and you hear the metallic slide of the curtain opening.  “Because you won’t be going in there alone.”  

You don’t even have to turn around to know Minho looks devastatingly gorgeous; it is written all over Changbin’s shocked face.  His arms lower from behind his head and his cocksure expression shifts, his lips parting as he stares past you.  

Despite having the benefit of bracing yourself, you are still struck dumb when you turn and look at Minho.  It was always in the plan that Minho would serve as a distraction at the gala.  To stand out accordingly, he dyed his hair with temporary dye this morning.  The vibrant purple was more amusing than sexy when his hair was messy, but now it is neatly styled back, slick and off his handsome face.  He is dressed all in white, his asymmetrical suit partially slit at the side to show some skin.  There is an extra sparkle from his jewelry, plus the lightest dab of glitter in the sharper contours of his face.  He is practically glowing. 

He knows he looks good.  His mouth quirks in a little smirk at your expressions.  You and Changbin are both gawping at him, and it goes on long enough that his eyebrows lift and his smirk puckers with a surprised laugh. 

“What? Really?” he asks, still laughing at you. 

Changbin does an unexpected sign of the cross.  You hit him with the cocktail dress again. 

“Fine,” you say, mostly to have an excuse to duck behind the curtain because you think you might explode from lust and embarrassment and anxiety all at once.  “At least no one will be looking at me.” 

You step behind the curtain and snap it closed, leaving the boys to their banter. 

You like dressing up so this part is no problem.  The problem with parties is other people.  You wholeheartedly admit you are better with zeroes and ones than human beings.   

You try to focus on the fun elements of tonight: the dress, the glamour, and beating a high-tech security system at its own game.  It will be so fun to have a real challenge for once.  You know you can beat it but it will definitely push you more than your usual digital adversaries.

Also, you get to look at Minho looking like that.  Your view of the boys is usually through security cameras, nestled in your van surrounded by your operating system, so the proximity will be a treat. 

You open the curtain, scowling.  You do not enjoy socializing so you seldom have occasion to dress up, so you anticipate the boys will lovingly berate you.  But when you step forward, Changbin looks at you with the same dumbfounded expression he had for Minho.  Minho is sitting on the bench, knees apart and arm slung across the backrest.  His expression gets very serious when he looks at you.  He shimmies his hips, his knees parting further. 

“Turn around,” he says.  

The van feels so tense and quiet that you obey, more confused than anything else. 

Changbin’s gaze drops to your ass immediately, his jaw visibly clenching.  Minho tips his head like he is studying something. 

“Thank you,” Minho says. 

You face them again, hot in the face.  You cross your arms angrily. 

“What was the point of that?” you demand.

Minho lifts a single eyebrow.  “I wanted to see your ass,” he says, like it should be obvious.  “It’s a good one.  You should be proud.” 

You throw your sweatpants at his stupid smirk.  He catches it smoothly. 

“Can we just go already?”  You punctuate this with a stomp of your foot then storm out of your precious van. 

It is very strange being on this side of the operation.  You always have Minho and Changbin nattering in your earpiece, but usually you are sitting at your desk wearing proper headphones.  It is strange wandering around with a tiny bud in your ear, listening to Changbin report from your usual seat. 

You already have control of the hotel security cameras as they work on a separate operating system to the storeroom AI.  You replaced the live feed with a looping reel of empty rooms so the security team inside will not see you moving around.  It also gives Changbin a bird’s eye view of the gala and the rest of the hotel.  You feel anxious at not seeing it for yourself, but you are placated when Changbin whistles and teases, “You two are the best looking there.  You would be second best looking if I was there, so you’re lucky I’m not.” 

You and Minho both smile, your expressions fond.  

Minho gets you in the door with little more than a wink at the doorman.  You stay quiet, hiding your nerves as best you can.  Minho is a competent con-man and Changbin is plenty reliable so you try to focus on your own tasks.  First you need to get to the ground floor network base so you can get the AI to chase your red herring.  Once you are in, the AI will start responding, but with your virus acting as a decoy source within the building, you should be able to buy yourselves time to move onto the next phase of breaking down the system. 

“There’s a lot of muscle at this party,” Changbin says seriously, no doubt taking stock of all the burly security guards.  It is only natural Changbin would be as twitchy as you, also out of his element for the night.  “I don’t like not being there with you,” he says.  

“Easy,” Minho says in a calm voice.  You think it is directed at both you and Changbin.  He puts a hand on your lower back and gives you a knowing look.  “You’re doing fine,” he says.

You feel like terror is written all over your face.  It doesn’t help that Minho draws eyes the second you step into the hotel ballroom, men and women looking at him with the usual desire he draws.  They are equally curious to look at you, their eyes on where his hand rests intimately low on your spine. 

“I’m gonna hurl,” you say.

“Not a bad idea,” he says.  He smiles with so much effortless charm that no one would suspect he is whispering criminal tips.  “The best con,” he says, his lips brushing your ear, “is one that is close to the truth.”  You shiver as his fingertips brush up your spine.  He rests his hand on your nape.  “Look sick,” he says.  “We’ll say we’re looking for a restroom if someone asks.” 

You follow his lead, weaving your way through the party.  Looking sick is the easiest instruction to follow because you feel genuinely ill, your anxiety a toxic twist in your gut.  

Only when you are wandering the empty hotel corridor do you feel at ease.  You feel even more at ease when you find the ground floor network hub.  Your first obstacle is a regular alarm code, twelve digits in length.  It is obviously too long to guess so you physically unscrew the alarm box and start some manual fiddling.  There is no way to fully disarm it without also setting it off, but that’s where your own AI gadget comes into play.  You plug in your cypher scrambler and let it do its thing.  It flickers through numbers, seeking the correct pattern, learning from its errors.  You designed it yourself and though it is always accurate, it takes a while to pull the numbers.  You and Minho are forced to hover in the hallway while it gradually reveals each piece of the code. 

You are up to number seven out of twelve when Changbin inhales sharply. 

“There’s a waiter walking in your direction,” he says.  “It looks like he’s taking a shortcut to somewhere else, but you have less than two minutes until he’s on you.”

 “What!”  You start to panic immediately.  “My decipher machine could take longer than that, what do we—”

“Relax, relax!”  Changbin says at the same time Minho steps behind you and grasps your shoulders.  He makes little shushing noises while massaging you, not that it does much to help. 

“We’re good,” Minho says.  “It’s just a waiter, not security.” 

“I’m gonna get us killed,” you say. 

“By a waiter?”  Minho asks.  He gives your shoulders another squeeze.  “Is he going to beat us with a baguette?  Hey, hey, relax.”

You are a vibrating bundle of nerves.  Minho is not usually the type to dive into a hug but he turns you around and pulls you into his arms.  You wrap your arms around his middle and hug him back, hiding your face in his neck. 

“Yeah, that will work,” Changbin says. 

“Huh?” you say, lifting your head. 

Minho is staring into a security camera as if having a mute exchange with Changbin.  He nods in agreement, though you still don’t understand. 

“What will work?” you ask. 

“Distraction,” Minho says.  You just look at him with confusion. 

“Baby,” Changbin says in a soft tone, “listen to my voice.”

The sudden gentleness of his voice makes you shiver.  Your fingers are shaking when Minho takes your hand and rests it over his heart.  You look up into his dark eyes as he smiles at you with familiar fondness.  You open your mouth to speak but he shakes his head, shushing you gently.  His eyes drift to the side in anticipation of an intruder. 

“Baby,” Changbin says, his honeyed tone softening your nerves, “Minho is going to kiss you.  Just do what I say, okay?” 

Your heart skips a beat, your eyes widening.

“You trust us?”  Changbin asks. 

You nod, answering Changbin, gazing at Minho. 

It’s the truth.  You might be scared but you have been scared before and your boys always come through.  Even when the rest of the world left you behind, when you turned to crime to keep yourself alive, Minho and Changbin were there.  They have never let you down.  You trust them with anything and everything. 

Minho slips his hand around your waist, pulling you close to him.  You have been close before, sharing the van, sharing hotel rooms, but this feels different.  He looks at you with intent, his handsome face so close, a strand of dark purple hair curled over his forehead.  Your hand finds that patch of bare skin when you touch his side.  He is familiar and foreign at once, your Minho, and also a character, one who clasps his hand behind your back and ducks down to gently kiss your lips. 

“Take a breath, baby,” Changbin says with a little chuckle.  “You look like you’re going to pass out.” 

“Mmf,” is the noise you make, affirming that observation.   It makes Minho laugh, a breath against your lips. 

“Waiter is thirty seconds away.  You just want to look like a dumb, horny couple that wandered away from the party,” Changbin says.  “Listen to me, I’ll tell you what do.”

You nod, sucking in a breath when Minho kisses you again.  This time his mouth is a little more insistent, his lips coaxing yours open. 

“Close your eyes, baby,” Changbin says.  “Let your shoulders drop.  Minho has you, it’s okay.” 

You didn’t even realize how tense your shoulders were.  You listen to Changbin, letting yourself go lax.  Minho holds you, as promised, his arms sturdy around your waist as he kisses you deeply. 

“Let Minho move you,” Changbin says. “He’s going to lean you against the wall to hide the device, okay?  Put your hands on his shoulders.  Higher, baby, go around his neck.  Just like that.  Let him lead you.” 

Minho walks you backwards, carefully pressing you against the wall, hiding the dangling cypher scrambler with your bodies. 

“We wanna give our intruder a little jump scare, okay?”  Changbin says.  “Minho.”  

That is all the direction he gives Minho, trusting the adept con-man to know exactly what to do.  Minho does, his hands sliding down to your hips to pull them flush against his.  It arches your back.  Your hands are hooked behind his neck and you squeak, your fingers instinctively sinking into his hair. 

“God,” Changbin says.  The sudden dark colour to his voice sends a spark of heat shooting through you.  It clearly surprises Minho too, his lips parting with a caught breath.  “You both look hot.  Fuck.” 

Changbin takes a steadying breath.  You and Minho look at each other.  You get to see his smirk for a split second, then his mouth is on yours and it is no longer gentle and questioning.  It is a demand, hot and wanting, your lips opening with his guidance, your heart skipping beats when he licks in your mouth. 

“Do it back,” Changbin says.  “You want him to fuck you, baby.  Make him believe it.”

You think the him is question is the waiter.  Isn’t it?  You don’t even know where the waiter is anymore, if he’s around the corner or watching.  In the haziness of your kiss, it hardly seems to matter.  You kiss Minho back with the same urgency, pulling him closer, whimpering when he bites your bottom lip. 

“Fuck,” is the gentle whisper that Minho can’t fight.  His brow is crinkled, his eyes closed.  He kisses you again, his hands jumping up to gather yours.  He laces his fingers with yours and presses your hands into the wall on either side of your head. 

“Wrap your leg around his waist,” Changbin says.  “Like that, that’s it, you’re okay.” 

You lift one leg, shaky and unsure.  Minho catches you under the knee and pulls it more certainly around him.  He holds you there, his other hand grasping your throat very gently as he kisses and kisses and kisses you.  Your hands are still splayed open by your head, thoughtlessly awaiting direction.  Your fingers curl into your palm and you moan for real when Minho presses against you. 

Minho is a good actor, but the hard shape in his pants is very real.  When he grinds against you, so open and soft with your leg around his waist, it draws all those guttural sounds right out of you.  Minho makes one back, swivelling his hips in a maddening grind against you.  It is all too easy to imagine him fucking you like this, the effortless back-and-forth of his hips, your sweet sighs as he takes you, imagining Changbin there, his breath also stuttering. 

You do not forget he is watching all this, especially when he lets another low laugh and asks, “She feel good?”

“Yes,” Minho answers without hesitation, breathing the word against your lips. 

“Hold his face, baby,” Changbin says.  “Kiss him like you mean it.  Ask him to fuck you with it.”

You know what he means by that: to kiss Minho with fervency and heat.  You do obey, cupping his face with both hands and kissing him deeply, but the fuzziness of desire mixed with Changbin’s words makes your brain go screwy with want.  Not only does your kiss convey that desire, but words rush past your mouth, crashing into Minho’s lips in a breathless flurry.

“Fuck me, fuck me, please,” you say, your voice pitching up into a little whine as you rock against him.  “Want you to fuck me so bad, baby,” you say, thinking of both of them at the same.   You kiss Minho’s surprised, open mouth, your eyes closed, your voice loud in this hazy space as you say, “I’ve been thinking about it all night.  Need it so bad.  Please.  Want you inside me.  Want my mouth on you.  Come in me.  Come on me.  Take me, please.  I’m so hot and wet, it’ll feel so good, don’t you want to feel how wet I am?  Don’t you want to fuck me too?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Changbin says, followed by a rush of even more inventive curses.

Minho settles on another simple, surprised, “Fuck.” 

Then someone is clearing their throat.  Minho jumps, his hands clamping tighter around you, protective. 

“Oh, right, this clown,” Changbin says.  “I hate that he’s too far away too punch.” 

You giggle in spite of yourself, which is good because you think you might simultaneously die of embarrassment.  You drop your leg and Minho lets you go, pulling himself together faster than you. 

You let him do his thing, sliding a hand through his hair and smirking at the waiter as he saunters over.  He makes his little speech, something-something-something a moment alone with the missus, something-something sorry-sorry-sorry.   He walks the waiter back around the corner, giving you a knowing glance over his shoulder. 

Thank god your cypher scrambler has its act together, even if you are a mess.  It takes you longer to right yourself than it does for the scrambler to finish its job.  Your hands are shaking as you break into the hub, but muscle memory takes over when you have your mini-laptop open. 

Minho joins you a minute later.  Your entire body lights up like a firework when he steps close to you.  Nothing in his expression conveys anything more than professionalism – his queries are about the job and the job alone – but there is an ache between your thighs that won’t subside.  You know he feels the same way as you can see he is still hard despite how much he glares at the wall.  He adjusts his pants several times while standing in that closet of a hub with you.  You keep glancing at each other, your gazes heady, speaking volumes more than your polite conversation.   

When you leave and he puts his hand on your lower back, you shiver.  You think you might double over from the persistent thumping of your easily-distracted pussy. 

Changbin lets out a long sigh and a nervous giggle.  “Good work, team,” he says. 

You have worked enough jobs that you manage to set aside your personal feelings for the time being.  It is easy to lose yourself in your work, especially when you really have to fight the security system.  

You get inside the storeroom.  You know it is filled with more traps and alarms so you sit down beside the door and type away on your laptop.  You nearly break a sweat with the intensity of your work. 

“She’s hot when she’s doing her thing,” Changbin suddenly says. 

You lift your head and catch Minho’s eye.  He smiles at you.  “I agree,” he says. 

Your heart starts skipping beats again.  You look down at your laptop, feeling uncharacteristically shy under his gaze. 

“Don’t distract me,” you say, making both of them laugh a little.  You glare at Minho but there is no real animosity behind it. 

At least they both acquiesce, going silent while you work.  You manage to disarm most of the storeroom.  The best you can do for the remainder of traps is trigger their subsequent lighting rigs so you can see them all.  A labyrinth of blue light brightens the dark entry room, revealing each laser trigger that blocks your path to the locked compartments. 

