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itostea · 4 months

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my first & last love (gojo x reader)

satoru realizes he's in love with you after you suggest he set you up with suguru

tags: fem! reader, Gojo praises you like A LOT! slight miscommunications, childhood friends to lovers, reader gets drunk & satoru helps, he's a lovesick idiot & dramatic, both yours & his pov, gojo’s implied to be taller than reader, slightly suggestive bc it’s gojo, slight angst

word count: 11k

The first time Gojo Satoru learned true, unadulterated jealousy was on a Friday night out in his sports car–the crickets chirping to the melody of a random song.

It was real jealousy—not just simple, petty envy. Not like the envy he felt when someone got to taste the limited edition cupcakes at the bakery before he did or the envy of studying hard and getting a lower score than someone who didn’t (which is a lie because Gojo was that very person who was effortlessly good at everything he did).

Either way, he’s never felt the bite of jealousy, breaking the flesh as blood drips slowly, lingering as if it could never be washed away from his skin. Never felt it smother his throat with needles and leave him with a metallic taste in his mouth. That is, until today.

It was colder than usual but he still insisted on grabbing some ice-cream from the local convenience store, declaring it was his your reward for putting up with the party Sukuna hosted–the same party that ended in your dress being soaked in vomit. The atmosphere was perfect for sentiment, for talking–for confessing.

You’re humming to the beat of the song, licking your lips clean of the ice cream you just ate. “Satoru,” you murmur his name softly, staring at him through your lashes.

“Yeah?” His eyes drink in the sight of you: your droopy eyes from sleep, the faded lip tint on your lips, the hoodie he let you borrow that’s obviously a few sizes too big on you. There’s hardly any light coming in but he can still feel your eyes on him, the tension so thick he thinks he might suffocate from it.

For a moment, he’s scared, fearful of what you were going to say because he knows this silence. This is the very silence that happens before someone confesses to him, the same suspense that he has to mentally prepare himself for since he knew he was going to break another heart. And he’s terrified that he might have to do it to you–his friend, his neighbor, someone who he’s known for a very long time.

“I need to tell you something,” you start and he winces, shifting uncomfortably on the driver’s seat.

“You do?” He mutters. You’re nervous. He can tell because he’s known you long enough to understand what you’re feeling–long enough to know that your eyes are darting from place to place, a habit of yours.

His chest squeezes when you take a deep breath just as he exhales, already making his mind to grant you a swift rejection. He hopes you can forgive him after this.

“--I like Getou and I need your help.”

“Listen, I’m sorry but I just don’t see you that way–”

He blinks, wondering if he heard you right or if he was drunk (he didn’t drink at the party because he was your ride home). “Wait what?”

It was your turn to blink now. “I like Getou and I–”

“I heard you the first time,” he cuts you off hastily, clearing his throat to play it cool. He runs a hand through his hair, grazing the side of his undercut. “Okay wow.”

Gojo mentally curses himself for not knowing what else to say other than humming pensively, busying himself by mixing the ice-cream in the tiny container. He still needs time to process, to mentally upload your words to his brain. You like Getou and not him? He pauses, repeating that thought again.

You like Getou and not him. Part of him tells himself that this is exactly what he wanted since your friendship wouldn’t go to ruin. You managed not to catch feelings for him–managed not to fall for him like many others. Yet, he’s confused when another part of him doesn’t respond too well once he realizes that this was you he was dealing with.

“That’s not weird right?” You question, bringing your knees up to your chest and propping your chin atop of them to watch his reaction–reminding him to keep it cool.

“Nah it’s not weird at all,” he said, not thinking straight when his next words escaped his lips. “So why Suguru?” And not me? Though, he keeps that last part to himself.

“Well isn’t it obvious? He’s tall, handsome, and has a good personality.”

Am I not that? He asks himself, not bothered by how stuck up he may seem. “That’s not very specific from someone who likes him.”

You huff and he can tell you’re narrowing your eyes at him. “I know you don’t wanna hear me yap about the specifics, Satoru.”

“I do.” He says quickly.

You make a noise of surprise, looking interested in his sudden intrigue. “Well okay… Suguru’s very caring and attentive. Being around him makes me feel warm inside you know? I’m not sure when I started liking him but I just know that I just really want to be closer to him. And it doesn’t help that he’s just so smart and nice. And his looks are just a bonus.”

“Oh,” he utters, not even bothering to curse himself for his lack of response. He tries a weak smile. “You must really like him.”

Gojo can’t help but furrow his brows at the semi-embarrassed expression you wear—as if you were flustered at the mere thought of having a crush. “Oh, was I that obvious?” You ask, not even bothering to deny the fact that you were undoubtedly head over heels for his best friend.

Oh god, he thinks he might be sick and he doesn’t know why.

“Are you going to help me?” Your voice cuts him out of his reverie and he’s cut back into reality–the reality being the anticipation in your eyes. Did you always look this pretty?

Gojo nearly flinches at the thoughts that cross his mind, blaming the unprocessed shock for being the cause of these obscure ideas. He coughs. “Hold on. So you don’t like me right?”

“What? No I–” your eyes widen in understanding. “Oh so that’s what that was all about. You thought the person I liked was you! How cocky can you be to think everyone’s in love with you?”

“It’s not cocky if it’s true. I’m just really lovable y’know?”

You let out a sarcastic laugh. “That can’t be true since I’m not everyone.”

I know, he thinks to himself, staying silent as he watches you shuffle in your seat. He didn’t just dislike this idea you proposed, he hated it. It wasn’t hard to just decline and keep it like that–let you figure your feelings on your own.

Yet, something about the near-pleading look in your eyes made him reconsider and it filled him with an urge to smooth the wrinkles on your expression. He sighs loudly, rubbing the invisible crease in between his brows. “Well I guess you came to the right person because I’m an expert at this. 5 star ratings and all that. But what makes you think I’m going to do this for free?”

“Uh the goodness of your heart?”

“Cute,” he laughs. “But no. I want a coffee from the place everyday for a month.”

“What?! Are you insane? That means I’d have to wake up early everyday to get in line!”

He shakes his head, waving his finger around with a disappointed expression. “A small price for love.”

“I don’t understand why you even need me for that. You can buy the whole shop yourself, ass,” you whisper the last part behind your palm, making his eyes light up in amusement.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Actually you know what? Fine,” you huff. “You’re right. It is a small price for love. But I’m not walking back and forth around campus to deliver your coffee.”

“I got that covered,” he grins, already coming up with a plan in his head. He likes this, the banter you two typically enjoyed. It made your duo, a duo. In a normal situation, he’d relax and continue bothering you. Still, the feeling of dread gnaws at his throat and he tries to swallow it–tries to ignore it by pretending to be the same, goofy Gojo you’re used to. And he’s starting to think it’s hard to do that when you look up at him with such genuine gratitude.

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“Thank you, I mean it.”

Gojo feels that emotion again, that visceral feeling where he might go sick and vomit all over the car. “Yeah.”

He thinks he would’ve preferred if you confessed to him instead.

Gojo wonders if stress (if you can call that) is enough to make someone wake up with a hangover the next day. He didn’t drink last night but he thinks he might have–considering the headache that was interrupting his morning.

He’s in the middle of downing a glass of water when his phone buzzes, your name popping up as a notification.

(Name): i’m gonna get ur coffee pls come

Him: come ??? cum

(Name): it’s too early to be doing this

He sees the bubbles appear before they disappear for a while, only popping up again when he’s in the middle of cracking an egg over the pan

(Name): SATORU

(Name): OHMYGOD SATORY SOI SOS

Him: WHAT

Him: HELLO???

(Name): GETOUS HERE OMG IM GONNA

(Name): HE SAID HI TO ME

(Name): WHAT DO I DO?

Gojo grips his phone a bit tighter, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. He sighs.

Him: say hi back

Him: and then go PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

(Name): no wtf and i meant what do i after this silly

(Name): i don’t know what to do im literally an npc rn

(Name): jk he just said bye :(

Him: should’ve done what i told u to do

Another name pops up from the top and his eyes scan the name, his brows raising in curiosity. He huffs at the message, feeling a wave of nausea cross him.

Suguru: You’re close friends with (Name) right?

Him: yeah why

Suguru: Nothing

It’s silent for a few seconds and Gojo’s back to eating his eggs, tempted to pop a Tylenol to ease the growing headache. Contrary to popular belief, he was against the reliance of pain-relieving meds, opting to let his body figure things out on its own. Luckily for him, having food in his stomach was enough to relieve the headache.

His mind wanders back to the night in the car where you told him to help you with your crush on his best friend–not fully coming to terms with the fact that he wished you liked him instead. Since when did he start feeling this way and why did he need another man to make him realize he liked or even loved you? The thought of anyone having you for themselves was like hearing the sound of nails against a chalkboard and he was jealous. He finally admitted it.

Gojo Satoru wasn’t an idiot when it came to his feelings and he’d be a fool if he kept denying his undeniable irritation that came with your crush for Suguru. He places the unwashed dish atop some other bowls and utensils, reminding himself to get to that later since his priority was not to keep you waiting at the coffee shop.

Another buzz and Satoru nearly trips over his feet at the dread he gets from seeing his best friend’s message. Are you kidding me? He thinks to himself as he reads the message again.

Suguru: She’s cute

Yeah, he thinks he might be sick again.

Music’s playing in the background to substitute the sound of chatter that’d usually fill the room if Shoko were here. It wasn’t rare for Shoko to not flake on parties and it was even rarer for you to leave your comfort zone and go to one–especially the last one hosted by Sukuna; but this one was different. Suguru was the host and you’d be an idiot to miss it.

You flinch at the feeling of your mascara poking the inside of your eye, cursing quietly as you take a q-tip to fix the mistake.

The buzz of your phone makes you freeze.

Gojo: omw to ur house

Gojo: ill be there in 10

You: wait satoru don’t get mad but what do i wear

Gojo: …

Gojo: YOU DIDNT LIKE THINK ABOUT THAT AN HR AGO?

You: I WANNA STAND OUT TO ATTRACT THE LOML OKAY?

You: so i need ur opinion

Gojo: dude

Gojo: ok

Gojo: just wear whatever u want it’ll be fine

You: yeah but what specifically?

Gojo: not smth that makes you look like a grandma

Gojo: like that dress u wore to the last party

Gojo: no offense

You: but i liked that dress :((((

You: was it that bad?? I mean i had to throw it out bc of the vomit anyways

Gojo: it made u look like a grandma but in a good way

You: wow okay thanks

Gojo: you looked nice

Gojo: ANYWAYS

Gojo: a pair of jeans

Gojo: and that light blue long sleeve that shows ur shoulders

You: really?

Gojo: yeah and i’m leaving my apartment now so hurry up

You like the message, tapping your lips to even out the lip tint before you rush to put on the shirt and jeans. Doing a quick double-take in the mirror, you spin once and prop your hands on your hips, snapping a few selfies to commemorate this day.

You’re not sure how much time passes until you hear excessive honking outside, the sound of your phone buzzing as you see Gojo’s caller id. It’s enough to make your eyes roll as you grab your bag–leaving the door locked and the lights off.

Gojo’s grin is boyish and teasing as his eyes scan you from top to bottom. “Oh look at you,” he coos. “You’re actually wearing what I told you to wear.”

“Well I felt like listening today,” you murmur, feeling a small ripple of embarrassment pass you.

“Atta girl.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, feeling a grin form when you hear him chuckle. He puts his car into reverse mode, propping his arm on the top of your seat. Up close, you can get a stronger whiff of his cologne–its musk and earthiness slowing your heartbeat, calming you. Your eyes scan his outfit: a black pullover layered atop white t-shirt, paired with a pair of pants that were on the edge of being joggers and trousers.

On anyone else, the outfit wouldn’t have done them good like it did with Gojo. To your displeasure and awe, he looked effortlessly classy. And if he noticed your lingering gaze, he didn’t mention it.

“What’s your game plan?” His voice draws you back to reality and you watch as he sets the car back into drive mode.

“Game plan?”

“That’s right,” he glances at you, his shades sliding lower on his nose bridge. “Your plan to seduce the love of your life.”

“I’m not going to seduce him!” You gape, narrowing your eyes at his widening smile. His hand reaches down to turn the volume of the song a bit louder, stopping at the upcoming red light.

“I’m just joking with you,” he laughs, his eyebrows furrowing slightly before that smile returns to his face, not quite meeting his eyes like it usually does. He sighs before breaking into a laugh that almost sounds bitter. “I’d pay to see that though.”

At the party, you’d imagine yourself “mingling” with the crowd and letting loose–being the life of the party. Unfortunately for you, your feet are still stuck on the kitchen floor and you’re glued to Gojo’s side. You’d like to blame it on the vomit incident from Sukuna’s party and you’re fortunate enough to not be known as the “girl that someone threw up on.”

Either way, you weren’t especially fond of the fact that you were keeping Gojo from having fun somewhere else. Like in one of the unoccupied rooms upstairs or in the living room playing some drinking games. It’s enough to make you feel somewhat guilty and suddenly regretful that you even came to this party.

You tap his shoulder in the kitchen, offering him a reassuring smile. “Satoru. You don’t have to stay with me. I can manage myself!”

“That’s what you said last time,” he chuckles, rummaging through Getou’s fridge to search for something sweet, frowning when he sees traditional Japanese snacks that his grandparents would eat. “What the hell?” He murmurs to himself.

“I mean it,” you say, taking a few steps back. “You have some fun. I don’t want to bother you too much.”

“You’re not–”

“Satoru. (Name),” a velvety voice greets, all too familiar. A warmth spreads over you. “You made it.”

“Getou,” you murmured to yourself, glancing at Gojo who was already staring at you.

For a second, you see a subtle tick in his jaw, a sight you blame on the lighting since he’s back to normal the moment he turns to face Getou. He grins that teasing smile of his. “Suguru.”

“You looking through my fridge again, Satoru?” The brunette huffs, kicking the fridge’s door shut lightly–exchanging the grin with his friend. Your heart squeezes as he casts a lingering look at you, his smile polite. “Hey (Name). Good seeing you here.”

“Huh?” You perk up. “Oh you too?”

You inwardly curse at yourself for how awkward you were, giving Gojo a scathing look as he hides his laughter behind his palm. Luckily for you, Getou’s sweet and he was also good at redirecting topics. “You want something to drink?”

“Oh sure,” you blink, offering a thankful smile. “Thank you Getou–”

“Suguru.”

You pause, cocking your head to the side in confusion. “Sorry?”

“Call me Suguru,” he hands you a red, plastic cup–his smile pretty enough to make your breath hitch. “We’ve known each other long enough.”

You feel your heart race as he looks at you expectantly, as if you knew what he wanted you to do next. You fidget, suddenly more bashful at the attention he was giving you. “Thank you Suguru.”

“No problem,” he smiles and you like how he looks satisfied with you. He hands another red cup to Satoru who stood beside you, the sarcastic grin of his returning. You take a tentative sip of the booze, watching curiously as Satoru and Suguru talked amongst themselves–reconnecting despite seeing each other only a day ago.

You observe the two of them, mapping the details of Suguru’s face before your eyes land on Satoru–suddenly aware of the fact that the boy you spent most of your youth with grew up. Sure, you know that his face attracts attention from everyone but that was a token from childhood. It just didn’t hit you that he matured, grew up to be the man most would dream of dating. The realization is to make you wonder if Gojo ever registered the fact that you were growing too.

Slowly, you take another sip of your drink, blinking slowly as the alcohol settles in your system. Gojo’s the first to notice when you stumble, how your skin seems to heat up. “Hey hey,” he holds you by the shoulders, his voice soft. And if you paid closer attention, you would’ve seen the way Getou’s brows raised at how gentle his friend was acting towards you. “You okay?”

Amidst your drunken state, you realize that Gojo didn’t bother drinking any of the liquor in his cup during his conversation with Suguru. And Suguru. Sweet Suguru who puts the pieces together and confirms that you’re a lightweight, the guilt evident in his expression. “Oh shit. I forgot how strong this liquor is.”

“I’m okay,” you mumble and step forward, ready to excuse yourself to the restroom. Gojo looks like he’s about to say something until a group of unfamiliar faces barge into the kitchen, their faces bright as they greet Getou and Gojo with intentions to keep them occupied. Among the chatter and crowd, you find it easy to slip away–rushing to find a restroom.

The first one you went in was already used by a couple that you remembered mumbling apologies to. The others were either locked or used. At some point, your gut told you to go upstairs and you staggered into an unoccupied bathroom where you splashed cold water on your face–sighing at how nice it felt against your skin.

The music’s only a fraction of its noise from up here and you’re surprised that there’s not much of a group upstairs. There’s a funny feeling in your stomach as you crouch slightly, mentally cursing yourself for downing the whole cup so quickly, ruining your chances to talk with Suguru–coherently at least. Part of you wants to sulk over your spoiled opportunities but another part of you just wants to crash on the tiled floor and sleep–rest your eyes for a bit.

You’re thankful your mind was still conscious enough to rationalize the unsanitary conditions of the bathroom floor, opting to curl up in one of the hallways instead–shivering at the feeling of cold marble beneath you. Your eyes droop, a yawn escaping you. And you’re almost certain you would’ve fallen asleep if not for the gentle shaking of your shoulders.

“Stop,” you whine softly, your vision blurry as you catch a glimpse of hair the color of snow and a pair of worried filled blue eyes. Your protests turn quickly to bemusement. “Satoru? What are you doing here?”

You think he smiles as he kneels down on one knee to be eye level with you. “How about I get you off the ground first?”

“I don’t wanna. Let me sleep here,” you shake your head, ignoring how your body felt warm at how softly he treated you.

“C’mon,” he chuckles. “The ground’s dirty. Let's get you to a bed at least.”

In your drunken state, your mind still decides it favors a soft comforter over cold marble and you see his eyes soften when you go limp in his arms–letting him lift you from the ground. “Good girl.”

Your mind goes fuzzy at the sound of that and you’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or something else that makes your temperature rise. In that simple moment, you let his arms wrap around you, cradling you to his chest as he makes his way downstairs. All your thoughts stop as your eyes close, drowning the sound of the party out as you permit sleep to take over. His hands give your thighs an occasional squeeze, the gesture oddly intimate yet you don’t bother questioning it or objecting to it.

Even with the veil of sleep dropping on your form, you still recognize Suguru’s voice as he tells Satoru to take care of you, his tone apologetic–having been the one to give you the liquor. They talk for a bit and once more, you feel the bounce of each step as he carries you out the house.

You’re barely awake when Gojo puts you in the passenger seat and you feel disappointment wash over you when he stops holding you. You’re not sure when you grabbed onto the sleeve of his shirt, your eyes half-lidded as you peered up at him. “Don’t go.”

A noise of protest escapes your lips when he removes your cold hand from his shirt gently, rather taking it in between his warmer ones. “I won’t.”

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“I like when you compliment me.”

“Oh yeah?” He says, laughing a bit. “It’s hard not to.”

The music and cheers in Suguru’s house are still audible even in Gojo’s car, your vision getting darker and darker with each blink. Still, you can still feel Gojo’s hand gripping yours–his thumb rubbing circles on the skin as you invite sleep back in, taking deep breaths as you breathe in his cologne.

And as sleep came to life, you allowed the dreams to live as well.

Was there such a thing as a relationship between dreams and memories? In moments of delirium, you can’t single out what’s real and what’s not–was it a dream or did it actually happen?

But now that days have passed and you’ve given yourself more time, you’re certain that Gojo was the one who carried you out of the house and spent his night caring for you. So you ruled out the possibility that the night was a dream, rather a memory that made you feel soft inside–grateful yet unsure. And if you wanted to ponder harder, you would’ve done so if not for the hell you were experiencing this week.

Forgetting the content during a quiz. Getting yelled at by your boss. Having stepped in bird shit. Waking up late nearly every day because you’d forget to put your alarm on.

If that wasn’t enough, you got in an argument with your parents over the phone. It was about something stupid and you were so frustrated that you ended up walking to some 7/11–buying yourself an ice-cream to cheer yourself up. The argument was so dumb and you weren’t even sure what you guys were even arguing about. All you knew that you should probably call them later to talk it out; you also knew that this week couldn’t get any worse.

What was Satoru doing right now? You think to yourself, pulling out your phone to check your messages–frowning when you saw none from him. Your eyes land on a message from Suguru, seeing the link he sent you to some video he found funny or intriguing. After the party, you were shocked to see an unknown number texting you, claiming it was Suguru and that Satoru gave your number to him. The day that happened, you texted him using exclamation marks and thanked him–smiling at your phone as you two exchanged witty messages with one another.

You sighed, unlocking your phone and clicking Satoru’s contact and phoning him. You almost hang up after several rings but you hear his voice after the nth ring. “Hello?”

“Satoru?” You say, your voice cracking the second your lips part to speak. You weren’t expecting to cry and neither did Satoru–though you can hear the concern laced in his voice as he questions your whereabouts.

“Where are you sweetheart?” You hear rustling in the background amidst his voice and your sniffles. “I’ll pick you up. Your location’s shared with me right?”

“Mhm,” you wipe your eyes, fidgeting with the hem of your hoodie.

“Okay just stay there and don’t go anywhere. I’ll be there in a few. Don’t cry (Name).”

You think you might cry harder with how sweet his voice was.

Satoru thinks he might be the only one who notices the rift between you and him. And he’s not sure if he’s the one causing it or if it’s you. But after that night with you (in his car again), he’s been thinking about how soft you were in his arms; how he liked the way your head drooped against his chest. Or maybe he likes you but he’s not going to think about that unless he wants another headache.

Regardless, he finds himself looking at his phone sporadically, subconsciously eager to see your name pop up unexpectedly–eager for things to go back to normal. Even though you two still speak, he’s almost sure that he’s not imagining the awkward tension in the air.

Was he too intrusive when he carried you out to his car? Were you mad at him because he didn’t leave Suguru and you alone in the kitchen? It was a selfish thing to do, he admits. His original idea was to leave you alone with Suguru so you’d get to chat with him–get to know him like you intended to do at the party; but seeing Suguru give you that sly smile of his was enough to make Gojo ditch his plans of playing Cupid.

If Gojo was a good man, he’d feel happy that you were getting what you wanted since he knew you weren’t the only one interested. Like with the message Suguru sent to Satoru and how he eyed you at the party; how he called Satoru over for a bit and told him that he understood why people liked you or found you attractive; how he commented on how the shirt you wore suited you.

No shit, I picked it, he thought to himself as he recalled that night. Satoru always knew you were beautiful and he hated that everyone else knew too. You weren’t even his yet but he didn’t want to share you–to let anyone else hold you or have you. Seeing you blush and smile shyly at his best friend made him want to puke—made him want to claw his eyes out. That should be him and god he wishes it was.

He was selfish yet he never promised to be good. Yet, this was for you. He wanted you to be happy, is what he told himself whenever he saw you and Suguru talking.

His phone buzzes and it’s almost embarrassing how quickly he snatches it, the anticipation in his eyes fading when he sees that it’s Suguru messaging him about the party today. Satoru sighs, rubbing the spot between his brows as he leans on the kitchen counter, suddenly reminded that he planned a party at his place today. It was an impulsive decision to forget about the tension between you two and Satoru’s kinda wishing he took the time to talk it out with you rather than planning something else.

He invited a good amount of people and was going to invite you as well to give him a reason to call you. But lucky for him, you made things easier for him by calling him. Satoru thinks it’s not healthy for his blood temperature to rise just at the sight of your name on his phone and he’s already grinning when he picks up. “Hello?”

“Satoru?”

Oh. He pauses, his brows furrowing at how your voice cracked as you tried to hide your sniffles. His first thought was to wonder who made you sad and he thinks it’s scary how hearing you cry was enough to send his emotions in a frenzy. But you needed him and he didn’t want you to be alone. “Where are you sweetheart?” He asks, the nickname flowing off his tongue before he can stop. “I’ll pick you up. Your location’s shared with me right?”

“Mhm,” You mumbled back and his heart nearly snapped in two with how dejected you sounded. He frowns, grabbing his jacket and his keys–rushing to slip on his sneakers.

“Okay just stay there and don’t go anywhere. I’ll be there in a few. Don’t cry (Name).”

You make a sound of understanding and he hangs up, his finger tapping to click on Suguru’s contact. Satoru hears other familiar voices in the background but he doesn’t pay much attention to it.

“What’s up Satoru–?”

“Party’s off.”

“What? Wait what are you–”

“Sorry something came up. I’ll tell you later,” he says, hanging up before his friend can say anything else. He knows he should feel bad for flaking out last minute but his list of priorities had you at the top of it. And he really didn’t care if anyone else would understand.

You’re regretting the choice of shorts in the chilly night air and the ice-cream you ate wasn’t helping you shiver any less.

The way Satoru sounded made that warm, fuzzy feeling settle in your stomach again. He sounded like he would drop whatever he was doing just to get to you and it made you feel special. You think back to the sound of “sweetheart” from his lips, shaking your head when you feel your blood get warm.

“(Name)?” Satoru’s voice startles you from your thoughts and you think the sound of it could erase all your troubles. “You alright?” He asks, shrugging the jacket off his shoulders and draping them over your legs, kneeling down to see your face.

You only nod. “I want to go home.”

“Yeah I can take you back–”

“No,” you shake your head. “Back to your place.”

For a moment, you’ve stunned him but that surprise left as fast as it arrived. He sighs, tapping your knee with his finger. “Usually dinner comes first–”

“Not like that you idiot,” you kick him lightly, a grin forming on your lips. “Your methods of comforting are weird.”

“Yeah?” He laughs, the sound blending with the wind. “Well maybe I’m not trying to comfort you,” he eyes you with a teasing glint in his eyes and flashes a lopsided grin. He looked almost sweet as he did sly, the blend making your heart pick up in pace.

You squirm, mustering a tone of nonchalance. “I changed my mind. I’m going back to my place.”

This time he chuckles, his eyes narrowing in amusement. “Nuh uh. It’s my job to wipe that frown off your face,” he says, the corny phrase making you roll your eyes. “C’mon, I’ll be good to you.”

You pretend to think, ignoring the attentive expression he wore. “Fine. I guess I’ll let you take me home.”

“That’s my girl,” he grinned, standing up to his full height. You beam at him, matching his steps as you two reach his door. By the time the two of you were settled at his place, you already spoke to your parents in private–clearing up the misunderstandings like Satoru reminded you to do. You were glad you had him and even more glad that things were falling back to place.

Your eyes scan your surroundings, noticing how he must’ve tidied things up. “Did you clean your place?”

“Hm?” He grabs two mugs from the cabinet. “Oh yeah. I was going to have a party here.”

“Today?”

“That’s right,” he drawls, glancing at you from the corner of his eyes. “I was going to call you to see if you wanted to go.”

“Really?” That was a shock to you. “Are you still gonna have one today?”

“Nah. Canceled it last minute.”

You pause, raising your brows as you try not to jump to conclusions. “Why’d you cancel it?”

“Had better things to do. I'd rather hang out with you anyways,” he says casually, smiling when he finds the packets of hot cocoa. “Found it!”

Did he cancel the party for me? You think to yourself, a bit surprised that you came to that conclusion; but if you were right and he did, you wouldn’t know what to feel other than appreciation and maybe something else. Whether that was true or not, you know that you should be feeling guilt and not giddiness from having him prioritize you. Was it normal to feel this way for Satoru? You’re about to let your thoughts fill your head but you feel your breath hitch at how he seems to lean closer to you.

His hands move you by the hips, the touch barely lasting five seconds. “Sorry I gotta get the spoons,” he murmurs, paying no mind to how you hold your breath. Your eyes fall to his biceps, swallowing a gasp as you see how the black material of his shirt moved with every movement he makes. There was no way he was human when he looked like that.

Oh my god, you think to yourself, suddenly mortified at the fact that you were checking him out. What was wrong with you right now? You always knew Gojo was attractive but you didn’t think he was this attractive. And if he had any idea of your internal conflict he didn’t pay it any mind.

“Can you go get the movie ready for me?”

“Uh huh,” you nod immediately, quickening your pace as you try to distract yourself. By the time he sits next to you, the blankets and snacks are already placed neatly on the living room table. You smile and mutter a thank you when he hands you the mug of hot cocoa.

“Feel better?” He asks, propping an arm on the head of the couch once you’re halfway through the movie: a random romcom you picked to cheer you up. Even as someone who claims he’d rather watch a movie with more action, you think the drama that comes with romcoms intrigues him–much more than he’d like to admit.

You take a sip of your drink, your eyes flitting to him. “Much better.”

“I bet,” he murmurs, his eyes glancing at the way your knees touched. The scene panels to a teary confession the female lead does, the music dramatic with strings in the background. You watch intently, observing the expressions both characters make on screen.

“Y’know, I never understood how they can always come up with a speech like that on the spot,” Satoru comments, plopping a few gummy bears in his mouth. “Isn’t that unrealistic?”

“It’s a movie,” you point out, watching as the male lead hung onto every word the female lead had to say. “It’s not supposed to be realistic.”

“I guess you’re right. But that stuff apparently happens in real life right?”

“Wouldn’t you know? You have people confessing to you all the time.”

“I don’t give them much time to continue speaking,” he shrugs.

You don’t like how uneasy you feel after he says that. “Well, maybe it’s love that makes this kind of stuff happen.”

This earns you an amused snicker. “Of course you’d say that. You gonna do that with Suguru? Confess to him from the bottom of your heart?”

You roll your eyes. “To do that, I’d have to be in love with him.”

“Are you?”

“No,” you give him an incredulous look. “I hardly know the guy. I just really like him.”

He makes a sound of understanding but you feel as if you’re deluding yourself when you see the look of relief cross his face. You turn to him, the movie forgotten all of a sudden. “Would you do that?”

“What? Confess to Suguru with the bottom of my heart?”

“Yeah sure. That’s what I meant.” you huff, seeing his teasing grin form. You sigh. “No like…confess to someone you love.”

He’s quiet, the faraway look in his eyes confirming that he’s deep in thought. You’re not sure why a pang of irritation hits you when you realize that there might be someone Satoru’s in love with. And you’re not sure if it’s because he’s not telling you or because you want to be that someone. You go with the former because you’re supposed to like Suguru.

His eyes wander to meet yours and the tick in his jaw makes you nervous–makes your palms sweaty because he’s never looked at you like that. You’re not even sure words could describe what emotion he had on his face. He smiles–not the smile that’s crooked and boyish. It’s the smile that’s sharp and makes his eyes narrow. “I might.”

“You might?” You ask, hating how breathless your voice sounded to your ears–something that he notices with the way amusement practically glimmers in his eyes. You swallow a gasp when his gaze falls to your lips, quickly flying back to your eyes.

“Maybe,” he whispers and you can’t help but wet your lips, feeling faint when the bright blue of his eyes darkens to black. You don’t flinch when his head tilts, his arm coming to the side to trap you between the couch. His cologne overwhelms you, makes you drunk on him. He’s so close that you can feel his breath hit your face.

“Satoru–”

The sound of your phone buzzing crushes the tension quickly and you let him lean back–looking as if he had more to say. You feel a smidge of disappointment as you grab your phone. “It’s Suguru,” you say and you’re not sure why your inner voice begs Satoru to tell you to ignore the phone call–to act like he cares more.

“Shouldn’t you answer it?” He questions and you hate that sinking feeling in your stomach when he doesn’t even spare a glance at you–as if acting like he wasn’t about to kiss you seconds ago. You can only frown, nodding as you watch him stand up–still not offering you one single look. “I’ll clean up.”

As you glance at your phone, at the name of Suguru appearing on your screen, you hope for the slightest bit of joy–that lovesick feeling you get whenever you’d see him. Yet, it felt wrong. This felt wrong. And apparently, Suguru could tell from your voice that there was something bugging you.

“Is everything alright? You don’t sound too good.”

Your eyes linger on Satoru’s figure moving to the kitchen. You think Suguru mentions something about a date but you don’t pay much attention, not feeling all that bad as you drown out his voice. “Yeah. I’m fine. What were you saying?”

“I was asking if you wanted to go to dinner with me tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at 7 and we can–”

“Sure,” you say, trying to ignore the way your body lurches at your response–as if it didn’t want this. “Sure. I’ll see you at 7.”

You don’t catch what he says when he hangs up, only thinking of how Satoru looked at you when he was leaning closer. The thought doesn’t horrify you as much as it should but you think that if he had kissed you, you probably would’ve kissed him back.

If someone told you a month ago that you were going on a date with Suguru, you would’ve cried tears of joy and celebrated. But now, you’re almost undeniably feeling a wave of indifference hit you and it feels awful. Suguru’s perfect–his sharp features and his charming smile that’d send anyone into a frenzied mess. Or maybe most tend to fixate on how suave he is with his words–mixing the subtlest of flirtations with simple compliments.

He’s everything you could’ve asked for. Yet, you find yourself missing the ruthless beauty you saw in Satoru–the striking blue of his eyes and the rare color of his hair. You find yourself missing the rasp of his voice, how it’d soften that night when he comforted you; you find yourself missing his warm and strong embrace as he took care of you in your inebriated state; you find yourself missing how close he was that night on his couch and how he looked at you.

At some point, you found yourself replaying that scene over and over again. The first few times, you were giddy with hormones as you imagined him leaning closer and kissing you. After a while, you wanted the image gone because it didn’t happen. He pulled away. He let you pick up the call from Suguru. He acted like nothing happened when in reality, a lot did happen. You two were finally breaching the line of friends and he knew that.

So why? That question plagued your mind for days after and every time you think you forgot about it, the memory of him would remind you all over again. And when he only congratulated you when you told him about your date with Suguru you felt betrayed. Why don’t you care? You almost blurted out but technically he did care. After all, he was the one who was trying to set you guys up so why did you suddenly want to change your mind?