You look up at Minho whose calculating gaze is already tracing each intricate beam. 

“Got it?”  Changbin asks.

Minho starts unbuttoning his suit.  “Always,” he says, smirking. 

Minho flips the blazer down his arms, revealing just a tight white crop top beneath it.  His jacket, shoes, and jewelry form a pile beside you.   Minho does a few quick stretches before confidently approaching the laser grid. 

Before his criminal life, Minho was a dancer, and a good one.   He draws the same graceful lines with his body now, making each manoeuvre look easy even though you know it is incredibly difficult. 

“He’s hot when he’s doing his thing,” Changbin says.

“Yeah,” you say, biting your lip and watching Minho move.  “Gotta agree.” 

Minho slips over and under each laser, twisting and bending and sliding with ease.  He pops up on the other side with a graceful twirl, throwing you a wink over his shoulder before flipping a switch on the control panel.  It powers down the censors so you can scurry across the room to join him. 

The compartment door unlocks with your final hacked access code, the door swinging open to reveal your loot.  Changbin gives a successful holler into your earpiece, making you and Minho duck with his volume. 

“I’ll bring the car around, baby,” Changbin says while you two roll your eyes but smile. 

You pack your fold out bags with your selections.  One key to success is never being overly greedy.  You walk away with a substantial victory nonetheless.    

You hurry out of the storeroom with your prize haul.  Minho gets dressed again, though he doesn’t button up his jacket.  He takes a second to catch his breath while you restore each alarm so nothing appears out of place.   When you are ready to go, he takes your hand, smiling.  You run hand-in-hand back down the corridor, making a few sharp turns until you find a staff exit.  There is a small drop so Minho jumps down first then holds out his arms for you.  Though you could make the jump easily, you still let yourself fall into his arms.  

He holds you close as he puts you on your feet.  You are riding the high of adrenaline and success, your heart soaring, which might be why you so easily surrender to desire.   You kiss him, sudden and brief but tantalizing.  He blinks back at you with surprise, his face scrunching with that astonished little laugh of his.   

You smile at him.  A line of sweat dots his hairline and you reach up, smoothing some messy strands of purple hair.  The gentle caress changes the whole shape of his face, his eyes heavy-lidded, his breathing harder.  You feel yourself change too, your heart pounding against his chest when he pulls you close. 

You got greedy with that kiss and greediness has consequences.  You are so distracted with each other that you don’t notice the security guards coming at you from the opposite direction. 

“Hey!” one shouts.  “What are you doing out here?” 

You and Minho look over, then at each other.  There is no time for conversation.  You grab each other’s hands and start running, your bags of stolen goods bouncing on your shoulders. 

“Hey!” the security guard shouts again.  You can hear their heavy footsteps thundering after you, fast despite their muscle and bulk. 

You turn the corner onto a backstreet just in time for the camper van to swing into view.  The door slides open and Changbin jumps out.  You pass each other, dropping hands so Changbin can dart between you.  

Panting, you and Minho watch as Changbin effortlessly takes down the guards. 

“He’s hot when he’s doing his thing,” you say, giggling.

Minho laughs, nodding.  “I agree,” he says. 

Minho takes the steering wheel so you can apologize to your baby for abandoning her.  Changbin jumps back in the van and the three of you drive away with another successful haul. 

Later, back at the penthouse, Minho takes the longest shower in an effort to scrub the purple out of his hair.  You are in your bedroom when he finally emerges.  You can hear him and Changbin talking in the living room.  By the sounds of it, the purple is still threaded in his dark brown hair, likely to last a few more days.  You smile to yourself, listening to their playful back-and-forth as Changbin teases him and Minho snarkily retaliates. 

It is tradition after a successful job to have a few drinks and relax.  Contacting your fence and taking care of business can wait until tomorrow. 

You can hear the usual music playing through the speakers, can hear the clink of bottles and glasses, can hear Changbin and Minho laughing and talking. 

You look at your reflection in the mirror.  Though you seldom have occasion to wear pretty luxuries, you have enough money at your disposal to treat yourself.   You have been changing in and out of different lingerie sets since you got home.  You think this one might be just right: a silky black set worn under a lacy black dress that falls to your thighs.  It is suggestive but arguably casual.  You could just be wearing it as pyjamas, right?  Sure.  Sure.  Totally normal pyjamas for a totally normal night.

The best con is one that is close to the truth, Minho had said.  Then he stuck his tongue in your mouth and you begged him to fuck you with Changbin’s help.  Even you, who is terrible at reading and understanding people, know what truth was in that charade. 

You take a deep breath and march to your bedroom door with determination.  You throw it open so hard that it smashes into the wall, startling the boys in the other room.  You ignore the crash and scurry into sight, avoiding eye contact.

“Hello,” you say.

There is a moment of prolonged silence then Changbin says, “Hi.”

You look up.  They are both staring at you, both wide-eyed, both in sweatpants and t-shirts with their hair undone and fluffy.  They look very casual and very surprised.  Minho is clutching a beer bottle and Changbin is holding a bowl of popcorn.  Both of them are frozen.

You smile a very awkward smile.

“Hello,” you say again.  “I am… I am… dressed.  For bed.  My bed.  For being in my bed, like this, as I am dressed right now.  I am going to that bed, now, like this.  You can… join me.  If you want.  If you don’t want, then, okay.  Hello.  And.  Goodbye.  Bye.” 

You run back to your bedroom and slam the door closed. 

Other than the soft music still swirling in the air, the penthouse is quiet.  You cannot hear the boys, not a comment, not a sound, not a breath.

Then you hear the popcorn bowl hit the ground and a bottle smash.  They shove and yell at each other as they stumble on the way to your bedroom.  You are standing awkwardly in the middle of your room, hands folded in front of you, waiting as they crash into your bedroom door and curse at each other. 

Changbin then very casually opens the door and they calmly walk inside. 

“Hello,” you say. 

“Hi,” Changbin replies. 

You wish thoughts could be hacked like a computer.  You cannot think of what to say or do next.  You just stare at them and they stare back, although their gazes are considerably less nervous.  Their stares are thirsty, drinking you in, looking from top to bottom and back again. 

“Turn around,” Minho says, his gaze low. 

You meet Changbin’s eye before obliging, slowly turning.

“Okay,” Minho says after a long moment, giving your heart plenty of time to go crazy in your chest.  “Thank you.” 

You turn back around, just as embarrassed as earlier but not angry at all.  You cross your arms over your chest, flicking your gaze between them. 

Minho reaches out and lightly punches Changbin on the arm.  Changbin looks at him and Minho gives him a look, one you cannot decipher.  You continue to stare at them. 

Changbin nods at Minho then looks at you.  He holds out his hand. 

“Breathe, baby,” he says.  “You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

You laugh but nod, taking his hand.  He wastes no time pulling you close, guiding your hand to his heart as Minho did earlier.  He holds your hand there and waits until you make eye contact so he can wink at you. 

“I know I am the best looking man you have ever seen in your life,” he says, making you laugh again, “but I’m me.  You trust us?”

You look at him then at Minho.  His dark hair is still tinted purple, his bare face open and soft as he meets your eye.  You smile and look back at Changbin, nodding. 

“Always,” you say. 

“Good,” Changbin says. 

He cups your face and you lean towards him, anticipating a kiss, but he gently turns your face aside.  You don’t even have time to be confused before Minho is kissing you.  He swiftly draws all those sweet sounds out of you, pulling you towards him.  Changbin steps behind you, holding your hips and kissing his way up your neck to your ear. 

“Baby,” Changbin says while Minho slows his kiss to something gentle but heated, his tongue swiping at yours.  “Listen to my voice, okay?” 

You nod, light-headed but eager. 

“Good,” Changbin says.  “Come sit in my lap.  Over here.” 

Changbin is strong enough to haul you around.  You barely have to move, letting yourself go soft in his arms.  He sits on the edge of the bed and puts you in his lap, spreading your legs over his thighs.   You stare up at Minho, out of breath, your thighs twitching to close for pressure.  Changbin slides a hand down, stroking your inner thigh and making you jump, his other hand tugging down your dress and immediately going for your breast. 

Minho sweeps a hand through his hair, taking a breath before stepping up to you. 

“Still want your mouth on him, baby?”  Changbin asks, reminding you of all the things you whispered in that heated moment.  

You nod, whimpering when Changbin slides his hands into your panties and touches you directly.  He circles and circles the most sensitive cluster of nerves, grunting and pressing his lips to your neck. 

“She’s so fucking wet,” Changbin says.  He slips his hand out of your panties and abruptly grabs Minho by the hand, tugging him closer.   Minho brings that hand to his mouth, licking your wetness off Changbin’s fingertips.  “Touch him baby,” Changbin says.  “You see how hard he is for you?”

You can see.  You can feel Changbin too, hard under you.  Their sweatpants do little to disguise it. 

You do not hesitate obeying, tugging on the waistband of Minho’s sweats.  Everything feels so dreamy and good, surrounded by touch.  It all seems to happen quickly; suddenly Changbin’s hand is in your panties, Minho’s dick is in your mouth, and Minho’s hands are tugging the straps of your dress down.   This ends with you drooling messily all over the end of his dick, sucking on the head and murmuring nonsense while Changbin makes you come on his fingers.  Then Minho kneels in front of you both, your legs end up over his shoulders, and you find yourself hurtling towards another orgasm on his mouth. 

You dress ends up somewhere, the panties too.  The bra is barely on, the straps hanging down your arms.  Changbin finally kisses you when you are on your back in the middle of the bed.  He lays between your open legs, his fingers filling you up as you continue to gush all over his hand.  You grab him, squeezing his biceps as he effortlessly moves that strong hand between your legs.  Minho climbs up too, his shirt somewhere across the room.  He grabs your hands and pulls them over your head, pinning them into the pillows before ducking down to kiss you.   You come for a third time before either of them even fucks you. 

Then they do.  Minho first, with you under him, listening to every direction Changbin murmurs in your ear.  You lift your legs around his waist when Changbin says, then touch yourself when Changbin asks, and shudder when Minho comes inside you like you earlier begged. 

Then Minho is behind you, holding you, touching you, protective and familiar while Changbin fucks you.  Changbin has a surprisingly filthy mouth, continuing to tell you how good you feel and how good you look.  Minho is quiet but fully entranced by you, his hands constantly wandering.  He slides one hand down and rubs you off while Changbin fucks you.  Then he leans over your shoulder and kisses Changbin on the mouth, making Changbin finish too.  

The music is still playing in the next room.   The three of you lay there in various states of undress, you in the middle, sweaty and messy, the boys panting and gently stroking your arms and thighs. 

“I love you guys,” you say.  It is incredibly cliché to make a love confession after several mind-blowing orgasms, but you don’t care.   You don’t need to play games or tell lies or be good at socializing, not with your boys.   You can just be your nerdy self, confessing your feelings even while drifting into sleep. 

You smile when you feel Minho kissing your cheek, Changbin giggling on your other side. 

“It will have to be big,” Changbin says.  “The biggest.”

“Hmm?” you ask, looking at him strangely. 

“The diamond we steal to put on your finger,” Changbin says, holding up your hand and circling your ring finger.  You laugh and try to pull your hand back but Minho catches it, nodding in accord. 

“I agree,” Minho says.  He kisses your temple.  “I know how criminals work,” he adds.  “You’re not getting stolen away from us.” 

He and Changbin exchange an affectionate glance over you, nodding at each other, then they are each kissing a side of your face as you squirm and laugh.  You swipe at Minho’s purple hair and kiss Changbin’s cheek, then nestle into their arms as they wrap around you, protective as always. 

[doobea]

IN A CASE OF EMERGENCY - SAE ITOSHI

synopsis: Sae forgets to change one small detail in his hospital record, but it ends up for the better.

content: gn!reader, exs to lovers, sfw, minor injuries, second chances, fluff, slight angst but overall just comforting, sae being a bad communicator as always word count: 1.1K a/n: something short and sweet to crave my sae brain rot

"Hey," You shut the door softly behind you and make your way over to where he lay. You stand with arms firmly crossed and the tight expression you send him makes Sae want to hide underneath the covers. "You didn't change your emergency contact?"

He manages to keep his usual stoic look and carelessly shrugs, although it's a bit difficult with the amount of tubes stuck to his arms, "I doubt Rin would even show."

You heave out a deep sigh and sit down on the edge of the bed, looking everywhere but his face, "You guys still haven't made up after all this time?"

"It's complicated, you know that." He watches your shoulders tense at the last part but you let them fall before he gets a chance to comment.

"Well, I hope you know that getting a call from the hospital at one in the morning wasn't on my weekend's to-do list." You attempt to joke but he knows that you're particular about your sleep schedule.

"I know." He wants to apologize but holds it off. Sae turns his head towards the opposite side of the room and awaits your berating.

"You haven't been taking care of yourself, have you?"

"I haven't."

Sae doesn't bother to hide it. Ever since separating from you, he's been distracting himself with more and more games. Trying to keep both mind and body busy from having to even think about you. Too bad it all eventually caught up. He feels like he's stuck in a space between sorrow and bliss.

"Well, you need to." You state the obvious, although it's most likely because he knows there wasn't much to say.

It's been a full year since he last spoke to you. He should feel lucky that you even bothered showing up after how bitter the breakup was. And he does.

"Hey," You say again, but this time it's softer and has a hint of hesitation. Just enough for Sae to pick up on it.

He props himself up on the hospital bed, leans forward, and faces you, "Yeah?"

You turn too, just inches apart from him. Close enough that he can hear your breathing over the monitoring machines. The room is dark but there's a faint glow from the street lamp outside. Sae can make out the shine in your eyes, the familiar shape of your lips, and the way your hair falls down your face. You look better than the last time he saw you.

"This is old but," You laugh dryly and avert your gaze, Sae is almost positive that you're blushing, "do you remember the stupid promise we made a while back?"

Of course, he remembers. It had been his idea after all. Looking back at it, it was an impulsive decision that he made up on a whim. Promising that he would propose after beating his brother's team. That idea soon fell apart as quickly as he had come up with it. Sae isolated himself for a while after losing and it drove you away from how stubborn and absolutely stupid everything turned out to be.

"I remember." Sae finally answers after a long moment.

"My mom still talks about it—talks about you and talks about us."

As cruel as it may sound, he's glad that he's still very much a present in your life. Sae tries to hold back the smile that threatens to spill on his face, a twitch on his lips so small that only you would be able to recognize.

"Not funny."

There it is, that pout that he would always make fun of. Sae holds back the urge to call you cute and instead decides to have the long-awaited overdue conversation.

"I'm sorry for the way I treated you." He carefully watches your facial expression change ever so slightly as he continues. "I didn't mean to place our relationship on a selfish bet. I should've just waited for the right moment to do it."

There's silence. You almost start stuttering as soon as he meets your glossy eyes. The way he spoke came out more casually than he intended and he's pretty sure that his current expression is even more casual. Sae reminds himself that he needs to get rid of the stoic act, especially when it comes to you.

"How would you have done it?" Your voice staggers in what he assumes to be a mixture of anxiety and yearning. Still, it's not a question that he had expected to fly out of you.

Sae feels his mouth go dry but he carries on, ignoring the warm rush to both his cheeks and stomach, "By the pier where I first asked you to be mine. Exactly a month after your birthday because I know you don't like it when people combine holidays and anniversaries close together."

"Because it's—"

"Lazy." Sae finishes and finds the strength to chuckle when you shoot him another one of your cute pouts. He presses on, "Would you have said yes?"

Another wave of silence and he wonders if you're rejecting the idea. If that's the case, Sae hopes you forget about this conversation tomorrow morning, even though you had brought it up first. It'll be a little weird for him to get rejected again by his former partner but he tells himself that he's been through worse. The silence grows heavier and Sae is about to play it off as some awful joke, tell you to leave for the night, but then—

"I would've." You said breathlessly. And when he doesn't respond because he's speechless, you repeat yourself again.

"That's good to know." He can't help but to laugh out a little because, of course, this happens to him. Sae studies your body language for a while before speaking, feeling brash and frankly overly confident. He might just blame it on the medication if you were to ask him about it later. "By the way, I still need a ride back tomorrow."

You stifle back your own laugh but it's filled with tenderness that he was once familiar with, "Is this your way of asking me to get back with you?"

"No," He's swift to respond, "I'll do that after I invite you inside."

"Do you think I'll say yes?"

"Knowing you, most likely."

Sae leans forward, closing the space between the two of you. His lips are a hair width apart from yours and he's sure that you could hear his heart pounding against his ribcage. He watches you close your eyes and soften your face but, as much as he wants to shut the distance, Sae bumps his forehead against yours.

You wince and yelp at the impact, "What was that for?"

"To let me know that I'm not dreaming."

He doesn't care about the half-glare you give him or the fact that his heart rate monitor is giving away how nervous he actually is. What he does care about is having the privilege to be next to you again, and in this little moment, you are the center of his universe.

[ma1dita]

heavy hitter

part one can be found here!

this was a request, find it here!

words: 3.5k (yall im so sorry)

summary: james potter x beater!reader James might’ve won the game, but he needs to let people know he has the girl too.

warnings: smut. minors DNI. afab!reader, p in v, pwp, unprotected sex (wrap b4 u tap) locker room sex, creampie, oral (m!receiving) reader is a brat… this is nasty don’t look at me (jesus tagging this is crazy)

a/n: …. what plot? i wanted to write angst again but got bored so… *jazz hands* erm…. this is my first smut fic, i’ll go crawl in a hole now

(posted 12/19/23 not edited will return)

—

Hitting the shower was James’ chance of washing his anger away before seeing you again tonight. He always gave quidditch his 110% percent, but something animalistic rose out of him when he saw you get manhandled by Wilkins, his team keeper. And regardless of the Gryffindor win, he was planning to chew off his ear later, whether it be with extra laps at the next practice or a good ol’ fashioned wallop to the head. But this anger wasn’t due to a foul play, not even because you got hurt (your arm was clearly fine since you used it to swing your bat at Wilkins’ head after). What got James mad was the fact you ripped your jersey.

No, actually, it was definitely because of what happened after that.

He’s not the type of boyfriend to decline you showing a little extra skin, but any fantasy that entered his mind was quickly cleared away when he saw you re-emerge from the locker rooms wearing your teammate’s jersey. McGonagall said it would be the only way to let you play the rest of the game since there’s no magic allowed on the field, but ever the rulebreaker, James thought that was absolute bullshit.

He rinses the shampoo out of his mop of curls as he thinks about that tosser whose name he can’t even remember. The guy was way too eager to give you his jersey, flirting with you at practices and just not taking a hint. Everyone knew you’d been dating him for a while now, and of course, James knows you can handle yourself, but there are just some things he can’t let slide. Namely, assholes that can’t take a hint. Also, he was a benchwarmer at most. Cocky motherfucker.

Watching you fly around with some other guy’s last name on your back did terrible things to James’ ego. The blur of suds pool at his feet, circling down the drain as he takes a deep breath. He’s got it bad for you, but luckily you like him enough to call him yours.

The Gryffindor locker room was empty by now with everyone too eager to celebrate their win. It was his last year as team captain and at Hogwarts in general, so he should be right up there drinking with all of them, but James really needed to let off some steam.

“Babe?” Your voice calls from the doorway, echoing against the empty walls. Condensation drips off the door handle as you take a peek to see the one shower going in the corner. What was taking him so long? You saw the rest of the team leave without him and they were trying to drag you to celebrate with them, but with your boyfriend still drowning himself in the stall….

“Over here love,” he calls out, hearing your sandals clomp against the wet tile as you turn the corner.

“You almost done? We have a party to get to, Jamie.”

The falling water makes it a bit hard to hear you, so he pops his head out from behind the curtain and squints at your frame. You giggle and pull his chin closer for a few quick kisses.

“Is that your jersey?”

His lips feel so soft against yours as you get distracted, slipping your tongue into his mouth instead of giving him a proper answer. Godric you’re good at that. James’ wet hand quickly pushes the curtain open grabbing at your ass and tucking you against his naked body, soaking the front of you in the process. A muffled yelp escapes you as your body adjusts to the temperature and the feeling of his semi-hard dick against your front.

“No, coach still has mine and I have to return this to Steven after.” You say calmly, smiling against his cheek as he sucks at your neck. He would’ve enjoyed getting lost in the scent of your still-damp hair, but your statement makes him stop as he bites at your pulse point. A whimper leaves your mouth.

“Why the fuck are you still wearing whatshisname’s jersey?”

James’s hands trail up your back to feel the embroidered letters against your back, and he swears his eye twitches. The incredulous look on his face makes you hold back your laughter.

“Steven. You know him! Don’t tell me this is a big deal for you, baby. You know I couldn’t magically fix mine during the game…”

Your hands trace down his slippery biceps as he unconsciously ruts against your belly, cock now at full attention from rubbing up against you. Your nipples are pebbled up under the material of the jersey, soaked from your less-than-innocent embrace, and he lifts a hand to brush over them, making you groan.

“Definitely not. I wouldn’t get jealous of a prick like him…” He scoffs, hands going back down to fist the fabric over your hips, “Not a big deal at all.”

“Mhmmm… I’ve got a way to make it up to you, even if it’s not a big deal.” You muse, fingers reaching to tease his swollen head as James exhales harshly.

“I’d hope this is a big deal for you, baby. Would want nothing more,” he breathes, pushing your back against the wall.

“You just want me to say your dick is big.”

The both of you laugh before he tugs the jersey over your head, ripping it in the process.

“James!”

He shrugs, burrowing his head into your breasts and lapping at your right bud. You moan, shoving your shorts down past your ankles before pulling his hair away from your chest.

“Mmmm…fuck, babe. I’m supposed to be congratulating you right now!”

Your hands push at his torso slightly as you fall to your knees, placing yourself onto your sandals. Gentle hands graze his thighs, as he feels your nose bump into his cock. The water hits James’ back perfectly, and the sensation of your hand pumping and sliding along his length makes him almost feral, shutting his eyes in pleasure.

“You played so well today baby… deserve a reward, don’t you think?”

Your tongue slips out from behind your lips to lick the underside of his length, holding yourself there as you look up at him to answer. Droplets cascade down his pecs as he breathes heavily at the feeling, precum leaking from his cockhead. James hisses as you tap him against your tongue.

“Fuck, baby. Need your mouth right now.” He can feel you grin against his girth before his cock disappears into your mouth, hot and warm, and his instinct is to grab your hair. Goosebumps rise on the parts of him untouched by the shower. Your throat rumbles with a groan as you let him work himself down into your throat, the resistance waning as your jaw slackens. Cheeks hollowing, your lips retract with a pop.

“Like that, Jamie?” you say, reaching around to massage his balls as your tongue continues to play with the long vein that runs along the surface of his cock. It’s hard to fit all of him in your mouth, fingers barely able to wrap around it, much less the rest of you. His hand massages the part where your mouth hinges open, squeezing your cheeks around him as he fucks into you with a bated sigh.

“You always take me so well, baby. You can handle more, that’s it,” he pants, biting his lip as you concentrate real hard on letting him use you, the corners of your eyes watering. His heart is racing now as his hips piston to the noises that come gurgling from your throat and he almost slips before his reflexes help him catch the back of your head before it bangs into the stall wall. A loud moan sputters from around his cock as your eyes roll back, and the lack of oxygen makes you press your fingernails into his quads harshly.

He pulls out from between your lips, cradling your chin as the both of you catch your breath, coughing a little.

“You okay? Mouth so good I lost my footing.” All you can do is laugh hoarsely as he grins boyishly before you realize he’s not wearing his glasses.

“Can you even see me? S’bit cold down here, Mr. MVP.”

He pulls you up, strong hands lifting you at your armpits until you stand in front of him, reaching over to grab his glasses from the shower shelf. You slide them on as water sprays onto them slightly as he shifts, blinking at you in clearer vision.

“There’s my boy,” you whisper, cupping his jaw and slotting your lips between his once more. You could kiss James forever, all muscles and hard exterior, but everything else, his lips down to his insides feel and go soft for you. He groans lowly and it rumbles between the both of you, before the slick motions against your core remind you of something else that’s really hard right now.

“All for you,” he sighs, hands gripping onto your hips with a force that you think they’ll bruise tomorrow, and you love having physical reminders of him wherever you go. Huh, maybe he is jealous. And if not, he’s possessive. It makes your cunt pulse harder just thinking about it, your arousal helping his head slide nicely against your bundle of nerves and the softness of your stomach.

“I’m yours, you know that right?” Not replying, he instead inhales the sweat from your neck, following it with a dip of his tongue up towards your ear.

“James.”

Your boyfriend scoffs lightly, a small smirk on his face as he pulls your chin up to meet him at eye level. You’re so gorgeous like this, just letting him do what he wants to you. Always so reassuring of his needs. His thumb rubs against your bottom lip before you open your mouth and swirl your tongue around clean skin.

“Just feels like I have to remind you sometimes, pretty girl. Can’t let everyone walk around thinking you’re not mine.”

“I wouldn’t mind a reminder. Some marks would be nice too,” you grin, biting at his lip while your hands stroke him slowly, your own knees buckling in excitement.

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Brat.” James hoists your legs over his hips, slamming your back into the wall as you squeak. Sandwiched between the warmth of his body and the cold of the shower wall, your eyes roll back as he eases his cock between your dripping folds, moans falling from your lips when he sinks into you, inch by inch.

His girth always has a way of stretching you open, and every time feels like the first as he taps at your thigh reminding you to take deep breaths. Fuck the party, you could stay here all night.

“Fill you up so nicely…we’re almost there, good girl.” His voice shakes, wanting to slam the rest of him straight into your cervix.

Your hands are gripping his shoulders until you finally feel him nudge the deepest parts of you, and you sigh when it all fits. Perfect.

“Always so big Jamie. Almost too much.” He kisses your cheek, hips starting to create a rhythm as he mutters into your ear.

“Not too much for my girl. Just perfect. Perfect pussy for this cock. All for you,” he grits, skin sliding and slapping as your thighs get pressed into your chest with the intense force he’s plunging into your guts.

“James, fuck….fuck you’re so deep! Feels so fucking good!” Filthy whimpers leave you and he loves the sound of your desperation when he’s inside of you like this. Too bad there’s no one else here to hear it. If Steven could only see you now.

“Such a good cunt for me to use. Only mine.”

He gasps for air as his feet slip against the tile once more, his heavy breathing fogging up his glasses, and his hold on you just as tight as your grip on his cock. Shit. His heart almost fell through his ass.

Your eyes open to see him struggling and a giggle escapes your mouth as you watch the stupid fucked out look on his face.

“How do people even fuck in the shower? This shit’s dangerous. Don't wanna maim the Gryffindor captain again.”

Your laughter sends jolts down to his throbbing shaft and he shakes his head with a smile, parting the curtain with one hand before carrying you still impaled on him towards the metal benches, placing you down softly.

“At least you finally admit it was your fault, baby. Could barely see straight for a week after.”

He wipes his glasses between his fingers before gazing at you lying across the bench, legs spread and ready for him. What a woman.

“And here I am hoping that when you’re done with me I won’t be able to walk for a week after,” you breathe, hands squeezing your tits as his pupils dilate further at the sight of you. What a fucking witch!

“Fucking hell, you know I love you, right?”

James positions himself over you, kissing your ankle as he sheathes himself back into your sex, resuming his brutal pace and hurtling you quickly towards your peak.

“Y-yes! Merlin, fuck I… looove you!” you wail, hips rolling to meet his and his balls strike your ass hard with each thrust. Your insides are being shifted around with him spearing your cervix like this and there’s nothing in this world that you could name that’s able to compare to how he makes you feel.

Your pussy contracts as he somehow nestles himself deeper, body trembling in this position as he throws your left leg over his shoulder, lips chasing your nipples trying to suck the life out of you, and perhaps that was his plan so you could forget anyone else but him.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop, James. Don’t you fucking DARE!” you beg, clawing your way down his back, making him nip at you in pleasure as you draw pinpricks of blood.

The tight pressure of release starts creeping at your core, making you squirm under him but he pins your waist down harder to the bench, the metal leaving prints against your flesh. His hands press harder on your stomach, silently encouraging you to cum and you can feel the imprint of his dick bulging from inside your stomach.

“Don’t struggle for me baby, just let it go. I know you wanna cum…. That’s it.” James praises in a shattered breath, watching you writhe underneath him as he holds you close. Your legs are shaking as your vision goes black for a moment, cunt gushing with release and squirt coats his pubic hair as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

You lay there, catching your breath as the stars clear from your vision, and you look up at him stroking himself to the sight of you coming undone.

“Sheesh, look at the mess you made. You okay?”

“More than okay, Jamie. Need you to finish the job,” you tease, toes grazing the skin of his hip and he slaps at your thigh with a smile.

“Insatiable minx. Turn around then, ass up f’me.”

You do as he says, getting on all fours and showing him the perfect round of your asscheeks, covered in milky residue from your recent orgasm, but you turn to look at him when he doesn’t come near.

“Babe?”

His locker clinks open as he pulls a fresh jersey out, walking back to you and guiding it over your head and arms as you smile, pecking his cheek. Your silly boy. There was no way you actually thought you hated him this time last year with how sweet he really is. His large hand grazes the embroidered patches now resting on your back, POTTER, in huge white letters, CAPTAIN, now resting at the base of your spine.

James’ eyes drift lower and he hums at the sight of you perched on the bench, dropping his face to your throbbing holes and taking a long swipe with the flat of his tongue as he savors your taste along with the sounds of your whining. From your swollen clit to the ring of your asshole he’s languishing in a flavor that’s so uniquely you, and he pulls back, smacking his lips.

“Scrumptious. How are you hotter with clothes on?” James grins, taking a playful bite of an asscheek before he slaps it lightly and stuffs you deep, without any further hesitation. Your sarcastic reply is lost in a moan that makes your toes curl.