You think you might hate him a little for being so good at acting like everything’s normal and you think you might hate more for making your heart beat so fast. Things weren’t supposed to end up like this. You weren’t supposed to imagine your best friend kissing you breathless or taking you on a date.

Everything’s going to fall into place, you tell yourself. You’ve already dolled up and were in the middle of spraying your perfume when Getou messaged you that he was already here. He’s relaxed in the car as you enter the car. This scene feels the same, you think to yourself, recalling the way Gojo greeted you the last time he picked you up.

“You’re wearing the shirt you wore to the party,” Getou points out and you look down at your shirt, gaping at the revelation that you’re wearing the same top Gojo told you to wear. Even with the company of another man, your subconscious still wishes he was here.

“I didn’t even notice,” you mumble, smiling at the brown-haired male as he drives. The small talk is all natural as you two make your way to the restaurant and you’re grateful that Suguru’s such an easy person to talk with. He’s nice. Really nice and you feel almost guilty for not being as enthusiastic as you wanted to be.

It’s only when you’re midway through the meal that he mentions it. “You’re not here.”

“What?”

“Here,” he shrugs, glancing at you with an empty smile. “You’re thinking about something else aren’t you?”

“I’m not–”

“Don’t worry I’m not mad,” he says and you know he’s telling the truth. “I’m curious. What are you thinking about?”

This makes you squirm in discomfort, a bit uneasy at how perfectly he read you. Satoru’s always made comments about Getou’s intuitive feeling for emotions and you’re starting to think he wasn’t exaggerating. “What if I don’t wanna tell you?” You joke.

“Then you’d leave me to assume,” he answers easily, the corner of his lips curling upwards. “I’m not an idiot (Name). I know when a lady’s thinking about someone else in my presence.”

When you try to protest, he only smiles. “Is it Satoru?”

Your silence is enough said. You want to deny him–want to shake your head and utter a firm “no.” But something about the question makes you lose your sense of thought and Suguru understands that too. “Are you in love with him?”

This catches your attention. “No. I like you not him.”

“Aren’t we well past the point of lying now?” He gives a good-natured chuckle. “If you liked me then you wouldn’t have looked at your phone so many times as if you were expecting a call.”

You widen your eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to–”

“Nah I’m really not mad,” he sighs. “But I’m interested in why you didn’t decline my offer for a date.”

You’re silent for a while, musing over his words. “When you called me, Satoru and I were about to kiss. Or well–at least I think we were about to kiss.

“So why’d you pick it up? I know Satoru enough to know that a call from me isn’t enough to make him stop with whatever he’s doing,” he raises a brow and you catch a roll of his eyes as he remembers something.

“It’s because he was the one who was setting us up together.”

Suguru makes a sound of confusion, nodding at you to continue. You take a big breath. “I asked Satoru to help me get with you.”

Getou makes a “o’ with his mouth, nodding in consideration as he processes your words. His pity makes you feel small and you’re finally experiencing the impact tenfold. “Oh (Name).”

“Yeah,” you shrug. “So now I’m pretty sure I messed up the friendship because I was stupid and he’s never gonna like me back–”

“That’s not true,” he stops you, taking a sip from his wine. “Satoru’s different around you.”

“Well that’s because I’ve known him for a while now.”

“Maybe. But he doesn’t go out of his way to help people like he does with you. Even an idiot could notice that.”

“That doesn’t mean he likes me back–”

“You don’t know that yet,” he retorts, that smile of his returning again. “Just like I didn’t know you were in love with my best friend the entire time.”

You wince, swallowing as you peer up at him. You know he didn’t intend for the comment to burn but a small part of you thinks he did it on purpose. The sight of you sulking brings a wider grin to play on his face. “Relax. I’m only playing with you,” he pauses. “I’m a bit jealous that Satoru's got such a cute girl in love with him though.”

His teasing makes you laugh. “What if he doesn’t love her back?”

“Then he’d be an idiot,” he says, giving you a look as he asks for the bill. “If he breaks your heart you know who to go to. I’d be happy to have you for myself.”

You roll your eyes, smiling softly when he coyly smiles. Suguru was kind enough to offer to drop you off at your place but you told him you wanted to see Satoru—bringing a surprised look on the brown-haired male’s face. You’re not sure how apparent it was, but you reeked of anxiety and Suguru was quick to point it out.

“I’ll wait for you,” he says nonchalantly, shooing you with his hand once you stare at him in bewilderment. “Go. Just do me a favor and message me when you guys are gonna get uh intimate.”

“We’re not—“ you click your tongue at his grin. You thank him, rushing to Satoru’s flat—the sound of your heels clicking against the floor.

If you were in a movie, there would be dramatic music playing in the background—perhaps orchestra or a sappy love song. The scene was so cliche but you’re understanding why the protagonists always ran: it was love. You were in love with Gojo Satoru.

You ring his doorbell, fixing your hair as you ready yourself to see him—mentally preparing the script of your confession. Please be home, please be home, please—

The door opens and a plethora of blue looks back at you, the surprise evident in them. You visibly brighten, smiling as you see him. “Satoru I—“

“Satoru?” another voice says from behind him—the voice evidently female. You freeze, feeling as if this image was in slow motion as you see a glimpse of a girl behind Satoru. Your eyes flit to both of them, the speech you prepared in your head drying up like a sore. “Who’s this?”

You hate that you can only watch. “It’s just a friend. Why don’t you go back inside for a bit, yeah?”

She’s so pretty, it hurts. There wasn’t a speck of imperfection on her and the need to curl up in a ball never felt stronger. The girl nods at Satoru, glancing at you in curiosity as she leaves you two alone.

You think you might hate a little bit for looking at you in concern. “Is there something wrong? Are you okay? If something—“

“No. Nothing’s wrong I’m just—“ you say, wishing your voice was louder at this moment. You avoid his eyes, fearing that you’d end up crying in front of him if you continued to stare at him. “I need to go.”

“What? But you just got here—“

“I don’t know why I came here. This was a mistake and I—“ you sigh shakily, turning on your heel to leave.

Satoru grabs you by the wrist, his gaze soft as he shakes his head when he sees you try to pry his hand off of you. “Just tell me what I can do—“

“Suguru’s waiting for me,” you say quickly, ignoring the way his face drops. “He’s outside right now.”

You hold your breath the moment his hand slowly slips off your wrist, taking a few steps back as you make your way outside. Not once do you turn back as you try your best to hold the tears in—ultimately failing as they fall as quickly as they appear.

By the time you reach Suguru’s car, your make-up is already ruined. At first, he snaps his head back at you with a smile, the curve of lips quickly disappearing as he sees your lip trembling. “No?”

“No,” you confirm, sitting back into the car and wiping your tears with a tissue he hands you. There’s no words spoken between you two as he starts the car, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. Ironically, you listen to the soundtrack of “The Other Woman” playing in his car and he’s quick to change the song. He clears his throat.

“I didn’t think he was that stupid,” he says after some time, signaling right as he reaches the stop light.

“He wasn’t,” you murmur. “I was the stupid one for thinking that we could be more than friends.”

After the ordeal a couple nights ago, you’re not even ashamed that you’re blatantly avoiding Gojo like the plague. You even turned off your read receipts for him which you would’ve found so petty if you didn’t feel so frantic at the sound of his name. Originally, you thought he’d put up more of a fight and be more persistent in getting your attention–only you were proven wrong when you didn’t see any of his attempts increasing.

Disappointed, you were caught in a dilemma. You wanted this distance but craved his presence. At some point, your thoughts ran dry and you were in a slump. Were you always this bad at making up your mind?

No. You weren’t. You didn’t think excessively hard when you decided you liked Getou and when you stopped liking him. Nor did you think super hard about your other crushes. Gojo made your brain hurt and if this was love, you’re not sure you really liked it; but it felt so nice to think about how it would feel to be loved by him–to have him kiss you.

Which is why you thought it was a great idea to avoid him because surely time makes the feelings fade. And you hope they fade fast–especially after you saw him with that girl. You bite back your jealousy at the thought of what they did together. Today was supposed to be a mental health day. It was if fate allowed you to have little to nothing to do and you were going to take advantage of it.

The coffee house was ambient with the occasional loud laughter from groups of friends. You were halfway through your book, taking a sip from your drink as you flipped the pages. This was what you were meant for: reading novels in a cafe, keeping a low profile, and protecting your peace.

You’re about midway through the big plot twist until you hear the sound of a chair scraping and your heart freezes in your chest when you see Gojo stare back at you. Only this time, he looks serious and even annoyed.

“I knew I’d find you here,” he begins, tapping his finger nails on the wooden table. You don’t miss the way a few people take a few double-takes when they walk past him. So much for keeping a low profile.

“Gojo,” you acknowledge him awkwardly, fidgeting with the pages of your book.

Your stomach does a flip when his jaw twitches and his eyes cross your face. He sighs, leaning back and adjusting his seating position. “Are you mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“You literally just called me Gojo,” he said and if you were more rational, you would’ve laughed at how childish he sounded over you not using his first name.

“A lot of people call you Gojo,” you point out, still not meeting his eyes.

“You’re not just ‘a lot of people.’ And you always call me Satoru,” he murmurs.

You tense up. There he goes again: treating you like you’re special. It makes you confused and makes your heartbeat skip. You clear your throat. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Then why are you avoiding me?” He says, a bit loudly at that. It was unlike Gojo to attract attention to personal matters in public and the guilt hits you. You were so caught up in your own feelings that you completely ignored how he would’ve felt. Even if he only thought of you as a friend, anyone would’ve felt mad if put in the situation you put Gojo in.

You glance at the curious gazes in the cafe, grabbing him by the hand as you pull him outside to a secluded area. You quickly drop his hand, a bit surprised that he let you even hold it. “What are you talking about?” You ask, not sure why you’re playing dumb.

“You’re avoiding me,” he says, staring down at you. Sometimes, you forget how tall Satoru really is and how his gaze can make anyone feel small. “Did I do something to make you mad?”

You think back to him and the girl. “No you didn’t do anything.”

“Then what the hell is it?” He says, sounding more mad than you initially thought. His eyes scan over your face–observing your pursed lips and aversion from his eyes. He clicks his tongue. “Is this about the other night?”

You really wish you didn’t snap your head so fast to meet his eyes. The other night could’ve meant many things but you knew he was referring to a specific one. “No,” you say and you already know he doesn’t believe you.

“(Name),” he says softly. “Were you jealous?” Hearing him saying it out loud makes you cringe. You shake your head adamantly, trying to muster up the courage to not break eye-contact with him. You wonder if he could hear how loud your heartbeat was. “I’m not jealous. Why would I be jealous?”

“You tell me,” he voices in that tone that tells you that he’s already figured it out. For all the years you’ve known Gojo, you’ve become well-acquainted with his habits and his mannerisms. And you knew him well enough to realize that he wasn’t going to stop with the questions until you told him the truth.

He always did this. Always made sure to pummel the truth out of you and it didn’t matter how dirty he played. “Then why did you go to me in the first place? Didn’t you have Suguru outside waiting for you?”

“I–”

“What was so important about what you wanted to tell me that you left Suguru waiting for you? What was it and why are you so scared that you’re avoiding me?”

“It’s because I like you!” You finally say, knowing that he bested you in this game of his. The regret hits you so hard you feel like running away again. Only this, he doesn’t let you when he pulls you by the shoulder.

“What?” He says breathlessly, his eyes wide with wonder. It’s over, you think to yourself. He’s going to hate you after this because you ruined the friendship.

“I avoided you because I like you,” you admit quietly. “And because I saw you with that girl the other night.”

“(Name)...”

“Stop,” you murmur, feeling the tears form. “Stop. I already know what you’re gonna say, okay? It doesn’t matter anymore.”

You shrug him off, wiping your tears with your sleeve. The plans for “protecting your peace” almost seemed silly now because you couldn’t rewind time and undo all of this. You don’t bother saying goodbye to Gojo as you take your chances in leaving. And you desperately wonder how you were going to move on from this.

Gojo thinks he’s in a fever dream. Your confession stunned him into oblivion and if it weren’t for your tears, he thinks he might’ve stayed in one spot for hours on end. The night you came over, Gojo already had enough on his mind. Seeing you in the flesh made him lose the logical side of his brain and his mind just replayed that night you two nearly kissed.

He remembered being able to taste how nervous you were–how you found purchase on his shoulders as he tried his hardest not to pin you to the couch and kiss you stupid. He remembered how soft you were and how that thought would torture him for days on.

Gojo knew what he did after was an asshole move but he thought the phone call from Suguru served as a reminder that he couldn’t have you. You two were best friends and to ruin that because he wanted you was selfish of him. He was already selfish enough to want to keep you for himself but you wanted Suguru.

That’s why when you came to his place, he was confused. Gojo did something stupid and didn’t want the thoughts of you to keep popping up. He recalled dialing the number of some girl he stopped talking to ages ago just to not have you occupy his mind.

When he saw your brows furrow at the sight of her, he was surprised to say the least. He ruled out the possibility of jealousy early on and just kept it as that. But now, on this chilly afternoon and in some secluded corner, you were confessing to him.

You like him. You like him back. Sure, you didn’t love him like he loves you (or at least he thinks so) but that's besides the point. He collects himself the moment he sees the tears forming in your eyes, panic coursing through him.

Did his silence make you misunderstand? Did you know that he was ready to scream and tell the whole world that he finally got the girl of his dreams? How he was prepared to pull you into a crushing hug and hold you like he had heaven in his arms?

He forgot you weren’t a mind reader and it dawned on him that he caused your tears. He doesn’t want to be the guy who lets misunderstandings marinate nor does he want to be the cause of your fallout. He was going to fix this.

If you thought he was going to let you go that easily then you severely underestimate him. Because Gojo Satoru was willing to fight for your love.

You think you’re in some sappy k-drama when he grabs you by the wrist the second time. If you weren’t crying your eyes out, you would’ve laughed at him and he would’ve laughed with you. But there’s only a wave of frustration when he doesn’t let go. “Satoru let me go–”

“No,” he says with a deadpan and you almost think he sounds desperate. You’re about to say something but he only steps closer. “You can’t run away like you did before. That’s the easy way out–”

“I’m not–”

“You are,” he interrupts. “And I’m not gonna let you because you’re gonna listen to what I have to say.”

You’re almost reluctant to stay silent but you give in when he squeezes your wrist–as if begging you to stay. You sigh. “Fine.”

“Good,” he whispers, racking his brain for what to say. He takes a deep breath. “A while back, I said I didn’t understand how the characters from romance movies always knew what to say in moments like these. You know those super long speeches? It seemed unrealistic to me but I think I understand now.”

You let him continue, clinging onto every word that falls from his lips. “It’s so easy to say stuff like this. When you’re in love with someone, you notice the little things about them. I noticed you and you were the only thing on my mind. You still are the only thing on my mind. Do you get what I mean?”

You watch in awe as he continues, stuttering over some of his words which was so rare for him. “The night you told me you liked Suguru I was so annoyed. I’ve never gotten jealous of Suguru or anyone but I wanted to be the one that you liked. I wanted to be the one that you dressed up for and the one you smiled at. It drove me insane when you went on a date with him and I hate that I didn’t just say fuck it and steal you away sooner.”

He takes a chance to catch his breath, ruffling his hair as he finally flashes you a crooked grin–a mix of embarrassed and boyish. “That girl you saw me with…I never did anything with her,” he admits and you think you might fall over from shock. “I couldn’t. I just kept thinking about you and I wanted you on my mind all the time. I didn’t want to think about anyone else and didn’t want anyone to take your place–”

“What I’m trying to say is that I’m in love with you,” he finally says. “I already said that earlier but I want to say it again. I think I’ve always loved you–even when we were kids. I think little kid me always wanted your attention. I just never knew what I felt until I realized that you weren’t mine–not mine to love. And I don’t think there’s nothing in the world that I want more than you.”

At this point, your mouth is already ready to catch flies as you listen to his ramblings about his affections. You think you might cry. Gojo’s usually not good with words but you can tell how genuine he is–how much he meant this. “Then all those times you helped me with Suguru?”

“I hated doing that,” he huffs. “I swear I was about to punch Suguru every time he called you cute.”

You laugh, feeling jittery all over. “Would you?”

“I’m a bit worried that you like that idea a bit too much.”

You grin, shrugging. “Maybe a little. I guess I should tell you that I really wanted you to kiss me when we were on the couch.”

“You did?” He practically beams, cupping your face with his hand. You feel your stomach do twists when his thumb grazes the skin of your cheek softly, as if this was always normal.

“And I should probably tell you that I love you too,” you say firmly, gaining a rush of confidence. “And you should probably kiss me right now.”

The smile on his face might just be the prettiest thing you’ve seen in the world. He leans in, cupping your face as he presses his lips against yours. The way he holds you makes you feel safe and you think you might love him a little more when he moves his hand to your neck.

You break the kiss. “Does this mean we’re dating now?”

He laughs. “Do I need to kiss you again for you to say yes?”

When you nod, he pulls you in again and again. And if this was his way of asking, you’d say yes each time.

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru x reader #jjk #fluff #angst #satoru x reader #satoru x you

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daisynik7 · 7 months

Text

Teach Me, Senpai!

Pairing: Ino x f!reader x Nanami

Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~2.6k

cw: smut - threesome, spit-roast, PIV sex (doggy style), blow job, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, Nanami is sorta a perv oops, Ino calls Nanami senpai, a hint of a breeding kink, use of pet names, everyone is an adult here in case that doesn’t come across clearly

Summary: Takuma Ino is your silly, golden retriever boyfriend who brings you along to meet his mentor, Nanami Kento. You’ve heard a lot about him, mostly because your boyfriend constantly praises him for being so amazing. You underestimate how close their relationship is until Ino starts asking his "senpai" for pointers on how to spice things up in the bedroom. What better way to learn than to demonstrate, right?

Author’s Note: I'm currently in heat, can you blame me? I tried my best to edit and proofread, sorry if there are any glaring grammar mistakes or typos, please ignore! Tagging @todorosie @crazychaoticizzy @gojoloves @brightnessemma @batafuraikisu (I know you didn't ask, but I'm tagging you anyways bc ily and I think you'd like this lol). I'm sorry if I missed any tags, Tumblr wouldn't let me tag you! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciate, thank you for reading! MDNI divider by @/cafekitsune.

“You’re going to love him, I swear!” Ino insists, dragging you down the hallway of the office building, past empty cubicles. It’s past five and all the employees are out for the remainder of the day.

“I just don’t see why I have to meet him,” you argue, following him reluctantly.

“Because he’s important to me! He’s my mentor, my senpai! I have the highest respect for him, and I think it’s cool for you to finally put a face to a name. Aren’t you curious about the guy I’m always talking about?”

“Not really,” you answer, rolling your eyes. Honestly, you’ve grown sick of hearing your boyfriend gush so much about this Nanami fellow. You’re starting to feel jealous about how highly he thinks of this other man. “Why are we even here? This seems like a very random meeting spot.”

“We debrief here sometimes after our missions. He used to be a salary man, so I guess they still let him use the office.” They arrive at a closed door at the end of the hall. Ino knocks twice, a bright smile on his face, a little too excited for this.

A well-built blonde man answers, donning a blue dress shirt and spotted tie. You immediately notice how large his hands are, clenched to the door frame, staring at you from behind steampunk glasses. “Hello.”

“Nanami! Hey! This is my girlfriend, the one I’ve been telling you about.” You introduce yourself to him with a handshake, confirming that they are indeed very big compared to yours. You feel guilty noticing something that can be misconstrued as inappropriate, even lewd in most cases, so you quickly let the thought fade, stepping inside the room.

It’s a normal looking office, quite barren, except for the few papers stacked on the desk and a map posted on one of the walls. There’s a single chair facing the table, so you take that as Ino stands beside you, arm around your shoulders. “Thanks for letting us stop by. I really wanted to introduce you two to each other.”

Nanami nods curtly, leaning on the edge of the desk in front of you. Your eyes almost drift toward his crotch, curious about his size, but you resist the temptation, ashamed of yourself for even imagining something so completely wrong, especially with your boyfriend right next to you. “You said you wanted to speak to me about something,” he says, focusing on Ino. He removes his glasses, tucking them in his breast pocket.

“Ah, right! Well, I’m a little shy to ask, especially since I haven’t mentioned it to her yet…” Ino scratches his nape nervously, tugging his beanie to cover his reddening ears.

You look at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

He bites his lip, choosing his words carefully before speaking. “Well, you know how you and I have been…you know, having some trouble in the bedroom?”

At that, you immediately freeze, gaping at him, shocked. A strangled noise comes out of Nanami’s throat, equally jarred.

Ino continues. “I want to get some advice from someone I really trust, like Nanami.” He glances between you, waiting for a response, an uneasy grin on his face.

You’re stunned, heat surrounding your entire body now, mortified that your boyfriend would casually bring this up without any warning whatsoever. It’s no secret to either of you that your sex life has gotten a bit lackluster recently. Besides missionary and the occasional blowjob, there isn’t much else that you’ve tried in the bedroom. Neither of you are that experienced to begin with, and you both lack the confidence to initiate something different, something new. It’s a matter that you’ve been meaning to resolve privately. Or so you thought.

No one speaks for what feels like an eternity. You’re tempted to grab your boyfriend and haul ass out of there, hoping this entire conversation can be forgotten or played up to be some kind of cruel, sick joke. However, you remain seated, curiously anticipating Nanami’s response. After all, you haven’t flat-out refused yet, and neither has he.

Nanami clears his throat. “What kind of advice do you need?” You’re surprised that he’s even entertaining the idea.

“I just want a few tips on how to spice things up,” Ino answers. “Make it more enjoyable for her.” He puts his arm around you again, squeezing your shoulder. You don’t know whether to punch him or kiss him; the arousal growing between your legs says the latter. The thought of another man who’s practically a stranger instructing your eager boyfriend on how to pleasure you is titillating and definitely something different, something new. You won’t deny it: you’re intrigued.

Nanami crosses his arms over his chest, avoiding either of your gazes, focused on the floor instead. “I will help, if you both consent to it.”

Ino turns to you with puppy dog eyes. “Babe, you cool with this?”

Too invested now to refuse, you reply, “Sure.”

Your boyfriend lets out a sigh of relief, the tension relaxing in the air surrounding you. “Sweet. Me too.” He looks at Nanami, a bright smile on his face now, clearly thrilled about this. “What’s first, senpai?”

Nanami clears his throat again, standing up straight, taking a step towards you. “Well, foreplay is always a good place to start.”

Ino sticks his finger up. “Right! Foreplay. Uh, do you have a pen and paper so I can take notes…?”

“You don’t seriously need to take notes on foreplay, do you?” he snaps. “It’s as simple as kissing and touching on all the right spots.”

“What spots are those?”

“It’s probably better if you ask her.” Nanami points to you, making direct eye contact. “Where do you like to be touched?”

You swallow hard, timid from being put on the spot like this. “Just the normal places.”

“The two of you have to communicate better if this is ever going to work out,” he says, a hint of impatience in his tone. “Show him.”

Committing to this fully now, you stand up, grab Ino’s hand and brush it against your lips. “I like it when you kiss me. And when you touch my lips.”

He smiles at you. “That’s good.”

“You can also put your fingers in my mouth every once in a while. If you want,” you suggest, licking the tip of his middle finger.

He smirks. “Yeah. I definitely want that, too.”

“Sometimes, it’s better to learn by doing it,” Nanami interjects, watching the two of you carefully.

You gaze at Ino’s lips, then into his eyes, nodding. He leans in, kissing you slowly. He’s always been a good kisser, a great one, actually. The problem is that he’s too gentle with you.

“Kiss her neck,” Nanami orders, arms at his sides now, hands clenched into tight fists.

Ino follows, trailing down your chin until he’s at your neck, sucking on your skin.

“Put your fingers in her mouth. She said she likes that, right?”

Ino hums, tracing the outline of your lips with his thumb before pushing it in. You surround him, using your grip to pump him in and out of you. His other hand drifts to your waist, teasing the elastic of your pants.

“Are you getting wet, sweetheart?” Nanami’s voice is low and sultry; the use of the pet name has you unraveling much quicker than you expect. Without thinking, you breathe out, “Yes,” pushing his fingers deeper down your throat.

“Fuck, baby,” Ino moans, hot on your ear. “Where else do you want to be touched?”

You pull him out, swallowing your thick saliva, placing his hand between your legs. “Touch me here.”

Ino, eyes glossy with lust, slowly shimmies your pants down your legs, revealing your soaked panties. “Oh shit, you really are wet, fuck.”

“Eat her out,” Nanami demands. There’s a desperate gruffness in his voice that’s undeniable now, and one glance is all it takes for you to realize that he’s hard, an impressive bulge strained in his slacks. He shoves all his belongings off the desk, making room for you. “Here. Do it here.”

Ino curses under his breath, cock stiff in his sweats, leading you to the table, where you sit at the edge, spreading your thighs open for him. He slips your panties off, licking his lips before diving into your arousal, tongue pressed firmly on your clit. “Fuck,” you moan, squirming from the sensation.

Nanami walks to the other side, near your head, staring at Ino’s face buried in your pussy. Instinctually, you reach for him, pulling him by the belt, tongue hanging out. His eyes flit to yours, surprised when you say, “Touch me, senpai.”

Ino moans into you, clearly turned on by it. Obliging, Nanami hoists your shirt off, leaving you in just your bra, which he hastily unhooks to bare your chest. Bending towards you, he wraps his lips around one breast, suckling at your teat, his hand working the other nipple, pinched between his fingers. You’re close to your climax; you just need a little bit more. As if he can read your mind, Nanami releases you with a pop, saying, “Suck on her clit until she comes. Fuck her with your fingers at the same time.” His sudden vulgarity spurs you on, grinding your hips against your boyfriend’s face, pulling Nanami back to your tits.

Ino muffles, puckering his lips around you, sliding his middle finger inside you. You throw your head back on the desk, ecstasy rippling through your entire being, knees shaking with sensitivity.

“Yeah, she likes that,” Nanami purrs, flicking his tongue on your peaked nipples. “Put another in. One at a time, until she’s full.”

Ino manages to fit three of his digits inside you before you orgasm with him latched to your swelling bud, coating him in your slick. He doesn’t stop licking until you’ve come down from your high, pushing his head away, overstimulated. Nanami removes himself from you, unbuckling his belt, watching intently as your boyfriend slips his wet fingers inside your mouth. “Taste yourself babe. You’re so fucking good.” You slurp your own juices off him, pussy throbbing, aching to be fucked.

“You like that, don’t you, sweetheart?” Nanami murmurs, shimmying out of his pants, erection protruding from his briefs. He palms it, rubbing his thumb over the wet spot oozing from the tip. “Ino, tease her a little bit.”

“Yes sir,” he salutes, pulling down his bottoms, cock sprung against the hem of his sweater. He taps the tip of his dick on your puffy bud, smiling wide as you writhe for him. “Damn, baby. I’ve never seen you this wet before.”

“It’s a good thing you came to me then, isn’t it?” Nanami mentions, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. “Now turn around for us, princess. It’s going to feel so much better for you like this.”

You obey, readjusting your body to bend over the desk, ass pushed towards Ino, desperate to be used by them both. Your boyfriend positions his cock at your entrance, huffing, “You ready, baby?”

“Yeah. Fuck me, Ino,” you moan. “Fuck me hard.”

He glides in slowly, stretching you out little by little, easing into you. Once he’s all the way in, groin pressed to your ass, he starts thrusting at a steady pace. It increases gradually until he’s pounding away at you, hitting that sweet spot over and over until your eyes glaze over, in a total state of bliss.

Nanami studies you, enjoying the show until he notices you staring at the bulge in his briefs, tongue lolling, practically begging for him. He smirks at you. “You want all your holes stuffed, don’t you, sweetheart?”

You nod, drool leaking from the sides of your mouth, eyes weepy, peering up at him. How could he resist such a cock hungry slut like you? Especially when you look at him like this?

“I’m going to give you my cock then. Think you can take it?” he asks, shoving his underwear off, cock flopping against his abdomen.

“Oh yeah, she can fucking take it,” Ino grunts, hands gripped to your hips, still fucking you with fervor. “Right babe?” He delivers a fresh slap to your ass, which echoes off the walls of the office.

“Yeah, I can take it,” you mumble, gulping down the spit collecting on your tongue.

Nanami hums, satisfied with your answer, inching his dick closer to your mouth. “Open up for me, sweetheart.”

You do, swallowing him until he bottoms out to the back of your throat, testing your gag reflex. He stays still, staring at you, relishing this lewd sight. “Ino, your girlfriend looks so pretty with my cock in her mouth. Don’t you agree?”

“Fuck, yeah. So fucking hot how she just takes it. She’s a good girl, always has been,” he says from behind you, spreading your cheeks open to watch himself disappear into your pussy with each thrust.

“You’re a lucky man,” Nanami mutters, tipping your chin up, gazing into your eyes. “And you’re a lucky girl, aren’t you? Getting fucked by your boyfriend and his senpai.” Nanami begins to move, pumping himself in and out of your hungry mouth, your tongue running along the underside of his dick.

Ino shrugs his beanie off, running his fingers through his hair, damp with perspiration. “Oh fuck, baby, you’re taking us so fucking good.”

“Like a proper slut,” Nanami adds, tracing the outline of your lips, glossy with spit, stretched around his shaft. “Do you suck his cock as good as you suck mine?”

You nod, swallowing your gag reflex as the tip of his dick hits the back of your throat with each solid thrust of his hips. Your second orgasm approaches quickly, your pussy clenching Ino’s cock, though you can’t say anything while gobbling up Nanami’s cock, so you let it be, continuing to be spit-roasted over the desk, thirsty for their cum.

“Fuck, I’m going to come soon,” Ino says, slowing his pace. “I’ve never…I’ve never come inside her before.”

Nanami, still relishing his blow job, asks, “Why not?”

“Too scared to get her pregnant,” he admits. It’s true; Ino always pulls out, even when you beg him to finish inside you. You appreciate that about him, but in this moment, you want nothing more than his cream pie filling you up.

“Is she on birth control?”

“Y-Yeah.”

Once again, as if psychic, Nanami responds, “Then I’m sure she wouldn’t mind getting your load just this once. Right, sweetheart?”

Your words are muffled. Nanami pulls out, cock wet with your spit, stroking it in his fist. “What was that, princess?”

“I said yes! Give it to me, Ino!” you whine, shaking around him.

“Fuck, are you sure, baby? You sure you want it?”

“Give it to me. Want you to breed me,” you blurt out.

“That’s it, that’s a good girl,” Nanami coos, slapping the head of his cock on your tongue. “How about here? You want it here too?”

You glance at Ino, who’s watching. He nods, licking his lips. “Yes. Want your cum inside me, senpai,” you reply.

He smirks, pushing himself back inside you, his length sliding on every inch of your tongue. “Good girl.”

It doesn’t take long for both men to come, Ino shooting his seed deep into your womb, stuffing you full, Nanami spurting ribbons into your mouth, guzzling down each drop. They pull out slowly, cocks sensitive now from the stimulation. You roll over onto your back, catching your breath, looking up at them with a satisfied smile on your face.

Nanami cups your cheek in his hand, thumb brushing delicately against your skin. “Such a messy girl. I think she needs a few more lessons. What do you think, Ino?”

Your boyfriend’s eyes are blown wide, staring at the lewd sight before him, your pussy leaking with his cum, your mouth drooling with Nanami’s. “Yeah. Definitely needs more, senpai.”

#nanami kento #nanami kento smut #nanami smut #nanami x reader #ino x reader x nanami #ino takuma x reader #takuma ino x reader #takuma ino smut #ino takuma smut #ino x reader x nanami smut #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami smut #nanami x you #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut

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azullumi · 25 days

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“there’s so many fishes in the sea but i never learned how to swim” ; aventurine

summary — a guide to pining presented by yours truly, aventurine.

pairing — aventurine (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — fluff, secret pining but like aventurine can be too obvious, not proofread, 0.8k ; headcanons

tagging — @toorurs (sorry boo i forgot to tag 😭)

note — i know i could have done better with this one, my brain wasn’t just working and im also on a trip. this is day 6 and 7 of writing for him until i get him !!

Aventurine yearns for connection yet he erects tall walls of self-preservation, fearing vulnerability, attachment, and betrayals (the shadow of his fear of losing someone dear to him all over again will haunt and follow his steps). He’s always distant, seemingly detached to the people around him like a leaf that never touches the ground as the wind carries it away; his only drive for relationships is due to mutual-benefit or a give-and-take situation. So what happens to him when he falls and yearns for someone?

Love is violence, he knows that but his eyes would stumble after your shadow and he wonders what it feels like to live in it. He’ll lie under your gaze and he’ll dream what it feels like to be seen, what it feels like to be loved by you. He will seek ways to be close to you but not close enough that you’ll know the rhythm of his heart spells out the letters of your name. In each moment of longing, it is all tinged with a taste of bitterness as this yearning, though desired, is a precarious precipice—everything will crumble and fall once he speaks about it.

So he settles with stolen looks with wishful thinking that you’ll cast a glance at his direction, he settles with the small things at first before he begins to become selfish—he’ll make up reasons just to see and talk to you, think of excuses just so he could linger a little longer in your presence. He’ll make up games and initiates bets where he knows he’ll always win but would let himself lose anyways; winning or losing didn’t matter to him in those moments with you.

“Go ahead, guess.”

You fell into a deep thought, staring at the two hands balled into fist that are in front of you. Your eyebrows were scrunched, trying to listen to the voice of your instinct but everything was silent inside your head.

“Take your time. After all, whoever loses has to follow what the winner wants.” Aventurine spoke and you could discern the hint of amusement in his tone as he watched you fall into some sort of predicament—all you had to do was to choose which one of his hands was the coin in. It was just one of the simple games you’ll play with him every time you see each other. Come to think of it, his visits to your department have been quite frequent despite having no particular business, official or not.