He works you open onto his cock again, your back arching desperately to be as close as possible and his hand presses you down, sliding up your spine until his fingers curl around strands of your hair. Tits swinging until they’re crushed against the bench, your face is smooshed as you mumble pathetically in his grasp.

“What was that baby? Can’t hear you well…” He spits at you, and if anyone could see this they’d know he was enjoying the sight of you at his mercy. He grinds his shaft against your walls, ramming against your g-spot and you drool like a mindless plaything, greedy for his attention.

“Right…right fucking there, ohmygod!” His cock pummels your cunt deliciously, hands spreading your cheeks wide and the stretch is so good, perfectly stroking the need in your belly.

“You’re so needy, pretty girl. You love it like this, huh? Good thing I fuck you so well, right?”

Merlin, this boy can pull orgasms out of you as well as he plays quidditch. He’s the only person in the world you’d gladly submit and be this pathetically cockdrunk for. Good thing he's yours.

“Yes…yes! So good Jamie. No one can fuck me like you….”

The white-hot sensation digs at your insides as his fingers fall to your clit, rubbing at you just the way you like as shockwaves shake every crevice of your being. He's breathing over your neck, hot air puffing and elevating your senses before they shut down completely.

“Yeah? Then come on my cock again right now. Show me you like it that much. Now.”

Your arms give out, falling completely forward as your body jerks in searing pleasure, pussy fluttering around his cock once more, so intensely. Your hands flail behind you until they find his, and he's pulling you up against his hard chest as he bounces you onto his length and chases his high.

“Give it to me, please, please… I can take it!” You’re screaming now, at the intersection between pain and pleasure but wanting to make sure you can milk him for his efforts. James’ thrusts stagger as he leans his head on your shoulder, biting you as he cums hard.

“I know you can, baby. All yours…” he chokes out.

Thick white ropes coat your insides, wrapping you tight around him like a present until the excess seeps out to the base of his cock. You kiss his temple as James starts to regulate his breathing.

“Fuck. Fuck….” you drag out, the two of you more winded than you were playing the damn game.

“I still have to return Steven’s jersey,” you mumble, and James can’t do anything but smirk at the thought of the clueless boy standing outside your House's locker room while he fucked you senseless a few doors over. What a shame.

—

The two of you walk hand in hand into the Gryffindor common room to a crowd of students cheering for James. The party is well underway and many hands clap his now injured back, to which his grimaces make you bite back a laugh. Speaking of bites….

Sirius walks up to you with two cups of punch, wide grey eyes zeroed in on you wearing James’s jersey and the glaring red marks of your boyfriend’s teeth on your neck.

“Merlin. I thought you two would take time to celebrate on your own but did you fucking attack her?”

You both take the cups out of his hands, searing blushes on your faces and leave Sirius to his own imagination before James whispers in your ear that he’ll be gone for a moment.

“Okay, but hurry back, baby.”

A peck on the lips sends him on his way to walk straight towards that wanker–er, Steven with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Potter! Have you seen–” the dumb boy says eagerly, before James cuts in, “Yeah, my girlfriend couldn’t meet you earlier, sorry mate.”

His hand digs into the undetectable extension charm in his knapsack, pulling out a soggy, ripped jersey.

“We were kind of busy, but you know how to fix that don’t you? You’ll need it to keep you warm on the bench for the rest of the season after all.”

It plops sadly onto the floor in front of the guy, and James looks at him, hazel eyes conveying what he knows he doesn’t have to remind him anymore.

“Thanks again! Appreciate you looking out for my girl.”

He walks away from Steven, who’s sputtering sad excuses and your eyes meet his as James finds you near the drinks table.

“What did you do?” You say with a lifted brow.

“Nothing, pretty girl. Just making known what’s mine.”

—

"you are pressing against me

like i press flowers

against the pages in my book.

you are kissing my neck

and it feels like the start of forever.

i want to touch you until my palms burn."

-amirae garcia

taglist (OPEN): @jsjcue

[solecize]

  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: every summer on your grandpa's farm was real-life magic to your younger self, who left a piece of her heart in amber valley when the years went on and the town became nothing but a faint childhood memory. soon enough, you become rocked by his death and realize the dead end in your bustling city world. this leads to you making an abrupt decision.

despite knowing nothing but designer purses and the corporate ladder, you uproot your entire life to take over your grandfather's old farm in the town you were desperately trying to remember - alongside a familiar face from your youth that permanently finds his way into your heart.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: jungkook/reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. inspired heavily by stardew valley, friends to lovers, childhood friends, cowboy jungkook, small town alternate universe, slice of life, grief, growing up, mutual pining 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 4.6k 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒. warnings for more mentions of death and jungkook being an idiot

part five: the phone call, the apology and the confession  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ previous. next. masterlist

xii. the phone call

  being on the farm made you feel like a kid again - that was a given. when you were young, you often made your chores into games, to see how fast you could feed the chickens or tend to crops. however, being the sole individual responsible for upkeep and for the way the farm was now your source of income, it was evidently no longer a fun little game when barbies got boring. while you were in charge of your own schedule, you eventually hit the point where you felt like all of your energy was gone everyday. one of the only things that was keeping you sane was your friends.

  on the other hand, jungkook was having the exact opposite effect - driving you insane. for more than one reason.

  the email blast for movie night was originally forwarded to you by taehyung and you did accept, which you ultimately regretted come the night of. you usually didn’t partake in much during the week, as you reserved your social battery for the saloon on the weekends, but you didn’t see any issue upon receiving the invitation. 

  “do you want me to make you a coffee?” jungkook offered, as he stood across from you on the opposite end of taehyung’s kitchen island.

  it was the usual cluster of people gathered in taehyung’s charming bungalow, close to the river. you’d never been in a group of friends that were so adamant to their dedication of spending time together and not using work or school as an excuse to shut themselves in. most of the boys had brought food or drinks without any prior arrangement or communication, resulting in an abundance to share.

  you were glad you thought of picking up a bottle of wine beforehand and wasn’t the odd one out, but with your fatigue, you knew you weren’t going to be able to enjoy it yourself. it was the day for cleaning pens and sorting waste, so you’d been outside all day and smelled exactly like your chores. even though you took a lengthy shower and mentally prepared for movie night, you were exhausted beyond measure. 

  you shook your head. “i’m okay, thank you. i have to get up at five tomorrow.”

  from behind you, seokjin emerged from the living room and despite the current movie only halfway through - it was apparently jungkook’s pick, captain america: the first avenger - it looked like he was ready to leave. leftovers in hand, he brought jungkook in for a quick side hug and then did the same for you.

  “bye guys! sorry i have to leave early. y/n, i’ll come by tomorrow after work for the eggs?” seokjin beamed, leaning on the door frame and you noticed a handful of pink carnations in his grasp.

  you gave him a thumbs up. slowly, but surely, the tides were turning for the farm and making profit. you didn’t lack confidence that you would be able to make money for yourself, but you were unsure of how long it would take for your income sources to be stabilized. building a customer base off of the farm’s longstanding customers was easier than expected, but you had to work on improving efficiency and diversification of your products. at the end of the day, though, you were just one person and you were doing well. 

  this is what you continued to attempt to explain to your parents. shortly after seokjin’s departure, before you could join the rest of your friends and finish the movie, you received a call from your father and you excused yourself to taehyung’s backyard.

  your mother was the type to be overbearing and overprotective, while your father had a knack for criticizing you and making you question yourself. since moving, you seldom provided business updates to your father, which likely led to this phone call in the first place.

  “you’ve thought about how you’ll need to make further investments, right?” his voice was dry and it made your blood boil.

  breathing in deeply, you simply replied, “yes.”

  “okay, have you been managing your time well? the physical demands of the job?”

  it was as if your dad kept rattling off a list of reasons why you were incompetent for your role and you didn’t notice until now, but you had dug half-crescent moons into the palm of your hand. no matter how many times you said yes or that you had it covered, he continued going.

  by the time you finally escaped the phone call, you already began thoughts of doubt and wondering if he was on to something. you were saying you were handling things, but were you really? your worn down, sore body was screaming at you as you pondered.

  eventually, the sliding door into the house creaked open and you remembered where you were. jungkook appeared, having slipped on a denim jacket to combat the slight wind in the air and stepped out to the deck. there was a small frown drawn on his face.

  “you okay?” he asked.

  nearing a month in town and several weeks of jungkook’s presence becoming a constant around the farm, it was safe to say that the two of you grew close once again. it was more than you were willing to admit, that was for sure. it still surprised you when you heard how harsh your tone was when you opened your mouth.

  “i need to go home,” you snapped. you could feel your eyelids growing heavy, too, and you couldn’t be around anyone but yourself right now.

  jungkook raised his eyebrows. “already? that’s too bad, you missed most of the movie.”

  “just gotta go,” you mumbled, stuffing your phone into the back pocket of your jeans.

  you got up, remembering that you left your sweater indoors, but jungkook still stood in front of the door. you had to hold back from grumbling.

  “i was hoping you’d go for a ride with me before you went home.”

  “a ride?” you sputtered. “no, i can’t do that.” your response was immediate and you noticed the way his eyes widened for a moment, as if he said something wrong. you were too tired to clarify how tired you were or how you haven’t been able to bring yourself to attempt riding again. it was a topic of discussion for another day.

  jungkook wasn’t sure what to say. “oh, okay.” and just like that, you side-stepped right past him and into the house to grab your things.

  the exit was unceremonious and it was fast, as you were holding back tears from the phone call with your father. you could vaguely recall jungkook asking you if he could walk you home, but you already flew out the door. your body was shaking the entire time after the conversation and you could only focus on making it home.

  your heart was in your throat and your shoulders were tense, as your head hung down the entire walk back to the farmhouse. you knew things weren’t going to magically be easy, but you at least thought you were doing a good job. you only wanted your parents to think the same.

  amidst your physical and mental exhaustion, you realized you took a wrong turn and weren’t sure where you were. your chest tightened and you could only wonder what kind of bad luck you rolled for the day. cheeks wet from stray tears, you wanted to scream.

you pulled your phone out, only realize it was a dead battery. maybe you were as helpless as your dad kept making you out to be, since you seemed to always find yourself in these kinds of situations. a cold breeze danced around your body and you shivered aloud. 

  “y/n?” 

  you recognized the voice to be seokjin, who no longer held flowers and seemed to be heading home. you hastily wiped your face, which he didn’t miss. he tentatively approached closer.

  “the farm is the other way, where are you going at this time of night?” seokjin asked gently.

  “i guess i took a wrong turn,” you sighed, hoping the way your breath shook when you did so wasn’t so obvious.

  seokjin offered to walk you back home and this time, in all your weariness, accepted. you peered over as the two of you walked and saw jungkook’s name flash on his phone. you remembered how you left the house and a heavy load of guilt settled in your stomach. you made the metal note to apologize to him tomorrow. 

  “i thought you had somewhere to be?” you tried breaking the awkward silence. 

  seokjin never missed a hangout with the boys and even if he had somewhere to go, he made sure that he provided snacks or anything of the sort to his friends. he was the type to take care of everyone. even you, a newcomer to town, seokjin didn’t forget to make you an extra cookie when he made some for the boys or save a seat for you at the saloon. 

  his smile seemed different than usual. “i made a quick stop to the cemetery to say hi to my wife.”

  you broke eye contact, looking down. you weren’t sure until that moment, but over the past month, you were forming the idea that seokjin’s wife wasn’t around. you connected the dots, but didn’t want to ask anyone for confirmation. 

  “can i ask how long?” you spoke slowly.

  “two years today. taehyung didn’t know what day it was when he planned the movie, but i insisted that everyone go on with the plans and i would just leave early.” 

  he explained that he moved to amber valley to be with his wife four years ago, before she passed away due to a terminal illness. you couldn’t even imagine. like jungkook, you would have never been able to tell with seokjin. you wondered if it was the same for others when they interacted with you, if the remnants of your grief were evident in your day-to-day motions. 

  you said, “loss is a funny thing. it follows you everywhere and you don’t notice until you remember to turn around.”

  “that means loss is also something that you have to leave behind you, y/n. it’s not easy, but you get there.” the small smile on seokjin’s face, whose energy never faltered, was comforting. “it’s people like you and jungkook that inspire me to look forward from loss. i think we’re all doing well for ourselves.”

  before the conversation with seokjin, you wouldn’t have been able to agree with that. you’d spend the last hour or so dwelling on the things you weren’t doing right or weren’t doing enough of. but, he was right. you were doing your absolute best and that was all that mattered. 

  xiii. the apology

  the days that followed, you saw less and less of jungkook. deep down, you knew it was your fault. you didn’t mean to storm out on him after the call with your dad and you lacked opportunities to apologize. he still replied to your texts, albeit with less enthusiasm and playfulness than usual. it seemed like he had legitimate excuses to step away from the farm, though, having heard from taehyung that mrs. oh was sick that week and jungkook had to take on more at work.

  you decided to take matters into your own hands. after failing to appear at the saloon that weekend, you decided to take an extra long lunch break on sunday and found yourself walking over to his store. this wasn’t the first time you visited him at work - in fact, you stopped by earlier in the week because you were passing by and you wanted to bother him. it wouldn’t be out of place for you to pop in.

  “is jungkook not here?” you asked sangwoo, mrs. oh’s thirteen year old son who was propped up in front of the register, watching a tv show on his phone. 

  sangwoo’s bored eyes looked up at you. “dunno. he’s not working today.”

  that was strange. you thought that was the part of the reason why he couldn’t come by the farm. you thanked the boy and left the store, wondering what you should do next. you contemplated texting him, but he left the meme you sent last night on delivered.

  as you walked back to the farm, you decided to take an early left turn and soon ended up in front of jungkook’s house. since moving back, this was actually your first time seeing his house again. it looked mostly untouched from your memories and you noticed that the white pick-up truck that once belongs to jungkook’s dad was still kept in the driveway. the tree in his front yard still had the same tire swing that you once almost broke your neck fooling around on.

  you weren’t entirely sure about what you were doing to say when he opened the door. you decided against outright accusing him of avoiding you, even though that was exactly what you thought he was doing. maybe take a page out of his book and conjure up a wild excuse.

  when you rang the doorbell, you realized there was no sound that followed and softly knocked instead. in a few moments, the door creaked open, just enough for you to make out jiwon’s big eyes.

  “oh, hi y/n!” her toothy smile reminded you of her big brother.

  you mirrored the smile. “hi jiwon. do you mind getting jungkook?”

  she opened the door wider and you could make out the living room behind her. there, you noticed hoseok fast asleep on the leather recliner seat in front of the television. jiwon quietly put a finger to her pursed lips, pointing to hoseok’s sleeping figure. she stepped out and you made space for her, as she closed the door. 

  “your brother is out?” you asked.

  jiwon nodded, clutching onto the teddy bear in her hand. it was the same one that once belonged to jungkook. you remembered because when you guys turned eleven, you made fun of him for a whole summer straight for still carrying it around. her other hand held a handheld electric fan to ward off the amber valley summer heat.

  “he took leo to the vet. why are you looking for him?” she sang the last part, swinging back and forth, looking up at you with a smirk that seemed to know more than you did. 

  you assumed leo was jungkook’s horse, knowing he continued to keep them at his house. that instilled a sense of relief in you, as it made you think less than he was intentionally avoiding you. your bubble was shortly burst.

jiwon sat down on the porch bench. “oh, and he’s definitely avoiding you!”

  “what?” you blinked, thinking that you didn’t hear her correctly.

  “i said hoseok is the worst sitter, i’m bored with nothing to do.”

  this little girl was definitely jeon jungkook’s sister, the mischievous glint in her eyes was all the proof you needed. 

  for the next half an hour, despite having only left the farm for a quick break, you broke out in conversation with jiwon and enjoyed chatting with her. you always wanted a sister and you always complained that god gave you jungkook as a friend instead. you couldn’t believe how bubbly and intelligent jiwon was for her age.

  jiwon was sitting crisscrossed, playing with the arm of her stuffed animal. “unnie. . .” you didn’t even flinch when she called you that, instead smiling. “can i ask you something?”

  “sure, jiwon,” you replied.

  she looked off to where her dad’s old truck was parked. “can you tell me what my parents were like? oppa gets kind of upset when i ask.” 

  you froze. the last month, you were dedicated to connecting with the valley once more. over time, you remembered the smell of coffee in town square and the way the sand on the beach shone like glitter. you remembered what it was like having neighbours and how cutting fresh grass felt like home. it was gradual, but you were slowly getting there. regardless, some memories only lived in picture frames and buried in your mind, underneath years that have gone by.

  “they were the best people,” you offered, closing your eyes and trying to imagine yourself on the same porch with jungkook as kids, where his dad taught you two how to play chess and his mom would always come out with iced tea after a long day. “your dad was the kind of man who was good at everything. he showed jungkook and i how to fly a kite, how to play chess - “

  “i love chess!” she interrupted, the smile on her face widening at the thought of her dad sharing something with her.

  like jungkook, jiwon looked at the brighter side of life. it was admirable. you could only wish it was contagious. 

  jiwon began swinging her legs on the bench. “i have the best oppa, but i feel bad for him sometimes. he was really smart when you were little, right?”

  “as smart as he can be with that dense skull of his,” you joked, which made jiwon giggle.

  she said, “did you go to college? i know oppa didn’t go to college so he could take care of me. . .”

  you reassured jiwon that jungkook only wanted the best for her and that he was happy right now. at that moment, you made out his figure approaching, walking with his horse by his side. you quickly stood up and you didn’t notice the way jiwon smiled in satisfaction when she watched you do so.

  “y/n? what are you doing here?” jungkook was puzzled at your appearance. 

  before you could answer, jiwon interjected. “can unnie watch me next time?” she was giddy, holding onto your arm. your heart warmed, knowing that jiwon took a liking to you.

  “jiwon, you know y/n is always busy,” jungkook scolded, pinching her nose. “sorry, i know she’s a handful.” he turned to you, apologetically.

  “hey!” jiwon piped, but he waved her off.

  you shook your head. “actually, i wouldn’t mind at all. i’d love to look after her whenever you need.”

  jungkook’s eyes softened. he cleared his throat and gestured for jiwon to come closer to him. he whispered something in her ear and handed over leo’s lead rope to her, presumably directing for her to take the horse behind the house. she rolled her eyes at him and did so.

  it was just the two of you now, standing underneath the beating sun. his cowboy hat protected his face, while you were covered partially by the house. still, he came closer and gently tugged you into the house, murmuring something about the heat wave that week.

  like the set-up of the farmhouse, there were several electric fans on at once inside. now that you were able to observe closer, you saw that jungkook’s house was a lot different than what you remembered. the furniture was different and was arranged differently. the old fireplace was closed up. his kitchen was no longer filled to the brim with snacks, as his mother used to keep it, and the only thing on his counter was a coffee machine. 

  “i wanted to change things up when they passed away, so i wouldn’t dwell so much,” he spoke, as if reading your mind. 

  there was only one picture that you recognized on the walls, being one of you and jungkook when you were approximately six years old. captured was the same living room, where the two of you were playing with power rangers figures. everything else was foreign, mostly recent pictures of jiwon. there was a single family portrait by the staircase, which depicted a toddler-aged jiwon and a teenage jungkook.

  you snapped out of it when you heard hoseok’s snores, still fast asleep a few feet away from you. jungkook snorted when he noticed. his voice remained at the same volume, unbothered.

  “why did you come by?” jungkook put his keys on the table next to the entryway. 

  you sighed. “i just wanted to apologize for the other night. i’ve been under a lot of pressure and my body was so exhausted that day, too.”

  he nodded slowly. “it’s okay. i was just. . .worried about you. jin told me he ran into you on your way home.”

  “yeah, i had a lot going on.” you brushed off imaginary dust off your tank top. “i didn’t mean to intrude, sorry.”

  jungkook assured you everything was fine and you did believe him in the moment. however, for the next week that followed, it appeared as though everything was but. you weren’t sure what affirmations you were chasing, but you were aware that things were off with him.

things were normal when you hung around everyone else, but jungkook still hadn’t returned to his usual routine with you of coming around the farm. he was lively when you conversed at the saloon or when you ran into each other in town, but it seemed like an invisible wall was erected between the two of you and you had no idea where it came from. you, being you, made it your mission to figure out why.

  xiv. the confession

  yoongi gave you a deadpan expression when you came to him for advice. you didn’t actually mean to come to him for advice, but as you happened to run into him at the hardware store, the sales clerk made a side comment that you couldn’t ignore.

  “where’s your boyfriend? don’t you two usually come in together?” she asked you, as you came in to check out new work boots. 

  you were perplexed when you realized she was talking about jungkook. for the previous weeks, you accompanied jungkook to the hardware store whenever he found a new excuse of a repair to help out with. 

  “he’s working today,” said a voice behind you and you turned around, seeing it was yoongi with insect repellant in his hand.

  the sales clerk seemed pleased with the answer. “oh, i see! i was just surprised, i’ve never seen you without him at your side!”

  “hi yoongi, nice seeing you,” you said, after giving the young lady a polite fake laugh.

  the two of you made small talk about the weather and walked out together. when you made it outside, you decided to be blunt.

  “i made jungkook upset, didn’t i?”

  he looked at you blankly. “no, he’s just under the impression that you’re overwhelmed with work and feels like he’s been ‘too much’” yoongi made air-quotes, as if repeating back jungkook’s exact words.

  “in what way?” you questioned.

  “i literally just said - oh, you guys are so clueless with each other.” yoongi squeezed his eyes shut. “bless your heart, honestly.”

even though a part of you felt it every time you opened your front door and saw jungkook, or even just seeing his name pop up on your phone, you remained silent. what were you to even say to that?

  he said, “oh, come on. even the little teenager at the hardware store can see that the two of you have feelings for each other.”

  sometime in between sharing meals together, sneaky glances when the other wasn’t looking and unassuming banter, there were undefined feelings that settled in the cracks. there was understanding and there was nostalgia. what you felt for jungkook you had yet to calculate. there was no other answer to what drove you towards him. 

  that same night, you decided it was time to put your foot down. you texted jungkook, confirming dinner with him and asked to meet you at the saloon. that was mistake number one. you don’t know why you thought it was going to be a good idea and realized where you went wrong when you entered, noticing that a few of your friends were lingering. it shouldn’t have surprised you, considering it was everyone’s typical hangout spot.

  you waved to hoseok and taehyung, declined jimin’s offer of a beer, and sat down at the very back of the bar. you hoped that this would be a sufficient sign for them to leave you be and then, jungkook walked in. you pretended to not notice and he walked over to your friends, greeting them and chatting with them briefly. namjoon then pointed towards you and you groaned, knowing that the boys were about to spectate your conversation.

  “hey, y/n. did you order yet?” jungkook smiled, taking the seat across from you. you saw a thumbs up from namjoon, away from everyone else’s line of vision, and you wanted to face palm.

  you shook your head. “how are you?” 

  today, he was dressed in his typical attire. all black, wearing dark denim and a wife beater tank. jungkook took off his hat when he walked in and placed it next to him. every outfit he wore seemed to expose his beautiful tattoos and it was always hard to not stare. you got a glimpse of his chest pieces a few times when he was working on the farm and the heat proved too aggressive for him, which prompted him to go shirtless. it was cute when he hurriedly covered up when you approached at these times, apparently too shy to be half-naked around you.  

  jungkook began talking about work and apologized for not coming around as much. the small talk made you even more nervous, having walked in and ready to lay down the law. the thoughts about him and what you thought were unresolved feelings between you and him were following you like bees to honey. despite this, you grew less confident as the mundane conversation dragged on. the two of you continued chatting and the subject eventually changed to the upcoming midsummer fair.

  “so, who are you taking to the fair? it’s become more of a ‘couple’ thing in recent years.” jungkook’s tone was breezy and casual, but you nearly choked on your water. 

  you tried to compose yourself, breathing as deeply as you could without making it obvious. “oh, really?”

this was your time to confess. the idea made you nauseous, as if you were a school girl. you took a breath. 

“yeah. you know. . .” jungkook trailed off, in thought. “taehyung seems to have taken a liking to you. you should ask him!” 

  did he just say taehyung? a plastic smile stretched across your lips, as you took a second to take it in. the enthusiasm on jungkook’s features confused you in a way you had never been confused before. you were reading everything wrong. the small touches, the big gestures. you couldn’t believe everything was all in your head. 

  “look, taehyung and i have gotten close since he moved to town. i’ll help you out,” jungkook declared. “you’re gonna need it, ugly.”

  “shut up!” you chuckled through your teeth, neither agreeing or arguing with him. you were still in a state of surprise.

  by the time the two of you began eating, it was just a few other patrons left in the saloon. a quiet thursday night, but your mind was screaming with just about a hundred different things and you could only smile and nod at jungkook, who was explaining taehyung’s ideal type. when jungkook got up to use the bathroom, you caught namjoon and hoseok’s eyes from the bar.

  when the former gave you a thumbs up, you could only respond with the most aggressive thumbs down possible.

  𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. @sstrongstyletyle @wobblewobble822@taiwan0618 @seokout @firelcrds @xwniazx @shellyyy177

[winkwonkwankwenk]

Hello!! I just read your Nanami headcanons, and ahhhh, it was so good!! The romantic vacation one 🫠

Could I put in a request for similar SFW & NSFW he's but with Ijichi Kiyotaka? I just adore him sm <333

Kiyotaka Head-cannons!! (SFW & NSFW)

I always thought this guy was cute but never managed to remember his name 😭here's ur hcs!!!

SFW

He's clumsy- constantly. That dish in the sink? Broken. Flower pot? Shattered. He doesn't do it on purpose! He tries to clean up around the house so you won't have to but sometimes he's a bit heavy handed from his nerves.

Speaking of nerves, his social anxiety is off the charts. Agoraphobia is something he's been working through with your help, he's gotten to the point where as long as you're there he can be anywhere.

He overthinks a lot so you often have to reassure him that he's more than enough, and when you do he'll always bury his face in your shoulder or neck and hum happily.

He gets headaches when he takes off his glasses, especially after long shifts. He'll groan and lay his head on his desk. He doesn't like worrying you so most of the time he'll just pop a few pain meds into his mouth, chug a glass of water, and get back to work.

He overworks himself without realizing it. Sometimes you wake up to the sound of him clicking his computer keys beside you. "Sorry Darling, I'll be done in a minute," he always tells you but when you wake up to cook breakfast you see him in the same spot, typing away. Eventually you started limiting his screen-time to six hours.

He's a sucker for holding hands. Your hands are so soft, skin so silky. He'd hold them forever if he could.

He thought about going to the gym because he was insecure about how slender he is, but all it took was a compliment from you to change his mind. You told him you liked how lanky he was and his cheeks flushed.

He likes coming home to dinner and always makes sure he can. He'll call you thirty-minutes before his shift ends just to see what you're cooking. He gets excited when you tell him you're cooking his favorite and has to force himself not to speed home. "You cooked Udon? Have I told you how much I love you?"

He can't handle spicy foods at all. One bite and his entire face puffs up and turns neon red. One time he accidently put chili flakes in his ramen and had to go to the emergency room.

NSFW (HELLA KINKY STUFF AHEAD BECAUSE I KNOW HE'S A F.R.E.A.K.)

He doesn't just like your hands, he loves them. Wrapped around his throat, his wrists, his cock- sometimes he'll kiss and suck on your palms just to get off. He likes being choked, feeling your rings bruise his throat turns him on, especially when you whisper degrading praises in his ears.

He's a loud lover. You've gotten complaints from apartments above and below you but there's no shutting him up.

You know what they say about long, tall men. His member is the size of his forearm. What he lacks in girth he more than makes up for in length.

Definitely shops on AdamandEve's, waits for a sale and next thing you know there's boxes of toys on your porch. When you ask him about it he'll be too embarrassed to tell you what he brought but when you open the box he begs to try everything at least once. You agree but draw the line at the tentacle dildo.

He can't handle head, he's too sensitive. He prefers handjobs, especially when you squeeze his shaft between those sweet fingers and stroke him slowly. When you tease his tip he's a goner, cumming seconds because he can't hold it in.

He begged you to eat your ass for weeks and when you finally let him he devoured. He likes anal so much because he gets to grip and play with your ass while watching it recoil against his waist. You couldn't walk straight for a week because eating your ass turned into anal and pussy fingering.

Speaking of fingering, he's amazing at it. He'll curl and twist his fingers inside of you until he finds your sweet spot and then push against it. Making you cum is only the beginning, he doesn't stop until your thighs tremble and you're blacking out.

He likes fucking in public, even if it's just a quickie. He'll make five minutes feel like five hours, ramming into you and whining when you pull away. "Please...can't we just keep going?" He'll beg when you remind him you're in the corner of a store. "Y/N, please..." You sigh and give in. You end up holding onto the railing in the dressing room for dear life as he fucks you from the back. "Your back is so pretty in this top...let me buy it for you." He says in between grunts.

One time he saw you talking to a buff man and asked if he could watch the two of you fuck. You didn't even know what to address first. "I know you'd never cheat! I was just- I was thinking how nice it'd be to watch you be..." He throws his hands up in surrender when you glare at him, "Just a thought!". Cuck.

He likes watching you masturbate.

You gave him a footjob once because he wanted to try it. You found out he's horrendously down bad and that you're not a fan of cum between your toes. He offered to suck them clean, you smacked him with a pillow in response.

You walked in on him collecting your dirty panties from the laundry basket once. He swore he was just organizing the clothes before washing but you swore you saw him taking a big whiff before you walked in and saw a bulge in his pants.

He's a bit perverted at times, but he's so cute when he cums that you let him get away with it.

Like my writing? Check out my Ao3!!

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Fill my requests up!!😋

[fiapartridge]

self control | jack hughes

"take down some summer time / give up, just tonight..."

jack hughes x reader

summary: when your first night swim of the summer is interrupted by the one hughes you can't stand, you wonder if your self control is strong enough to not give in...

warning(s): smoking, swearing, sexual innuendos, grinding?? LMAO

i hate this, but it's also the only imagine i've managed to finish in the past week so here ya go 🤷‍♀️

Summers at the Hughes family’s lake house accounted for 99% of your most favorite memories. You would run around the house with Luke when you were younger, pretending to be pirates or deep-sea monsters, and when you got older, you would bake with Ellen, play cards with Quinn, or even judge the boys’ highlights with Jim. 