“Shh. I’m thinking.” You answer, lifting your index finger to your mouth in a hush gesture. It took you a few moments of silence and thoughtful humming before you pointed at his left hand, “That one.”

But he opens his left hand to show nothing on his palm, his right hand revealing the coin at the same time, and you are hit with a wave of disappointment. A chuckle slips past his lips and you just sighed—there was nothing you could do but to admit defeat. “Well then, what do you want me to do?”

Aventurine, without a single second of hesitation, answered. “Let me take you out to dinner.”

The thing is you could have laid yourself bare to him, you could tell him all of the sins that taint your skin, the words left unspoken in your mouth, the growing mold in your lungs. He’ll see the rot and will choose to stay, he’ll see the cobwebs and dusty bookshelves, and he’ll love you still, he’ll see the torn wallpapers and ruined floors and he’ll still adore you (he’ll find you where you are most ruined and he will love you there).

(His hand would gently tug and hold at the cuffs of your sleeves, letting the warmth and closeness of his touch linger in hopes that you’ll see him in the sun that holds you gently.)

Many people claim that they love you but do they adore you the same way as he does? Would they cross bridges for you when he’ll swim oceans just to see the way your eyes catch the light? Would they traverse the stars just to listen to the sound of your laughter?

(He’ll see the dirt in your hands and will help you wash it off when others would simply walk away.)

He’ll think of you as he laid in his bed, satin sheets all wrinkled and messy as his pillows scattered around his form, and he wondered how nice it would be to have your things among his. to have the smell of your perfume mixed with his, to have you in his arms before he sleeps (he has dreams of his dreams and you’re always in it).

All this yearning, longing, and adoration will turn into a sword that will make him bleed the more he holds on to it and you’ll stay in his thoughts as the blood will run dry on his being. He simply hopes he crosses your mind once in a while so that he won’t feel pathetic for thinking of you all the time.

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celestie0 · 2 months

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.8 a little cottage on the countryside

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. 8/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 13.5k (...i'm gonna go take a nap lol)

a/n. hello hellooo my dear kickoff readers, hope you're having a nice day so far! this is the longest chapter yet, so i hope you enjoy <3 it's also got one of my favorite tropes everrr hehehehe you could probs guess what it is halfway through. see you at the bottom and happy reading! sorry if there are typos i didn't proofread this one as much as the others haha

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 :: ch7 :: ch8 :: ch9 :: ch10 (pending)

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

You don’t cry much these days, but when you do, it’s usually out of nowhere.

Like now, as you stand in the school’s photo lab, developing the shots that you took for UTokyo’s game against Osaka last week, and you have to swipe at the tears on your cheek threatening to fall all over the captured images of grass, benches, nets, banners, stands, and him.

One of the photographs catches your eye, and you pick it up from the table. It’s a candid moment you took of Gojo on the field right before you confessed to him. You had spotted him first while the team was doing their warm-up, and you thought he looked nice from the way he had that concentrated look on his face that you’ve learned to love. But right before you clicked the shutter, he had turned away, chasing after the ball, and so all you could capture was his back facing you as he looked off ahead into the distance. You wondered if that was how it’s always been this whole time–with you looking at him while he’s looking off at something else. It was a depressing thought, but your mind had a tendency for sadness since that day.

The sound of the photo lab door opening jolts you back to reality, and you quickly straighten your posture and wipe your cheek with your sleeve, trying to sniffle as discreetly as possible, then set the picture down. Your fellow film major greets you quietly, asking if you’re still using the developer liquid, to which you say no, then hand it over to them. You stuff your photographs into a folder and head out the door.

You make it across campus to the Film & Media Studies building, then up to the third floor where your professor's office is. His door was ajar, but you still knocked before entering.

He looks up from the photographs he was grading. “Oh, y/n, hello. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you, yourself?” you ask, taking a seat on the chair that was fixed to face his desk. You pull your tote bag into your lap.

“Great, thanks. How can I help you?”

You slide the folder to him over the scraped, worn burgundy wood of his desk. “I still had to turn in my photos for the assignment due last week. I appreciate the extension.”

“Ah, right,” he says, taking the folder from you. “I’ll get around to grading them. I’m curious, what did you end up choosing for your subject matter?” He tucks the folder underneath the pile that was to his side.

“I took photos of the soccer team’s game against Osaka Uni on Thursday last week,” you tell him.

He frowns at you. “Film cameras don’t have that level of zoom, though. I do hope you followed the rubric guidelines for central object to frame ratio, otherwise I’ll have to take off points.”

“Oh– I did. I took the photos from the sidelines,” you tell him, panicking already.

His eyes widened. “From the sidelines? On the field?”

You nod at him, fidgeting with your bag in your lap.

“Wow, I can’t say I’ve ever had a student take photos like that before. That’s pretty challenging to pull off, though,” he says, sitting up straighter, “...you mind if I take a look at them right now?”

You shake your head. “Oh, no. Not at all.”

He pulls your folder out from the bottom of the pile, then gently slips the photos out of them, rearranging them all across his desk. He leans down closer to study some of them, tilting his head curiously at others, furrowing his brow in concentration to a select few. “These are incredible.”

You take in a deep breath. “Thank you, professor.”

He nods at you with acknowledgement, and you watch him as he studies the images quietly for another minute, then looks up at you. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” he asks when he notices you’re still seated.

“Ah…yes, there was something I wanted to ask you.”

“What is it?” He taps his pen on the desk.

“I was wondering if you could write me a letter of recommendation for the film graduate program.”

He nods, like he was expecting the question. “Yeah, of course. Just send me your resume and portfolio.” He taps eagerly on one of your images. “Please send me digitals for these, too.”

You let out a relieved exhale. “Yes, I will. Thank you so much, professor, I really appreciate it.”

You left the building feeling extremely relieved about your professor agreeing to write your recommendation, but also feeling sad because you couldn’t tell Gojo about it, since this was the full-circle moment for the little arrangement the two of you had. There’s a thought that considers texting him, and you take out your phone then go to his name, but your thumbs just can’t bring yourself to send him a message.

The days of the week go by in a blur, and between every single little moment in life, your mind always wanders to him. It’s hard to get over someone when you’re surrounded by them. Like late at night while you’re editing the digitals of the game last week to send to your professor, and you find yourself staring at the pictures you’ve taken of him. It’s hard to get over him when the school worships the soccer team and you’re forced to see promotional banners and posters all over campus with his stupidly beautiful face in them. You didn’t have the heart to block him on Instagram, because you remember that time he teased you about how you didn’t follow him back, and you wonder if it would make him sad if you blocked him, so you just resorted to deleting the app instead. And although you were the one that asked for space from him, you were growing increasingly annoyed at how good he seemed to be at keeping it.

The library wasn’t even much of a safe space either, since you overheard a group of girls the other day at a table arguing about which of the players on the team is the hottest, and so you find yourself doing your homework on a lovely Wednesday morning at your apartment instead.

You lean back in your chair and look up at the ceiling, and then jump when you hear your phone ring, quickly turning it over to read the caller ID. Nobara. You accept the call, placing her on speaker, then set your phone back down on your desk.

“Hey, Nobie, what’s up?”

“Hey, nothing much. Just wanted to ask if you wanted to hang out,” she says.

“Oh, I would love to, but I’m working on homework right now. It’s due in a couple of hours,” you sigh.

“Boo, you whore. For what class?”

“My stats 130 elective,” you say. “I’m a film major, why do I need to know statistics?” You tap your pen to your chin. “Actually, it might be valid.”

“Is that the class with the creepy professor?” she asks. “The one that got caught with a PornHub tab open while he was presenting his lecture slides.”

“Yeah.”

“I took his class last semester! I still have all my homework for it,” she exclaims on the other end, “do you want me to send it over?”

“Yes, omg, I could kiss you right now,” you groan, resting your head on your arm sprawled across your desk in exhaustion.

“So definite no to hang out?”

“Sorry, I’ll reach out later though,” you sigh, “also, my car is still in repair…apparently something came up with the engine. So we can’t go far unless we invite Mina.”

“That’s fine, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to come if we invite her just to chauffeur,” she says sarcastically. “By the way, how’d the pictures come along? For the newsletter?”

You lift your head up off of the desk in a panic. Shit. You were so focused on turning in your digitals of the game to your professor that you totally forgot you were supposed to send them to Utahime as well. “Oh my god, I forgot. When do they finalize the release again?”

“Isn’t it today at noon? I sent over film club’s photos this morning,” she says.

You glance at the time. 11:56am.

“Nobara, I’ve gotta go. I need to call Utahime, sorry,” you say. She acknowledges you, telling you to hurry, and then you hang up.

You call Utahime and scribble down on a sticky note to paste on your wall as a reminder to buy her a loving gift basket one of these days because of course she extends the release deadline just for you. You finish touching up the digitals and then send them to her via email, and after you finish your statistics homework, she calls you again to meet up somewhere nearby.

“Thanks so much for coming here,” Utahime says as she sits across from you at one of the local cafes you frequent. “Also, this chai latte is so good, I’m honestly surprised.”

You nod at her. “This place has great drinks.” You slide a folder across the table to her and she sets her drink down to accept it.

“Sorry if it was a hassle, but I just had to ask for physicals of these photos,” she sighs as she pulls them out. “They’re amazing, seriously, I gasped when I saw them. I’m used to sifting through a lot of professional sports photos for the newsletter, for all of the teams on campus, but I’ve never seen photos as charming as these. It could be the film photography aspect, since most of the ones I see are digital, but I’m seriously shocked you could capture shots like this at a rowdy men’s soccer match.”

You’re shaking your head at her. “Please don’t compliment me so much, I’ll cry. And it’s no issue, I had a spare set of physicals from when I developed them. You can keep them.”

She smiles at you. “Okay, well then, I think it goes without saying that I’ll definitely be including them for the sports recap this week. I’ll send you the money soon, too.”

You clap your hands together and interlock your fingers. “I’m. So. Grateful. For. You.”

She laughs across from you and takes another sip of her latte before sitting back slightly, glancing at the photos spread across the table. “Hm…how busy are you for the rest of the semester?”

You tilt your head at her and bring your coffee to your lips, taking a sip before setting it back down. “Not terribly busy, I quit my job last month so I’m just taking my assignments as they come and go.”

Utahime nods at you, a thoughtful expression on her face, and she smooths down the fabric of her shirt. “Okay, well, I got an email from the school this morning that one of the newsletter photographers for the men’s soccer team is moving to a different city, so they’re looking to fill in the position as soon as possible and they asked if I knew anyone,” she mentions, resting her elbow on the table and then placing her hand on her cheek. “They usually only hire professionals, but if I put a word in for you, they’d probably offer it to you.”

Your eyes widen at her from across the table, heart beating a bit faster in your chest.

“They pay really well for a part-time job. It’s essentially full-time pay for part-time hours,” she continues, “but it’s probably because you’ll have to travel with the team to their away games, including unofficial matches and conferences. If you’re not that busy for the next two months, then I think it’d be a good opportunity for you to build experience.”

You purse your lips together, considering her words. Although it’s a bit different from your long-term career plans, it was still a great way to get experience before graduate school. And besides, you needed the money, considering you quit your job last month and your savings were starting to run thin–never mind the fact that your car repair bill went from a few thousand yen to somewhere in the tens-of-thousands. And you would prefer to still be able to afford rent. Oh, and eat. Possibly still pay for Netflix.

But then there was the fact that having that kind of job meant that you would be spending a lot of time with the soccer team, and therefore increases the chances of running into Gojo. And you’re supposed to be staying away from him to get over your feelings.

“It sounds like an amazing opportunity, really,” you start, “...but I can’t.”

Utahime frowns at you and sits up straight. “Really? I thought you’d be excited. Why not?”

You sigh. “It’s complicated.”

“y/n…” Utahime starts, “I don’t really know what’s going on in your head right now, but isn’t this your dream? For your work to reach people? I know it’s only a stepping stone, believe me I know very well the path to becoming any sort of artist is an uphill battle of hell, but I’ve known you for a while now. And I know how much your dreams mean to you, and how hard you’re willing to work for them.”

Your heart swells in our chest at Utahime’s words. She was right, and you were starting to get really sick of letting your fears hold you back from what you really wanted in life. “...you’re right, I’m sorry. I’d love to be considered for the position, if you could recommend me.”

She smiles and nods at you. “Will do.”

–

The email for the job offer comes surprisingly fast, and you quickly read through it before accepting. It wasn’t a horrible time commitment, given you’d only have to take pictures during active play during matches, give or take a couple hours before, and the photographers rotate between who takes up each of the conferences so the work was split up. You were able to meet a few of the newsletter photographers & journalists during the game last week, so you already knew some of them. The offer letter came attached with a full calendar of the soccer team’s practice schedule, official match schedule, unofficial match schedule, conference schedule, and other publicity schedule, and you’re shocked at how busy all the players must be. The fact that they still have time to be students–and for most of them, active participants in fraternities–was honestly beyond you.

It seemed like they only had four more official matches left, two being away matches, along with a couple of unofficial matches that they may or may not participate in depending on how the season goes for them.

Their next game was on Friday against Kyoto university, and you were scheduled to shoot for their sports conference the day following as well. So you find yourself on a train embarked for the countryside, and you peer out of the window with a nervous feeling in your stomach. The sparkling skyscrapers and bustling crowds of Tokyo gradually started to give way into sights of expansive lush greenery, picturesque and charming towns, and winding rivers surrounded by trees. The closer you got to Kyoto, the sky became more gray until a steady drizzle began to fall against the train window. When you reached the final station, the rain had dissipated, and the taxi ride to the hotel was only about fifteen minutes. The journey felt exhausting, and you were so incredibly ready to pass out in a comfy bed.

You stood underneath a small sidewalk roof near the vending machines lining the outside of the hotel, trying to keep your bag and suitcase with all your equipment in it dry from the remnant soft mist of rain still lingering in the air.

“Hey, Utahime, sorry to bother you so late,” you say, holding your phone between your shoulder and ear, “but is it the Hilton on 3rd street? Or on Main? Because if it’s the one on Main, then I may have messed up-”

You stop speaking when you hear a masculine voice down the road towards the left, echoing off of the lined up small shops along the sidewalk, and your heart could have recognized the sound anywhere. You’re swift to turn and face that direction, almost dropping your phone in the process, and you see him– the object of all your suffering lately.

Gojo stood there, wide-eyed and stopped completely in his tracks as the recognition of you under the dim street lighting flashes across his face. He’s in pajamas– a red long-sleeve cotton shirt that looks so stupidly soft and comfortable it almost makes you emotional, with some matching checkered red pants. It was the most casual clothing you’ve ever seen him in. His hair appears damp, slightly tousled, from what you could assume was an effort to dry it off fast. And he had crocs on. In sports mode. You make a mental note to ask him about his charms and if he’s willing to trade any of them with you. But maybe some other day. When it doesn’t hurt to think about him.

“y/n?” he calls your name out, astonished. He’s looking at you like he’s just seen a ghost but in the best way possible.

You blink at him, heart skipping a beat just from the mere sight of him, and when you hear Utahime’s voice on the line you’re shaken out of your trance. “Oh, sorry, I’m still here. I…I think I just had my question answered. Thank you, have a good night.” You pull your phone down, gaze lingering on your screen for way too long because you can’t brave yourself to look over at the man to your left, and you end the call.

There’s the sound of remnant puddles of water splashing as he takes a few steps closer to you, and you can see his reflection in the water of the one in front of you. The expression on his face matches the one that was there when you last saw him outside of the UTokyo stadium at the west side exit. It’s an expression you could still see every time you close your eyes.

Finally turning to face him, you purse your lips together. “Hi.”

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he asks, voice laced with confusion and you see him take in your appearance with eager flicks of his gaze all around, like he couldn’t believe you were standing in front of him right now.

“Satoru!” another familiar voice calls out. “Did you get the orange-flavored ones too? Choso’s a fucking idiot and got the grape ones instead. I hate those. They taste like medicine. And ass. Not that I would know what–” You see Geto emerge from the darkness to Gojo’s side, and now he’s looking at you with a surprised look too. “Oh, it’s y/n. What are you doing here?”

“Hey, you two,” you chirp, trying to act as if an entire world of awkwardness wasn’t being exchanged between you and Gojo right now, for the sake of hoping that Geto wasn’t a very good judge of energy. “I’m here to take pictures of the soccer team.”

Your eyes flicker to Gojo, who is still looking at you like he’s never seen a person before.

“Oh, is it for another one of your assignments?” Geto asks.

“No, it’s not. It’s for the newsletter,” you explain to him, “I guess it’s my job now.”

There are a few more distant footsteps that follow behind the two of them, with the crinkling noises of plastic bags hitting against thighs echoing through the streets, and eventually they catch up. You see Nanami and the UTokyo team’s goalie, you believe his name is Choso, arrive at this little gathering that was taking place outside of the hotel.

“That’s awesome!” Geto exclaims. “I’m sure the newsletter will lead to a lot of exposure.”

“Who reads the newsletter?” Choso asks.

Geto nudges him with his elbow. “Dude.”

“What?”

He then fills Choso in on the conversation, “Oh, my bad.”

“Don’t worry, y/n, I read the newsletter,” Geto says, “I read it like the morning paper.”

“It only comes out once a week, but nice try,” you respond, giving him a weary look.

Nanami crosses his arms. “I actually do happen to read it,” he says, “although I refrain from the soccer section. Feels rather egotistic to read it. I find the campus politics section to be enjoyable, though.”

The rest of you exchange annoyed glances at that.

“Satoru reads the soccer section,” Geto says, slinging an arm around him, “‘cause he’s full of himself.”

For a moment, Gojo remains silent, while his teammates, who had been observing him with amused expressions, gradually shift to awkward blinking, like they were expecting him to complain, or say something sarcastic, or joke around by now.

“I do read it,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “I saw the release from yesterday. Your pictures were stunning.”

You’re flustered from the way he’s looking at you. “Thanks.”

Choso opens the plastic bag he was holding, peering down into it. “Shit. Ice cream’s melting, guys.”

“Yeah, we should probably head back to the rooms,” Geto looks at you, “do you want any snacks?”

“Oh, no. I’m good. I was just about to go check-in,” you say to them.

The boys politely say bye to you, and Gojo mentions something about staying back for a bit and hands Nanami the plastic bag he was carrying before they head back into the hotel. And then the two of you are alone under this roof, drops of water falling from it in between the two of you. He takes a step towards you, and you instantly stiffen. He seems to notice because he sighs and then walks past you to the vending machine that was next to you, pulling out some spare change from his pocket and inputting it into the machine.

“Do you want anything to drink?” The machine feeds him something, and he crouches down to pick it up before standing up again.

“No, I’m good, thanks,” you say, hand clutching the handle of your suitcase.

He cracks the can of his soda open. “So, you’re going to be traveling with us for the newsletter now?” he asks, so concisely, like he felt that every word comes with a tax.

“Yeah.”

“We don’t have to act like we’re strangers.”

You turn to face him. “What should we act like then?”

There’s a hesitant look in his expression as he looks down at his feet and then back up at you. “Can’t we at least be friends?”

The question softens you at your core, the tone of his voice sounding genuine. Being friends with him sounds so nice, and you kind of wish that’s what you two always were. Just friends. Maybe it would have avoided all of this heartache. But deep inside you knew that just being friends with him wasn’t an option anymore, at least not for now. “No, sorry. That’s just a recipe for disaster. I have to go check-in now.”

You grab your tote bag from the bench, grip tight onto your suitcase handle and make your way splashing across the shallow puddles then through the hotel’s automatic doors into the warmth of the lobby.

The lighting inside was warm and there were moderately high ceilings adorned with vintage-looking chandeliers. Around the perimeter, there were amenities including a cozy lounge with a fireplace, a small bar serving cocktails, as well as a business lounge with booths and multiple TVs mounted to the walls playing the local news. It made you feel like you were on vacation, and getting to a hotel at this hour while on vacation always meant that you were about ready to pass out on some freshly washed and tucked white linen sheets after taking a nice warm shower with a lavender-scented mini soap bar.

Making your way through the maze of plush seating areas, you get to the concierge desk to check-in. There was a professionally-dressed woman with a slicked-back bun standing there behind the counter, her eyes scanning the computer screen in front of her, and a big, burly man that stood behind her wearing all black that appeared to be security.

“Hello, I’m here to check-in,” you say, placing your forearm on the cold black counter.

The lady doesn’t look up from the computer screen. You clear your throat.

“Oh, hello. Name on the reservation?” she asks you.

You take a look down at your phone screen. The reservation was still under the name of the person that had recently quit the job. “Yui Ishikawa.”

The lady behind the counter hums to herself, obnoxiously tapping at the keyboard with only one of her index fingers. She was chewing gum. “Hm. Don’t see that name here.”

“What?” You squint at your phone and refresh the page, then turn it to face her. “But it’s on your official booking site. There was email confirmation too.”

She glances at your phone screen then taps at the keyboard again, still obnoxiously loud, but she uses her other index finger this time. “Yeah, still nothing.”

“This has to be some kind of mistake,” you say to her.

She looks up at you with an annoyed expression. “Do you want to take a look at the screen? See for yourself.” She turns the monitor to face you.

You don’t even work here, but you could see clear as day on their interface software that there was a reservation for this Yui Ishikawa woman at this time tonight. You point at it. “It’s right there. The reservation is literally right there.”

She turns the screen back to herself and squints at it. “Oh. Well, unfortunately, we already gave that room to someone else. Since it wasn’t there on our system a half hour ago.”

“What? How is that fair?” You were starting to get seriously annoyed. That refreshing shower you were dreaming of was starting to sound more of a need than a want with every passing minute. “Can you give me another room?”

“No, sorry, we’re all booked for tonight,” she tells you, without offering any additional help.

You look at her baffled. The big burly man behind her has now taken an interest in the conversation as well. “Okay…can you tell me if there are any hotels nearby that I could stay at?”

“Look. This is the countryside, ma’am, there are only a handful of hotels in this area that aren’t tourist accommodations. It’s also the night before a men’s college soccer match, and there seems to be some business seminar taking place nearby too. You can call and check, but the closest hotel this large is about an hour away,” she tells you.

“What? An hour away? I can’t afford a cab ride like that,” you tell her.

“Unfortunately, that isn’t really my problem,” she says.

You blink at her. “Are you being serious? This is ridiculous.”

“Ma’am, we’re going to have to ask you to leave if you can’t comply with our booking rules,” she declares.

“Leave?! You’re the ones that messed up the booking!” You’re yelling now, a few heads turning from the bar at the back. Exhaustion was pulsing through your veins and your filter was slipping. “Do you have any idea how to do your damn job?”

The woman guffaws at you. “Alright, that’s it.” She snaps her fingers, and you watch as the big, burly man walks around the counter of the concierge desk to make his way to you.

You take a step back, watching in horror as he towers over you and grabs onto your arm. “Let’s leave without any issues, miss,” he says in a deep voice.

“What?! But– hey, that’s my suitcase! Don’t– wait–”

“Woah, woah, woah,” you hear a familiar voice call out from the left. “What’s going on here?”

The three of you turn your heads in the direction of the voice, and you see Gojo, still clad in those ridiculously soft-looking pajamas, doing a light jog up to the counter.

The woman at the reception desk straightens herself up immediately, and she pets down on her dress and fixes her hair at the mere sight of him. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Nothing to see here, sir! Just a crazy woman that can’t comprehend hotel establishment rules.”

“That crazy woman just so happens to be my wife,” he says, pulling the big burly man’s hand off of your arm.

All three of you look at him dumbfounded.

“Y-Your wife?” the woman asks, sounding equally surprised and disappointed. “But she’s complaining about the fact that she doesn’t have a room.”

“I know, she does that all the time,” he sighs, “she’s got–...early-onset…dementia. Sweetheart, what did I tell you about packing up all your things and leaving the room when I’m not watching you?”

You give him a what the fuck look. He scowls at you to just play along.

“So…she’s with you?” the woman asks.

Gojo nods. “She always forgets that we’ve already booked a room together. Just a silly little sickly lady. Isn’t that right, honey?” He’s holding your shoulders and making you face the concierge woman.

“Y-Yes…” you say awkwardly, trying to put on a smile.

“So, if you could forgive her behavior,” he says with a super pleading voice, pulling you into him so your back is flush against his front side. “I’ll keep her in check from now on.”

The woman lets out a scoff in disbelief. “Alright…just don’t let her out again.” You send her a nasty look. The big burly man lets out a hmph and steps away from you.

“Sure thing. Let’s go, honey,” Gojo says, grabbing the handle of your suitcase in one hand and your upper arm in his other, dragging you with him across the lobby to the elevators. It isn’t until he’s pressed the up button and you finally gain your footing again after stumbling a few steps that you yank away from his grip.

“What are you doing?” you hiss at him, feeling embarrassed.

He looks down at you with a raise of his eyebrow. “Saving you from getting kicked out of the only decent hotel within a thirty-mile radius?”

“I didn’t need your help, I had the situation under control,” you mumble, smoothing out the layers of your clothing.

“Yes. That’s exactly what that looked like,” he muses as the elevator door opens and he steps inside, taking your suitcase with him as hostage. You panic at the sight and step inside with him, the door closing behind you.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“To my room,” he says, pressing a button on the control pad, “you couldn’t get one, right?”

Your eyes widen. “No…I couldn’t.”

Gojo’s room is on the fourth floor, eleven units down to the right, and you follow him with dragging feet all the way down. Once he makes it in front of the door and takes the keycard out of his pocket, he pauses and looks over at you. “Waiting for you to thank me.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “For what?”

He’s waving the card in the air tauntingly. “You look exhausted as hell right now. I’m the one with the access to a nice hotel vanity and a soft, warm bed,” he practically purrs the words.

You’re instantly folding. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, honey,” he chimes, pressing the card to the reader.

“Stop calling me that,” you grumble as he opens the door for you.

You step into the room, rolling your suitcase inside with you, and take a look around. There was a single bed with the headboard up against the left-side wall, a nightstand on both sides and a desk where you noticed Gojo had his laptop open and a few books out. The bathroom was to the right, and there was a long table that had a coffee machine as well as the TV on top of it.

You place your suitcase against the wall then turn around, standing only a few feet from the entrance of the room, to find Gojo still standing outside in the hallway.

“Do you have to go somewhere?” you ask him. “Why are you just standing there?”

“Oh, I don’t need any of my other stuff,” he says to you, tapping at his pocket where you can see the imprint of his wallet, “room’s all yours.”

Your eyes widen at him. “Wait…are you going to sleep somewhere else?”

He tilts his head at you, as if that was obvious. “Yeah, I was going to go crash on the couch in Suguru’s room or something.”

“But–” you start, stopping yourself.

He’s waiting for you to speak, but you can’t.

“Well…good night, then,” he says and he turns to the side, about to walk down the hall, when you reach out and grab the sleeve of his shirt, stopping him in his tracks.

This was a bad idea. You’re supposed to be putting distance between the two of you right now, so that you can get over him. This was a man that very clearly said he didn’t have feelings for you. But honestly, you missed him. You missed him so damn much this past week, and you can only be strong for so long.

“You have an important match tomorrow,” you say quietly, “you should be getting a good night’s rest. We’ll share the bed.”

He turns to face you, looking down at where you were pinching the fabric of his shirt, which was just as soft as you had imagined, and he glances up to meet your gaze once again. “I’m…really confused right now.”

“What if you guys lose and are booted from the competition, and I have to spend the rest of my life regretting the fact that the reason the school lost a 12-year championship streak is all because I made you sleep on a couch?” you ask him.

He takes a step towards you. “You really want me to stay?” His voice was low.

“Yes,” you say. “We’re mature adults. Despite everything, we can just…share a bed for one night, right?”

He’s silent for a moment. “I think you trust me a little too much.”

Your face felt hot. “Are you telling me that I shouldn’t?”

“I’m telling you that you should really think this through,” he says.

“Just stay. Please.” The tone to your voice came off much more desperate than you would’ve liked.

He looks at you like the last thing in the world he could say right now was no. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Positive?”

“Satoru.”

“Okay,” he says, walking past you into the room, like he wasn’t really in the mood to argue about it anymore.

You sigh, sulking your shoulders a little bit, and watch as he takes a seat at the desk and continues to click through things on his laptop, occasionally sipping on the cup of coffee he had made for himself, as if your presence here was no unnatural thing.

This all felt so domestic for you. This feels like the most intimate the two of you have been with one another, despite the fact he’s literally made you cum with his tongue before.

“Who drinks coffee at this hour?” you ask, crouching down to unzip your suitcase, opening it up to find your cosmetics bag and a fresh pair of clothes to change into.

“Caffeine doesn’t really affect me anymore.” His eyes were still stuck on his laptop screen.

“You sound dead inside,” you comment, standing back up straight. You step over your suitcase that was on the floor and head into the bathroom, about to close the door but you open it enough to peer over at him from inside. “I’m going to take a shower,” you announce.

You see him poke his tongue to his cheek, leg bouncing up and down underneath the desk, and he squints at his laptop screen like there’s something so damn important that he must concentrate on or else the entire universe would collapse inside of a black hole. “Cool. Have fun.”

“I will.”

“I’m glad.”

“No peeping.”

“There’s a lock on the bathroom door. Feel free to use it.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.” And then you’re shutting the door.

It felt nice to freshen up, especially after that long journey, and then you’re doing your skincare in the mirror while you’re wrapped in a towel, trying to forget the fact that the man you quite seriously have immense feelings for is somewhere outside that door just a few feet away in this small hotel room. You spray a spritz of your perfume onto your skin, something there’s literally no point in doing before bedtime, but you still do it…for no particular reason at all, obviously.

When you step back out into the room, Gojo’s eyes are instantly on you from where he stood near the closet. He takes in your appearance and lets out a laugh, looking at you with amusement.

“What?” you ask.

“You look so cute,” he says, “with your little sloth pajamas.”

You’re fully blushing as you make your way over to the armchair in the room to set your cosmetics bag down on it to sort through the mess you’ve just made of it. “Don’t call me cute,” you scold, searching for your lip balm.

You could feel his frown from behind you. “You don’t like it?”

“No. I love it.”

“I’m not following.”

You turn around to face him. “Satoru. You promised me you wouldn’t lead me on anymore. That includes teasing me or complimenting me.”

He looks at you incredulously. “What? I can’t even call you cute? This fucking sucks.”

“Your problem,” you say.

“So you’re cool with sharing a bed, but you’re not cool with me complimenting you,” he lays it out.

“We’re sharing this bed out of the kindness of my own heart,” you say to him, “because I care oh-so-very-much about your soccer career, and understand how important good sleep is for an athlete’s performance. I’m just that considerate of a person.” You point a strict finger at him. “But for your information, if you touch me while we’re in bed, I’ll kill you.”

“Hm. Not sure if I feel threatened or turned on right now,” he says.

You roll your eyes and finally zip up your cosmetics bag, set it on the table then make your way to the left side of the bed. When you glance at the nightstand, you notice Gojo has his wallet, his phone and his charger all situated there.

“Why’s your stuff here?” you ask him.

“Huh? Oh, I was going to sleep on that side,” he says to you.

“I usually sleep on the left side,” you tell him.

“But I usually sleep on the left side.”

You blink at him.

“I–…I’ll sleep on the right side,” he suggests, shoulders tense and on edge.

“Okay,” you shrug, and move his stuff.

Gojo spends some time freshening up in the bathroom too, and when he comes out he looks like he’s actually tired, and you feel like it’s the first time you’ve seen him look as worn out as he probably should be for someone as busy as him. You’re already settled under the sheets, the duvet pulled all the way up to your chin as you lay on your back. He comes up to the right side of the bed, checking his phone for a few minutes while standing and rubbing at the back of his neck, then plugs his phone into the charger. He grabs the sheets, about to pull them back, when he pauses and looks at you.

“Are you su-”

“If you ask me if I’m sure about this one more time, I will no longer feel sorry for you, and will make you go sleep on the love-stained couch,” you threaten him.

He grimaces at your choice of words and pulls the sheets back, slipping himself into bed. “Why do you have to put it like that? You’re gross. Also, I’m pretty sure this bed has seen less-than-holy things too.”

The only lighting in the room came from the warm, dim bulb of the night lamp at Gojo’s nightstand. An incredibly awkward silence settles between the two of you. Or maybe it’s just awkward for you, because he seems fine. He’s on his back too, looking up at the ceiling, practically motionless but there’s the faintest sound of his breathing every once in a while and it’s a sound you’ve never heard in such detail before.

He turns his head to you, but you don’t meet his gaze just yet. You shuffle a little bit, hip bumping against his side, elbow hitting his arm. He’s masculine next to you, shoulders hard, muscles heavy, but when you finally turn your head to glance at him and see the expression on his face, you realize that everything about him was rigid—except for the way he was looking at you.

“When did you sneak it in?” he asks.

“Sneak what in?”

“The can of strawberry vanilla soda. Into my bag.”

You swear your heart stills a little in your chest.

“Before,” is all you say to him.

He sighs. “y/n…”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to feel bad for me. I wanted you to have it, regardless of how I thought my confession would go,” you assure.

It’s hard to read his expression from the side while he’s looking up at the ceiling, but it’s softer than it was a second ago. The need to change the subject consumes you.

“Why do you have calluses on your fingertips?” you ask him. “You’re a soccer player, you don’t use your hands for anything.”

“I play the guitar,” he replies simply.

You perch yourself up on an elbow, looking down at him with interest. His eyes flicker to your face. “Really?”

“No. I was just kidding. Hate the way you got excited though. I might have to pick up a guitar now.”

“Can you just answer me?” you sigh, flopping down onto your back again.

He laughs a little, a sound you feel like you could get drunk on at this point. He lifts his head up off the pillow enough to tuck his right hand underneath it, then rests it back down. You wish there was a mirror on the ceiling so you could see the flex of his arm. “Coach has us do the rock climbing wall at the gym at least once a week for practice. He thinks it’s a good workout. Causes a hell of a lot of skin tear though.”