But you never hung out with Jack.

He was more reserved than anyone else, and even in the 12 years of knowing him, he never warmed up to you. You didn’t know what you did to deserve this treatment: him switching topics whenever you would enter the room, never sparing a glance at you, saying ‘her’ instead of your actual name– sometimes, he wouldn’t even have the decency to say ‘her’, but instead just nod his head in your direction. At some point in the 12 years, you made peace with the fact that he didn’t like you. If he didn’t want to be friends with you, you didn’t want to be friends with him.

Though Luke would always push you guys to talk — you were his best friend and Jack was his brother. He desperately wanted his favorite people in the world to get along — but it would always end up with Jack or you leaving the room upon seeing each other, or one (or both) of you muttering a snide remark at the other, consequently making both of you leave the room at the same time. 

Everyone just had to accept it: you and Jack are never going to be friends, like ever. 

As if he knew you were thinking about him, Jack emerged from the back door of the patio as you bobbed your head out of the water, only 10 minutes into your first night swim of the summer. You were confused, to say the least. Everyone knew you swam at night— Jack knew you swam at night, so why was he here, sitting down at the edge of the pool, his legs dangling in the clear blue water as he watched you swim laps around the pool.

You felt his eyes on you. You were wondering if they were judging you, or simply watching, observing. Maybe he was finding another thing to insult you with, or maybe he was trying to come up with ways to fix your form, to make him feel better than you, which was something you felt like he did often. 

Tired of his stares, you turned around, treading water as you met his gaze, silently acknowledging his presence. You thought he was going to say something, make fun of you maybe, but he said nothing. He simply reached beside him, pulled out a cigarette from a pack of 24, lit it, and blew smoke.

You scoffed, losing eye contact with him. “What are you doing?”

He took a drag before holding it in between his index and middle finger. Inspecting the dart, he said, “What do you think I’m doing?”

You shook your head. “Ruining my night.”

“You talked to me first, princess.”

Princess. God, that made your blood boil. He was so entitled, you wondered if he actually called girls that. Did they eat it up? Did they hold onto his hand, and follow him to his bed? Did they get butterflies from that belittling line? 

You held pity for them, you really did. They didn’t know him enough to know any better— not like you did. You knew Jack brought girls home every night, sometimes even two if it was after a really good win. The summer, though, he claimed he didn’t have time for girls; that he was too busy spending time with his friends and family to have a one-nighter with a girl whose name he won’t even remember by the time the sun comes up. But everyone knew what it was— what it really was.

Jack was in love with you, and you had no clue. It’s funny how you can call people oblivious to love when you can’t even see it yourself. 

But everyone else knew. Hell, they knew for the past 12 years. They could see it in the way you two talked to each other, or the lack thereof. When you two talked to each other, it was like the sparks before starting up a campfire, but it was when you two didn’t talk, when you would just look at each other across the room, that brought the entire world to flames. Because there could be a million people in front of you, but you’re only looking at one pair of green eyes. 

That was the magic of it all. You could hate each other all you wanted, but who’s eyes are you meeting at the end of the day?

Scoffing, you said, “You’re so fucking irritating, you know that?”

“Could say the same thing about you.” He sounded disinterested, and that made you want to scream. 

You shook your head. “Fucking unbelievable,” you muttered. “You know, I don’t even know why you hate me,” you said, raising your voice. “What did I ever do to you?”

He didn’t say anything. He just took another drag, ignoring you. 

Pissed off, you kicked off the wall and swam towards him by the edge of the pool.

You were close to him— so close.

You took the cigarette from his fingers, holding it centimeters away from his lips. The blue glow from the lights installed to the floor of the pool illuminated the scene and you wondered if it was just you feeling all weird and tingly, like you didn’t entirely hate this. 

You whispered faintly. “Smoking’s bad for you.”

Your eyes flickered between his eyes and his lips, your chest moved up and down, and he could see you bite down the corner of your bottom lip. Jack couldn’t help himself. 

He was weak for you.

Grabbing the dart from your hands and throwing it behind him, Jack slid into the pool, grabbed your hips, pulled you closer to him, and brushed his lips over yours. “Tell me to stop, and I will,” he murmured.

You shut your eyes, breathing in the situation. You were scared. Sure, it was a simple kiss, but all of those girls that he’s brought home before? Were you just gonna be another tally on his board? But then you remember: this is Jack. This is the same boy you watched pee his pants from laughter when he was 10, the same boy you saw holding his mom’s hand merely two days ago. This was Jack you were talking about. Sure, you weren’t great friends. You weren’t even friends. But you knew him. You knew he cared about you because Luke cared about you. Because his mom, and his dad, and his older brother cared about you. To him, you were everything.

To him, you were 12 years in the making.

“Don’t stop.” 

You pressed your lips against his and he immediately kissed back. Open-mouthed kisses, hand-holding-the back-of-your-head kisses, pulling-your- hips-closer-as-if-that-was-even-possible kisses. You were engulfed in Jack Hughes, and you weren’t so sure if that was a bad thing, or not. 

He migrated two steps to the left, sitting down on the steps leading down to the pool, grabbing your hips and sitting you down on his lap. This moment was something straight out of a movie scene, like you were waiting for someone to yell “cut!”, or to tap you on the shoulder and tell you that this wasn’t real. 

But when you felt his tongue break the barrier, the slight whispers of your name, and his hand moving up and down the small of your back, you knew this was real. You were kissing Jack Hughes, and you really liked it. 

But then you remembered: you were kissing Jack Hughes. You never made things easy for him, and you weren’t starting now.

“Is that all you got?” you murmured breathlessly. 

He smirked. “I’m not even sweating yet.” 

When Jack connected his lips with yours once again, he rolled your hips against his, creating friction between the two of you, and oh, it felt good. 

“Don’t think,” God, this felt amazing. “This means I like you,” you breathed against his lips.

It meant exactly that, actually.

He laughed before pulling away from your lips. He bent his head down and pressed his lips against your neck. Your head lulled back slightly because, fuck, he’s good at this. Between kisses he said, “I won’t stop until you admit it.”

“We’ll be here forever then.”

“I’m okay with that,” he smirked before diving back into your neck, sucking and nipping at the exposed skin, not even caring that this was definitely going to leave marks. 

It only took seconds later before you were admitting to Jack that you liked him. Jack stayed true to his words and stopped. Well, he stopped kissing your neck. But when his hands trailed down to the ties behind your back, pulling the strings to completely discard your bikini top, which was now floating over the water a few feet away from you, you both knew you weren’t stopping any time soon.

And you were more than okay with that.

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for an anon behind the cut; mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees. ( chrono || non-chrono )

But why the fuck is Alfred calling him– 

“Sorry for the wait, Mr. Wayne, your local self thought it might be for the best not to come in-person! You wanted to avoid a fuss. I mean–he wanted to avoid a fuss,” Rita says brightly, looking sheepish, and Kon remembers, very abruptly, everything she’d said about Gotham tabloids and also the fact that she’d “recognized” him after he’d scooped up a traumatized kid who was calling him “Dad” and then, uh–well, flirted with her. And also literally every single story he has ever heard about Clark and Bruce successfully passing for each other, in costume and out. 

Well . . . shit. 

Well, that definitely means the local Bruce Wayne is out Batman-ing his way through the current interdimensional crisis. But also, what the fuck has Kon just gotten them into? Jon seems to just be rolling with it, thank fuck, but there's no way Alfred Pennyworth actually believes he's a version of Bruce Wayne. 

. . . does he? 

No, no, he definitely doesn't. Interdimensional bullshit aside, it’s Alfred. He's just a really good liar and a trained actor with a flawless poker face. Alfred lies better than Tim lies, for fuck's sake, which is goddamn saying something. So Kon might end up a little mortified later when he's admitting he got mistaken for an alternate version of Gotham’s number one airheaded himbo DILF Brucie Wayne by an aid worker, but . . . 

Well. He doesn't even know who he'd be admitting that to, at this point. 

He doesn't know if he'll ever . . . 

“The car is just down the block, sir,” Alfred says, and Kon tells himself he can do this. He always does, doesn’t he? He can handle his own shit and he'll take care of Jon and go meet the local Batman, apparently, and then embarrass himself explaining how this happened to him, and maybe . . . maybe the local Tim will be there. 

It won't be his Tim, but right now he just really wants to see his face, one way or the other. He's not gonna be picky about which “Tim” he's actually seeing. 

“Cool,” he says, trying not to sound too screamingly not-Gotham. He seriously doubts he manages it, though. He’s no good at the voice-mimicking trick Clark does and even if he was, it wouldn’t exactly be subtle to start doing it now. 

He and Jon say goodbye to the kids, who make a lot of very kid-like disappointed noises, and Kon suggests another game for them to distract themselves with–one that won’t require a technical adult running it–and then Rita’s got some paperwork for him and Alfred to both fill out and sign, and a couple other aid workers rubber-stamp them through, and absolutely no one asks to see his ID or even for a second doubts that he’s a version of Bruce Wayne. Except–hopefully–Alfred, anyway. 

Kon seriously cannot tell for fuck either way, the man might as well be a promethium wall. At this point he’s just counting on Alfred’s weird all-knowingness bailing him out here. Worst case scenario is explaining himself, obviously, but if he doesn’t exist here . . . 

Well, “Lex Luthor made me” is probably not a great start, with most Batmans. Especially after going to see said Batman under what is, technically, false pretenses. Like–obviously Alfred wouldn’t have come out in the middle of an interdimensional emergency for Conner Kent; he showed up here expecting a younger version of his boss. 

Probably would’ve come for Jon, he guesses, if only as a favor to the local Clark, since the guy’s presumably distracted figuring out how many dangerous strangers are currently in their reality with the Justice League, but still. 

Then again, for all Kon knows, the local Luthor is dead or irrelevant or a selflessly benevolent saint who feeds orphan puppies on the weekend, so who the fuck knows. 

Kon cannot actually imagine Luthor ever even existing in the same room as a puppy without it knowing well enough to piss on his fancy leather shoes, but look, alternate realities include the word “alternate” in them for a reason. Like, the word “alternate” is very much the operative word there. 

If nothing else, the local puppies might just be stupid. 

Kon’s not really a dog person, personally. Krypto doesn’t count, on account of being an alien and therefore not an actual dog. The first Krypto he knew was an actual dog, though, and they just did not vibe whatsoever.

He and Alfred sign the last couple papers. Kon fakes Bruce Wayne’s signature because he’s spent enough time in Wayne Manor to know the difference between that and his autograph, and thanks fuck that the eidetic memory finally kicked in last year. Seriously, it is such bullshit it took that long for him to get it, considering Clark and Luthor both have one. 

Alfred doesn’t actually react to the signature, but Kon does notice him noticing it. 

Probably what he’s noticing is that it’s not the same signature that his Bruce Wayne used in his early twenties, because there’s no way that hasn’t changed in twenty-odd years. 

Rita smiles at them and sees them all off happily with some reference numbers and exchanged contact information, and they don’t say anything on the way to the car. Kon keeps carrying Jon, which maybe isn’t normal human behavior, especially for someone who’s supposed to be passing for a ditzy socialite who allegedly only has vanity muscles as opposed to actually functional ones, but Kon kind of doesn’t care about that right now. Like, not even slightly does Kon care about that right now. 

Alfred leads them to a shiny black towncar and opens the door for them, and Kon gives him a nod of thanks and bundles Jon into the thing. Jon sniffles once, and kinda of clings to him a little. Kon figures it’s fair. He was never “ten” himself, obviously, but it seems like a rough age to put up with this kind of bullshit during. Like–definitely it does. 

“You’re good, kid,” he swears, less because it’s a promise and more because it’s something he’s gonna make happen, squeezing the kid’s shoulder the way Clark always does when he’s doing the reassuring thing. “I’ve got you. I’m with you. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Jon says, sniffling again and scrubbing an arm across his eyes. “Um. Sorry.” 

“Don’t sweat it, Jonno,” Kon says, and Jon’s face crumples for a moment before he visibly steels himself and nods. Kon squeezes his shoulder again, then gets into his own seat and buckles himself in more out of the habit of trying to pass for human while in civvies than to actually, like, need to be buckled in. TTK kind of cancels out the risk of getting tossed around a car in an accident, and he’s invulnerable on top of that, plus the super-speed, so . . . yeah. Definitely car accidents are not a concern. 

He really wants to help this kid. He wants to at least get him to the local Clark, if nothing else. Like–if they all get stuck here, or there’s nowhere else for them to go . . . 

Well, it’d take a pretty different Clark than the one he’s used to not to want to take in any version of Jon, so as long as this reality actually has a Clark . . . 

Well, Kon’s probably not gonna be watching the kid long, in that case.

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

More headcanons about Anakin and Ahsoka being menaces to the general public

I feel like both Anakin and Ahsoka react to being sick in similar ways and by reacting in similar ways I mean they do everything in their power to ignore the fact that they’re sick 

Which is funny because they both get annoyed when the other refuses to accept that they’re sick Ahsoka will take any hint that Anakin gives her that his condition is failing and runs with it 

Man could breathe different way and she’s like “Master it sounds like you’re sick maybe you should lay down and let me take over” to which Anakin refuses 

Ahsoka’s just as bad because Anakin tries his best to take care of her without letting her know he’s onto her 

But of course she’s not stupid and can tell when he’s being more of a helicopter sibling than normal and calls him on it 

God forbid they get sick at the same time because they just spend the whole time trying to take care of each other 

And god forbid they get sick at the same time when Obi-Wan is around cause then they just turn into whiny children 

Like no seriously it’s like a switch goes off in their brains that renders them into beings incapable of fixing their blankets 

Obi-Wan obliges because what dad would stop taking care of their kid depending on the age 

Honestly my brain kinda leaned into Ahsoka’s chaotic younger sister energy with this one 

But I love the idea that she will just sneak attack Anakin and Obi-Wan 

Most of her “sneak attacks” go something like this: Anakin walking down the hall minding his business when Ahsoka drops down from the ceiling 

But before she can land on him he sidesteps and grabs her by the collar before she can hit the floor which results in Ahsoka moaning and groaning that she “Almost got him that time” and Anakin grumbles back that the only thing that “almost got her” was a black eye

He does have to admit that her random seak attacks have made her better at climbing 

Sometimes she’ll walk up behind Obi-Wan and try to cover his eyes but most of the time all she gets is his shoulders 

Most of the time it doesn’t even slow the man down he just keeps walking while asking her about her day and how classes are going 

But as she gets older she’s able to mask her presence better and manages to sneak up on the men once or twice  

Obi wan is always willing to admit defeat and congratulates her on her well earned victory 

Anakin blames it on his age and that’s the only time that Ahsoka will ever hear him admit to being “old” (he’s 30) 

It’s an ongoing joke that you shouldn’t separate Ahsoka and Anakin some say you risk a limb if you try others say you’re risking your life what most don’t mention is how you’re risking your sanity 

Because they become the most annoying motherfuckers when they’re apart 

Ahsoka acts like they’ve been separated for 10 years and will tell stories like she’s reminiscing about the good old times but most of the time the people she tells the stories to were present for the events so it goes something like this:

“Hey Rex do you remember when me and Anakin threw someone into that lake those were the days” “Yes I do remember that commander because I was that person and it was a week ago”

In his defense that’s the fifth story she told him in the past hour and he was there for all of them

Anakin’s just as bad but for a different reason because all he does is overthink

Like don’t get me wrong he keeps up the “cool guy” personality before she leaves but the second she’s gone he’ll sprinkle little questions into normal conversations like “Do you think she packed warm enough?” “Do they have enough emergency rations?”  “Did anyone make sure that ship was up to code before they left?”