“That’s it? That’s the reason?”

“Mhm.”

You shake your head, “You should learn how to play the guitar, because that’s a lame reason to have calluses.”

He lifts his head up off the pillow again and brings the hand that was tucked under his nape to in front of his face and he just looks at it. You look at it too. “Why are you so obsessed with the state of my hands?

“A girl can’t be curious?” you ask.

“They’re not that bad.” You wonder if you’ve made him self-conscious.

You watch the way he flexes his fingers open and then closed. He turns it around, and you can see the veins trailing down from the valleys of his knuckles, disappearing into the fabric of his long sleeve. You remember that party, the two of you in that bathroom, when his hands were all over you, and it’s suddenly a little hard to breathe. He turns his hand again so the palm faces him, but now it’s also slightly turned towards you too.

“They’re bad here,” you say, pointing to his ring finger where you see slight peeling at the tip. The padded skin of your finger touches his skin. “A little bad here, too.” You point to his index finger, careless enough to allow all of your fingers to brush against his this time.

He watches you. “Your hands are really small,” he comments, like it was a marvel to him.

You look over at him briefly, and there’s not a single sign of tension in his face as he observes the image of your hand next to his hand in the air above him. He looked like he was at peace.

“Yours are just big,” you tell him.

He knows he’s not supposed to, and you really shouldn’t have let him, but he interlocks his fingers with yours regardless, holding onto your hand. You feel the roughness of those calluses all across your soft skin. His thumb runs over the curve of your knuckle, almost in a soothing way, like he was trying to apologize to you for something. And this was the only way he knew how.

Something sobers him up, because he suddenly pulls his fingers from yours and drops his hand to the duvet. Your hand lingers in the air for a few seconds before you do the same. And now you’re both awkwardly staring up at the ceiling again.

“Sorry,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“It’s okay,” you whisper too.

The silence settles for longer.

He sighs. “It’s not you, it’s me,” he says out of nowhere.

“Huh?” you turned your body a little to face him, and he was looking up at the ceiling as if there was something across the texture that he was trying to decipher.

“I don’t want you thinking that the reason I can’t-,” he pauses, to think carefully about his words, “...that the reason I can’t return your feelings is because of you, or anything you’ve done. It’s been a while since I’ve liked anyone to be honest, and I’m just really not looking to date right now.”

You’re hurt by his words. Because even if he didn’t want to date anyone, you thought that he would’ve at least tried to for you. You thought that he had at least some feelings that the two of you could’ve worked off of. “Why don’t you want to date anyone?”

“Reasons.”

“Obviously. What reasons?” you prod. When he doesn’t respond, you sigh. “If it’s something traumatic, I get it. My hamster died in the fourth grade,” you say, “I’ve never known peace since.”

He turns onto his side to face you with a soft and amused smile on his face. “Sorry to hear that. What was your hamster’s name?”

You try not to feel hot from the burn of his gaze and you turn onto your back to look up at the ceiling again. “Mr. Guilmon,” you say.

“Like…guilmon from digimon?

“Mhm.”

“You like digimon?”

“Oh yeah, I used to watch it all the time when I was a kid. My mom wanted to name my hamster ‘Scout’ but I refused,” you tell him, blinking a few times as the memories from your childhood come back to you. A small smile makes its way onto your face.

“I love digimon,” he says, fast, like he couldn’t contain it.

“Really?” you give him a sidewards glance, a little surprised.

He hesitates slightly before sighing, turning over in the opposite direction to reach for his wallet on his nightstand. You feel the fabric of the duvet stretch across you from the movement, and you remember just how intimate this all felt. He’s laying on his back again, holding his wallet up in the air with both hands as he flips it open, then slides his credit card up out of the slot, and shows it to you. Digimon themed. You have to purse your lips together to hold back your laughter.

He turns his head to look at you when you can’t help but let a little noise escape your mouth, and you can see through the laughter-induced sheen of tears in your eyes that he’s frowning.

“Hey–”

“I’m sorry–” you're fully laughing at this point, hand over your mouth to try to contain yourself, “it’s just– oh my god— you’re the last person I would’ve expected to have been such a nerd.”

“I’m not a nerd–” he tries to argue but you snatch the card out of his hand to study it closer, and also to memorize the numbers on the back.

“Popular soccer boy Gojo Satoru,” you’re giggling, “has a custom Digimon credit card.”

When he tries to reach for it, you stretch your arm off to the left. His weight leans on you, chest pressing against the curve of your shoulder, arm extending across you as he tries to grab his card back. “Quit it,” he mutters.

“No,” you say, holding it further to your left, weakly trying to push him away from you.

“Quit it,” he repeats, face scowling now with what looks like embarrassment, and he holds his upper body up by the elbow, leaning over you even more to reclaim it, “or else.”

“Or else, what?” you say through wheezes, and it seems like something in him snaps because suddenly he grabs your wrist, hard, pinning it down onto the mattress, holding it there next to your head, and his entire upper body is towering over you. Shocked, you’re breathing fast, your eyes darting across his face, and he’s looking at you with a furrowed brow and a tense jaw.

“Or else I won’t keep my promise,” he says through a harsh breath, his voice low and rough.

You’re stunned underneath him. “What promise?” you ask, breathlessly.

He leans down closer, to the point where the fringe of his hair brushes against your forehead. “My promise to hold myself back from you.”

You swallow hard, chest heaving. You feel the heat of his hand on your wrist burning through to your veins. You try to squirm slightly in his grip, but he just presses your wrist down further into the mattress.

He glances at your lips, eyes dilated and stern, and leans down even closer to you. “Do you have any idea how bad I’ve been wanting to punish you for leaving me in that bathroom by myself?” he says in a voice so husky you feel the arousal build at your center the second your head registers it.

You can’t find your words. He keeps his eyes locked on yours, as if to make sure yours stay on his too, and you’re docile under him until he’s distracted you enough to pinch his credit card between two of his fingers and discretely pull it out from your grip. He then lets go of your wrist and disappears out of your line of sight when he flops back down onto the mattress next to you, tucking his card back into his wallet.

“But I won’t. Because I’m a nice person, and will respect your space. Or whatever.”

You don’t know what to say, your hand finding a place over your heart as you try to take deep breaths to calm yourself down.

“We should probably go to sleep,” he sighs after a minute, tossing his wallet back onto the nightstand and reaching over to turn off the light.

It’s dark now in the room, the only light coming from through the layered fabrics of the curtains. It's a cold light, possibly from the moon and maybe some dim neighboring white street lights, but it’s enough to where you could still see the slight texture of the ceiling, and maybe his face.

You both spend a few minutes trying to get comfortable. You try not to bump your butt against him, or brush your chest against his arm, but it happens a couple times anyway, and you mentally curse yourself for it. The rise of the duvet fabric from his chest becomes shallow with his breathing, and you think he’s fallen asleep, but then the two of you turn over at the exact same time, facing each other, eyes flying open and gazes meeting. It startles the both of you, but neither of you look away or say a word. The two of you just sit in the moment for what feels like hours, and very could’ve easily been.

You’re the first to break the silence. “You know, there was a time where I thought that you weren’t even real.” You’re speaking hushed, like you’re afraid someone will hear, even though there’s only two souls in this room right now.

“What?” he asks, a slight raise to his eyebrow. “...why.”

“I don’t know. You’re like this urban legend around campus. You probably don’t know it, since you’re in it, but the world you’re in is very different from the world the rest of us students are in.”

He’s silent for a moment, his face being briefly illuminated by the reflection of a car’s headlights on the windows of the surrounding building. “I think I know what you mean.”

You blink at him. “I thought you would have a few more follow-up questions to that, but I guess you’re surprisingly self-aware.”

He hums to himself. “I think I can just put it into perspective.”

“Perspective?” you ask. You’re hanging onto every single one of his words tonight. You don’t want a single one of them slipping through you, not understood.

“Yeah,” he says, “there are moments where I feel like I’m not in that world anymore. And it feels nice. To get out of it.”

You want to ask him when those moments are, but he’s quick to speak again.

“I guess that means I’m aware of the moments where I am in it, so I know that it exists, if that makes sense? I don’t know.” He looks down at your pajamas, at the dancing sloth at the front, and the crease to his brow relaxes slightly.

“Mhm, makes sense.”

His eyes are back on you, studying. There’s a strange look on his face that you can’t really comprehend. “I want to know about your world,” he says.

You breathe in deep, and exhale shallow. “My world is simple. I want to be a filmmaker and then live in a little cottage.”

He smiles at you. “A little cottage?”

“Yeah,” you say, “maybe in the countryside. The Italian countryside. With my own garden in the backyard so I can use fresh zucchini in my salads.”

“Any animals? Pets?” he asks, like he’s envisioning it all in his head too.

“Maybe some chickens,” you say, “I promised Mr. Guilmon I’d name another one of my pets after him someday. I have to keep my promise.”

He nods. “You do.”

There’s another silence, but it doesn’t feel awkward this time.

“Did you turn your photos in to your professor?” he asks.

“Yeah, I did,” you tell him. “Earlier this week.”

“Nice. What about your reference for grad school?”

“I asked him for it.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows raise. “How’d it go?”

“Mm…I was really nervous, but it went well. He said he’d do it.”

There’s such a tenderness to his expression that you feel so compelled to kiss him right now. “That’s awesome. I’m proud of you. That’s one step closer to your dream.”

You purse your lips together from his words, sitting with the warm feeling in your chest. You want to thank him again, but instead all you say is “we’re even now.”

He lets out a small chuckle. It comes from his throat. “You’ve said that so many times.”

“I know.” Because you can’t believe it’s all over. This little arrangement between the two of you. You don’t want it to be over. “I can’t remember when the first time I said it was.”

“That night,” he answers you fast and with certainty, like it was at the forefront of his mind, “when you drove over rocks. And we sat together on the curb. And I realized how badly you take care of your car. You don’t need thousands of chain restaurant napkins in your glovebox, by the way. No matter how much you might think you do.”

“Wow. I was almost romanced by you for a second, but you ruined it,” you mumble.

You’re instantly taken back to that night. You remember the gentle quality in his eyes as he stared up at the stars, and you can still see the reflection of that sky in his eyes right now with the way he’s looking at you.

“I really liked you that night,” you whisper, “I wish you were like that all the time.”

“Am I not like that all the time?” he asks, voice soft to match yours.

“No,” you say, “sometimes you’re mean.”

His eyes on you are gentle, somewhat careful. “I’m sorry for being mean.”

You wonder if you can change his mind. If you can will him to like you back, if you can will him into wanting a relationship with you. You want to be his exception, not his rule.

“It’s okay. I’m mean sometimes, too,” you say, “mean to myself for sharing a bed with a guy that doesn’t like me.” He’s looking at your lips as you speak. “I’m bad like that.”

“You’re not bad,” is all he says.

“I am,” you say, and you inch closer to him, until there’s hardly any space between the two of you. You look up at him, faces inches away. You feel so safe with him, and yet you also feel scared, because you like him so much that you would let him ruin you if he wanted to. You press a flat palm to his shirt, searching for his heart, and you find that it’s beating fast in his chest. “I’m a bad woman, Satoru.”

“y/n,” he says, like a warning.

“I mean it,” you whisper.

“You said you’d kill me if I touch you,” he reminds you, sounding a little breathless.

“I can’t kill you, you’re way stronger than me,” you whisper, “so touch me.” Your hand is gripping onto the fabric of his shirt now, tight, with desire. He’s looking at you with a whole lot of desire too, but there was something else there as well. “Please.”

He wraps his hand around your wrist–the heat of his touch that you so badly wanted, craved, finally on you–but it’s to pull you away from him. Your grasp on his shirt releases and he brings your hand to the front of your chest, laying it down gently before letting it go. Your wrist lays limp there, missing his touch. Limp in front of your beating heart.

“Let’s just go to sleep, okay?” he says softly.

Your eyes widen when you look at him, and you couldn’t even hide the hurt that settled across your face if you tried. Gaze dropping to his chest, you see the way it was rising with every breath he took, and for the second time in this life, you’ve felt so utterly rejected by him. You give him a compliant nod, and scootch back away from him before turning away. He stays as he is, watching your back, and you can feel his gaze on the nape of your neck.

Counting the minutes to fall asleep felt exhausting, but the last thing you remember before you closed your eyes was the feeling of a tear trickling down onto your pillow, wet and cold against your cheek.

–

You wake up the next morning to an empty bed, and an even emptier feeling heart. There’s also this weird feeling of disappointment within you, and you don’t really know why.

Grabbing your phone on the nightstand, you quickly search for the email with the men’s soccer team practice schedule, and you see that they had a sharp 8am practice this morning before the game in the afternoon. The time reads 6:37am, and you’re wondering where Gojo went so early in the morning before heading off to the practice field.

You went back to sleep for a couple hours, and then woke up again. By the time you took a shower, got dressed, and went downstairs to the hotel lobby to eat breakfast, it was already 10:00am and it was time to make it to the field so you could set up and calibrate your camera prior to taking photos for the match. Following Utahime’s gameday instructions, you took a cab to the location with all of your gear.

The Kyoto soccer stadium was less of a stadium and more of an extremely large and open expanse of grass that had enormous silver metal stands stretching across the perimeter. It was something you would expect of an area in the countryside, but security was still somehow tight across the fenced off area.

It was still a couple hours before the game, so the field was bustling with pre-game set-ups and the stands were empty. There were a few sports canopies being put up, as well as a small truck with workers that were working to stock up the hydration stations. A few men in suits were seated at tables with notepads and clipboards, looking busy in conversation and on what sounded like business calls. As you walk down the sidelines, you notice a few other people checking the distances between the goals and the chalk markings across the field. The stands were extremely close to all of the action, and when you look to the right, you see a couple of familiar faces there.

“Ah, y/n! We’re over here.”

You approach the group of three people, all seated on the lowest metal bench of one of the spectator sections. There were a bunch of tripods, cameras, cases, and laptops sprawled across in front of them. You recognize Hana and Minato, but you don’t recognize the other man sitting with them. You had met Hana and Minato at the game against Osaka last week, they were both professional photographers for the newsletter.

Hana hops off the bench and comes up to you. “It’s seriously so cool you’re here with us and that Utahime got you this gig,” she says to you with a smile. “Make sure your schedule is free on nights after matches, all us photographers usually get dinner together afterwards. You’re the baby out of us, so we’ll pay for you.”

You return her smile with one of your own. “That’s sweet, and sure I’ll try to.”

You glance at the man whose name you didn’t know, your gaze meeting his, and soon enough he’s jumping up onto his feet too and making his way over to you.

“Ah, this is Kaito. Kai for short,” Hana says, gesturing to the man, and then to you.

Kai extends his hand out for you to shake. He’s tall and a bit lean. His style is really boyish—totally nailing the street photographer outfit with the white shirt underneath a flannel one, and some Carhartt pants paired with some Vans. You reach out to shake his hand, and he holds onto it for a second longer than you would’ve expected.

“Hi,” you greet him and tell him your name.

“That’s a nice name,” he says with a smile.

Hana claps her hands together. “Okay! We all know each other now, that’s great. We should get started prepping before the players get here, I believe they’re scheduled to be here in an hour.” She walks over to the benches and picks up her digital camera. Minato grabs his as well as his tripod, then walks over to Hana’s side. “The way we usually do it is to split the field into corners, and each of us works that perimeter. The videographers are here too, so just make sure you don’t accidentally knock over or stand in front of one of their cameras.”

All three of you nod at her and you unzip your case to take your film camera out. Kai is next to you, looking at the device in your hands curiously.

“Kai, you can work with y/n for today since it’s her first day. Split up those two corners over there,” Hana says, pointing to the other end of the field. You and Kai look in that direction. “Minato and I will take the other short end.”

With a few more discussions and detailed instructions, the four of you disperse to your assigned locations. You’re a step ahead of Kai, although he should really be the one leading your stride since you’re the new one here, but he soon enough catches up to you.

“Is that a Canon AE-1?” he asks you, pointing to your camera.

You look at him a little surprised. “Yeah, it is. As vintage as they get.”

“Sweet, I used to shoot on film too. Second-hand?”

“No, third. Still cost me an arm and a leg, though,” you sigh.

He laughs. “They’re not that expensive.”

“I’m a broke college student. I sometimes have to choose between paying rent and eating food,” you say to him.

He kicks at a random can on the grass, sending it flying forward, instead of picking it up. “Yeah, definitely don’t miss those days.”

“When did you graduate?” you ask.

“From UTokyo two years ago,” he says.

You bend over to pick up the can he kicked and jog a little to the trashcan nearby, tossing it in, then jog back to him. “That’s nice. You’ve been doing this for two years?”

“Yup,” he says to you as the two of you reach the corner of the field outlined by freshly drawn chalk. He kneels down on the grass, sets his camera case down, and opens it up. Your jaw drops.

“Is that a—Leica camera?” you ask him, shocked.

He smirks up at you. “Sure is.”

“Oh, so you’re just rich, then,” you sit down on the grass to look at it with interest, marveling at its condition.

“Nope. I’ll bet I got it for cheaper than your Canon there,” he points to the camera hung at your neck.

You meet his gaze. “No way.”

“Way,” he says, pulling out the attachable lens before wiping at it with a microfiber cloth, “I know a guy. He sells used cameras. The only issue is you’ve gotta refurbish them yourself.”

You sigh. “Wonderful. Because I would know how to do that.”

He lets out a half-laugh, and you glance up briefly to look at his expression. He was amused. “It’s pretty easy, just gotta do it once. And then you’ll have a used Leica that works brand-new, all for just under a hundred-thousand yen.”

You’re looking at him with surprise again. “That cheap?”

“Yup.”

“Wow…” Your finger plays with the lens cap on your camera.

“If you want, I can send you his info. But if you want to meet up with him, it’ll probably have to be facilitated through me,” Kai says, “He takes clients by recommendation. No use in selling a used camera to an idiot that doesn’t know how to refurbish it. He’s looking for niche photographers that have the interest.”

You press your lips together, considering it. “Sure.”

He hands his phone to you. “Alright, gimme your number.”

You hesitate for a second before typing your number into his contacts then hand it back and watch as he saves it in his phone. “Canon girl. Won’t forget ya.”

The two of you make work for a second, eyeing the field and mapping out angles of where to get the best shots during play. Kai gives you some pointers and you’re marveling at how good they are.

“Not really used to shooting on film anymore,” he mumbles, peering through the hole on your camera when you handed it over to him, “but usually a one over five-hundred shutter speed works well for sports. I’d switch between that and over two-fifty though, to avoid a blurry finish.”

“Thanks,” you say to him, wanting to write all this down to not forget it. “Wish I knew this last week.”

“Why shoot on film?” he asks out of nowhere, handing your camera back to you. “Why not digital?”

“Oh, it’s a personal interest,” you say to him, adjusting your shutter speed as he suggested, “I think there’s a charm to it. I want to be a movie maker, and shoot on film medium.”

He frowns at you. “How are you going to do that?”

You tilt your head at him, shuffling on the grass. “I’m going to apply to the film graduate program at UTokyo to start.”

He laughs at that from where he’s seated across from you. “Really? That’s a waste of your time.”

Your heart sinks a little in your chest from his tone. “Why would it be a waste of my time?”

He turns to face you more directly. “y/n, trust me, I know this career path. Been there, done that. Millions of film majors like yourself always have these big-ass dreams like ‘I want to become a director, I want to do screenplay’ etc., but only one or two of them actually succeed.”

Your shoulders sulk. It’s not the first time you’ve heard those words from someone—your own parents practically recited them word-for-word before you headed off to college—but you had been doing really well all of senior year to ignore that nagging little voice in your head. It was honestly quite triggering to hear it all again right now. “Well, I think I can do it.”

He lets out a short scoff. “You sound real convincing there.” When he catches sight of your upset expression, he straightens his back a little. “My bad. Just trying to look out for you. I’m your senior in this industry. I know my way around these things. Trust me.”

You nod slowly. “I know. Thanks.” Part of you wonders if he’s just projecting.

“Well anyway,” he shrugs, “I think you should just focus on photography for now. It’s the safest career option for you to do.”

“I guess you’re right,” you say, wanting to diffuse the conversation.

The two of you disperse to your assigned corners once the stands start to fill with spectators. Shortly after, the players make their introductions onto the field, and you can see Gojo across the field. He’s too far to read his expression, but for some reason when you look at him, that disappointed feeling from this morning comes back to you. You try to push it down and just focus on your task at hand.

UTokyo does well during the match, and Gojo seems to be playing much better than the Osaka game last week, scoring two goals within the first half. There were a couple of times where there were throw-ins near your corner, and you made eye contact with him as he’s breathing heavily, wiping the sweat off his face with his jersey, and every time you look at him, that melancholic feeling washes over you again. UTokyo wins 3-2, the crowd evidently disappointed as they were rooting for their home team, and by the time the disgruntled fans started to clear the stands, the sun was setting over the horizon and the sky was a golden color.

The referees on the field begin to oversee the post-match proceedings with the players. Kai comes around to meet you at your corner, and Hana and Minato arrive there too.

“Hey team! How’d it go?” Hana asks, a little out of breath from her journey over here.

“Went fine,” Kai responds.

“It was a little tricky,” you comment, “but I think my photos came out well.”

Hana nods. “Alright, sounds good. Are we still on for dinner tonight?”

Kai and Minato nod, and then all three sets of eyes are on you. You hesitate for a moment, and look off past them to where you see the group of soccer players in conversations with the coaches and referees. You see Gojo standing there, his hands on his hips as he peered across the field, tilting his neck to the side repeatedly, and you realize he had been doing that all match long. That unsettling feeling within you starts to brew once again. “Uh, I’m really sorry, but I’m not feeling very well. I think I might just head back to the hotel.”

Hana and Minato nod at you with a concerned expression, while Kai just looks disappointed.

“Okay, well, I hope you feel better,” she says.

You end up taking an Uber back to the hotel in haste, not wanting to run into Gojo or any of the other soccer players after their match, and make it to the room, using the key card that Gojo gave you to get inside. You take a shower to freshen up, and by the time it’s 7pm, you’re starving. You put on a simple outfit and make it downstairs into the lobby of the hotel, about to go peruse the nearby dining options, but right when you step out of the elevator, you run into Gojo.

There’s a look of pleasant surprise on his face and you take in his appearance. He was still wearing his soccer jersey, covered in grass and dirt stains, and his face was slightly flushed from exertion. You figured he just came back from the field.

“Hey,” he says, “sorry, I was just about to head over there.” He jerks his head off towards the lobby, and you glance in that direction. There was a group of maybe thirty people gathered around the lounging areas and high-tables over at the business suite, and you recognize them as UTokyo’s soccer players, along with Coach Yaga and other team staff. The players were still all clad in their uniforms, carrying all their stuff, and there were plays of today’s game rerunning across the TV screens. You realize they’re probably prepping for interview questions for tomorrow’s conference.

“Oh, please, go ahead,” you say to him.

He tilts his head at you. “Are you doing alright?”

You were aware that things might feel awkward after last night, and that your cheeks would probably feel hot like they do now the next time you had to talk to him. Your mind takes you back to the memories, when you think about how badly you wanted him to stay with you in the room because of that hollow feeling in your chest from missing him, despite how you knew it was bad for you. Because this man standing in front of you doesn’t like you in the way that you like him.

And then it clicks. The reason for that feeling of disappointment you’ve had since the moment you woke up today.

When you glance up at Gojo this time, you see him differently than you had from a second ago. You finally notice the slight dark circles under his eyes, and figure out that the reason he’s been tilting his neck to the side all day was because he was trying to stretch out a kink. You vaguely recall that moment you woke up in the middle of the night, and your sleepy brain registered that there was no longer the dip of him in the mattress next to you.

“When did you leave the room?” you ask him. You know your voice is quiet when he has to lean down a bit to hear you.

He takes his time answering, indulging in a few breaths. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” you say, starting to sound hostile, “you left during the night, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t deny it.

“You left once I fell asleep,” you say, eyes widening with realization.

He sighs. “Yes.”

“Where did you go to sleep?” you ask, trying to keep your tone level.

“Suguru’s room had an extra couch. I pushed them together.”

You felt sick and sad, feeling something worse than rejection right now. There was a part of you that still thought that all of this from him was just a joke. A prank. That he was finally going to say just kidding, I like you too. The reason you’ve been so disappointed since the minute you woke up today was because there was a part of you that thought you were going to wake up this morning with his arms wrapped around you, back pressed tight to his chest while he whispers sweet nothings in your ear of how much he likes you, of how much he wants you, of how much he wants to be with you.

“Why? Even after I said I didn’t want you to have bad sleep?” Your voice was laced with hurt. You didn’t even know how to explain to him why it upset you, because deep down you’re scared it isn’t even valid.

“It’s fine,” he says, “I played fine today. And we won.”

“You could’ve stayed. Do you really hate me that much?” Your words are shooting to kill now. “So I’m good enough to finger in a bathroom at a frat party, but not good enough to sleep next to?”

He furrows his brow. “I don’t understand why we’re arguing about this,” he says, tone starting to match yours, “you’re the one that wanted space. I was just trying to respect that.”

“If you really wanted to respect my space, you wouldn’t have agreed to share the bed with me in the first place.”

“y/n,” he says, “that’s not fair.”

“You should’ve known better.” You’re breathing fast, tone searingly accusive. “You know that I’m trying to get over you, and that I’m vulnerable, and that I’m probably confused about a lot of things right now.”

“I ask if we could at least be friends, you say no because it’d be some recipe for disaster, then you practically beg me to stay with you and tell me to touch you while we’re laying down together. You don’t think that’s confusing for me too?” he counters.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment at the memory of your desperate actions last night, and he instantly looks apologetic. You feel like you’re being unfair, but you feel like he’s being unfair too.

“I’m the one with feelings,” is all you say in your defense.

He swipes at his chin roughly with the back of his hand, smudging the dirt up to his cheek, and then closes his eyes for a second, like the weight of today has finally hit him all at once. He looks exhausted. “Right,” he says, softly, “I’m sorry.”

“Yo, Satoru!” one of his teammates yells from the center of the lobby. “Coach needs you, man.”

He rubs a hand down his tired face then throws a haphazard glance over his shoulder. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a sec,” he calls out and then looks back at you. You can’t make eye contact with him, and just stare at the print on his jersey instead. “I’ll sleep in Suguru’s again tonight. The room is yours.”

There’s a lump in your throat and you feel like you’re about to cry. “Okay.”

He reaches into his shorts pocket and gives you a room card. “Here’s the spare. I don’t need to come grab my stuff for the night, so don’t worry.”

“Okay.”

He sounds like he wants to say more, and you see him take a small step towards you, hand reaching out for you, but this time Coach Yaga’s stern voice is calling out to him too. He sighs. “Good night.”

“Mhm. Thanks.”

He hesitates before he turns on his heel and you watch his back, with that signature #10 stretched across the fabric of his uniforn, as he jogs through the hotel lobby to his teammates.

The walk back to the hotel room is depressing, and you find yourself dragging your feet all the way there. Once you make your way inside, you look around at the room and see some of Gojo’s belongings scattered around, but it didn’t seem like there were any of his essentials. You look down at the spare key card in your hand–a promise from him that he won’t try to upset you anymore tonight–and that lump in your throat from earlier comes back.

You hated fighting with him. You hated being away from him. Those feelings that you thought would go away just as fast as they came still sat so stubbornly within your heart, and it was becoming impossible to bear.

You wonder if meeting him was all just some horrible, twisted mistake.

Before you have time to dwell on that sad sentiment, your phone screen lights up with a message.

|| 7:52pm unknown number: kinda sucks you’re not here with us. was looking forward to showing you more of my camera

|| 7:53pm unknown number: this is kai by the way

The features of your face feel heavy as you look down at your phone screen. You don’t even notice your eyes are teary until you realize the blur of your vision makes it hard to see the letters as you type out a response.

You just wanted a distraction from all this pain.

|| 7:54pm you: can you send me the address? i wanna be there

a/n. grrrr i love a one-bed trope so much grrrrrrrrr it's gonna do it for me every damn time lol. thanks a bunch for reading!! there's still so much that i've got planned for the series haha i think the second half is gonna be a lot crazier than the first. super excited to write it though. by the way! i'm starting a choso x reader zombie au series, if you'd like to read more about it and/or be added to the taglist, you can reply to this post here also if you want to be added to taglist in general, i'd recommend making sure your tags are on!! since i've noticed a lot of people have them off

➸ take me to chapter nine!

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @therealestpussyeater @lost-resonance @hojoslutoru @foulprincesscycle @luniunia @alekssashka7 @bsdicinindirdim @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @btszn @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @drthymby @ninitoru @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @horisdope @sykostyles @aquaberrydolphin @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @purplehallow11 @mwtsxri @ritsatoru @bxddiebloss @chwesuh-imnida @mo0nforme @viware @still-fking-single @megumisthirdog @gintokhi @karvokr @cierocanteat @imjustaweirdnerd (hope i didn't miss anyone thank u all sm!!)

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neteyamsilly · 1 year

Text

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 3

summary ;; Sullys stick together. You learn the hard way what happens when you don't. PART 2 | PART 4 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; descriptions of blood and violence incoming, beware! shout out to the ppl who predicted the stuff in this chapter LMAO so um... i couldnt tag everybody who asked when i said i would... there's apparently a limit to how many people you can tag. please forgive me 😭 im not taking any tagging requests anymore since i cant do it. so sorry about that,,,, seriously also, thank you so much for 1160 followers! i still cant fucking believe it... daddy issues solidarity 🤙🏻🤙🏻

“Hi there Corporal, you hear me? Yeah, I know you do. As much as I’m charmed by the fatherly love I could give you a big old sloppy wet kiss, we have unfinished business.”

Rain covered the rustling of clothes and the click-clacks of readjusted weapons as concentrated silence hung in the air, thick and heavy like the morning mist swallowing up the forest.

No answer.

What face could your parents be making right now? Heartbeat in your ears, you tried to hide your shame by looking down, but a jerk on your queue set you straight. the avatar holding you digging his gun sharper in your neck.

“What, cat got your tongue all of a sudden?” The leader’s stare found yours. “Let me give you a quick remedy.”

They’d linked your device into another for the sound to be relayed outside and the voice detection range could be wider, in other words, they wanted your father to hear what was happening to you. Your braid was yanked as if the one pulling it wanted to snap it right off your skull, no amount of training could stop the scream torn out of you — all the show just for him.

The line was deadly still, save for some rustling, crackling static that you could have easily mistaken for hissing.

A ghost of a smile shadowed the man’s face, he extended his rifle to tip your chin up. “Guess we’re gonna have to be louder than that to wake daddy up sweetheart.”

“Stop!” Father yelled, the unexpected timing of it made you jump. That earned him a group chuckle from the avatars around you. “Stop.”

He talked. He didn’t leave you to fend for yourself in this. Thank Eywa!

“That was fast,” the captor behind you said.

“Thought you’d have forgotten English by now, playing native.”

“...Quaritch?”

Quaritch. That awful, awful man from the stories your mother killed? Spider’s father? But… But he was dead. How could sky people know how to cheat death?

“In the flesh.”

Father’s voice wavered, you’d think he was scared if you didn’t know any better. “That’s impossible.”

“Back from the grave just for you, Jake.”

“Then I’ll just have to put you right back where you belong.”

The squad of avatars openly laughed at that, boisterous, confident, arrogant.

This was Toruk Makto they were openly mocking. None of them would last for one minute in front of him and yet—

“Quite the teary lovers reunion we’re havin’ here, but you got busy while I was gone, huh?” He looked down at you again, yellow eyes filled with mirth. “I have this tiny bird here we plucked right out of the air. Imagine my surprise to learn she’s yours. Is this the only one, or you got yourself a litter now?”

Silence again.

“What do you want?”

“Straight to the point as always.” The smug smile momentarily twitched into an unamused, withheld resentment. This man was nearing the end of his capacity to keep taunting. “I don’t think I’ll tell yet. You know I love to be a tease.”

Your ears rotated upwards in treacherous hope at your father's next words. “If you touch one hair on my daughter’s head I swear to god—”

“You exchanged your god for this shithole, Jake. Let’s not kid ourselves now.” Any hint of playing around was gone, now, eyes fixated on something on the ground ahead. “Your daughter will be my guest for a while. Think of it as summer vacation. Don’t worry, unlike the Na’vi, we’re very hospitable.” His thumb brushed over a button. “Until next time.”

“Fucking bastard—”

With one beep, the call was over. Quaritch was touching the band around his neck this time. “Iron Sky, Blue on Actual. We are standing by for extract, over.”

You began to tussle against the avatar behind your back. “No! No! Let me go!”

“Be advised. We're bringing in a high value prisoner.”

“Dad’s really gonna flay her alive this time, I can’t wait.” Lo’ak, positioned just behind the flap of the tent to not be seen from the outside as he peeked with one eyeball just in case, was watching his parents vehemently yell at each other in whispers that started out loud, but got hushed probably to not reach him and his siblings. Aggressive limb gestures were flying in the air, and at one point, his mom had tried to run off somewhere and was forcefully stopped.

Dad was currently pacing around like a wild animal with one hand permanently stuck rubbing his face, and mom turned away from him, holding her forehead. “They’re really going at it, huh?

Kiri was not amused with his insistence to breach their privacy. “What’s so interesting about watching this kind of thing?”

“Catharsis?” He remarked in English, feeling sophisticated. “You remember Spider talking about it? Purification and emotional cleansing through relief that you’re not going through the horrible tragedy, the character on stage is.”

“You’re normally so dumb.” Lo’ak bore his fangs at her matter-of-fact tone of voice. “Your brain only comes back on when it’s about chaos.”