He made sure she packed for every single weather possible, he packed enough rations for two weeks even tho they were supposed to be gone for two days, and he checked the ship before they left 

Sometimes Anakin or Ahsoka will just walk into each other's room and hang out they don't do much they kinda just sit down and talk 

Sometimes they have a silent but mutual understanding to leave the room and go bother Obi-Wan in his 

I love the idea that Obi-Wan and Anakin are victims of Ahsoka’s undying fascination with human hair she loves when their hair is long and encourages them to grow it out longer so she has more to work with 

She all but falls to her knees when she sees how long Padme’s hair is and she’s the creator of some of Padme’s funkier hairstyles (both Anakin and Padme make a small note to force Ahsoka to do their future kid's hair)

She’s also weirded out by facial hair so every single time Obi-Wan shaves or Anakin tries to grow a beard they’re treated like a different person entirely 

It took them a while to figure out why but once they did they lost their minds laughing (and also made silent vows not to do it again cause it freaked her out)

People often say it’s like Ahsoka and Anakin can read each other's minds without using the force 

Some people find it hard to believe but it’s pretty easy to tell when people are having conversations through their bond and when two people are having a conversation just with looks

It’s not an uncommon sight for them to shoot each other looks after someone says something a little bold and for both of them to be laughing by the end of it 

It’s just as common for them to get into little arguments and finish it in complete and total silence before one of them finally gives in with a huff 

It’s kinda freaky but they don’t seem to notice and everyone around them is too used to it to care

[atsumulogy]

synopsis: kdrama cliches & tropes u would experience w/ ur haikyuu boys.

pairing(s): various x gn!reader

content warning: mentions of being drunk, pinch of angst at the bonus end, wrist grabbing, mentions of a fight

naia’s footnote: first post 4 this blog … Feeling: Nervous 😹this probably a bit ooc but let me live! also?? the read more thingy gives me these stupid glitches and i had to redo this for so many times

likes & reblogs are appreciated!

PIGGY BACK RIDES — scenario wherein you probably got injured or got too tired to walk and he carries you on his back (either begrudgingly or happily, either way you’re both warmer than usual in the face but no one says anything.)

→ BOKUTO, tsukishima(is part of the begrudgingly part, you’re probably too tired to walk or injured and he’s totally NOT worried about you okay? he just finds your whining annoying and wants you to shut up.) noya, asahi, aran, kita, akaashi, daichi, aone.

FORCED COHABITATION — you guys probably hate each other, and somehow, someway, you guys end up in a situation where you guys have to live together. this was not a part of his or your plans, but so is falling in love with each other but i guess fate has other plans!

→ SAKUSA, atsumu, shirabu, semi (you think he plays his guitar way too loud not knowing it’s the chords of the song he wrote about you)

CONFESSION OF FEELINGS BUT … — either you or he fell asleep, blackout drunk or just sleepy as hell. or he gets interrupted before he confesses by a phone call that will lead to many scenarios from misunderstandings to an emergency that will set back the confession a few more episodes until he actually gets to confess. or at this point, you have to be the one to confess because things just won’t go his way!

→ OIKAWA (LMAO, wanna see him suffer), ennoshita, kyotani, iwaizumi, goshiki, makki, tanaka, asahi, hinata, lev, atsumu, kuroo.

SHARING AN UMBRELLA — it rains but you forgot your umbrella, and he so happens to have one with him. and somehow you and him end up under his umbrella, close proximity as you could literally feel his hot breath and he wonders if you could hear his heart beat drumming like he just ran a whole mile. he would angle the umbrella in a way that you wouldn’t get wet by the rain while his shoulders soaking wet but it’s okay, as long as you’re fine and dry he doesn’t mind getting wet by the rain <3 (bonus if next day he gets sick and you visit him and take care of him AND maybe an almost kiss happening … 😁)

→ AKAASHI, KITA, semi, goshiki, tanaka, yamamoto, kuroo

WRIST GRABS — grabs your wrists to get you to talk to him because you walked out on him OR OR HE GRABS YOUR WRISTS BECAUSE HE GOT JEALOUS WITH THE GUY YOU’RE TALKING TO OR (they try not to be as forceful or harsh tho ☹️)

→ iwaizumi, osamu, suna, yaku, kyotani, tsukishima, kageyama, oikawa, atsumu, kuroo (?) atp i’m just saying anyone that comes into my mind LMAO

OLD CHILDHOOD FRIENDS THAT MEET AGAIN (AND FALL IN LOVE) — okay so you guys either remember each other not, but that really doesn’t matter in the end because either way, you guys would end up together. hashtag fated soulmates!

→ ushijima (I JUST FEEL LIKE HE COULD FIT THIS TROPE .. or probably he reminds of this male lead in a kdrama i watched with this trope LOL), sakusa, noya, oikawa, tendou.

SHOULDER NAP — he falls asleep in your shoulders, whether he meant to or not won’t change the fact that you could hear the beat of your heart increasing, your breath hitching, and suddenly the room feels hotter than ever.

or you fall asleep in his shoulder and suddenly he can’t move a single muscle anymore, but it’s fine, he thinks, as you nuzzle yourself unconsciously into his neck.

→ SUNA, kenma, kyotani (you fall asleep on his shoulders and instead of pushing you off him, he lets you sleep there and glares at anyone who stares at you guys.), kageyama, tsukishima.

BONUS: THE LOVE TRIANGLE TROPE — my guilty pleasure but also my most behated trope ever.

the male lead — the one who got the love interest in the end.

→ oikawa, tsukishima (it’s giving asshole male lead but gets the girl in the end anyway!), bokuto, terushima, tanaka, kageyama, atsumu, osamu, shirabu, goshiki, ushijima

the second lead — probably deserves the love interest as much as the male lead OR probably deserves the love interest more LMAO

→ akaashi (he treats the love interest so well and he just?? loves them sm?? even though he’s not the one that they picked?? crying he doesn’t even expect anything from them. he's the type of second lead every viewer was rooting for), iwaizumi, kindaichi, lev, yamamoto, and if i say suna, ennoshita, noya, konoha, koganegawa, semi, kawanishi

[ag-writes-stuff]

I Would Have Followed You

Summary: This was never meant to be anything, was never actually anything if you asked Rafe Cameron. This is the story of the almost-relationship between him and you. Was it love?

This beautiful song inspired this so I hope you enjoy it as you read along. This will be a series.

THE BEGINNING:

The sun pours through the small window in the bedroom as you roll over and snooze the 6 a.m. alarm. Most early risers are already wide awake, grabbing their oat milk lattes and gluten-free bagels, while your head is pounding from a bottle of wine and three hours of sleep. In an instant, the memory of last night's events floods back and you feel the agony coursing through your veins all over again. The pain still lingers. You remember that looking at him hurt. He’s always been the one to make you feel safe, but last night was different. It was as though he’d taken a knife and repeatedly plunged it into your chest. Each time you looked at him, the wound was reopened, the pain as fresh and raw as the first time. It was like death by a thousand cuts.

     “I can’t do this anymore,” he cuts you off mid-sentence. “I think this, us, needs to end.”

     You're holding a glass full of your favorite Cabernet and within seconds it’s out of your hand and on the floor. Almost as if it's instinct, you bend down to pick up the pieces. You hate messes and honestly you'd rather focus on anything BUT this conversation right now. You look down at your hands to see that your right palm is gushing blood. Why can’t you feel it? Why can’t you feel anything? You watch as he pulls out his phone to call an Uber. He’s moving so quickly, but in your world it’s like time has stopped. You stare at him as he frantically moves around the kitchen, grabbing anything we might need for the emergency room, and you wonder where the guy you met in college went, the guy with the soft smile and beautiful ocean eyes. You never thought you could hate him, and yet... You can’t even look at him. You never want to see him again, but at the same time, you don’t want him to leave. Ever. You’ve loved him for over two years. How could he end two years with four words?

     I can’t do this.

     The words are on replay in your head as if they’re a new Taylor Swift song that you're trying to memorize every line of. You think the worst part is realizing that somewhere, deep down, you knew it the entire time. You knew he wouldn’t be able to get where you wanted him to. You just hoped that you were wrong.

     No, you didn’t date. Technically, he’s not an ex-boyfriend. He’s an ex-something. An ex-maybe. An ex-almost.

Maybe that's all you'll ever be... an incomplete sentence or a book that someone put down halfway through and never picked back up. Finished without an ending.

[qtboni]

Heyo boni! ^v^

I have a request if its okay, if not, ignore this!

(this request is based on a Pierce the Vail song, but I suck at writing and i trust your words)

Basically, y/n and ghost or Konig (you pick) became friends and roommates after meeting outside a therapist's office once. they moved in together after something happened in y/ns life that made them either get kicked out of their house/had to leave their house so they become roommates. they weren't really close with one another regarding their jobs, but they knew that both of them were in the military, just not in the same task force. then one day, (ghost or Konig, whoever you picked) gets a call in the middle of a meeting from an unknown number, but a familiar area code (the one y/n and he lived in) so he answers, and y/n was injured and had to get emergency surgery, and y/n put him as the emergency contact

you could maybe make him realize that he has feeling for y/n once they get into the hospital?

sorry its alot, ive been hooked on this idea for a while lmao, but can't write for shit

thank you sm in advance, i live laugh love your work :D

HI BBY !! thank you so much for sending in this amazing request. it took me some time to write, but it was such a delightful and challenging task. i hope i was able to meet your expectations and deliver a top-notch story for you !! also ty guys for 330 followers <//3

╰﹒ 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄.𝐑. !

PAIRING: König X Gn!Reader

OVERVIEW: You were brought into the emergency room with a serious injury, and König was your emergency contact. As he stayed by your side and helped you through your treatment, he found himself in his vulnerable state that made him realize he love you.

C/W: fluff + hurt & LOTSA COMFORT ! mutual pinning, friends to roommates (to lovers), and reader getting into a sudden car accident.

W/C: 3.7k bubs

As you recalled the memories of how you met König, you couldn't help but smile.

It had been a rainy day, and you were waiting outside the therapist's waiting room, looking for a place to hide from the rain. That's when you saw him, König, standing under the same building, looking just as lost as you felt. Gathering up the courage, you offered to help him navigate to where he was going, and started chatting with him. He was shy, but open, and you found yourself drawn to his sincerity.

König was also tall, almost awkwardly so, which made you laugh at first. Despite not really knowing each other's jobs at first, you discovered that he was also in the military as you. But in a different task force that is. When you asked him about the black medical face mask he had on his face, he became shy... and quite insecure? You can't place your finger on it but if it makes him uncomfortable, then you will shut your mouth. You didn't want him to think that you were invading his privacy.

There were still so many things to learn about each other, but you felt comfortable around him.

A few months later, life threw a curveball your way, and you had to leave your apartment in a hurry. You still remembered how much you were struggling, phoning up to your parents that you need a place to stay while you handle things like work and your wages. Thankfully, König was there to help. You didn't feel alone at the middle of your struggles. But what surprised you most is him offering you a place to stay, excited to try his hand at being roommates with you.

The first few days were a bit awkward, trying to adjust to each other's habits and routines. But it didn't take long for you to fall into a comfortable rhythm. König was clean, respectful, and an all-around great roommate. You even started cooking together, watching movies, and spending time in each other's company when none of you guys were called on for deployment.

As you settled in, you found yourself looking forward to coming home after a long day at work, knowing that König would be there for me, cheering you on and offering a listening ear if you needed it. You were starting to realize that König weren't just your roommate, he had become your close friend. After a while, you started to notice little things that König would do for you.

For instance, he'd notice when you were feeling stressed and make you a hot cup of tea. Or he'd do small tasks around the house that he knew you didn't like doing, like folding laundry or washing the dishes. At first, you just saw these as gestures of kindness, but as time went on, you started to appreciate them more and more. You realized that they were his way of showing that he cared about you and that he wanted to make your life a little bit easier.

As you noticed these little things more, you found yourself looking for ways to do things for him in return. It could be something as small as making him dinner or doing his laundry when he was busy, but it was your way of showing him that you appreciated him too.

Over time, you started to realize that you had feelings for König. It was a slow realization, but as you continued to live together, it became clearer and clearer to you.

You couldn't help but smile whenever he was around. The sound of his laughter made you feel warm and happy, and whenever he looked at you with those deep, blue eyes of his, you couldn't help but to avert your gaze away as you feel warmth creeping up on your cheeks.

You had never met anyone like him before. He was funny, smart, and kind, and you couldn't believe how lucky you were to have him in your life. He made you feel like you were on top of the world, and you couldn't wait to see what adventures lay ahead of the two of you.

As time went on, the two of you became inseparable. You spent countless hours together, making memories and building a strong bond. And every time you were with him, you felt as though you were dreaming. He made you feel free, and you knew that you would do anything for him.

One night, after a long day at work, you came home to find König waiting for you with a glass of water and a bowl of steaming soup. He greeted you with a soft smile and an earnest look of concern.

"You looked like you were having a rough day," he said, offering you the bowl of soup. "I thought this would help you relax."

His caring gesture made your heart flutter, and you couldn't help but feel grateful and loved. "Thank you so much, König," you said, taking a sip of the soup and feeling the warmth spread through your limbs. "You always know just what I need."

König's face lit up when you spoke, his eyes glistening with happiness. "Anything for you, liebe," he said warmly. "I just want to make sure you're always okay."

Even though he would call you petnames in his native language, and the fact that you don't know any of them, you were touched by his words. And when you asked him what, 'liebe' was in English, he'd told you that it was how Germans call a 'friend'.

Although clearly saddened by the fact that he friend zoned you, you cannot help your feelings to subside. It was in that moment that I realized my feelings for König were far deeper than just friendship. You knew then that you were in love with him, and that you would do anything for him.

As your workday came to a close and the evening air settled in, you found yourself longing for the familiar warmth of home, where König would be waiting for you.

Knowing that he would be there, cheering you on and offering a sympathetic ear should you need it, provided a sense of comfort in the midst of the day's challenges. The thought of his presence was a welcome balm, a reminder that you had someone in your corner, eager to be a source of support and encouragement.

You're driving down a winding road, the sun setting behind the trees, casting long shadows over the landscape. The air is still and quiet, except for the roar of your engine and the sound of the tires against the pavement.