“I’m petty, and what about it?” A tilt of his head to dare Kiri to ask for her point, then his attention was thwarted by an incomprehensible cry from his mother. She was pushing dad from his arms, furious like Lo’ak had never seen before as the upset man tried to hold her more. “Look at mom and dad breathing fire at each other! You think they’re discussing how to punish her?”

“Stop spying already skxawng, mom will be angry if she sees you. We’re supposed to be in bed.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to listen here!” His ears were tilting at every angle to make out any words that reached to him as nothing but a cluster of broken sounds. “Why did they have to go far?”

“Because they wanted to be away from peeping toms like you?”

“And you’re still here too, so?” Lo’ak gave his sister a meaningful look. “I know you wanna see too.”

“Ugh!” Kiri shoved out her tongue at him, eyes dead. “And it’s not funny, by the way! They are fighting. Stop being happy about it.”

He knew they were fighting about his older sister, and that she’d get all the heat and fallout from it the moment she was back. Lo’ak’s head was full of what he could get out of it, or what to ask her for in return for helping her out in her detention. So satisfying to be the sibling who wasn’t in trouble. He should do it more, actually. “It is funny when it’s not about me.”

“You’re sick for taking joy in another’s suffering.”

“Oh, I’m doomed, then.” Kiri took whatever fat was on his thin arm between her thumb and forefinger, and twisted. Lo’ak had to blink away the tears that rushed to his eyes, snatching his limb away from the displeased girl and pushing her away in return — he was annoyed at how much that hurt, why was that so damaging for no reason? “Yeouch! What the hell?”

“Will it kill you to practice mindfulness once in a while?”

He raised his voice’s pitch to mock the wobbly, ear-scratching whine of yours, and exaggerated his body movements to match, too. “I hate you!”

“Gross.” She tried to shove him, he caught her hands in the air, pushing her back and getting the spiteful annoyance of his sister as a result. “Dad was actually hurt by that.” Lo’ak’s eyes could roll down the hills by themselves the way that sounded, but Kiri, as always, was bothered so inexplicably. “I don’t like this. I have a bad feeling.”

That bad feeling was the herald of dad’s upcoming cranky ill-temper and what would follow after you inevitably had to come crawling back home with tail between your legs, Neteyam dragging you from the scruff of your neck. Lo’ak was refusing to sleep so he could enjoy the fight.

“Me personally, am over the moon, ikran duty is so gonna be off my hands. For months.” He halted at the idea that just went off in his head, tail swishing with the hype. “I wanna tell Spider. I’ll go get him.”

“Absolutely not. You sneak off now and they’ll laser-focus all the anger on you!” Kiri was pointing a warning hand at him, but slowly lowered it, one corner of her mouth twitching up. She was holding back amusement. “Hey, you know what? Nevermind, you can go. I want you to go. I have to see this.”

“Ha-ha.” Lo’ak’s tail stuttered, losing enthusiasm. “Attempted murder, much?”

“Guys, what’s going on…”

Upon the unexpected voice that wobbled its way into their conversation, they both looked down to see Tuk gripping her weaved blanket with one hand and dragging it on the floor as she made her way to them, the other rubbing her eyes one by one so sleep dripping from them would fly away.

“See, you woke her up! What do we do now?”

“You woke her up by yelling, why is it my fault now?”

“I didn’t, you—”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did n—”

“Guys…” Tuk pulled on Kiri’s hand, and the foreign object she was clutching the whole time distracted Lo’ak. It must have dug into the older one’s skin that she carefully picked it up to inspect. The ear pieces they took off before they went to sleep. This one was Kiri’s. “Neteyam’s calling. You didn’t hear…”

Grinning, Lo’ak snatched it up and skipped backwards and put it in his own ear, ignoring Kiri’s hushed yells to give it back now and the groans about ruining it with his stinky, cheesy earwax. He had to keep bouncing around, the girl was chasing him around the tent. “Bro! Tell her she’s sooo dead. Dad’s literally keeping guard in front of the tent—”

“Lo’ak, quit it.” Neteyam’s tremulous answer was harsh. Lo’ak’s smile wavered as he dodged Kiri’s arm and jumped over discarded cups on the floor, knocking over wooden spoons. “I need you to tell me what’s happening over there.”

“Aw, baby’s so scared to come back she needs to make a game plan first?” He laughed, slapping Kiri’s hands away. “I’ll only tell if she gives back my karambit knife.”

His older brother sighed, a bit too exasperated.

“Yeah, I’m not letting that one go and I’m also making it your problem—”

“Lo’ak, she isn’t here.”

He stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”

“She isn’t here. I couldn’t find her.” Kiri bumped into him, unable to stop herself at the right time to hit the brakes due to how abruptly Lo’ak had stilled. They’d almost tumbled over. “Dad told me to wait until he contacts her and I’ve been waiting for minutes. Now tell me what’s going on over there.”

“Bro, you’re serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be serious, skxawng!”

He turned to Kiri in disgusted discomfort, who had damn-near glued her own ear to his to hear better. “Forget months, I’ll be free for years. Dad’s not gonna let her take one step off the camp anymore.”

The girl would stomp her foot if she was a couple years younger. “What’s this about?”

And Neteyam would shake Lo’ak from the neck for ignoring him this long while he was fussing. “Tell me already you—!”

“They’re having a fight bro.” He leaned better to peep outside the tent. “Yeah.”

“She came back? Why didn’t you tell me?”

It was uncommon for Neteyam to completely disregard the previous input he’d been given. Lo’ak didn’t understand this level of anxiety. “Are you having a brain fart? Would we be having this conversation if she was here? It’s mom and dad who are fighting.”

It wasn’t that serious — on the contrary, his sister was quite simple to understand. She didn’t want to be found and had changed her place of hiding. End of story. The golden boy’s worrywart nature was keeping him from reasoning.

“Don’t be a smartass.” Lo’ak practically felt Neteyam’s want to land a loud smack on his back. “Were they only able to reach her, then? Is that why they’re fighting?”

“You’re asking me?—”

The older boy began to grumble under his breath. “This is why I called Kiri.”

Said girl’s ears perked up over picking her name from the static-surrounded line. Lo’ak snorted. “Ouch, bro.”

Kiri shook him from the elbow. “Me? What about me?”

“Great title for your autobiography.”

Kiri raised her arms to give him a beating and Lo’ak was already bolting away from anywhere near her vicinity. The siblings didn’t even take notice of the line with Neteyam going dark as they focused on their own play-scuffle for a while.

Until Lo’ak bumped into someone.

It wasn’t Tuk.

Shoulders pulled into himself, he turned around torturously freaked out to find dad standing there like a ghost, his tactical vest packed to the brim and gun hanging from his back the way they wore their bows.

The blue of his skin had faded into an ashier tone, amber eyes wide and bloodshot, the veins on the normally put together Olo’eyktan’s forehead were bulging, even a socially clueless person would pick up something was seriously wrong. He commanded cold authority of the battlefield simply by the way he stood, immediately triggering Lo’ak into soldier mode.

He took a few steps back, chin hanging low at the lightless, unblinking stare his father pushed down on him. “Sir.”

All the sleepiness that had Tuk unresponsive and nodding off through Lo’ak and Kiri’s push-and-pull was knocked out of her at the sight, she was now unnerved and frightened. “Dad?”

The man’s intensity was somehow eased by his youngest’s reaction, but he held back from taking her in his arms like he normally would to comfort her, didn’t even care to remark on how they were supposed to be sleeping — how they’d woken their little sister up, instead focusing on Lo’ak. “I want you all to listen well. Your mother and I are heading out for a minute and your grandmother will be with you soon — Neteyam is Oscar-Mike to come back here. Stay put and don’t go anywhere, understand?” His finger pointed accusingly at him. “Don’t cause trouble. Looking at you boy, what I’m saying here is Marine proof. I’m at the end of my wits here, don’t even think about slipping a tail out of this tent.”

The potent severity of whatever the hell was making him this agitated to the point of a voice so hoarse it was unrecognizable got the wheels in Lo’ak’s head whirring. “What’s happening, dad?”

“One child!” The thundering shout came down on him with the force of a falling mountain, making Lo’ak jump out of his skin. “I need one child of mine to listen to me without asking any questions today!” Dad’s voice broke when Tuk whined, he shut his eyes as if he was in physical pain, and flexed his jaw, shaking his head and pulling the girl in from her shoulders to soothe her. Still no direct hugging. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorry sir,” Lo’ak said immediately, distraught by the over-the-top reaction, hands unknowingly curling into fists by his sides. Whenever that sky people word ‘Jesus’ slipped from dad not having any control between the border of his two languages, the boy knew it was demanding gravitas. “I heard you CFB.”

“Good.” He thinned his lips. “Kiri, please.”

Lo’ak frowned at dad basically asking for her to play her brother’s keeper in Neteyam’s absence in two simple words.

She nodded. “I know dad.”

He caught a glimpse of his mother running in the distance, her father’s bow in her hand.

Just what was happening? What had you done?

Eywa, it had to be sky people.

Dad saw the realization in his face. “Stay,” he emphasized, one final time before he was also gone with the wind.

Lo’ak wouldn’t have obeyed if it wasn’t for his grandmother arriving just in time, keeping them busy with a story about the arrival of a wounded ikran with no rider.

You realized the gunshot wound puncturing your upper abdomen was there the whole time when the avatars put first aid and later slapped a rectangular sky people bandage on it that helped clotting or whatever it was called, the pain simply not being there had played a big factor in it with the body running on pure adrenaline.

(Crouching close to you, Quaritch had bragged, “We aren’t so bad after all, huh, sweetheart? It’s called civilization. Your daddy ever taught you about that?”

Civilization, your ass. They needed you. There was nothing well-meaning about what they were doing.

And the nickname had ticked you off, sullying the good memories of father, your head slammed into his nose in full power after a hiss.

“Now my daddy taught me that!” you spat in English as other avatars had tackled you. The man claiming to be Quaritch was smiling as he wiped away the blood trickling down his nose.

What was the point in trying to patch you up if they were going to do this, then?)

You were now a part of an elaborate trap to lure your father in. Bait. The worst position to be in. This was the kind of trouble Lo’ak would get himself in. It was too late to go back now, the mess you’d gotten yourself into had made itself known.

Think, think! How could you get out of this?

Within the unsleeping forest’s nightly noises chirping all around you, a specific call in the air halted your train of thought.

It was mom.

Your parents were here. But how? How did they know where you were, exactly? Dread and expectation pooled in your heart, coexisting in a nauseating mix.

Father must be thinking that you already caused so much trouble, they couldn’t know you were also hurt, you’d never hear the end of it.

But there was no time to think, the pain you should have been feeling was ebbing its way into your body, and she was calling in the night to inform you to get ready.

All hell broke loose when the man who held you tight from your queue was shot right from the back of his head with an arrow, collapsing right on top of you.

You couldn’t get away in time to not be crushed by his dead body and promptly got squished between the mossy soil and him, his gun was hurting you, the wound on your stomach getting in the way of you using your core to push the body off.

How many minutes had passed with you struggling to get him off as a hurricane of bullets roared, you didn’t know (it hurt, pain was climbing towards the threshold) — mom was able to break free from the weight of a whole AMP suit, as you’d heard as a child, a Na’vi was naturally strong, but you couldn’t even crawl out. Panic was a rope tightening around your ribcage as your breathing picked up

All of a sudden, the weight was gone, and the only remaining thing from it was the big gun left from the avatar you found yourself hugging for dear life, eyes wide as saucers. Before you could see whoever had done that, you got hoisted up right back on your feet and tried to run, only to be held tighter and pulled behind the trunk of a tree.

“Hey, it’s me, it’s me!” Clumsy, overwrought hands were cupping your cheeks and — and oh, it was your father.

You didn’t know whether to be afraid or cry from happiness.

Once he was sure you registered it was him by staring intently in your eyes with that edge of the softness you’d missed so much, his hold shifted to your neck and around your shoulders, and he gave you a look-over, checking for any wounds. Too bad what he was searching for was behind the gun you were holding. “Are you hurt?” He shook you when you were too stunned to answer. “Are you hurt at all?”

“No,” you shook your head automatically, it was weak against the explosions of bullets raining down all around you, but father had picked it up regardless, only focusing on you for the moment.

In the darkness, nobody could see the blood running down your body, that bandage had come out at one point.

“On my mark, we’re gonna run, okay?” He nodded to you, tomahawk axe in hand coated in a dark substance, commanding your full attention. “Follow me. Ready? Ready?”

You weren’t ready at all, stomach feeling like it was being stabbed at every heartbeat, but you couldn’t tell him that.

Instead, you ran like hell, moored by father’s taut clutch on your forearm pulling you forward to match his incredible speed dodging roots, bushes and branches.

Things stopped moving only when you were enveloped in mom’s embrace, consciousness almost flying off from the relief that washed over you. Kisses were peppered along your hairline and forehead, her mumbling your name in gratitude blending with your panting. Tears burned bitter in your eyes, but you couldn’t cry, not when father was looking at you like that, chest rising and falling. You instantaneously remembered why you were holding that gun at the intensity he was radiating, tail escaping between your legs and letting mom hold you.

At least this way he wasn’t able to objurgate you.

Over her shoulder, you saw three ikrans instead of two. Heart soaring, you were skipping towards him in pure astonishment in a heartbeat. “Hey buddy!”

His head lowered down towards you in bird-like movements. In this angle, it looked like he was giving you a razor sharp-toothed big grin.

“He brought us here,” your mother said. The hand you were going to pet the ikran with stopped midway at her dejected tone. “You have passed Iknimaya, I take it. On your own.”

You didn’t know what to say, feeling immense guilt at having made her this disappointed over it. If this was any normal situation, any normal fight at all, you would have shot back with, ‘Well father told me to do it.’

But you were tired.

Your pain threshold was being threatened, and you needed to get to your grandmother before any of your parents saw the situation you were in and this escalated into the worst fight you were going to get into in your entire life.

Father’s only response was a dead cold, “C’mon, we gotta get outta here.”

He didn’t talk to you after that. Not one word.

Squatting on an ikran’s back on a flight with an abdominal gunshot wound you were trying to hide was not an option unless you wanted to pass out midair and was looking for a free dive, so you were all but hugging the poor thing’s neck like a monkey, trusting him to follow your parents while you concentrated on mentally fighting to level out the pain.

Nonsensical as it was to believe the gun stuck between your ikran’s neck and your stomach was acting as a tampon to lessen the bleeding, you were concerned with how dumb it must have looked to father and mom, how incompetent they must think of you that their daughter didn’t even know how to ride right.

Got an ikran for nothing.

Would they be less proud of you seeing how funny it appeared, nevermind that it was to contain your pain all the while not trying to faint?

But no words were exchanged about it.

Father clamping up right after he’d made sure you weren’t hurt (yikes) had resulted in this awkward trip succumbing in total silence. They had sandwiched you between them, only necessary space for the ikrans to beat their wings freely left, so close that you could discern the scariest look on father yet, deepening the lines of age in his face while simultaneously expressing his barely contained desire to kill someone.

A ticking time bomb.

Forget speaking at all, but not only did he never address you until now, he didn’t even look in your direction for once. You knew because staring at him for five minutes straight for him to just acknowledge your existence had proven to be unfruitful.

And the tears involuntarily streamed down your cheeks with how utterly worthless and alone that made you feel, trapped in this agony you couldn’t help but hide because he’d think you didn’t deserve to complain after bringing it upon yourself. You would rather bite your tongue and bear the pain than stay dreading his reaction.

Yeah, no, he couldn’t know.

Mom was looking over at you every one minute to make sure you were okay after her ears picked up on your sniffles, arrows of worry shot from her side sinking down your skin every single time, and you hated to make her this way.

Your ikran kept comforting you through tsaheylu until you landed.

Father had promptly jumped down, agile and making haste away somewhere, passing you by and giving the cold shoulder. You all but slid off your own ikran, managing to make the gun stay where it should be, as you couldn’t help but weakly call out to him for one drop of consolation. “Father…”

He didn’t stop for you, quickening his steps, but his ears twitched, the tail beating the air ferociously halting and lowering before it returned to the previous motions, and those were the only indications that he’d heard it Lima Charlie.

The man just didn’t want to talk to you.

And you had to make yourself believe it wasn’t the emotional devastation that had you falling down, but the wound sucking out all your energy now that you had gotten to safety.

“Ma’ite?” Mom rushed to you. “Ma’ite, what’s wrong? What is it?”

“I’m okay, mom, it’s okay.” You were sitting on the floor, cross-legged. Thank goodness you still had the unbreakable willpower (and not the fear of Eywa put into you by father) to hold your shit together. “I’m okay. Just tired. My knees buckled. Weak, you know?” You swallowed, smiling. “I’m just… Just resting.”

Her gaze full of concern studied you, zeroing in on the gun you clung on for dear life against your stomach. Her hands lovingly brushed your hair, gripped your shoulders and elbows even though you were disgustingly clammy all over. It was grounding, anchoring within the ocean of pain washing over you in waves.

“Oh, why are you sweating so much? You’re freezing.” You clutched the gun harder in a panic when she grasped it, most likely to put it away. It was the wrong reaction to have, but you weren’t exactly in the position to function healthily.

Mom, as any other person would, got suspicious from it, her eyes flying up to your owlish ones — blanked out like a frightened animal. “You’re fine now,” she whispered, thankfully attributing it to how disturbed you must be, still not out of survival mode. “You are safe, my daughter. Mom is here.” She cupped your cheek, but every touch to your body hurt now, even when it was away from the gaping wound, still gushing blood, trickling down your hips and getting you scared that it’d be discovered once you stood up. “I’m here.” She searched your soul to know just why you were grimacing at her attempts of comforting. “I will take this now, you do not need it anymore.”

You snapped out of the gradually darkening gray haze mom’s lulling was laying you down gingerly into. “No, please don’t,” your breathing hitched. She was going to see. She couldn’t see. You had to avoid this somehow, as long as you could. Grandmother’s tent. You would make it, you had to. “I’ll… I’ll just sit here for a while, okay? I need to just… take a small break, and then I’ll… Can you go back? I’ll follow later. Father is angry, I don’t—”

“Nonsense.” Incredulous and enraged suddenly about something you couldn’t put a finger on, and before you could stop her, she tried to haul you up with her by gripping your upper arms — colors exploded behind your eyelids, getting you you to lose consciousness for two seconds, your vision flooding back in a starry kaleidoscope. When mom’s voice reached your ears, it was in staccato exclaims your ears were ringing too much to discern. She was shaking you.

You weren’t able to sit up straight anymore, leaning forward — mom had caught you, utterly confused and panicked at the same time. And then your head was lying on the crook of her elbow resting on her legs she’d tucked under herself. The moment you’d switched from sitting to straight up lying down was missing from your memories.

A baby being cradled. Yes, this is exactly what it was like. Gentle arms surrounded you amidst the pulsating sea of agony.

Your body was letting go, but your arms were vices around the gun, still holding that last line. Don’t let go. Don’t let go. They can’t know. Father will be so mad if he learns. “‘m okay… ‘st restin’…”

When your eyes cleared enough for the surroundings to be only a bit blurry, your mom was looking at the hand she’d just tried to take away the gun with, caked with your blood that had stained it, out of it and perplexed like she didn’t want to believe it.

Her gut-wrenchingly stunned numbness sent the misery clawing its way inside into overdrive, pulling your consciousness down to the earth from the clouds it was ascending to. “Not mine,” you forced out, but it came out as begging. Everything was falling apart. The plan was so simple, why couldn’t you do anything right? “Not mine. Please. Mom, it’s okay.”

“No…” Mumbling, she started sharply swaying back and forth, and with one brutally vigorous attack, she ripped the gun away from your arms, and hurled it away — then it was over. Your sob wasn’t due to the motion hurting you, it was all entirely for the broken wail of your mother at seeing the bloodied mess, tears spilling from her eyes as she reached down to press down at the pouring liquid. “No! No! Oh Great Mother! Why did you hide this! Oh, my daughter!”

“No, mom, I’m fine, it’s nothing. Not my blood. Not my blood, okay?” You reached up weakly and wiped at her cheeks with trembling fingers, your heart got crushed worse than the pain could beat you down at her grief — lungs constricting. Where was all the air? “I’ll get up. I’ll go to grandmother, don’t cry. Just resting.”

Frantically looking around, she yelled, “Jake!—” but her voice didn’t quite come out, breathy as if she’d been punched in the ribcage seconds prior.

A heartbeat’s worth of nothingness, after which you were full-on freaking out. Only one thought: Father will be angry.

“No!” You shrieked, and blood swelled in one strong pump against mom’s fingers. She looked down at you in anguish, pupils blown wide, arm tightening around you as if you were a flailing bird. “Don’t tell him! Don’t tell father! He’ll really kill me for this—”

“No, no no no,” she shook her head, frenzied, tone cracked from beginning to end. “Do not say that. Don’t you ever say that—”

But you were struggling in her arms, wanting nothing but to crawl away into a hole, no reason registering whatsoever, only instinct. “He’ll be so angry,” you begged, pleading, pink spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth. The sound of gurgling accompanying the words you forced your whole body to form. “You can’t tell him — you can’t! He already hates me!”

The more you thrashed around and kicked your legs, the more you bled.

“Please, Great Mother!” The more mom lost her mind, hissing and howling hysterically, crazed, hugging you tighter and rocking. “Jake! Jake! Ma’Jake!” She put her temple against yours. “Not my daughter, please, Eywa…”

Why was she being like this? It wasn’t that serious! You were okay!

Delirium claimed you hot as she kept calling his name and her unbreakable hold on you kept you in a cage of a mother’s despair. In your feverish mind, a threat to your life was coming. Weakness spread like wildfire around your body and chipped away at the pain, slowly picking it apart to replace it with drowsiness. “Don’t call ‘im,” you continued to repeat, over and over again. “I’m just taking a break. Don’t call him over. He’s gonna be angry. He’ll hate me. He hates me. Please, mom.”

The sentences slurred together, shortened, wilted away pitifully, your voice died down, tongue deteriorating into only echoing, “He hates me.” A withered away, old flute.

Your ikran was bellowing in the distance and you looked. The torches on cave walls were illuminating him and finally revealing to you his beautiful color scheme.

And then your father was here, falling to his knees right beside you, his glistening wide eyes flying everywhere around your body — tracing all the blood, hands hovering above you as if he didn’t know where to start piecing a shattered vase back together.

It was over.

Fully expecting the chastising you were about to receive to shake the floating mountains so bad the enemy would be able to spot you, you began to apologize — pride be damned, this battle be lost, you’d failed anyway. “Please don’t be mad,” you shuddered, meek and unsteady, tunnel vision flickering at the edges only perceiving him. “It’s my fault—I’m sorry—please don’t be angry—”

“Stop talking,” he ordered, rough and harsh, eyebrows knitted tightly, and out of breath — probably because of how hard he was trying to hold the anger back. You knew. That had to be it. “Don’t speak.”

Ah of course. This was only natural when he had refused to utter a single word at you the whole way, denying you the temporary comfort of a simple glance.

Even the hand he pressed down so ruthlessly firm on your stomach it might as well be a boulder pinning you down was meant to be punishment, the whines your unbreathing lungs couldn’t stop turned into yowls — you hadn’t even noticed your hands were wrapped around father’s wrist in an effort to push him away, scratching him, but he only added his other hand on top of the other in return.

“Hang on, sweetheart, I got you, please hang on a little longer,” he pleaded, but you were already too far gone, Eywa was cruel to have plugged your ears to the endearment you’d been dying to hear from him for so long, making the last things you were aware father said to you the fact that he didn’t even want to hear you talking.

And you fulfilled his wish.

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#dad!jake x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x reader #dad!jake sully x daughter!reader #jake sully x reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #sully family x reader #mom!neytiri x reader #neteyam x sister!reader #neytiri x daughter!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #kiri x sister!reader #irma: 📝#📖: light

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bonny-kookoo · 2 months

Text

Jungkook

Princess | Exposed

In which you just want to stay.

Tags/Warnings: Wolfdog Hybrid!Jungkook, Showdog Hybrid!Reader, Enemies to lovers, Angst, Fluff?, Brat!Reader, Jungkook has major brat tamer energy, reader has some issues, mentions of depression

Length: 3.5k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Jungkook quite honestly has been thinking about buying one of those toddler-harnesses for you at this point to keep you in sight.

Because again, for the second time today, he’s lost you- and this time it seems serious, because it’s been half an hour, and he’s yet to pick up any trace of your scent.

And deep down, he worries.

Both about your safety, but also about your intentions. What if you’re fed up with everything? What if you’ve been boiling all this time, quietly, simply playing the easy to fool hybrid girl with the rosy tinted glasses? And if you’ve really snapped, how far would you go to get away from your past life?

What are you willing to offer in exchange for freedom?

Despite knowing it’s not allowed, Jungkook has been taking you places. Because after learning that you’ve never bought your own groceries, fridge almost empty, he’s simply taken you to a small convenience store to get some basics to stock up on. And you were like a child at Disneyland- wide eyes checking everything out, mesmerized by the commercials and music, and colorful advertisements all around.

Something so mundane and.. boring to him, turned out to be the most special thing ever to you.

And so, he’d taken you to the mall today- filled with numerous stores from shoes to accessories to food and electronics. But maybe that was a bad idea to just push you into the deep waters right away- because honestly, he’s not sure you can swim without support just yet.

He’s so stupid. He should’ve thought about this.

Jungkook is concentrating more, following every way you both took before in hopes of somehow catching any sight of you- and suddenly, there’s a hint of your scent again, giving him hope and boosting his energy, ears standing tall, twisting around as if he’s echo-locating you like a bat. And then, you tug on his sleeve- and at the sight of you right behind him, he can’t help himself.

“Fuck, don’t ever scare me like that again!”

He’s hugging you tightly, before he leans back to check on you, trying to find anything wrong with you- but you’re fine, apart from the clear sense of fear this whole incident must’ve spooked into you. “I’m sorry-“ you start explaining yourself. “-there were so many people, and then someone bumped into me, and suddenly you were gone-“ you ramble, but he shakes his head, slowly becoming more calm again.

“it happens, I’m glad you found your way back.” He tells you, and you nod. “you want to go check out the shoe store?” He wonders, when you suddenly cling to his arm instead, ears flat down. Only now does he realize your tail is tucked between your legs, as you’ve become very much fearful of this entire situation.

“can we.. maybe come back another day?” You wonder, voice quiet, but he nods.

“Don’t worry, we can come back any time you want.” He offers, before he pets your head, and takes your hand right after. “for now let’s go home, yeah? We can get some food on the way back and eat it at your place.” He offers, and you nod.

“Jungkook?” you wonder, and he hums as you both exit the building, making you feel a lot better. “…thank you.” You say.

And for some odd reason, the way you look at him makes his heart jump a little.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

The sight of you and Jimin so close and.. Happy, makes him feel odd.

You seem so excited and at ease, docile and oh-so sugary sweet in your demeanor. And it’s not at all an act you put on- he knows what you look like when you try and pretend to be someone you’re not, and this version of you he’s getting to see right now is not just a mask you’re putting on. You’re still very much a handful, and there’s obvious moments of irritation still- but you don’t act out at all with Jimin, not in the way you do with Jungkook at least.

Do you really not like him? Or maybe you’re actually into Jimin?

It sure looks like you want to charm the older guy, happily letting the young man choose something to eat for you at the hybrid-friendly cafe down the street. Jungkook feels oddly.. Disappointed. He’d wanted to take you here himself actually, and now, this experience is taken from him, in a way.

Is he being the spoiled brat right now? Because he sure feels like throwing a tantrum right now.

“If you want to go home you can, by the way.” Jimin suddenly says, catching Jungkook’s attention- and he notices how you now look at him too, with a strange expression. “I didn’t mean to drag you here.” Jimin apologizes, but Jungkook waves it off.

“It’s fine.” He simply says, when suddenly, you change seats- sitting down next to Jungkook, arms on the table, face turned towards him to sneak a glance at him. “What?” He asks you, unsure what you seem to be searching for- but you just shrug.

“Nothing.” You just answer. “Why’re you being so grumpy right now?” You ask, and Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“I’m not grumpy.” He argues lowly, poking at his half-eaten waffle on his plate.

“Totally not.” You tease, still looking at him though. “You gonna finish that?” You ask, pointing to his food on the plate. He shakes his head, and without thinking much cuts up a piece of the waffle, before he holds it out for you to take- something you very happily do, clearly more than eager to receive the food from him in this way.

Jimin smirks to himself, leaning his chin on his hand as he watches the interaction.

“You really got the big bad wolf all tamed.” He teases Jungkook, who growls almost on instinct, glaring at the older guy across from him- though when you kick the leg of his chair beneath the table, he does cut up another piece to feed you.

Proving his point quite clearly, making him smile.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Even thought Jungkook knows he shouldn’t, and that this needs to go to a lawyer asap, he can’t just ignore his own curiosity about your contract.

Nothing he thought he’d be reading could’ve ever prepared him for the actual contents of the contract itself- from quite frankly ridiculous rules and guidelines you have to follow, to definitely illegal sections like the overall length of it all.

Apparently, from what he’s read Up to this point, your entire life has been completely ruled by your management. Whatever you want to do, be it buy something, go somewhere, say something in public- it all has to go through the agency and has to be approved first. Every step you take is basically monitored and controlled, and not just your actions are regulated. Even your overall diet, workout routine, health check-ups and whatnot are all in this contract.

And the worst of it all has to be that you’ve been pulled into this at such a young age that you probably grew up believing this all is normal.

You’re currently sleeping on his.. Carpet in front of the sofa instead of on it for some reason, but he’s not questioning it too much. You’ve got your weird habits, and maybe this is simply just the freedom of choice finally becoming real to you as well- and if that’s the case, so be it. Still, he puts a blanket over you and at least moves your head to rest on a small pillow instead of the hard floor- unable to quite watch you like this.

Or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s gonna have to deal with your cranky mood if you wake up sore.

But you definitely notice him, not yet quite as asleep as he thought you would be, as your hands reach out and catch him off guard, successfully making him lay down next to you on the carpet, eyes wide as they look into your impish ones. “you’ll nap with me.” You say, decide more or less, and he frowns at that, lifting one brow.

“weird. I don’t think I’ve been asked if I want to.” He questions, crossing his arms next to you, but you just pout, pushing his chest so he lays on his back, and you can cling to him, halfway getting comfortable on top of him.

“.. I want you to nap with me though.” You mumble, and he sighs.

“Well, asking if I want to would still be a nice thing.” He explains, and it causes you to grow quiet for a little while, until you sit up, back towards him while you look into your lap. “You could ask me right now, you know?” He offers, trying to joke- but you’re clearly not accepting his attempt at lightening the mood.

“I don’t want to.. hear you say you don’t want..” me, you want to say. But you can’t say it out loud, not yet at least. “..to be close to me.” You say instead, but he still gets your thoughts.

“You can’t hide away just because you’re scared of getting into an uncomfortable situation.” He reassures you, hand reaching out to gently touch your back, before it rests on your tail. “and just for the record, I’m very much okay with having you close.” He hums towards you, and you slowly lay back down, avoiding eye contact with him now.

“Can I… really be normal? And boring?” You ask, and he laughs.

“Boring probably not, but normal? Yeah, we’ll surely make it happen.” He nods. “I told you I’ll help. We’ll go step by step.” He reassures you, and you sigh.

“Do you think we could be friends.. after all this, too?” you ask, and at that he softens up quite a bit, before he nods.

“of course.” He answers. “jimin would hate me if I was to just send you off like that.” He attempts to joke.

“But jimin is.. a friend.” You say, glad he can’t see your face like this. “you’re.. not. You know?”

Its quiet for a bit, before he speaks, softly. “I think I know.” He answers.

“if we…” you start but drift off, unsure, hesitant.

“If we?” He urges gently, still laying so close to you that you can hear his voice rumbling in his chest where your head lays.

“if we held hands-“ you start, fingers itching to hold something. “-do you think we’ll dream the same thing?” You wonder, and he chuckles.

Before his hand reaches for yours to hold.

“I don’t know.” He answers, fingers intertwining with yours as if to not lose it while he sleeps. “But we can try and find out.”

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Jungkook has by now realized that most of your antics are never with the intention to actually annoy him. You simply learned over time that in order to gain attention, getting on people’s nerves is the easiest and quickest way.

That doesn’t mean that you don’t test his patience.

You’re slowly learning the right steps, since he still has to uphold at least the appearance that you’re both working towards your performance, so that no one will get suspicious of what might be happening behind closed doors. And he’s quite impressed by you- because once you’ve gotten the hang of it, you’re very good- but you don’t seem to be able to bring yourself to concentrate on one thing for too long, before growing bored of it.

“You have to learn when to be serious..” jungkook sighs, watching you throw your shoe in the corner. “We still have to practice, you know?” He tells you, but you just huff, clearly bored. “What’s wrong?” He asks, sitting down next to you in the middle of the practice room, by now aware that nothing you do is ever ‘just because’. There’s always a deeper reason as to why you act the way you do.

“I’m tired.” You simply tell him, and he has to admit, you do look less energetic than usual, eyes a bit red.

“Didn’t you sleep?” He asks, not mentioning your habit of gaming until late into the early hours simply because he too, has realized that he needs to change. He’s been judging you purely on his own thoughts and expectations, never really letting you explain yourself. You’re difficult, yes, but he’s also not an angel, he’s come to realize.

“Couldn’t.” You just shrug. “Tried, really early!” You offer him, the urgency in your tone making it clear that you want to me sure he doesn’t think your bluffing. “But I couldn’t. So I got up again, did that weird workout we do for warming up- but I was only.. You know, exhausted. Not tired.” You try and explain.

“Hm. Does that happen a lot?” He asks, pulling an odd little white hair from your clothes- most likely from your faux fur coat you wear.

“...sometimes.” You admit. “But I didn’t have any meds for it at home anymore. I’ll have to ask management.” You say.