Suddenly, you feel a sharp jolt and your world is thrown off balance. Your heart races as your car skids across the road, toward the edge of a steep drop.

Your hand reaches for the steering wheel, but it's no use. The car careens over the edge and starts to roll down the hillside, tossing you around like a rag doll. Time seems to slow down as you helplessly watch the ground hurtle towards you.

Just when you think it's all over, you feel a sudden burst of air. Your airbags have deployed, cushioning the blow as the car crashes to a halt. The sound of sirens pierces the silence as first responders swarm the scene. They start to pry the door open and help you out of the shattered glass and twisted metal.

You are alive, although badly bruised and shaken.

As you're lying in the back of the ambulance, being whisked away to the hospital, you hear one of the paramedics saying about an emergency contact for you. You so badly wanted to help them out to call for your parents but the pain you were feeling right now was making you close your eyes and drift off to the darkness.

--

König was sitting at his desk, engaged in a phone call with his grandmother, when his cell phone suddenly rang with an unknown number. He hesitated for a moment before answering, but when he noticed the familiar area code, his heart skipped a beat.

"Hello?" he said into the speaker, his voice trembling slightly.

The person on the other end of the line was a doctor from a hospital not far from where he shared an apartment with you. He could hear the concern in the doctor's voice as she explained the situation.

"Mr. König? You are our patient's emergency contact. They were brought in with serious injuries and needs to undergo emergency surgery," the nurse said, her voice full of urgency but also sympathy.

König's heart sank as he listened to the words, a knot forming in his stomach. "How bad is it?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"They had sustained some serious injuries and will need to undergo emergency surgery," the nurse replied. "But please know that our doctors and nurses are doing everything they can to help them."

König felt a wave wash over, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to be by your side, to hold your hand and comfort you, but he also knew that he had to stay strong for you.

"What can I do?" he asked, his voice filled with determination.

The nurse answered back, her voice sympathetic. "You can wait here in their hospital room, and we will keep you updated on their progress," she said.

König nodded, feeling a sense of gratitude wash over him. His mind raced as he listened to the doctor's explanation. He had no idea what could have happened to you, but he knew that you must be in pain, afraid... and alone.

He was grateful to all the doctors and nurses who were doing their best to help you. And he was determined to be there for you, to support you and help you heal.

Despite the fact that you and König were not technically dating, his heart began beating faster when he heard the doctor refer to you as his partner, when you're not even his.

It was evident that he was concerned about your well-being, but he couldn't help but wonder if there was more to the way he felt about you. Your kind and caring demeanor had always warmed his heart, and his concern and attention were more comforting than the pain meds.

"I'm on my way," he replied, his voice shaking.

He quickly ended the call and grabbed his coat and keys, his mind filled with concern and fear. He started his car, his heart pounding in his chest as he hurried to the hospital.

"Please, be okay, mein liebe," he muttered under his breath. "Warte einen moment. Ich komme für dich, liebling."

As soon as König stepped foot inside the hospital, he was overwhelmed by the sight of the chaos and commotion in the emergency room. The doctors and nurses seemed to be rushing around at a breakneck pace, their urgent steps and voices indicating the dire situation at hand.

As König made his way to your room, his heart was racing and then he was met with the devastating sight of your weakening state. You looked pale and weak, and it almost brought him to tears. In that moment, he couldn't help but feel a lump form in his throat, knowing that the person he cared about most in the world was at risk of losing their life.

König looked on, seeing the medical team frantically attending to you, doing everything they could to save your life. He could tell they were doing their absolute best, but the outcome was still uncertain. It was clear that you were in a life-threatening situation, and he was helpless in the face of this crisis.

Despite the gravity of the situation, König remained by your side, holding your hand and offering words of comfort. He refused to leave your side, determined to be there for you every step of the way, even if it meant sacrificing his own emotional well-being.

As the hours passed, König's emotions were put to the test. The waiting game was torture, and the fear of losing you was almost more than he could bear. But despite the uncertainty and fear, König knew that he would never abandon you, and that he would do everything in his power to ensure your safety and well-being. He was determined to be your rock, your beacon of hope, and your biggest supporter, no matter what the outcome might be.

Despite the stressful and uncertain situation, König couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions boiling up inside him.

As he sat by your side, holding your hand, he realized that the feelings he was experiencing went beyond just friendship or companionship. There was something more, a deep and powerful attachment that was difficult to put into words. In that moment, König was struck by a realization.

Was this what love was? Did he love you, this wonderful and amazing partner who had become a part of his life?

He couldn't help but wonder if what he was feeling was love. It was such a complex and overwhelming feeling, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to admit it to himself, let alone to anyone else.

Despite his doubts and fears, König couldn't deny the way his heart swelled every time he looked at you. He didn't know why or how it happened, but he found himself feeling stronger and more confident in his own abilities whenever you were around. You inspired him and lifted him up, and it made him realize that he would do anything for you.

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of the answer, but then it hit him like a ton of bricks. The answer was yes, yes, a thousand times yes.

He didn't just love you, he was in love with you. And in that instant, he knew that he would do anything to protect and care for you, for the rest of his days. The realization was both terrifying and exhilarating, but it made his heart beat faster nonetheless.

A gentle nudge in his hand, he felt his body shook. It was your hand. Now gently clasping on top of his.

"Hi," He heard you whisper.

König's eyes were drawn to yours. He felt his heart stop as he looked into your eyes, which, although tired, bore a hint of relief and a warm shine. When you smiled at him, he was speechless, overcome with emotion as he realized that you were okay.

Still feeling stunned, König reached out and cupped your face with his other hand, unable to articulate the mix of feelings running through him. His eyes watered, and he felt a lump form in his throat as he tried to process the gravity of the situation.

It was as if time had slowed down, and the world around him vanished, leaving only you and him in the present moment. He was filled with an overwhelming sense of tenderness and love, and he knew in that moment that he would do anything to protect you and keep you safe.

"Thank God, you're okay," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. He took your hand in his, squeezing it tightly. "I was so worried about you."

As König watched over you, his heart filled with affection. Your eyes looked tired, but there was a hint of relief in them. He reached out and cupped your face with his hand.

"I was so scared, I..." König said, tears welling up in his eyes. "I thought... I thought I lost you, mein liebling."

He couldn't find the words to convey the depths of his feelings, but his voice was filled with affection and gratitude.

"I'm so glad you're okay," he added. "I'm so glad you're here with me now."

You managed a weak smile and squeezed his hand back. "I'm okay," you replied, your voice barely audible from how much your throat was parched.

König felt a flood of relief wash over him. He was determined to be there for you and to help you get through this difficult time. He stayed by your side throughout the hospital stay, supporting you and comforting you as you recovered from injuries.

König seemed to anticipate your needs before you even spoke, as if he had read your mind. He reached out beside you and handed you a bottle of water, helping you sit up in bed as he held the liquid in front of your lips for you to drink. You smiled and took a sip, feeling a cool sensation spread down your throat.

"Thank you," you said, your voice soft and weak from exhaustion.

König nodded, his hand still supporting the bottle as you drank. "Of course," he said, his voice warm and comforting. "I just want to make sure you're alright. You've been through a lot."

You let out a deep breath, feeling a sense of relief as you settled into your pillows. It was as if all the tension and worry of the day had been lifted from your shoulders. For a moment, you felt truly content, and you were grateful to have König by your side, providing comfort and support when you needed it most.

The doctor enters the room, carrying with him a stack of papers. As soon as he sees you awake, his face breaks into a broad smile.

"Good news," he says, his voice full of excitement. "The tests came back, and they're better than we could have hoped for! You're going to be just fine."

Your heart fills with relief as you process the doctor's words. König, who had been sitting beside you, lets out a sigh of happiness.

"Gott sei dank dafür," he mutters under his breath, his hand reaching out to hold yours.

The doctor continued, "You'll need to rest for a few days to make a full recovery, but there's no need to worry, you're going to be able to go home soon."

You felt tears springing to your eyes at the news, but instead of tears of fear, they were tears of joy. König sat by your side, holding your hand as you cried, feeling grateful.

For basically everything. That you were okay. That you were gonna be home soon. And for the love and support König had shown you since the accident. But above all, he had been there for you, a constant source of comfort and warmth in the midst of a trying time.

As you settle back into your pillows, the doctor begins to explain the next steps in your recovery, but your attention is drawn back to Konig. The look in his eyes is one of pure love and care, and you know in that moment that you've found something truly special in him.

"Thanks so much, doc'." You replied once the tears subsided.

The doctor smiled and nodded in response. "You're welcome," he said, turning to leave the room. "Get some rest and take it easy for the next few days. And if you need anything, don't hesitate to press that call button by your bed." He gave a final nod before disappearing through the door, leaving you and König alone in the room.

You let out a deep breath and turned to König. "Thank goodness," you said, a mix of relief and exhaustion washing over you. "I was so terrified."

"It's okay," he said, his voice gentle. "You're safe now. Rest."

You sank into his embrace, feeling his warmth and support wrapped around you like a warm blanket. For a moment, the weight of your worries lifted, and you felt a sense of peace settle in your heart. With König by your side, you knew you could handle whatever lay ahead.

You felt a wave of exhaustion wash over you, but it was a comforting exhaustion, one that came with the satisfaction of knowing you were in good hands. König put an arm around you and pulled you in close, resting your head on his shoulder.

You closed your eyes, feeling a sense of exhaustion wash over you. The day had been long and tumultuous, and all you wanted was a moment of peace. As you drifted off to sleep, you felt a gentle hand brush your cheek. You opened your eyes to find König looking at you with concern and affection.

He smiled softly at you, and you felt a sense of warmth wash over you. Despite the chaos of the day, you felt a sense of peace and comfort in his presence. As you drifted off to sleep, König sat by your bedside, his thoughts consumed by you. He felt a sense of love and affection for you, unlike anything he had ever experienced before. You had a way of making him feel safe, loved, and secure, as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

As you slept, he couldn't help the words that formed on his lips, even though he knew that now was not the time or place to share his feelings.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Du bist alles für mich, meine Liebe. I want to be yours.. to be by your side, to protect and care for you, always."

He paused, knowing that he should probably wait until you were fully recovered and discharged from the hospital before telling you how he felt. But the words had slipped out, and there was no turning back now.

König kissed your forehead so softly that it felt like cotton grazing over the skin. He felt a sense of relief wash over him, as if he had been holding onto this secret for far too long. And now that he had shared his feelings, he felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

As you slept, König made a silent vow to himself: to always be there for you, to always love and care for you, no matter what the future held. And he hoped that one day, maybe one day, he would have the chance to make you his forever.

[heeheesang]

ₕᵢgₕ ₛcₕₒₒₗ cᵣᵤₛₕ! ₗₑₑ ₕₑₑ ₛₑᵤₙg.

fourteen -> finals. ( written + texts )

‘ynnie! we’re at the first row, the middle seats!’ hyewon texted me as soon as i entered the stadium, my eyes wondered around the seating area, locking eyes with hyewon as she waved at me enthusiastically. “you’re just in time for the second half, how was your evaluation?” hyewon said as i took a seat in between her and jungwon.

“evaluation was fine… are we winning?” i didn’t really bother about the performing arts monthly evaluations, it was stupid anyway. my eyes searched the field, finally finding heeseung and sunghoon who were faking passes to each other to fool the opponent, finally the ball went back to heeseung who scored. “we’re at equal points now,” i nodded, locking eyes with heeseung who waved at me with a wide smile on his face, calling sunghoon and pointing at me.

“how was your evaluation, hye? and where’s sunoo?” i asked as she scratched the back of her neck, “ms hong said she was disappointed in me, she said i wasn’t up to standards with my routine and she’s thinking of kicking me out. sunoo went home, he said he had to settle a few things at home.”

my eyes widened, “what?!” i accidentally yelled, the students around us giving me looks as i apologised, “what do you mean ms hong said she’s thinking of kicking you off?? you’re in the school’s dance team, hyewon.” she sighed and shrugged her shoulders, “it’s fine ynnie, i’m fine really! oh they scored!” hyewon tried to avert my attention to the game.

“no.. i’m not letting her do that.” i said as i whipped my phone out to text ms hong, asking her if she had time to call me for a while. there’s no way i’m letting her kick my best friend off the school team, even if she wasn’t my friend, hyewon has done a lot for performing arts. most of the routines were her ideas and she climbed her way up, she was about to be my vice president after minhee leaves.

“yn—“ “no, hyewon. don’t worry about okay? now, let’s enjoy this game!” we both held hands and watched the show together, cheering for decelis everytime they scored a point and everytime the opponent scored a point we would yell ‘boo’ loudly, making heeseung and sunghoon laugh at us.

about almost an hour later, the game was finally about to end. last ten seconds for decelis to score a point to win, heeseung had the ball. he was dribbling and in the last five seconds he threw the ball, he scored! everyone cheered as the basketball team celebrated on court by hugging and throwing their youngest member in the air. surprisingly though, the basketball team members went to the changing rooms after hand shaking their opponent and we all watched the cheerleading team show us their cheers.

not long later, jungwon took my phone which i was using to scroll through social media and said, “you might wanna watch this, ynnie.” i let him take my phone as i paid full attention to the cheerleaders.

‘decelis, decelis! go decelis!’ the main cheerleader yelled as suddenly big posters were being brought out. i read the letters and words as one by one came out. ‘will’ ‘you’ ‘be’ ‘my’ ‘girlfriend’ aw somebody was getting asked to be their girlfriend, how cute!

‘yn?’ ‘will you be my girlfriend, park yn?’ it read out fully as my mouth was left hung open, that’s my name.. the lights flashed at my direction as heeseung emerged from the posters in a formal outfit, not his jersey, with white flowers and a small ring box. the students were yelling and cheering while i was frozen, jungwon and hyewon pushed me towards heeseung who was coming closer.

tears welled in my eyes, he finally asked me, in a way i told him i liked.

“what’re you reading princess?” heeseung asked as he jumped on my bed beside me. “the guy is asking her to be his girlfriend even when they’re already acting like one. he’s a soccer player, he put a show for her asking her to be his girlfriend with her favourite chocolate and flowers, how romantic is that?”

he remembered. with a huge smile on my face, i ran towards him and hugged him tightly. “you’re such a dork, lee heeseung.” i said through tears, “only a dork for you my princess, now don’t cry baby…” he pulled away from the hug and got on one knee, “will you, park yn, be my official and real girlfriend?” he asked as i nodded frantically, passing me flowers as he stood back up and put a ring on my finger.

“a promise ring, i promise to be with you no matter what. i love you park yn.”

“i love you even more, lee heeseung.”

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taglist! @haechansbbg @saranghaohoshi @rosas-in-the-garden @yourssincerely-mimi @dimplewonie @jwnghyuns

hhs’ notes! second last chapter of this smau🥹 thank you all for reading and loving and supporting this smau! i love each and everyone of you🙁🤍 not to worry tho! i have a new smau coming soon, for all my jay stans🤭🤭 keep an eye out for that one!! as always, i love you all, here’s a flower 🌷🌷 and i’ll see you on tomorrow’s last chapter🥹🥹