“You take medication for sleep?” He asks, at this point always on edge whenever you talk about your job or the people you work with.

Or rather, the people who use you.

“Yeah, and for my headaches and heats and stuff.” You say.

“...your heats?” He wonders suspiciously, and again, you nod.

“So that I don’t get them.”

It’s quiet for a while, and mostly, because Jungkook doesn’t really know how to approach this topic. It’s sensitive after all- depending on how sever it might be. How long have you been medicated for it? What type of medication has been used? And most of all-

Have you ever had any heat at all? Or did they start so early that you’ve basically been taken away any chance at letting your body develop normally?

“It got too tough to always like, change dates and stuff just because I got my heat. I used to get them all over the place- like, it was never on time.” You explain, playing with the zipper of your thin jacket.

Okay. That at least means that you had heats before- making Jungkook feel a lot less nervous about this.

“How long have they been putting you on those meds?” He asks, and you seem to count in your head.

“Two years? Maybe?” You say. “Now that I think about it, last year is when my headaches and stuff started.” You mumble.

“Well, it’s common. When you’ve been on that stuff for too long, you get sideeffects.” Jungkook explains.

“You think I can just.. Not take them?” You ask.

“When’s the next time you’d have to?” He questions.

“This weekend.” You tell him, and he sighs. Internally, his entire being is screaming no, don’t make her take them, absolutely not, she doesn’t need them- but logically, he can’t just decide that. Even if you don’t want them, not taking them before you both even know if the case against your company is strong enough to 100% go smooth no matter what wouldn’t be the smartest choice. And also, Jungkook doesn’t know how to help someone who hasn’t had their heat in years. Of course he’s had girlfriends- he knows how to handle normal heats, how to care for someone who’s going through it, but he doesn’t know how to help you.

Maybe, or mostly, because he’s starting to become attached to you in a very specific way. And quite frankly, that scares him.

It’s terrifying.

Because once you’re out of this contract, you’ll go home to your parents- and from what he’s learned due to Jimin’s internal poking around, is that your parents live more than eight hours away from here- which means that once you live with them, you’re gone. Now is really not the time to develop feelings for you- especially because technically, you don’t fit together at all.

You’re loud, and vibrant, and excited and outgoing- he's introverted, he likes to stay inside, enjoys his quiet days at home. You’re gonna want to explore the world once it’s opened up to you- while he himself rather wants to stay here, where he knows every street and every alleyway. And yes, there’s also his own personal issue at hand.

What if he’s too much for you to handle?

He already accidentally scruffed you on your couch like a rabid dog last time you got too much for him- who's to say he won’t go even further if given the chance? What if you realize his interest in you is no longer platonic- making you flirt with him with deeper intentions? Can he keep himself in check if you were to tease him like that?

Could he withstand the temptation?

You tug on his sleeve, and only now does he realize he’s been staring at nothing for a while now. “You okay?” You ask, and he nods, patting your shoulder before he gets up.

“Yeah. Now come on, let’s practice a bit more.”

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks as you open your door, news of your contract having leaked to the public- and it’s not just yours, but almost all of the other hybrids under your agency.

Police had already questioned you earlier today, and Jungkook had been unable to get a hold of you until now- but luckily enough, you don’t seem too shaken up as you hug him, inviting him into your home. “You’ll be alright.” He reassures you, holding you for as long as you need him to, before you lean away a little, offering him space.

“Where am I gonna go now?” You worry, and Jungkook sits down on your couch with you for the moment. “They said that since the company owns the apartment, they can evict me.. And the will, I know they will. Where do I go now?”

“Don’t worry about that for now, okay?” Jungkook tells you. “I’ve always got space in my home for you if you need it.”

“Really?” You ask. “Jungkook.. Do you think I can finally meet my parents again?” You wonder, and he shrugs.

“I’m sure they’ll see the news soon. And if not, we can go figure it out. For now, you’re basically free- okay?” He explains, and you nod.

You stare at your hands for a second, before you look up at him again. “Will you.. Stay with me?” You ask, and he leans his head to the side a bit.

“What do you mean?” He questions, and you move your body to fully face him on the couch now.

“I meant it like I said it.” You whine, annoyed he’s clearly playing dumb right now. “Even, like, if I meet my parents, and get a new job or whatever, and all of this stuff is over-” You rant, leaning closer. “-will you stay?”

He knows what you’re asking. Now more than ever before- but he still can’t believe it fully. He feels like this might just be you feeling like you have to stay with him, but then again, there’s also not really much logic in the possibility of you just wanting him because he’s the only option you have. Jimin is there too-

So why him?

“Why me?” He asks you, voicing out his concerns, and you lean back on your heels, thinking about that question for a little moment.

“Because you don’t care. About.. What you could get from me.” You explain. “You’re honest with me, even if I don’t like it sometimes.” You admit. “You nice to me because you want to. Not because you have to.” You say, deflating visibly now as you fall quiet.

“I do.” He admits. “And I hope you.. Like me too, because you want to. Not because you feel like you have to.” Jungkook tells you, and you watch him now in wonder, before your ears pin back, making him a bit nervous-

Though all you do is charge at him in an attack with no intent to hurt, but just to be held.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #hybrid imagine #bts jungkook fanfic

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writeyouin · 3 months

Text

Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Fem-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Learning To Get Along

A/N – So, a user on A03 suggested the snake servants’ new names. It was a stroke of genius on their behalf, and I can only thank them for it.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

MALE VERSION HERE

GN VERSION HERE

Tag-List: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @sseleniaa @randomgurl2326 @22carolina08 @astrxwitch @yu-87 @clover-1767 @lil-bexie @thesimpybitch

Do you think you can manage that? Lucifer’s words hung in the air, creating an icy barrier between you.

So, Lucifer thought himself too good for low-life Sinners such as yourself. That wasn’t fair. Sinners might be in Hell for a reason, but sometimes such reasons were just fucking stupid. Heaven ought to base their entry requirements on a person’s character or strength of heart, not just their actions. You had met plenty of Sinners who were in Hell because of the most trivial shit.

There were those who liked to sleep around, but if sex positivity was a problem, then how did Heaven explain Angels like Adam, whom Charlie had told you about in excruciating detail. Lust shouldn’t have ever been considered a Sin, as long as all participants in any such carnal act were above age and consenting.

Then, there were a few murderers you knew. Granted, murder made the lines blurry, but some Sinners killed in self-defence, or only targeted others such as themselves, protecting the innocent in a very gruesome Dexter-like fashion. Were they really to be condemned? And who the fuck gave a damn about Sloth. So, some people were just bone idle, who gave a shit? Heaven apparently.

And now, the ruler of Hell was condemning those around him as well. He was supposed to care for his people, good or bad. Not to mention those who were solely created for or born in Hell, such as Imps, Hell-Hounds, or the Deadly Sins themselves; they hadn’t committed any crimes to get sent here originally – it was their home.

Your eyebrows furrowed, creating an annoyed crease along your forehead.

“No,” You told Lucifer, who stared at you incredulously.

No? Didn’t you understand the situation? He was Lucifer. King of Hell. He could destroy you with no effort spared, leaving no trace that you ever existed, and you were telling him no? He wasn’t an unreasonable guy, but how could you possibly think that being around him was a good idea? Did you respect Charlie more than you feared him? Granted, he didn’t go out much so few knew how powerful he was, but no other Sinner would dare deny him his wishes.

You saw the look he was giving you and decided to explain yourself.

“Look, I’m only here ‘cos Charlie thought it was a good idea, and if you genuinely hate me, I’ll go and you’ll never have to see me again, but you’re not even trying right now. You haven’t spoken to me. You don’t know anything about me, and frankly, I think Charlie’s right, you do need someone to talk to.”

“I don’t-” Lucifer started.

“You don’t even know why I’m down here,” You interrupted angrily, though you refrained from raising your voice. “And you don’t want to know, right? ‘Cos all of us filthy Sinners must be the same. Ooh, we squandered your gift of Free Will and now we deserve to suffer for eternity, do we? Grow up!”

Lucifer stared at you in astonishment, and you sighed, apparently not finished in your tirade, “I’m going to my room tonight, but tomorrow, I expect that you’ll at least try to tolerate me. Who knows? We might even find some common ground. We both love Charlie, don’t we?”

Lucifer didn’t know what to say to that. He certainly loved his daughter, more than anything else in the universe, but you? He still suspected that you had some kind of ulterior motive… everyone in Hell did. Yet, you had a point. He would do this for her, even if it meant he had to tolerate you.

Who were you, really?

He looked at you closely for the first time, trying to pick out some detail of who you might have been. It was even more disturbing than he previously thought. Before, he only saw a human. Now, he examined your clothes. There was little to say about the style, but your apparel was reminiscent of a Holy Animal. With the ruffled cuffs of your jacket, the way the back peaked to create the image of feathers, and the yellow ribbon that lined the white material, you looked like a dove.

Yet… Despite living in the Hazbin Hotel, Charlie had insisted that you didn’t seek redemption. Why go through the farce of dressing like an Angel then… unless? No, you couldn’t be. No Angel would dare stray from Heaven unless they were ordered to.

Lucifer held back a glower, trying to keep his emotions in check so you wouldn’t sense his thoughts. There was a possibility, though small that you had been sent by the likes of Adam to spy on Lucifer and his kin, ensuring that none of Charlie’s patrons ever found a way to the Pearly Gates.

Well, it wouldn’t take long to uncover your ruse. Lucifer had ways of telling an Angel from a Demon, and once you were asleep, he would know.

“Yeah,” Lucifer said evenly. “I love my Charlie.”

“So, you’ll try then.”

Lucifer nodded his head in consent.

“Okay, I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”

The sentiment went unreturned as your King returned to his chambers, biding his time until you slept.

When you returned to your room, you got ready for bed. The day had been long and unusual. Honestly, you didn’t feel that you had a place in the manor, and you longed for your room in the Hotel, even if it was smaller, had a large stain on the carpet (which Nifty had named Vivienne) and an unruly infestation of roaches.

In the short time you had spent there, it had become home.

You would miss the arguing inhabitants, the energetic wake-up call from Charlie, the feeling of safety that Vaggie instilled, and the sound of Alastor’s morning and evening radio broadcasts. Yet, you hoped you might find something equally valuable in return if only Lucifer would open himself up to the possibility that you didn’t want anything from him.

After glancing out of your window, which had a balcony you could step out to if you so wished, you took in the whole of the Magne District which was the heart of Pentagram City. If you strained your eyes, you could just see the flashing neon of the Hazbin Hotel, and if you turned your gaze up… There was Heaven, out of reach yet always in sight, taunting most Sinners, yet emboldening a brave few who dared to wonder What If? What if they could change and gain admittance to a better life?

You sighed and dared not ponder further when you needed to get some sleep.

Throwing yourself on the plush bed, you got comfortable, arranging yourself how you liked, then leaning over to your bedside table, you blew out the cherry candle you had previously lit.

You rested your head atop the satin pillows, then frowned, feeling a lump beneath it. You reached under and pulled out a rubber duck, painted to look like a Hellhound-Duck hybrid. Assuming it was one of Charlie’s childhood toys, you placed it carefully atop the table; it would keep you company on your first night in a strange new place.

Lucifer waited till the late twilight hours before leaving his workshop. He transformed himself into a snake, slithering silently through the Hallways, ensuring that you wouldn’t hear him coming.

Before being cast out of Heaven, detecting an Angel would have been a simple task. He would just know, the way he now knew how to read a Demon. Yet, with you giving off little sign of Demonic energy, he now had to test if you were of Angelic origin. There were two ways he could do so. The first was by spilling your blood. Those who were born in or sent to Heaven had golden ichor instead of the oozing red or black goop of Hell-spawn and Sinners.

However, not wishing to alert you to his presence, Lucifer decided to opt for the other method.

Once he was inside your room and certain that you were in a deep slumber, he reverted to his original form, standing over you, his pupils turning to slits at the thought of a traitor in his house. If you were what he thought you to be, he would kill you immediately.

He pulled a small yellow twenty-sided stone from his pocket and baring his fangs in anger, he pressed it lightly against your skin.

Nothing happened.

Lucifer’s expression changed from one of deep-seated loathing to confusion. You weren’t from Heaven. If you were, the stone would have glowed a brilliant shade of Gold. Instead, it remained its original dull yellow.

Very well.

He would keep his word and… Tolerate you.

He left your room as quietly as he had entered it. Tomorrow, things would be different.

Lucifer didn’t sleep that night; the idea of change was terrifying.

The next morning, when Lucifer finally resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to face you eventually, he headed downstairs, assuming that was where you were.

“JUST TRY IT!” He heard you yell. “TRY! OPEN YOUR MOUTH, DAMN IT!”

“Uh…” Was all he could think to say as he entered the kitchen and found you clinging to one of the snake cleaners he had created the previous night, in a rodeo-like fashion. The creature was trying to buck you off, with a somewhat derpy expression, probably stupidly assuming it was a game; Lucifer hadn’t bothered to instil them with much intelligence since he didn’t need them for anything more than cleaning.

“ARGH!” You grunted as you were dislodged from its back.

“What- What is this?” Lucifer asked, confused.

“Oh shit!” You cursed, embarrassed to have been caught in a less-than-dignified position. You attempted to regain a little composure by standing up, then held up a handful of wadded-up pancake.

“Do they eat?” You demanded, referring to the reptilian cleaners, “’Cos they’ve been in a picture frame their whole lives, and they must be hungry by now.”

Of all the stupid things you could have done, Lucifer couldn’t help but crack a smile, though he had the decency to hide his laugh behind a clenched fist and pass it off as a cough.

“They don’t need to.”

“Okay, but can they?”

“If they wanted to, I suppose so.”

You glared at the mushed-up pancake, “I fucking knew it. Spick, Span, eat your fucking breakfast!”

“I’m sorry, who now?” Lucifer asked.

“Well, they clean, don’t they? Spick and Span seem to fit unless you have something better to name them.”

Lucifer chuckled, a half-short-lived chuckle, but one all the same. You were more chaotic than he expected.

“Fine, if you want them to eat, you’ve got to cook in style.”

He waved his hands energetically, his outfit transforming from his usual suit to one befitting a flashy Michelin Chef. He was comfortable in the role of an entertainer as he made a dazzling display of cooking up eggs. With the flash-bang of indoor fireworks, the island counter gained a conveyor belt to transport several dishes, all perfectly presentable and giving off a delectable aroma of herbs and spices.

Eggs-benedict, frittatas, and shakshuka shot by you, closely followed by a hungry Span, though his twin was busy writhing on the conveyer belt, trying to get to his feather duster, yet doomed to chase it since he didn’t think to travel in the opposite direction so it would meet him in the middle.

The sight was memorable to say the least, even when Spick knocked the food onto the floor and his brother was left stupidly sucking on the corner of the countertop where his seemingly new favourite dish had splattered.

You couldn’t help laughing.

“See?” You struggled to get the words out, “I knew they’d like food. I’m just a shite cook.”

Lucifer gazed at his dishes proudly, even though they were no longer fit for either of your consumption.

“Hah,” You said, feeling somewhat awkward now that the moment had passed and Lucifer’s gaze was upon you, trying to figure you out. “I’ll uh, clean this up.”

“No need, leave it to Flim and Flam,” Lucifer said nonchalantly.

“You know that’s not their names.”

“Whatever. So… we’ve met, there was breakfast with a show. We done for today?”

The smile fell from your face as you realised that all of this was just another of Lucifer’s acts. Granted, he might have actually had fun with it, but it was all just in the name of claiming he had tried to be around you, and just wanted to leave as soon as possible.

“I don’t know. I was going to go into the City if you wanted to come.”

“I can’t. I have… plans.”

Lucifer’s mood soured as he thought about visiting Heaven’s embassy to set up the meeting for Charlie. He hated everything about that building. The décor was just a cruel reminder of everything Heaven had banished him from. Moreover, while the Angels had to respect his power, they didn’t respect him; their cruel words and thinly veiled insults always cut him the deepest. Not to mention how bitter he was that the balance of power was uneven. Sure, Heaven had an embassy in Hell, but there was no such building in Heaven where Demons could work to arrange meetings between Angels and him.

It would always be Lucifer going to their building, on their terms, usually at their behest.

“Plans? So, you’re setting up Charlie’s meeting today?” You guessed astutely. “You know, I’m walking that way too.”

Lucifer guessed at your game. You probably hadn’t been going in that direction at all, but this was all in the name of ‘trying’. One way or another, he would have to learn to get along with you.

“Fine. Let’s go,” He said, flicking his hand back blasély, even though he found the idea of walking the streets of Hell daunting.

It would be better if he could teleport there, but at least, by the end of the day, you would have something positive to report back to Charlie.

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angelltheninth · 10 months

Text

A Needed Confidence Boost

Pairing: Clark Kent x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, co-worker relationship, praise kink, insecurity, fingering, size kink, desk sex, shy!Reader

Ao3

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: Clark commission for @prettysourabbie,

“Miss, I hate to tell you this, but if you can’t deliver on a good story, or even run errands right I don’t really have much need for you as an intern or a future reporter.” Perry White leaned back in his chair, looking at you dismissively, making you feel small under his scrutiny and cold glare. It might be just you but you felt like the temperature in his office dropped, or maybe it was just your fear of losing your new job that had you shaking.

The hand on your back was a sudden source of warmth, “Come on mister White, its not her fault the bad guys were out cold. There’s not a single reporter in the city who got the scoop on them. And probably won’t for a little while since they’re being jailed right about now. She did nothing wrong.” Clark stepped up beside you, his large frame would be the perfect shield from this embarrassment.

“I-I’m s-sorry. I’ll do better. P-Promise.” You honestly felt like crying. This was supposed to be your big break, instead you ran all over this city, dragged Clark with you, lost him half-way there, and still had nothing to show for it.

Mister White looked from you to Clark and with a heavy sigh waived you away, “One more chance. Stick with Clark, he’s been though this and now he’s one of our best reporters.”

“Y-Yes sir. Thank you!” You weren’t out of the woods yet but just stepping out of that office and still having your job felt like an achievement, “Sorry for getting you into trouble Clark.”

But Clark’s eyes held no trace of anger or annoyance towards you. Its strange to feel such warmth form eyes as blue as his, yet every time he looked at you there was a heat spreading through your body. “No problem. He was right, I’ve been though this. Meet me here tomorrow and I promise we’ll find something juicy.” You looked up at him, eyes hopeful but a tiny bit skeptical, how was he gonna just... find a story? “Trust me, I can feel it.” His large hand squeezed around yours. Were his hands always so big? Clark noticed what he did too, quickly pulling away and loosening the collar of his vest, “Tomorrow morning then?”

The slightly higher tone of his voice made your heart skip a beat. Right as it did Clark’s eyebrows rose up, almost as if he heard the elevated heartbeat. “Right. Tomorrow. See you, uh C-Clark.” You turned before he saw how hot your face got because in your head this sounded a lot like a date. A work date? Is there such a thing? Did Clark see you as more then a co-worker? Those questions kept you up almost the entire night, your alarm startling you from your bed and sending you running to the office room.

Or what was kind of an office room to Clark and his team.

It wasn’t as run down or cluttered as it was when they started but it wasn’t the best room either. They’d all been offered better but they always refused, citing that this room meant a lot to them. And so Clark, Lois and Jimmy claimed this office for as long as they liked.

You slammed the door open a bit too loudly in your haste to make it there. It must have been very loud cause it made Clark jump and cringe as he covered his ears, “Oh! Sorry. That was too loud.” You eased the door closed behind you and set your bag on what was actually Clark’s chair but he always let you use it when you were at his team’s office.

“No harm done, I have sensitive hearing so loud noises can be an issue, not your fault, I learned to live with it.” Clark chuckled, handing you an envelope, “Got something you might want to check out. I think you’d do good with this one.”

His smile exuded confidence so you were at least curious. “Clark... is this...” You looked up at him, then back at the apparent scoop he offered you, “C-Clark. This is Lena Luthor. Why would you give me this? I-I-I can’t go talk to her! I can’t even talk to criminals that Superman fights!”

Lena Luthor was the sister of Lex Luthor, current head of Lexcorp, and very much in the public eye right now due to a new tech she’s been looking into. No one’s managed to get an interview with her yet. Not even Clark and Lois, or Cat Grant.

“Well... she will be in Metropolis today and tomorrow. If you get a single word from her about her upcoming project I guarantee Perry will give you the job. I know she doesn’t talk to many reporters but look at you, she can’t say no to your cute face.” This time he didn’t just stop there, rounded the desk and walked up behind you, pointing with his finger, “She’ll be at this lecture in about an hour. You’ve got this. I know you think you don’t have what it takes but I read your reports and they’re amazing.” Once again your heartbeat speed up at his warm, kind words, but also from the close proximity of his body to yours. “You just need help with being more vocal.”

“A-And how do I do that?” You didn’t dare to look up at him, he was already slouching, his breath feeling both hot a cold against your ear. When his mouth opened to speak it startled you, to hear him so close. You back up against his frame, his hands catching you and, with best gentle efforts, pushing you back forward. How is he so strong to push you entirely against the desk, your breasts against the papers, your ass accidentally brushing against his crotch. “Fuck me.” You whisper, very much to yourself and not meant for his keen ears. “You’re really strong.”

“Huh? What was that?” Clark leaned over you rather then backed away, “Did you just say you wanted me to fuck you?” It was so unusual for Clark to tease you, it took your brain a bit to reboot and catch up. “I wasn’t referring to that kind of vocal.”

“I d-didn’t mean it like that. Come on Clark, let me up.” You couldn’t budge him off, it was all too easy for him to hold you down with one hand pressed against your lower back.

You risked a glance at him, his cheeks were as pink as one of his favorite shirts, his frame bulging with every breath. He was flustered too! So how could he sound so calm? “I think you should try it again. Tell me what you want.” He wasn’t forceful by any means, he kept his eyes soft, his voice low, his hand massaging your thigh under your skirt. When did you open your legs? When did it get so hot in here? “Speak up. Clearly, or I stop.”

That was the most threatening thing he said thus far. This was beyond embarrassing, “What if someone comes?”

“Isn’t that the point?” Clark’s large hand cupped between your legs, two fingers bending in a scratching motion over your wet panties.

“N-Not f-funny Clark.” You moaned, the noise echoing around the small office.

“Funny to me. Plus, I have sensitive hearing remember? I’ll hear them. Now, sweetheart, tell me what you want. Be clear, be loud, be confident. I know you can do it.” His words stoked the fire inside you, your head swimming with every dirty thought you’ve had about him and never had the confidence to say. His hands on around your ankles, pushing your legs up, your eyes locked on his huge, thick cock as it enters you and splits you open with its girth, his muscles flexing, sweaty and glistening as the echoes of naked flesh slapping fill your bedroom. “All of that? I see. I can’t do it to you here but I hope this will satisfy you enough.”

You felt two thick fingers moving your panties to the side and plunging into your heat, your pussy clamping around his thick digits, “I didn’t mean to say all that.”

“But you did. So beautifully too.” His fingers curled upwards, pushing against your g-spot, “My fingers might snap in half if you keep clenching so hard. Are you close? Tell me.”

“So close. Feels... full. And with just your fingers. Your cock would split me in two.” It would hurt to take him, you’re sure your pussy would have a hard time with it. “I w-want... your cock Clark.” You confessed in between gasps and whimpers and the wet, lewd, dirty sounds of Clark’s palm slapping against your thighs.

“I can tell. A girl like you need something thicker to make her happy.” You waited for the sound of a zipper, instead it was the sound of your pussy squelching and stretching around a third finger, “I can hear someone. You better finish if you want an orgasm. I know you can finish on command. Squeeze my fingers, show me how you’re gonna milk me dry.”

“Clark!” You called his name once before slapping your hand over your mouth, remembering that he said there was someone on their way here. You let him drag your orgasm out one stroke at a time, his fingers sticky with your juices, dripping down all the way to his wrist.

He pulled them out carefully, setting your panties and your skirt back into place and wiping his fingers on his pants, right over the outline of his cock. “How are your pants not bursting?” Even covered you could tell he was fucking huge.

Clark laughed a little nervously, “I admit I have a hard time shopping for underwear and condoms.” Oh, so he was just humble bragging now, lovely. “You did very well once you got into it. If you can do this with me you can definitely talk to miss Luthor.” Fuck, that’s right. You had to go interview Lena Luthor!

#clark kent x reader #clark kent imagine #clark kent smut #clark kent fanfiction #superman x reader #superman imagine #superman smut #superman fanfiction #clark kent x female reader #superman x female reader #dc comics x reader #dc comics imagine #dc comics smut #dc comics fanfiction #dc comics x female reader #maws x reader #x female reader #smut

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ddejavvu · 2 years

Text

Lost and Found - Eddie Munson x Reader (Part 2) | Part 1

WC: 7.0K / navi / preview / request

Summary: Eddie is happy to teach you everything he knows about DnD, he just wishes you weren't so goddamn distracting

Contents/Warnings: eddie n wayne, besties forever <3 very very fluffy lots of yearning and ridiculously cheesy moments, lovesick!eddie, reader wears a skirt and eddie's hellfire shirt from part 1, suggestive material, but still minor-friendly (part three will not be)

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

“Christ on a cracker, son,” Wayne swears, nearly pushed to the ground as Eddie slams the trailer door open, “Calm down.”

“Sorry Wayne!” Eddie barely takes a second to breathe before he flies through the space, feet pounding on the matted carpet of the trailer as he races to his bedroom.

“What’s the rush?” Wayne is well aware of his nephew’s recreational habits, as well as his business endeavors, and shudders to think that there might be some drug-crazed lunatic after the boy.

But Eddie pops his wide-eyed face out from his bedroom only seconds later, shirt and pants torn off to leave him in his boxers as he darts for the shower, “There’s a girl coming over.”

That’s a new one. Wayne has heard a few feminine voices outside the trailer before, when they’re out of stock and need replenishing, but Eddie never showers for them. He probably should, Wayne always tells the boy that if he stinks any worse he’ll have to move out, but he’s never shown an interest until now.

“And,” Wayne peers into the bathroom, seeing Eddie frantically combing out his hair, the plastic nearly snapping under the pressure he’s putting on it, “This is a special girl?”

“I- I don’t know,” Eddie huffs, his crazed panic still alive as he whirls around the bathroom for a clean towel, “Sort of. I don’t really know her yet.”

“Y’know ‘er enough to care.” Wayne prompts him, and Eddie deflates slightly. He’s looking in the mirror, trying to part his hair neatly so that he can wash it easier. He stops, his hands falling from his head to his sides as he stares hard at his reflection.

“I want to impress her.” Eddie admits, his usual self-assuredness now gone, “Or- impress isn’t right,” He puzzles for a moment, his eyes drifting over his features, “Just- I don’t want to scare her away.”

“Well I think it’s good you’re showering then,” Wayne lightens the mood, “‘Not sure she could handle your B.O.”

“Shut up,” Eddie takes the out, shoving at his uncle’s shoulder with no real force, “I’m gonna order pizza for us. She wants to learn how to play DnD.”

Wayne’s eyebrows skyrocket, “She wants to learn? Or have you kidnapped and brainwashed her like those basketball players tell me you do?”

“She’s under my control,” Eddie rasps, his voice thick in his throat.

Wayne snorts, standing up straight from where he’d been leaning against the doorframe, “Alright, boy. I’ll leave you to it, but if you need help getting ready for tonight, I’m here.”

“Thanks,” Eddie breathes, flashing his signature grin at his uncle before he shuts the door.

Wayne watches the closed door with something light and airy filling his chest, maybe laughing gas at the way he chortles hearing Eddie drop the comb into the sink for the tenth time since he started. Then he turns, and the reality of their home hits him.

It’s messy.

Far too messy to accept company, which is why the pair hasn��t for years. Aside from Eddie’s trusted friends, all of whom are far too sloppy themselves to bat an eye at the general clutter around the trailer, no one has set foot in their space for five long years.

Now, he’s all for encouraging Eddie to be himself, that if someone doesn’t like who he is, then they’re not fit for a friend. But he’s sure that you’re far too important to Eddie for that test just yet, and he’s not sure he wants you to get to know his nephew as messy when there’s so many other qualities he possesses. That’s something you can discover later, when you’re hooked on his charm and wit and won’t mind stepping on a pair of boxers or two to get down the hallway. He gets to work clearing away mindless clutter, collecting shirts strewn over the furniture and paper plates tucked under the couch.

By the time Eddie finishes showering (and falling, twice), Wayne has the entire living room de-cluttered, although most of the loose papers and items have made their way onto the kitchen table instead of being put in their places. Eddie steps out of the bathroom, towel tucked around his waist and a hand in his curls, dragging his fingers through the wet tangles, and he stops dead in the doorway, eyes wide.

“Shit,” He breathes, watching his uncle crouch to tug an empty beer can out from behind the door and stuff it into the trash bag he’s got going, “Wayne, what are you doing?”

“Cleaning up,” Wayne states the obvious, raising an eyebrow unimpressed at his nephew’s cognitive skills, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Are-” Eddie stops combing through his hair, standing limply in front of his uncle, “Are you doing this ‘cause Y/N’s coming over?”

“That’s her name?” Wayne smiles, “‘S a pretty one.”

“You are,” Eddie marvels, “Uh, thanks, Wayne.”

Wayne’s hands and knees burn against the scratchy carpet, the beer can in his hands sharp from being crushed. He stands, the worn fabric of his flannel falling limp against his distressed jeans. He stands there, tattered and messy, looking at the way Eddie’s cleaned himself up.

He’s wearing a tank top, a KISS shirt that he was gifted on his tenth birthday. It’s got tour dates on the back, one of which Wayne took Eddie to as a present. Apparently it didn’t look good enough as a t-shirt though, because the boy had taken scissors to it a few years back, carving out holes the size of craters that expose part of his side.

His hair is bundled up in a bun atop his head, scrunched up and crimping itself while it dries. He always tells Eddie not to do that, to leave it down so that each strand can dry individually, but Eddie hates the feeling of wet hair on his skin, so he pulls it up and leaves it sitting until he can blow-dry it.

The same ripped jeans he’d worn to school are back on his waist, belt cinched tight around him with his handcuffs pinned there. Wayne always tells him he’ll confuse someone, make them think he’s an undercover cop, but Eddie only laughs at him. There’s a chain hooked through his belt that rests on his hip, dipping close to his knee and gleaming in the artificial light above them.

There’s two necklaces bouncing against his chest as he walks over to help Wayne with the overflowing trash bag, his typical guitar pick and a dog tag he’d found in the street one day. It says Sprinkles on one side, but Eddie swears that it looks metal if he turns it the other way, the owner’s number stamped across it.

He has an earring in. Eddie almost never puts an earring in, because his at-home ear piercing hadn’t produced the most sanitary results. He says it burns when he wears earrings, but here he is, a heavy silver hoop through one ear and a black cuff pinched tight at the helix of the other.

Wayne looks at his nephew, his boy, and pride surges through his chest. Pride, a little bit of awe, and happiness. He cares. This is something Eddie really cares about, you are something Eddie really cares about, and it’s obvious by the things he’s done for you before you’ve even come over. Eddie has always cared, perhaps a bit too much, and it’s easy to tell when he does from the little things he pieces together to show it.

“You look good, boy.” Wayne breaks the careful silence the two had slipped into, watching Eddie tug the straps to the garbage bag. He reddens slightly, his cheeks flaring in color, something akin to the shade of the tomato soup he’d managed to botch for last thursday’s dinner. How the boy had undercooked a can of soup, he’d never know.

“Thanks, Wayne.” Eddie mumbles, forearms flexing as he ties a knot into the strings of the garbage bag, “I’ll take this out.”

“We should start on your room,” Wayne points out as Eddie tries making his frantic exit, spooked by praise. Eddie nods once, and Wayne lets him escape to the dumpster to process the emotions he’s got swirling inside of him.

He knows the boy gets shy around praise, which is why he tries not to overwhelm him. But today is different, today is a bigger step than he’s seen Eddie take in a long time, and it’s hard not to burst with pride.

When Eddie comes back inside Wayne is already tiptoeing around his room, dodging suspicious socks and cassette tapes strewn about. Eddie gets to work stacking those, a comfortable silence falling over the pair as they set to work.

“Wayne?” Eddie’s voice is timid, meek.

“Yeah?” Wayne reaches under his bed, pulling out a magazine that he shouldn’t have and a sock, something Wayne doesn’t want to think about as a pair.

“Do you.. Do you really think I look nice?” As soon as the words are out of his mouth he’s stammering, shaking his head so that his bun wobbles dangerously, “I- I mean, like- not like nice, but do you… you think she’ll like it?”

“Son, if she asked you to teach her about your game, I’m sure she’s not scared of you.”

“But is that enough? Shouldn’t she,” Eddie abandons the cassettes in his hand, scratching bashfully at the back of his neck and combing through the stray hairs there, “I dunno, like me? Not just not hate me?”

“Well I’d give her some time if I were you,” Wayne chuckles, reminded of the restlessness of youth, “You’ve only known her a day.”

“Right.” Eddie nods frantically, eyes glued to the tapes he busies himself with again, “Yeah, I will.”

“Hey,” Wayne reaches out, bracing a hand on Eddie’s knee that’s bouncing frantically, “You’ve got this, boy. You can do this. She’ll love you.”

The word love has Eddie’s cheeks flaring the color of it, a deep red that Wayne sees most often on valentine’s day cards. He chuckles once more at his nephew’s crush, shaking his head and getting back to sorting through clutter.

By the time Eddie’s watch beeps, a tinny, mechanical sound that has him leaping onto his feet to rush for the door, they’ve gotten his room mostly under control. There’s a pile of dirty laundry stull bulging out of the closet, but that can’t be avoided, as the hamper is broken from a rather unfortunate sledding endeavor a few months back. You’ll just have to live with the sight of yesterday’s t-shirt in the corner, they decide.

“Okay, uh- thanks, Wayne.” Eddie brushes his hands on his pants, already sweaty from nerves, “I’m gonna go pick her up now.”

“Right,” Wayne stands, trash bag in hand with all of Eddie’s discarded food wrappers and beer cans, “Good luck, son.”

The term flares up Eddie’s blush again, but Wayne doesn’t comment on it, offering him a quick hug, a simple pat to the back. It’s all Eddie can handle right now, already a bundle of nerves that he doesn’t want spilling out.

“There’s a $10 on the fridge,” Wayne calls out after Eddie bounds down the steps of the trailer,tugging the rubber band out of his hair and letting it spill over his shoulders, “Use it for pizza!”

“No, no,” Eddie waves his uncle off, plunging his hand into his pocket to retrieve his wallet, “I got it!”

“Eddie,” Wayne glares at the stubborn boy, “Use the money on the fridge.”

Eddie balks at the aggressively kind gesture, but a wry smile curves over his lips, “Whatever. I’ll just sneak cash into your jacket while you’re asleep.”

“You will not,” Wayne huffs, but Eddie’s already taken off for his van, slamming the door behind him with a hearty laugh at his uncle’s grouchiness.

When Eddie pulls up to your house, having checked the little slip of paper buried in his pocket, oh, around a thousand times, one of the upstairs lights is on. It’s the only one on, the rest of the windows pitch black, and Eddie worries that maybe something is wrong. Your house looks near abandoned, but at the rough chugchugchugging of his engine, a downstairs light flicks on. He catches your silhouette thumping down the stairs and sees the outline of a skirt over your hips. His stomach flips and he shuts off the van, hurrying out so that he can beat you to the door. It seems gentlemanly, something he’s never been too concerned about, but it feels right in the moment.

He’s inches from the door as you wrench it open, a fist raised to knock while you step out of it, not expecting him there on the other side. Your eyes widen but you can’t stop your momentum, stumbling clumsily into his chest despite your efforts to slow down.

“Oh!”

“Eddie!” You speak in unison, your voices mingling just as your limbs do. His arms wind around your waist, laying over his hellfire shirt that you’ve tucked into the waistband of your skirt. The material is soft under his touch, but not as soft as your face, which hits his shoulder in your scuffle. Eddie feels a burst of warmth flood through him at the skin-on-skin contact, and holds you steady as you right yourself against his chest. Your hands brace themselves frantically on his stomach, your chest heaving as you gape at him, “I’m so sorry! I- I wasn’t paying attention, I just heard you coming, and- and,”

“If you were that excited to see me,” Eddie doesn’t know how he’s being as suave as he is, because his heart is practically hammering through his ribcage to affix itself to you like a lovesick leech, “You could have asked me to come earlier.”

You feel your cheeks flare with heat as you slump forwards, the crown of your head hitting Eddie’s clothed chest, “Stoooop.”

Eddie chuckles, adjusting the pitch of his voice to your own, “Stoooop.”

“You’re mocking me!” You shove at him lightly, making him stumble a step backwards, “You’re the worst.”

“Hey,” Eddie finally lets you go, his skin instantly cold where it had once touched yours, “You gotta be nice to me. I’m teaching you DnD, remember?”

“Fine,” You huff dramatically, “You get a pass, but only for tonight!”

“Deal.” Eddie’s eyes gleam with mischief, “Ready?”

“Ready.” You confirm, bouncing excitedly on the balls of your feet.

“Van’s there,” Eddie gestures to his van, nearly tripping over his own feet when you grab his hand, eagerly tugging him along, “Woah!”

“I told you I was ready.” You gush, the words coming out in a soft giggle that makes his heart burst.

You look out of place in his van, too heavenly to be wriggling comfortably into his worn seats. There’s a half-drunk water bottle by your feet that crunches beneath your shoe, and you apologize hurriedly for crushing it.

“‘S okay sweetheart,” Eddie snickers, reaching down to pluck it out from under your feet, “It’s, like, months old.”

“Eddie,” You chide, “It’s probably growing something!”

“It’s fine,” He urges, snickering at your horror, “It’ll put some hair on your chest.”

He leaves you with that, shutting the door to your side of the car and jogging around to the driver’s side door. He wrenches it open, his hair bouncing against his chest as he sits down with a flounce. The radio that he has is already preloaded with the cassette tape he uses whenever he drives Wayne anywhere, his favorite metal artists and their less-overwhelming songs. Wayne always says heavy metal ‘makes his ears bleed’, he’s more into classic rock, but Eddie will be damned if he isn't listening to Mötley Crüe on any drive longer than two minutes. He figures that he’ll be courteous to you at first, just in case metal isn’t your thing either.

To his surprise, a minute into Merry Go Round, your brow dips in concentration.

“Mötley Crüe, right?”

Eddie swears he nearly passes out. His usual response to surprising information, a dramatic flailing of his limbs, doesn’t seem very safe just now, and you’re lucky he doesn’t jerk the wheel to the side.

“Yeah,” He grins dazedly, “You listen?”

“Sometimes!” You pick at a loose thread on your skirt, “I’m into a bit of everything. Really jus’ whatever comes on the radio.”

Eddie suddenly likes you more, if possible. Everything new that he learns about you only adds to the little list of Reasons he Cares, the first and most important being that you’re kind to him. He would never admit it, but he’s like a little lost puppy, trailing after the first person to scratch behind his ears.

“I like your van.” You muse, and it’s so genuinely sweet it nearly makes Eddie scream. You brush your fingers over a Black Sabbath sticker that’s peeling off of the dash, reaffixing the dusty backing to the smooth plastic. It doesn’t stay, it pops right back up again, but you’re onto the next detail now, a pair of old sneakers in the door, autographed by the patrons that watch him perform with his band.

“These are cool,” You marvel at the sloppy, mostly-drunken signatures scrawled over the canvas, “Who are they?”

“Our fans,” Eddie boasts proudly, even though he’s sure seven hammered 40 year olds aren’t the most impressive thing in the world when it comes to an audience, “They watch us perform, remember my band I told you about?”

Eddie watches your eyes light up from the rear-view mirror, but you’re lucky he doesn’t take his eyes off the road completely to see them unfiltered.

“That’s right!” You remember your earlier conversation, “That’s so cool, Eddie, you’ve got fans!”

“We do,” He chuckles, fingers sweating against the steering wheel as you near his trailer, “You should come to one of our shows sometime.”

“If I do, do I get to sign the sneakers?” You’re far too excited to put your name on a pair of ratty old shoes, repurposed as a trophy, but Eddie would be willing to buy a new pair just so that your name can be the only one on the fabric. He thinks about that, about having your name displayed over him, and blushes. He hopes you don’t catch it.

“Of course you can,” Eddie promises, turning much more carefully than he normally does into his typical parking spot, the van sputtering to a stop when he removes the key. He turns to you before you open the door, “How about this saturday?”

“Next,” You compromise, “My parents get back Saturday night and I can’t be out without them knowing.”

“Your parents are gone?” Eddie cocks his head to the side, crimped hair bouncing as he does.

“They’re getting the last of our stuff from our old house,” You nod solemnly, “We don’t even have mattresses here yet.”

“No shit? What have you been sleeping on?”

“The couch,” You recount sadly, “It’s not very comfortable, but it’s better than the floor.”

“Damn,” Eddie sympathizes, yanking on the latch of his door and hopping down, “Well, babe, I’ve got a mattress inside, if you’re interested in staying the night.”

It’s bold, brazen, uncouth, but he tops it off with a teasing grin, so it’s okay. You can’t help the giggle that escapes you, happy that it mostly filled the empty van as he slams his door, rounding the front to open your own for you.

“Very gentlemanly,” You praise him, slipping your hand into his to step down from the lifted van, “I’m impressed.”

“Well don’t get used to it,” He teases, squeezing you against his side with a hand that drifts suspiciously low, “I’m not usually this nice.”

“I must be special.” You concur, giddiness in your grin that sends Eddie’s stomach into a cartwheel.

You are, Eddie nods once at you, afraid to voice his thoughts in case they somehow ruin the unspoken adoration between you, More than you know.

Eddie’s pleased to find nothing but a slight oil stain in Wayne’s usual parking spot, his uncle having predicted that Eddie would want alone time with you. He’s half expecting to find a box of condoms on the kitchen counter when he walks in with you, but flicking on the light of the trailer reveals only a spotless living space, junk shoved in drawers to be dealt with later.

“I like it.” You decide with a curt nod, eyes landing on the array of DnD paraphernalia stacked on the couch, “Oh, I almost forgot! I brought you this.”

You reach into the waistband of your skirt, the slim paperback book you were reading earlier neatly molded to your side. It doesn’t retain the curve of your side, flattening back out into its shape as you hold it out to Eddie.

You swear you catch his eyes wandering towards the spot that you’d just pulled the book from, but they snap up to meet your own before you can verify it. He takes the book from you with an eager grin, “Thanks, sweetheart.”

“Y’wanna swap?” You stride over to the couch, plucking a book titled Players Handbook: Compiled Information for Players and Dungeon Masters out of the pile.

Eddie falters slightly, surprised that you’re so eager to get into what might be the least exciting part of learning DnD: the rules.

“Sure,” He nods carefully, taken aback, “Lemme just clear the couch.”

He bends over to do so, and you can’t help that your eyes trace the newly-exposed skin of his chest. The shirt he’s wearing already reveals his side, but as his arms stretch to grab boxes and papers off of the cushions in front of you, it shifts to show his stomach.

You don’t realize you’re staring until he stops in front of you, an eyebrow raised that you don’t catch because you’re ogling him.

“Everything okay?” To your horror, there’s a twinge of amusement in his voice, and you’re certain he’s caught you.

“Yes!” You scramble to act casual, thumbing past the cover of the book to appear busy, “Yes, let’s get started.”

Eddie sits before you do, surveying you with that same cocky gaze. It makes you nervous, your stomach churning slightly, and you perch on the end of the couch that he’s not spread out over.

He lets out a scoff, reaching out, “You can get comfortable, Y/N, I don’t bite.”

He does, however, grab, which you find out when he yanks your legs out from under you, tugging them outwards so that they rest over his lap. He’s reclined against both the arm of the couch and the back cushion of it, looking far too composed for the rampage of butterflies against his stomach.

You melt into your new position so naturally that it scares you. It feels right, cracking the spine of the handbook while your legs are draped casually over Eddie’s lap. Stretching out and getting comfortable on Eddie’s couch seems just as casual as it does on your couch, and you can’t help the dizzy grin that spreads over your face as you realize this.

“Somethin’ funny?” Eddie’s brow quirks at your expression, and you bury it behind the book, shaking your head.

“Right,” He sets a hand over your ankles, locking your legs into their position on his lap, “Lemme know if you’re confused, babe, I’m here to help.”

Though the DnD handbook is informative, and slightly exhilarating to peruse, you hope that the actual gameplay is less complicated than it sounds. You’re barely twenty pages in, a good 40 minutes gone by, and you’re not sure you can keep all of the information straight in your head. Hopefully Eddie cuts you some slack, or else you might seriously slow down their game.

"Page?" Eddie glances up from the pages of your novel, peering over at the handbook in your grip.

You look to the corner of the page from where you'd been reading up on character classes, "23."

"The Fighter." He speaks in a low voice, raspy and dramatic. You giggle, half amused by his theatrics and half impressed that he's managed to memorize the 130-page handbook in front of you.

"What about you?" You glance pointedly at the book in his hands, shifting your feet in his lap slightly. You don't realize it, but they press against a rather sensitive spot, and Eddie hunches slightly, his stomach caving in as he tries remaining composed.

"Uh," His eyes frantically skim the page, wide and panicked until they lock on a familiar name, "Weylin- Weylin is just, uh, crossing over the Bridge of Lost Souls."

"Ooh," You wriggle slightly in your place on the couch, consequently burrowing your feet further into Eddie's lap, "I love that part! You meet Ionia soon, you'll love her!"

He can’t take it anymore.

“Uh,” He shoots off of the couch, lowering your feet carefully back down to the cushions where he was sitting, “I’m getting kinda hungry. Pizza time?”

“Pizza time.” You nod jovially, flipping a page in the handbook, seemingly unconscious of Eddie’s predicament, “Pepperoni?”

“And sausage.” Eddie nods, “Be right back.”

When he comes back, tugging a crumpled bill out of his pocket to use for the food and pointedly avoiding his uncle’s money, you tuck your legs up under you to set him sit down. He peers over the top of the handbook, eyes drifting to the words appearing upside-down in front of his face.

His nose hooks over the tops of the pages, and you can’t help it: you giggle. He glances up amusedly at you, his own sweet laugh filling the air as he crumples into your lap. You raise the book over your head so that he doesn’t have to slip under it, and his eyes meet yours from where he lays on your legs.

You stare down at him, entranced by his features. His soft cheeks, his sloped nose, the tinge of red that spreads over his skin. His eyes, shiny and smooth, like melted chocolate that you can taste on your tongue. You brush a hand over his forehead, gathering up loose flyaway hairs that have gathered there. They’re malleable and wiry in your grip, and you twirl them around your finger once, twice, thrice, until they form a spiraled curl.

His eyes follow your finger, doe-like as they cross to track your movement. When you let the hair go it springs off of your finger, bouncing down to rest over his nose, and his eyes dart inwards to follow it.

Apparently it tickles his nose, because he scrunches it up, miniscule wrinkles etched like waterways on a map into his skin. You smooth the terrain, running the soft pad of your finger down the bridge of his nose and marveling how his face relaxes as your touch waves over it.

He shivers slightly under your finger, and you notice a bridge of freckles, the lightest you’ve ever seen, dotting his nose. They stand strong over all of the rivers you have yet to flatten, stretching down towards his mouth in beautiful smile lines.

“You’re pretty.” You muse, your voice barely more than a whisper as you trace his features. He lets his eyes flutter shut when your fingers brush under them, his lashes tickling your skin.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” He coos, the softness of his voice gaping that growing sinkhole of adoration that’s been tugging at your chest ever since you met him. His pretty face, his sweet words, his kind actions, all of them mark him as safe, as good, as loveable.

With his eyes closed, you’re allowed to be as obvious as you want when ogling him, not that you were very subtle before. Your eyes latch onto his lips in a similar fashion as you want your own to do, roving over every crease, mark, and indent in the soft, pillowy muscles.

Before you can think about it, you touch them. Your fingers, their pads soft and hesitant, prod gently at his lips. That has his eyes shooting open, carmeled brown irises meeting yours in shock.

Though you feel his gaze on you, you don’t stop. You let your hands linger on his face, soaking up every second of dazzlingly intimate contact you can get with the man. He studies your face while you study his, the both of you barely breathing while watching the other sit pretty. You swear you feel Eddie’s lips shift under your fingers, puckering ever-so-slightly to kiss the tips of your fingers, but then-

The hollow, sharp knock on the door of Eddie’s trailer shatters the intimacy of the moment, plunging you back into reality from the serene haze you’d been trapped in. You both fall from the clouds you’d lounged atop, plummeting back to earth with the thump of your hearts in your chests.

“I’ll get it,” Eddie scrambles up from where he’s draped over your lap, rushing to the door and snatching the cash off of the counter. You straighten yourself out while he grabs the pizza, cheeks aflame as you look around the room to avoid looking at him. You see a stack of vhs movies in the corner by the television set, and your eyes catch a familiar title.

Labyrinth.

“Okay,” Eddie sets the pizza on the counter, grateful for the paper plates the place provided you, “One slice or two?”

“Two,” You grin eagerly, reaching for the tape, “Are you the reason this was missing from the video store yesterday?”

He laughs at the sight of the VHS in your hands, “Yep, ‘had it since it came out.”

“Rude,” You scoff, “I wanted to watch it last night!”

“Bummer,” Eddie scrunches his brows, faux-sympathy written on his face, “‘Guess you’ll just have to come over whenever you wanna watch it.”

“Well I’m here now…” You push, clutching the case hopefully.

“Pop it in,” Eddie laughs, gesturing towards the machine, “‘Should be rewound already.”

You kneel by the VHS player while Eddie brings your plates over, and your back faces him. It gives him the perfect opportunity to ogle you, only feeling slightly guilty when his eyes trace the curve of your ass.

You turn before he can admire how the Hellfire shirt exposes the angles of your shoulders, abandoning its post and leaving your neck bare. He watches the skin there shift, muscles beneath the surface tensing as you crane it downwards to slide the tape into the receiver.

“We’ll work more on DnD later,” Eddie promises as the main titles roll, music filling the otherwise silent trailer, “We’ve still gotta get a character figured out for you.”

“‘M excited,” You speak through a mouthful of greasy pizza, pepperoni sticking to your lip, “Thanks for the pizza, Eddie.”

“‘Course sweetheart,” He grins at you, then hides his blush in the red tomato sauce on his bread.

Eddie truly believes that you’ll go over more later for the game. But when you finish both slices of your pizza, hands covering your stomach tenderly as he’s sure it’s stuffed, and curl up against the arm of the couch, he knows nothing else is getting done tonight. Your eyes are glued to the screen, Sarah’s dress glittering as her hair flounces with every movement of the couple. He’s never been a Bowie fan, but he reckons you are by the way your eyes shine whenever he’s on screen.

He’s jealous of David Bowie.

Oh, fuck, he never thought he’d sink this low. But he feels something unfamiliar and sharp prod at his chest whenever you pay just a little too much attention to the man on screen, and he prods at your feet with his own.

“Hoggin’ the couch,” He chides you, with no real scorn as he tangles his legs with yours, “Stretched out like you own the place.”

“Sor-ry,” You huff dramatically, clocking his teasing grin and knowing he’s just messing around, “It’s not my fault your couch is comfier than mine.”

Eddie remembers your admission, that you’ve been sleeping on your couch for god-knows-how-long, and his stomach sours. He studies your face, the way that your eyelids droop even though you’re clearly enjoying the movie, the wrinkling of your chin as you yawn. You’re clearly exhausted, and his space is the comfort you need.

He feels something akin to pride at that. You not only feel comfortable enough around him to curl up on his couch, but you feel comfortable enough to fall asleep. He might be new at this, the whole relationship thing, but he knows that’s big.

Suddenly he doesn’t feel such a large blade of jealousy stabbing at his heart anymore, because you’re not cuddled up to David Bowie on David Bowie’s couch, are you? No. You’re curled up with him, on his couch.

Take that, Bowie.

It’s around the one-and-a-half hour mark, only ten minutes before the movie ends, that he realizes he’s the only one watching. He’s been glancing back and forth between the screen and you for ages now, but when he checks up on you this time, you’re asleep. He can see your chest rising and falling, his shirt still worn proudly over your frame, and a sleepy smile curves over his face. Your lashes kiss your cheeks, casting shadows down your face that look like spiderwebs. It looks cool, and he makes a mental note to ask you if you’d let him put eyeliner on you to see if he can turn it into a spiderweb. It’s a design he’s been meaning to do on himself, but if he needs a model, why would you turn him down?

The end of the movie isn’t so entrancing to him anymore now that you’re snoozing, and once more he lets his eyes drift over your frame. Your skirt is tucked neatly under your bum, but your thighs peek out of it, soft and plumped by the way you’re laying. Then his eyes rove over your shirt, the familiar, hand-crafted design looking better on you than it ever has on him or his friends. It’s odd, seeing the shirt on anyone but the boys in his friend group, but he quickly decides that it’s his favorite outfit of yours, and that nothing in the world could top it.

The end credits announce themselves in an encore of the film’s soundtrack, and Eddie reluctantly parts from the cozy embrace you’ve found yourself in. He ejects the tape, stuffing it back into its case and tucking it carefully back onto the stack. Now that he knows it’s his ticket to time spent with you, he’s much more reluctant to take it back to Family Video tomorrow like he’d planned. Maybe he’ll keep it, late fee be damned.

“Y/N,” He hates the thought of waking you, but he hates the thought of inconveniencing his uncle even more, and you’re curled up on what will become Wayne’s pull-out.

“Y/N,” He tries again, soft and soothing as he taps your shoulder gently, “Wake up, we’ve gotta get you home.”

The clock only reads 10:23, but he’d feel guilty getting you home at an indecent hour. Typically, Eddie’s philosophy is etiquette be damned, but he has a feeling you wouldn’t be too happy about being dumped on your front porch after two in the morning.

“Y/N,” He slips a hand under your torso, his other sliding under your legs, “C’mon, wake up.”

You don’t. You must have really had trouble sleeping on your couch, because now that you’re dozing off, you don’t seem to wake up easily. Worry gnaws at Eddie’s chest as he hoists you into his arms and you don’t wake, only sighing contentedly and curling closer to him.

His eyes widen and his cheeks burn as you snuggle up to him unconsciously, your cheek pressed against his KISS-clad chest. Your nose nudges into his neck and he swears he sees stars, his knees weakening at the intimate contact like you hadn’t just been touching his lips hours beforehand.

“‘Gonna be the death of me,” He mutters, voice devoid of any real anger as he trudges down the hall to his room. His bed is neatly made, pillows stacked at the head that he reaches up and kicks down with one of his socked feet. It flops flat onto the mattress with a thump, and Eddie lowers you as carefully as humanly possible onto the bed. You aren’t too keen to let go, though, because your arms stay tightly wound around his neck. He tries straightening but you come right back up with him, brows scrunching in displeasure at being jostled around.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie laughs, lovestruck, “‘Gotta let go.”

“Eddie,” You mumble hazily, sound far too much like a lover he’s just accidentally jostled by getting out of bed to get ready for work in the morning, “Don’ go.”

“I can’t leave you here,” He reasons, returning your favor and smoothing out the wrinkle in your brows with his thumb, “I’ve gotta grab my keys and shoes, then we’ll take you home.”

“Nooo,” You whine, sleep tugging at your voice, “‘S too cozy here. I don’t wanna leave.”

“But no one knows you’re staying here,” Eddie’s afraid that your parents might come home early, discover their child missing, and storm his trailer with pitchforks, “Don’t you wanna head back home to your own bed?”

"Couch.” You mumble grouchily, “My parents aren't home," Your voice is groggy and weak, but Eddie swears it's more angelic than any hymn he's ever heard, "'S okay."

"Are you sure?" He reaches up, smooths a hand over your forehead then down your cheek without thinking, but before he can panic over the intimate gesture you're leaning into it, letting out a contented hum that quite reminds him of a kitten's purr.

"'M sure," You promise, already curling up cozily beneath his blanket, looking far too natural and perfect in a space you'd never occupied before, and Eddie feared, never would again.

"Okay." He's breathless and weak as your eyes drift shut, his hand lingering against the curve of your face, "G'night sweetheart."

He isn’t sure what to do from there. He could move his hand, he probably should move his hand, so that he doesn’t stand there for hours holding you, but that seems all the more tempting with every passing second. He marvels at his luck, how he’s managed to get to heaven without dying. Unless he is dead. But he’s almost certain he’ll be sent to hell for the sheer amount of drugs he’s sold to high school students, so he’s sure it isn’t that.

You must be an angel, he decides, one that isn’t afraid of the devil everyone says he is. He gets a brief vision of matching halloween costumes to that effect, a wiry halo perched on your head while devil ears adorn his. The scene’s unfiltered domesticity stuns him, along with how perfect it feels. It doesn’t feel awkward or forced, instead like something you’d come up with on the phone at ungodly hours and commit to months before the holiday.

He’ll bring the idea up to you tomorrow.

For now, he has to figure out where he’s sleeping. He’s not taking Wayne’s bed, but you’re in his, and that would be wrong.

Right?

Eddie studies the way your body is laid out on his mattress, knees tucked towards your chest and arms bundled up below your face, clutching the blanket he’d thrown over you. You take up a fraction of the mattress, the side that he normally sleeps on still unobscured.

Would it really be that bad if he laid opposite you? He wouldn’t touch you, he wouldn’t throw an arm over your waist, he wouldn’t tangle his legs with yours, he wouldn’t press a soft kiss to your forehead before drifting off. He wouldn’t.

He wants to, though.

He gives into another temptation, hopefully his last for the night, and lets himself indulge in your presence. He slides onto the end of the mattress, careful not to disrupt you as you slumber.

It feels weird, having someone in his bed beside him. Weird, but good. He decides, in fact, that there’s no better feeling aside from your fingers on his lips, than you in bed beside him. He stares up at the ceiling, willing the urge to kiss your nose away before he can screw up the best thing that’s happened to him in years.

One single, cautious glance thrown your way, and it’s all over.

Your hand is bared towards him, the smooth skin on the back of it in perfect kissing-range. He would be an idiot not to, right? That’s what gentlemen do, after all, they kiss the back of their lady’s hand. Typically not without her knowledge, or while she’s in bed with him, but it’s the principle of it, not the specific scenario.

He reaches for your hand hesitantly, and once his skin brushes yours he sees fireworks that light up the dark room. They nearly short out his vision, and when he sees clearly again, your hand is poised directly in front of his lips, his own hand still clutching it securely.

“Sleep good, sweetheart.” He whispers, near-inaudible in the darkness, then his lips press delicately against your hand.

Such unimaginable warmth and giddiness fill his chest, that he’s sure he’ll explode. There’s going to be Eddie Guts on the walls and ceiling, rotted sickly sweet from how infatuated with you he’s become in such a short time. Kissing you, albeit only your hand, feels like something he wants to do for the rest of his life, and he can only hope you’re gracious enough to grant him that privilege.

That’s a discussion for the morning, though, or never, Eddie reminds himself. He’s just kissed your hand in the middle of the night while you’re sleeping like a creep, he might not be too eager to admit that to you in the morning in a desperate plea to do it again. He refrains from peppering the rest of your skin in adoring kisses, but keeps your hand clutched in his own, marveling at the way that you can warm him up completely from a single touch.

It must be an angel thing, he decides, as he drifts off into a happy slumber, tomorrow he’ll ask you if it hurt when you fell from heaven.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

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bellaxgiornata · 7 months

Text

Under the Weather

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: Despite the fact that he's coming down with a cold, Matt refuses to heed your advice on staying inside instead of running around Hell's Kitchen in the freezing autumn rain. In the morning, you're left with an even sicker, more stubborn Devil.

Warnings/tags: 18+; Nothing but fluff and a stubborn, flirty Devil

a/n: Yet another little fluffy fic for Mandy's Sweater Weather Challenge by the lovely @she-likesorchids! Can you tell I had to make sure all my boys got a fic? This one was for the prompt "Let's just stay in bed." Feedback is always appreciated!

Finally finished with the after dinner cleanup, you washed your hands in the kitchen sink, the pounding of the rain outside the apartment a persistent backdrop to the evening. As you turned off the faucet and reached over to grab the towel from the nearby hook, you heard the bedroom door slide open. Glancing up from your place at the sink as you dried your hands, you spotted Matt exiting the bedroom dressed in his black suit, his black mask on his head but not yet pulled down over his face. You frowned at the sight of him, eyes focusing back on the windows covered in rainfall as the light from the billboard across the street flooded through them, coating the living room in a dark blue.

Focusing back on Matt, you hung up the towel before you began to make your way through the kitchen towards him. You noticed how he'd stopped mid-step on his way to the stairs leading to the roof access as you walked, his head shifting over his shoulder towards you.

"Matt," you said, tone lightly chastising.

It didn’t escape your notice how he'd instantly stiffened at the sound of your voice. You could also tell by the way his shoulders were slightly slumped forward and the faint red tinge visible on his nose that he still felt a bit under the weather. But of course, Matthew being Matthew, he apparently was still planning to go out. You should have known as much.

"Maybe you should stay in tonight," you suggested carefully, eyeing the thin material of his shirt as the rain only continued to dump onto the roof of the apartment. "You know, like we talked about earlier? At dinner?"

He turned fully towards you, straightening his back as his sightless gaze landed on your chest. His eyes narrowed a bit and you knew he was about to pretend the big bad Devil wasn't sick, but the faint sniffle from his stuffed up nose ruined whatever effect he thought he was about to have on you.

“I’m fine, sweetheart," he told you.

His voice was a little distorted because of the congestion and you scoffed immediately. Crossing your arms over your chest, you quirked a brow at him.

"You're sick, Matt," you pointed out. "You need rest. You said yourself earlier that nothing was going on tonight in Hell’s Kitchen. So stay in and take care of yourself. You'll be no help to anyone in the city if something actually happens and you're even sicker."

Matt shook his head at you, that stubborn expression still on his face. Of course he wasn't going to listen. He was going to ignore what he needed to do for himself for the sake of the people of Hell’s Kitchen, and as much as you loved and admired that about him, he really needed to learn one of these days that he was still only human. He needed to take care of himself.

But getting that through his head was damn near impossible.

"I don't get sick," he countered, voice still noticeably off. "I’m completely fine, sweetheart. I'm just going out for a bit to keep an eye on things. You don't need to wait up for me."

“Matt, it’s barely above freezing outside right now!” you exclaimed, throwing a hand towards the living room window. “And it’s raining . Ten degrees less and that would be snow right now! What you're wearing isn't even remotely warm. You’re going to make yourself incredibly sick if you go running around rooftops tonight dressed in that !”

Matt’s lips drew into a devilish smirk, a smug expression overtaking his features. The look might have had the desired effect on you if he hadn’t sniffled loudly yet again, his red nose scrunching up as he did.

“You like this suit,” he countered.

“No,” you said, holding up a hand as you corrected him. “I like how you look in this suit, Matt. I absolutely hate how little protection it offers for knives, baseball bats, and cold weather. There’s a massive difference.”

“I’ll be just fine,” he assured you.

Matt reached a hand up, pulling his mask down until it covered his face, leaving only his lips and chin visible. The gesture was meant to end the conversation, you were aware of that. Sighing in exasperation, you rolled your eyes at him. You knew damn well he was going to be miserable come morning.

“We all know you’re just going to do what you want anyway,” you grumbled, crossing the rest of the way over towards him. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t need you bleeding out and sick later.”

“I’m not sick,” he countered immediately.

“Mhmm,” you hummed out, leaning over to plant a kiss on his cheek, just below the black fabric of his mask. “Sure you’re not, babe. I’ll remember that when you’re clinging to me tomorrow and complaining about how awful you feel.”

You could tell by the way his lips pursed and the fabric had shifted along his face that he was shooting you an irritated look. The corner of your own mouth quirked up into a smirk. You’d seen Matt sick a couple of times before and he was always absolutely desperate for physical comfort–though you figured with his heightened senses, being sick felt a whole lot worse to him. And you figured it probably muted his usual ability to navigate the world as he was used to, especially with a stuffed up nose affecting his sense of smell.

“I do not get clingy ,” he disagreed with obvious distaste.

“Whatever you say, Matty,” you replied, lightly patting him on the arm.

You turned, making your way over towards the leather couch. If Matt was going to run around outside in the equivalent of tissue paper while he was sick, you were going to relax and watch some television while being smart and not going outside in the freezing autumn rain.

“I do not get clingy!” he stated again.

Abruptly he turned, storming his way over towards the staircase. You settled into the cushions of the couch with a shake of your head.

“Alright, you don’t get clingy when you’re sick,” you told him.

As you picked up the television remote from the coffee table, you saw Matt had paused yet again at the sound of your voice. Head turning just over his shoulder, cocked a bit to the side, you didn’t miss the deep frown spreading over his lips.

“You didn’t mean that,” he pointed out, tapping a gloved hand to his ear. “I could hear your heart.”

Rolling your eyes playfully at him, you flashed him a grin before you focused on the television across the room. “Of course I didn’t,” you told him, turning on the TV. “Because you do get clingy when you’re sick.”

Matt rumbled out a noise of frustration, stalking his way up the stairs and towards the roof access without another word. He obviously knew he wasn’t winning this argument with you. You began scanning through the channels, looking for a fall baking show to watch as he pulled the door open, the sound of the rain outside briefly louder until the door closed with a sharp clang after him. Shaking your head again, you finally settled on what you were looking for.

“You’re going to be so miserable in the morning,” you muttered under your breath, aware he could still hear you.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Something ice cold landed on your bare stomach and your eyes immediately snapped open, the chill pulling you straight from your sleep. A miserable, muffled groan met your ears over the sound of light rain pattering outside as your barely conscious mind tried to quickly piece everything together.

You were in bed with Matt curled up against the back of you. Apparently it was his icy cold hand on your stomach that had woken you. He shifted behind you, his frigid hand on your bare stomach drawing you further towards him just before he buried his face against the back of your neck. You shivered at how cold he felt against you–Matt was usually a furnace who kept you warm.

“Matt, you’re freezing,” you whispered, trying to glance over your shoulder at him.

“I know,” he groaned, pulling himself in tighter to the back of you. “You’re so warm, though.”

You frowned immediately at the thick, congested sound of his voice. He sounded far worse than he had last night. And that was the only thing keeping you from your usual reaction to Matt’s nearly naked body wrapped so tight around yours.

“You’re sick,” you pointed out.

He groaned again, shaking his head against the back of your neck. “Don’t say it,” he begged, his voice almost a whine. "Don't even say it, sweetheart."

Sighing at his plea for you to not rub the consequences of his actions in his face, your hand dropped down to cover the one he had on your stomach. You did your best attempting to warm it up, rubbing your hand back and forth across his large one. Matt hummed out a pleased noise in response, the sound quite nasally.

“Fine, but you’re sick, Matt,” you pointed out. “I need to take your temperature. See what medicine we still have in the apartment for you to take because I might need to run to the store." You paused when he pitifully moaned in protest at that. "And you’re not going into the office to help Foggy with that thing this morning. I’ll call him myself. Him and Karen can handle things on their own. You need rest.”

“Only if you stay with me,” he murmured, his arm tightening around your waist. “You’re so warm and comfortable. Don't want you to go. Let's just stay in bed .”

Clearing your throat, you pitched your voice lower as you grinned and said, “I’m not clingy, sweetheart.”

Matt groaned again, burying his face further into your neck. “ Not funny,” he muttered.

“Maybe to you,” you countered, still grinning, “but I think it’s quite pertinent.” Patting the back of his hand that was holding you firmly to the front of himself, you said, "I need to get up, Matty. Need to call Fog for you and find the thermometer. And check the medicine cabinet to see what we have. Maybe make us both some hot tea while I'm up."

You felt the way he shook his head once again against you, muttering out a noise of disagreement. He began shifting behind you in the bed, soon tossing one of his legs over the top of both of yours. It was so easy to forget how muscular and powerful Matt was sometimes because you were so used to seeing him walking around the apartment in barely anything most of the time, his muscles often on display. But his single leg was solid and heavy , easily trapping you beneath the weight of it as he refused to release his hold on you and let you up.

" Matt !" you laughed out, reaching your hand down to playfully swat his thigh. "I'm trying to help you!"

"No. Don't want it," he muttered, words muffled against your skin. " Mine ," his congested voice nearly purred as he curled possessively around you.

Your eyes widened in surprise, another little laugh falling out of you. That was new.

"Matt, I at least need to call Fog and get your temperature–you're positively freezing," you told him. "Let me help you. Please?"

He grumbled discontentedly in response, not making any attempt to move. You shifted as best as you could in his restricting embrace, trying to get a look at him.

" Please ?" you tried again, drawing the word out.

It was a moment before he released a resigned sigh beside your ear, his warm breath brushing over your shoulder a sharp contrast to his cold skin pressed against you.

"Will you come back to bed after?" he asked. "Stay with me?"

"If that's what you want, I can stay with you for a bit longer this morning," you relented. "But only after I get all of that done."

Matt hummed out a noise of disagreement, shaking his head. "Uh uh," he mumbled. "I'll give you ten minutes."

You laughed once again, unable to help yourself. "Excuse me? You'll give me ten minutes?" you asked him. "What happens if I take longer than that?"

Gradually he drew his thick thigh from off the top of you, his cold hand retreating from your stomach soon after. Your brows briefly furrowed before he gave your ass a light, unexpected smack. Instantly your eyes widened in shock at the gesture.

"The Devil will bring you back to bed," he warned.

That familiar dark, gravelly tone of his was hard to miss, even with how congested he sounded. A jolt of something shot through you at his threat, the hair on the back of your neck raising. Matt rumbled out a noise behind you in response to your body's reaction.

"Better hurry," he teased. "Time is running out, sweetheart."

Tossing the covers off of yourself, you climbed out of bed and grabbed your phone from the nightstand. Though as you headed to the bathroom to check the medicine cabinet and grab the thermometer, you admittedly found yourself curious about what a sick Devil might do to you if you took too long.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fluff #mandy's sweater weather challenge #matt murdock #daredevil

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https-yeonjun · 3 months

Text

the seven stages of you and i (c.sb)

summary. when you first met soobin, you knew he was going to play a lead role in your life. you were going to make sure of it. you just didn't know what to expect.

or: the story of a boy, a girl, and the turbulence that fills the space between them.

wc. 14,444 words

genre. angst

tags. soobin x fem!reader, childhood friends to lovers to ???, best friends to lovers, minors DNI, negligible amount of smut (implied virgin!soobin x virgin!reader, first time, protected sex) featuring beomgyu, taehyun, and kai from txt, yuna from itzy, and arin from oh my girl

a/n. repost; this was also finally edited!!! classic quintessential fay angst!! we're so back!!! i’ve been writing this story for two months. it’s the longest thing i’ve written and i’m super proud of it. please let me know if i missed any warnings or made any typos. i really hope you all enjoy it.

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more of my work

you can vividly remember the first time you ever saw soobin.

it was the summer before third grade started.

it had been an unbearably hot summer and with the school year looming just a month away, you were dreading going back to school and trying so hard to not think about having to meet your new teacher and make new friends.

so to take you mind off the soul crushing pressures of elementary school, you begged your mom to let you go to the park. she refused, claiming she had to work, but the two of you made a compromise and you settled for riding your bike around the cul-de-sac where she could still see you from the dining room table.

you had been riding for thirty minutes, quickly growing tired of the rays of the sun beating down on your skin. you were about to call it a day, but that’s when you saw it.

the gray honda civic driving past you, the sun reflecting on the hood of the car. the woman in the front seat, slowly waking up from her slumber. her husband tapping her shoulder excitedly, looking at his new home in awe.

and him.

the young boy staring out the window with wide eyes as the car pulled into the driveway of the house beside yours.

you darted inside to tell your mom you had new neighbors.

at dinner time, she took you over with some food. “hello, we live right next door.” she introduced herself to the woman that opened the door. “i just thought you guys could use a warm meal with moving and everything.” behind her legs, you could see the little boy peeking at you.

she invited you in and you remember the way their house looked so devoid of life. what was supposed to be the living room was a sea of boxes. your mother sat beside his mother on the old brown leather couch that sat in the back of the room.

you caught soobin’s gaze, watching you taking in the sight of his new home. he looked away when he noticed you looking at him. you moved to sit beside him on the floor.

“i saw you,” he said when he registered your presence beside him.

“what?” you were slightly taken aback.

“outside.” he clarified. “you were on your bike.”

“oh,” you muttered. “my name is y/n.” you reached out to shake his hand. he looked at you, a bit puzzled, yet mirrored the gesture, his grip gentle and feeble.

“i’m soobin.”

“how old are you?”

“i’m almost 10.” he answered, glancing down at his hands.

“why did you move here?”

“my dad got a job.”

“do you want to ride bikes tomorrow?”

“i don’t know how.” soobin looked at you, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, his shy demeanor even more pronounced.

“i can teach you.” you offered.

and the next morning, at 11 sharp, soobin showed up in front of your house ready to learn. after that afternoon, you decided that you liked him and he was going to be your best friend. he didn’t talk much but he always listened to you, with a goofy smile plastered on his face. when he did talk, he answered all your questions thoughtfully. and most importantly, even after he fell down multiple times, he still showed up at your house the next day, waiting to learn.

by the time you got to middle school, everyone knew that you were two peas in a pod. from the day you met, everywhere you went, soobin wasn’t far behind, following you like a lost puppy. you always carpooled together; you always ate lunch together; you were even in all the same clubs.

and so when eighth grade began, you two were separated for the first time in five years and it was so hard for you to adjust to not seeing him every second of every day.

the first morning of the school year, you stopped yourself from asking your mom where soobin was when he wasn’t at your car waiting for you. you wandered through the halls to your regular lunch table a little surprised and mostly disappointed when you didn’t see him sitting with an extra cookie he always got from the lunch lady. after school, you sat awkwardly, alone, on the bench outside of the school building waiting for your mom to pick you up.

when you got home, you didn’t even bother going up to your room. you threw your backpack on the couch and made a beeline for his house. you flopped onto his bed with a sigh as soon as you got to his room, the softness of the mattress cradling you. he didn’t look up from where he sat at his desk doing his homework, but he acknowledged your arrival with a quiet hello.

“how was your first day of high school?” you asked, emphasizing the last part of your question.

“it was okay.” he scribbled something in his book.

“just okay?” you pressed.

“it was kind of weird.” he turned his chair around and finally looked up at you.

“did you miss me?”

“yeah, a little,” he confessed. a soft warmth bloomed in your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself.

“i think i might try out for the football team,” he blurted out of nowhere. “or maybe basketball? i don’t know yet.” you bursted out in laughter.

“did i say something funny?”

“you have no athletic bone in your body.” you countered, still chuckling.

“we don’t know that.”

“oh, we do,”

he moved to join you on the bed, books in hand, and you watched him with a fondness that didn’t need words as he made himself comfortable.

“i always tell you not to wear your outside clothes on my bed.” he jokingly admonished.

“do you like your school?”

“i mean, it’s only my first day. but it was okay.”

you paused, both to process what he just said and to figure out how to word what you really wanted to say. “i don’t want you to forget about me or stop hanging out with me or whatever.”

“you’re literally going to the same school next year.” he teased you.

“i know, but still.”

“you’re a hard person to forget about, y/n.”

“you’re just saying that,” you felt the blood rush up to your cheeks, and subsequently rushed to hide your face in his sheets.

“no, i mean, you literally wouldn’t let me forget about you.” he laughed and in response, you threw a pillow at him.

but in the back of your mind, you knew he was right – you couldn’t let him forget about you. and as the days rolled on, you made it a point to go over to his house for hours after school. at least for the first month and a half of the smeester. that was until the demands of school grew and he started having to stay after school for clubs and going over to people’s houses for projects. by the time the holidays rolled around, your moments together were reduced to the seconds you saw him in the mornings when you were both leaving for school. and for the most part, it stayed like that going into the summer.

the summer after eighth grade, you saw soobin a total of three times.

the first time you saw him was on memorial day. your dad, not exactly the biggest fan of your plan to stay home the entire summer, pushed you out of the house to go to his family’s barbecue. you went to soobin’s house with a tray of cookies (because you never go to someone’s house empty handed, your mom told you beforehand). he greeted you with a casual wave before disappearing upstairs to play video games with his friends. you lingered around his house for ten minutes, until you felt completely uncomfortable by yourself, when you slipped away back to your room, cocooning yourself in your bed, tears tracing paths down your cheeks, soaking into your sheets beneath you.

the second time was sometime right after the fourth of july. his dad was taking him on a fishing trip and you just so happened to be getting the mail as they were leaving. you tried to pretend not to see him, eyes fixed on the ground, your heart pounding. and you thought it worked. but later that day, a message lit up your phone screen – soobin confessing that he missed you. you deliberated for two hours before typing out a guarded response: “me too.” two weeks stretched out like an eternity before his next message came.

the third time was actually the day before your first day of high school when he came over to your house under orders from his mother. he stood at your bedroom door, a mixture of apprehension and determination etched across his face.

when you opened the door, all the feelings of abandonment came flooding through your mind – every time you cried thinking about how he was ignoring you, every time your parents had to force you to get out of the house and breathe in fresh air, everything came at once.

“what are you doing here?” you spat at him. your words were a shield, sharp and defensive.

“my mom said i should come check on you.” he responded, his hand absently massaging the back of his neck. you yielded, allowing him to enter the room, but he hesitated, lingering by the door, too afraid to sit down.

“are you nervous about high school?” he ventured.

you met his gaze, scanning his eyes for sincerity. “not really.”

“i’m sorry,” he admitted, his voice heavy with regret. “i’ve been pretty shitty to you this year.”

“yeah, you have been pretty shitty.”

“i meant it when i said i missed you.”

“i know.”

“are we good?”

he didn’t really apologize, you understood that. but sometimes, especially in that moment, it seems easier to forgive him than confront him about how horrible he made you feel. and so you concede, not realizing that you’re setting the precedent for you guys to saunter in and out of each other's lives as you please. “yeah, we are.”

you invite him to sit on the bed with you and he joins you.

“so, what is high school really like?” you ask, trying to clear the air of tension that lingered.

“well, it’s nothing like high school musical,” he began.

and although you were apprehensive about forgiving him so quickly, you couldn’t deny how good this felt. sitting here with him, not thinking about the future or the past. just being here talking about nothing and everything at the same time. if you could, you would have captured this moment and put it in a snow globe to look at everyday.

the next morning, you stood at the threshold of the school building, soobin towering beside you. as you walked into the school together, you couldn’t help but notice the subtle shift in the atmosphere. soobin seemed to be a lot more popular than he led on and he navigated the halls with a confidence that belied his usually reserved nature. students and teachers alike greeted him as you walked through the halls.

“okay, mr. superstar,” you teased.

“well, i am class president.” he tells you shyly.

“why didn’t i know this?” you wondered aloud. he offered you a nonchalant shrug but continued guiding you through the labyrinth of corridors that made up the school.

as you approached your classroom, the reality of where you were dawned on you. you turned to soobin, seeking reassurance from him. “i’ll see you at lunch?”

“yeah,” he affirmed.

with a final smile, you slipped into the classroom, taking a seat beside a girl who was looking at you with wide eyes.

“you know soobin?” she blurted out when you sat down.

your brows furrowed in confusion. “yeah?” you answered, taken aback.

“how?”

“uh, he’s my friend.” you explained, scanning the room for an empty seat.

a spark of hope lit up her eyes. “can you introduce me to him?”

you hesitated, your discomfort growing with each passing second. “i don’t even know you.”

a wave of awkwardness washed over the both of you. without waiting for a response, you quickly gathered your things, seeking refuge in a different seat on the other side of the classroom. what the hell was that? you thought to yourself as the other students filed into the class.

save for that strange moment in the first period, the rest of your classes went by completely unremarkable until lunch time rolled around. you arrived at the cafeteria fifteen minutes after lunch started. you were trying to navigate the way between hundreds of bodies in the hallway and found yourself in a completely different wing of the school. why does a high school have to be this big? you asked yourself when you collided with a girl.

“are you okay?” you asked her.

“yeah, i’m just trying to find the cafeteria.” her response came with a note of relief.

“me too. i’m y/n.”

“i’m yuna and this school is way too big.” she remarked, a trace of exasperation lacing her words.

“yeah, i got a tour this morning and i’m still confused.”

should we ask someone for help?” yuna suggested.

“yeah,” together you venture into a nearby classroom to ask a teacher for help.

meanwhile, in the cafeteria, soobin took advantage of your little detour to offer a preemptive warning to his friends about how to act around the freshman girl that was going to be eating lunch with them.

“i’m serious, you guys, don’t be weird.”

“when have we ever been weird?” beomgyu asked, but his playful tone is punctuated by a stray fry launched by kai, which found its target on taehyun’s head.

soobin gave beomgyu a knowing look.

“we won’t be weird, okay?” his friend reassured him. “what’s with the girl anyways?”

“she’s my best friend and i don’t want you guys to scare her.”

you finally make it to the cafeteria with yuna by your side. soobin introduced you to his friends, and you briefly remember them from memorial day. as the lunch period dragged on, you sat quietly, observing soobin in his element. you never felt this way before, but watching the way he interacted with his friends made him a little more attractive in your eyes. there was a magnetism in his confidence and you couldn’t help but entertain thoughts that had never crossed your mind before.

and from them, you found yourself yearning for those stolen glances, fingers brushing in passing and shared laughter that lingered just a little longer than usual.

being best friends with someone older than you had its perks, especially when that person was as smart as soobin. you were pretty good at biology freshman year, and chemistry was okay too. but no one warned you that knowing the powerhouse of the cell or all the symbols of the periodic table was enough to equip you for an honors physics class.

even though you stayed up for three nights in a row, you didn’t expect to do so bad on the unit test. it was embarrassingly bad. like bringing the class average down bad. like being handed back a folded test bad. you opened your test packet hesitantly, only to quickly close it again upon seeing the harsh, red “36/100” glaring back at you. the room seemed to close in around you, the disappointment heavy in the air.

after class, you went to meet your teacher. “are you sure there’s no way i could get some extra credit or something?” you asked, your voice carrying a mix of desperation and determination.

“y/n,” he said, his tone firm. “if i give you extra credit, i have to give everyone extra credit,” he advised. “if you want a better grade, i suggest you study harder.”

“fucking asshole,” you mutter under your breath as you left the classroom. the slam of the door echoed down the empty hallway.

yuna, who was waiting for you outside your class, scowled when she saw your demeanor. ��what’s wrong?”

“he’s such an asshole.”

“what did he do this time?”

you handed her your test and slung your backpack onto your shoulder in frustration. her face scrunched up when she saw the red ink that scattered the page. she reached out to gently caress your hair in a soothing gesture. “oh, honey…”

“and he wouldn’t let me do extra credit.”

“didn’t your boyfriend take this class last year?” yuna asked, trying to find a solution.

“boyfriend?” you replied. you knew where she was going with this, but you wanted to see if she would actually say it. but you knew she was never one to back down. “soobin?” she asks.

“not my boyfriend.” you remind her in a singsong voice, causing her to roll her eyes.

“well, i’m pretty sure he took this class last year. just ask him to tutor you.”

you hum, pulling out your phone to text him.

to soob: i hate to ask you this but i really need your help

from soob: you know i’m always gonna help you what do you need

to soob: one quiz away from failing physics can my bestest friend in the whole entire world help me

from soob: you know you don’t need to butter me up but i’ll take it

to soob: you know i love you so much right? can you come over tonight?

that evening, you meticulously laid out your physics notes and textbook on the kitchen island. you were stressing a lot, and in an attempt to calm your racing thoughts, you decided to bake. the sounds of the mixer and the clinking of the measuring cups was always something that soothed your anxious thoughts.

as the timer chimed, you pulled the tray of cookies out from the oven. just as you set them on the cooling rack, the doorbell rang, sending a jolt of nervous anticipation back through you.

you open the door to soobin.

“thank you again for doing this,” you said as you welcomed him inside. you guided him to the island. “i made cookies, so please feel free to take some.”

his eyes brightened with surprise. “you made cookies? i didn’t know you could bake.”

“i started in middle school,” you confessed, a hint of vulnerability crept into your voice. “my therapist said it was a good way to process my emotions. i don’t know.”

“you’re in therapy?”

“yeah, since middle school.”

“oh.”

the atmosphere in the kitchen shifted. you both settle into your seats. the tutoring session began, but despite your best efforts, you found it hard to focus. the equations and diagrams that soobin so easily drew out seemed to blur together and your mind drifted elsewhere. the only thing you could concentrate on was soobin’s long, veiny hands as they gracefully navigated the pages of the physics textbook in front of you.

“should we take a break?” his voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

you blinked, realizing that you had been staring at the same problem for a little too long. “i’m sorry. long day.”

“no, don’t apologize,” soobin reassured you. “it’s getting late anyways. we can always try again tomorrow.”

the next few tutoring sessions followed a similar pattern, but today you managed to gather yourself and focus, determined not to get lost in the small smile that graced soobin’s face whenever you correctly answered a question.

“you know what you’re doing?”

“what?”

“you know what you’re doing. just don’t overthink it.” he was referring to the problem set in front of you.

“oh, yeah,” you replied, your hand moving swiftly across the paper. in your mind, even if you got the question wrong, he would patiently explain it to you. this way, you wouldn’t be trapped in your head, thinking about how close he was to you, close enough to pick up hints of his shampoo, or how pretty his eyes looked with the kitchen lights dancing in them, or how soft his hands felt as they brushed against yours when he took the paper from you.

to your surprise, you managed to avoid any embarrassment for the rest of the session.

“when’s your next test?”

“in two weeks, i think,”

“we can meet a couple of nights a week until then,” he suggested.

as time passed, you found it easier to concentrate, the initial nervousness giving away to a growing confidence. you had to admit. soobin was a good tutor and with each passing day, you felt the weight of the test lessen, until the day of the test.

from soob: test day! how are you feeling?

to soob: i think i’m going to throw up

from soob: please don’t you’re going to do great you know i’m always rooting for you!!

you walked into the classroom with your chin held high, determined to “fake it till you make it” your way into a passing grade, but you spent the rest of the week after that a bundle of restlessness and anticipation.

finally, the day you dreaded the most arrived. the door swung open, and your teacher strode in, a stack of papers clutched in his hand. you held your breath, fingers crossed under the desk as he made his way down the rows, inching closer and closer.

“good job,” he smiled at you when he handed you your test.

after class, you practically sprinted to soobin’s locker, eager to share the news.

“check me out! i’m a nerd like you,” you exclaimed, thrusting the test paper towards him.

“har har,” he let out an amused snort, rolling his eyes. “i knew you could do it. maybe next time we can shoot for a 100?”

“i think we should focus on maintaining this 80%,” you chuckled. “i think this calls for a celebration. can you come over tonight?”

that evening, you and soobin set out to tackle the challenge of baking brownies. he was good at a lot of things but admittedly was very useless in the kitchen.

“it’s fine.” you reassured him, “i can teach you.”

“you’re always teaching me things,” he noted, his ears burning as he looked down at the mixing bowl.

“what are you talking about? i’m literally now passing physics because of you.

“not school things,” he explains. “i mean like practical life things. you taught me how to ride a bike; you taught me how to make friends––”

“i taught you how to make friends?”

“yes, you did. being friends with you just made me outgoing, i guess.”

“hmm.”

“anyways, you’re teaching me how to bake, although i think this might be a lost cause,” he quipped, eyeing the ingredients skeptically.

“just crack those eggs,” you instructed.

while you dealt with other things, soobin stood expertly mixing the batter. “can i taste it?” you asked, holding up a spoon.

“wait, this is so good,” you marveled at your own recipe.

soobin’s gaze met yours, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. he edged closer to you. “you have something…” he said softly, swiping your chin with his thumb, then tasting the chocolate batter from his finger.

“oh, uh, th-thanks,” you stammered, turning toward the sink to hide the elated grin that threatened to give you away. inside, you were almost bursting at the seams.

“so, cookies are for nerves, brownies are for celebration?” soobin asked, as you two settled onto the plush couch.

“and cakes are for when i’m sad,” you quipped, fingers deftly flicking the remote to life. “what do you want to watch?”

“i don’t care. whatever you want.”

wrapped in the cocoon of the soft blanket, you both sank into the cushions, the movie’s glow flickering across your faces.

as the credits rolled on the screen, you and soobin sat up, still close, but the proximity was charged with an unspoken confession.

“did you like the movie?” you asked, attempting to dispel the atmosphere.

“we’ve seen it like a million times,”

“yeah, but still.” you press and he just shrugs.

after a pregnant pause, he finally broke the stillness. “i feel like i need to tell you something.”

your heart quickened, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within. “yeah?”

“i, uh,” his voice wavered for a moment. “i like you,” he admitted, his words stumbling out in a rush, eyes fixed on a point somewhere in the middle distance.

“what?”

“i like you,” he repeated, softer and steadier this time. soobin’s heart raced, his pulse thrumming in his ears as he awaited your response. you, on the other hand, were filled with surprise and something else, you couldn’t even decipher. your breath caught. it was like the air had grown heavier, charged with unspoken desires and uncharted territory.

“oh.” you managed to let out. “that’s… oh.”

his gaze flickered back to his hands, usually so steady, that laid, slightly trembling in his lap. “it’s fine if you don’t feel the same. i’ve just been dealing with these feelings for a while and i just needed to tell you.”

“soobin, it’s—”

“you don’t have to say anything; i get it.” he interjected, “just forget about this. i value our friendship a lot more, so i don’t want things to be awkward between us.”

“soobin!” you exclaimed your voice firm and determined. “i like you too, but we… we can’t do this.”

“why not?”

“well, for starters, you’re graduating in the spring.”

“and i’m probably going to school, like what? two hours away?”

“i don’t want you to feel like you’re missing out on your college experience by being with me or whatever.”

“y/n, you’re literally my best friend.”

“precisely why we shouldn’t risk it,” you insisted. “i cherish our friendship, and i don't want to jeopardize it.”

“i promise you there’s absolutely nothing that could ever make us not be friends.”

“i don’t… i don’t know.”

“sleep on it, okay?” he conceded, rising from the couch. “i should probably go home.”

you escorted him to the door, the gravity of the moment still lingering. “see you tomorrow?” he asked, framed in the doorway. the threshold seemed both a physical and emotional boundary, like a bridge between the familiar present and the uncertain future of your relationship.

“yeah.”

he leaned forward, a gentle breath of warmth preceding the tender press of his lips against your cheek. “goodnight, y/n,” he murmured before fading into the night.

your fingers lightly brushed your cheek, still tingling from where his lips had been. the sensation was still tingling, like a spark of electricity had been left behind. climbing the stairs you couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. you felt like you were floating as you made your way to your room, crashing on your bed, kicking your feet thinking about the fact that he likes you.

the next day, you decided to skip lunch in the cafeteria. “please can you tell me why we’re eating lunch in the library today?” yuna asks, tossing her backpack onto a beanbag in the corner of the library where you settled.

“something happened last night.”

“did you and soobin finally kiss?” she asked, a sly grin creeping onto her face. you look up at her, trying to suppress your smile.

“well, not really.”

“not really? what happened?”

“he told me he liked me.”

yuna let out an excited squeal, earning disapproving glances from the other students.

“and he kissed my cheek.”

“shut up!” she was practically bouncing in her seat, unable to maintain her excitement.

“yeah, you should shut up.” some guy at a nearby table griped, annoyed by the disruption.

she rolled her eyes, returning her attention to you. “anyways, i’m so happy for you.”

“don’t get your hopes up.”

“oh, no.”

“yuna, he’s graduating soon.”

“okay? i don’t see what the problem is. you’ve had a crush on him forever and he was the one who said it first.”

“i just don’t want to do a long distance thing.”

“he lives right beside you.”

“and he’s moving away in seven months.”

“he’s moving to a different town, not a different country.”

“hey, you guys are making a lot of noise,” the library assistant reprimanded, approaching your table. “and you know you’re not allowed to eat in here.” she referred to yuna’s food.

“sorry,” you apologized, your voice meek.

she walked away, leaving you both to your conversation.

“yeah, ‘cause my carrots are going to crumb all over the books,” yuna quipped, but she complied, tucking away her lunch.

“i just don’t want to lose my best friend.”

with a multitude of thoughts swirling around your head, you knew you needed to talk to soobin. after school, you made your way to his house. as you walked to his bedroom, each step was weighed down by the uncertainty and anticipation that filled your heart.

the soft knock on soobin’s door pulled him from his thoughts. he swung the door open to find you standing there.

“hey,” you greeted, your voice above a whisper.

“hey,” he stepped back, allowing you in. his heart raced, a mix of hope and fear coursing through him.

you walked into his room taking in the decor. it hadn’t changed much from middle school. his walls were adorned with a mix of posters. a bookshelf stood against one of the walls, filled with a well-organized collection of novels, textbooks, and mementos. his desk, which sat by the window, was decorated with photos of the two of you from elementary school that you surprisingly hadn’t seen before. looking at them gave you the motivation to have the say everything that you wanted to say.

he gestured to his bed. you settled into your usual spots, the silence stretching, punctuated only by the soft sounds of the clock. soobin couldn’t help but steal glances at you, the room charged with tension.

“so, we should talk about last night.” you took a deep breath. he turned to face you, his gaze steady, waiting for your words. “i’ve been thinking a lot,” you continued. “and i do want to give this, us, a try.”

a smile broke across his face and you couldn’t help but melt. “you have no idea how happy that makes me.”

you mirrored his smile, a sense of contentment settling in your chest. “but,” you added, your expression turning more serious, “you are graduating soon, so we need to be realistic.”

he nodded. “we can face it together, one step at a time.”

you reach out, your fingers finding his. “okay,”

“can i kiss you now?”

“yes,” you giggled.

he cupped your face, slowly closing the space between you. meanwhile, your hands snaked their way to the back of his neck, pulling him down so his soft lips met yours. the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the sensation of his lips against yours.

the first touch was as light as a feather, but as a surge of emotion overcame the initial hesitation, the kiss deepened. time seemed to stand still and the moment stretched into infinity until you heard a cough coming from the door.

you quickly pull away from the kiss, your heart racing. soobin’s eyes held affection, his fingers still lightly grazing your cheek. you looked to the door to see his mom with her hands on her hips, a playful smirk on her face. “i was just checking to see if you were going to stay for dinner, y/n.” she said, her voice carrying a hint of amusement.

looking down at your hands, that sat in soobin’s hands, you responded quietly. “yeah, i’ll just text my parents.”

“okay,” she left the room with a knowing smile

“that was so,” you squealed in embarrassment, burying your face in soobin’s shoulder. his warmth enveloped you like a comforting embrace as his fingers gently traced patterns on your back.

“at least she likes you,” he joked, making you groan. “we should go downstairs,” he suggests, pulling away reluctantly.

as you proceed to stand up, he playfully tugged you back down, his eyes never leaving yours. “wait.” his voice held a soft urgency, his gaze locked onto your lips. “just one more.” he leaned in, the touch of his lips against yours sending a surge of warmth through your veins. his smile melted into the kiss.

“okay, we can go now.”

you followed him downstairs and avoided his mom’s knowing glances throughout dinner.

for the next few months, you spent almost every day with soobin. the two of you were once again attached at the hip, savoring every moment leading up to his impending graduation.

and the dreaded day of the ceremony arrived. soobin, loose tie in hand, entered his parents’ room with a furrowed brow. “mom, where’s dad?”

“he had to stop by the office, but he’ll meet us there,” she responded, finishing up her makeup. as she finished she turned to her son, her eyes sparkling. “oh my god,” she cooed. “you look so handsome.” she pulled him into a hug.

“god, mom, relax.” soobin chuckled, gently extricating himself from her affectionate grip. he smoothed out the wrinkles on his shirt.

“is it a crime for a mother to be proud of her son for graduating?”

“no, but i need help with the tie.” he gave it to her.

she took the tie, fingers deftly weaving it into place around her neck. “is y/n coming with us?”

“no, she’s going with her parents.”

“you know, i’m really glad you have her in your life.” there was a tenderness in her voice, her eyes fixed on her son as she put the tie around his neck, adjusting his collar.

“that’s random.”

“it’s not random. i’m just saying you’re graduating and going to college soon, and i just don’t want you to take her for granted.”

“i won’t. i promise.”

“ok,” she declared, a smile gracing her lips, indicating that she had finished. “good to go, we’re leaving in ten minutes so go finish getting ready.”

you arrive at your school’s auditorium thirty minutes before the ceremony began. you quickly settle beside soobin’s mother.

“i’m so glad you guys could make it,” she greeted warmly.

you scanned the hall, searching for your boyfriend in the sea of cap and gowns. the familiar hum of your phone in your lap brought your attention back to the present. it was a text from soobin, asking you to meet him outside the auditorium.

“is my dad there?” soobin’s voice held a note of urgency when he saw you.

“not yet, but your mom said he’s on his way. are you okay?” your hand rested comfortingly on his shoulder, trying to steady his nerves.

“i’m just nervous about the speech and the fact that he isn’t here yet.”

“well, he’s going to be here. who would miss their only child’s graduation?” you offered a reassuring smile, attempting to lighten the mood. “and the speech is going to go perfectly, okay?”

“you don’t know that.”

“yes, i do! you’ve been practicing all week. you’re going to do great.”

“what if i mess up?”

“if you mess up, just find me in the crowd, okay? i’ll be with both your parents and my parents, and we’ll all be cheering on you.”

“alright, thank you.” he took a deep, steadying breath.

you reached up, planting a tender kiss on his lips. “you’re going to do great,” you affirmed, and with that, he headed through the student entrance into the auditorium.

the ceremony flowed seamlessly. pride swelled in you as you watched soobin take the stage. his dad slid into your row just as he went on stage, and you offered him a thumbs-up, met in kind.

you returned to soobin’s house with your parents for the celebration. the living room was adorned with congratulatory banners and balloons, the most bright and colorful you’d ever seen his house.

for most of the party, you didn’t see much of him as he was passed around by friends and relatives that wanted to congratulate him. but eventually, at some point in the night he finds you and the two of you escape from the party to embrace the quiet of his room. the room was dimly lit, and mostly quiet, save for the chatter and the music softly playing from outside the door.

“god, i really needed this,” he confessed, stretching out on his bed. you nestled beside him, resting your head on his chest. he enveloped you in arms, fingers entwined with yours. “talking to people is exhausting,” he sighed.

“you were amazing today,” you reassured him.

“because i had you there with me.”

“and your dad came.”

“yeah, half an hour late. i can’t believe he went to work today.”

“at least he was there.”

“i don’t even care anymore. i’m just happy you were there and that we’re here together right now. i can’t wait for this summer.”

“i need to tell you something.”

“yeah,” he turned to you, fingers gently playing with yours.

“you know how i’m vice president of culinary club?” he hummed in acknowledgement.

“well, our faculty advisor told me about this culinary school that she thinks i should apply to for college.” you explained. “anyways she thinks i need to get a job or internship or something this summer to make my application stronger.”

“yeah,” his voice took on a more tentative tone.

“well, she connected me with one of her friends who owns a restaurant downtown and he said that i could, like, shadow him for the summer.”

“that’s great but–”

“i know. i don’t think it’s going to stop us from spending time together. we’ll still be able to do everything that we planned on doing. it’s just not going to be everyday.”

“baby, you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“i just feel bad.” your voice softened.

“why?”

“we had so many plans.” you pouted

“and we’ll still be able to do them,” he assured you. “i think it might be good practice for us when i go to school in the fall.”

“yeah, you’re right.”

you leaned up to kiss him, and he kissed you back.

the two of you lingered on his bed, the world beyond the room fading into insignificance. then, a gentle rap on the door pulled you out of your trivial conversations.

“soobin,” his dad entered the room, voice cutting through the hush. “some of your guests are leaving. go downstairs to say goodbye.”

soobin shot up from the bed. “yeah, i’ll head down now.”

“y/n can i talk to you?” his dad asked. soobin looked back at you before leaving the room.

“yeah, what’s wrong?”

“nothing’s wrong. i just wanted to talk to you about soobin.”

“what about soobin?”

“why don’t you sit down,” he suggested. you complied, perching on your boyfriend's bed. “i wanted to talk about soobin because well he’s going to college in the fall and i just want to make sure that he’s not wasting his experience or losing his focus.”

you weren’t sure how to respond. “i’m don’t know–”

“see y/n, you’re a great girl and you’ve been there for soobin for a long time, but you also distract him.”

“what?”

“i work really hard to make sure that my family can live in this neighborhood and so that my only son can go to a good school. i don’t want to see him waste his life over his high school girlfriend.”

your chest tightened, emotions surging. you wanted to speak up, to yell at him and tell him off for inserting himself into your relationship. you wanted to yell at him for even saying this to you when he couldn’t be bothered to show up for his only son’s high school graduation. you wanted to defend your love and your commitment to soobin. but as the tears welled up in your eyes, the words caught in your throat. all you could manage was a quiet, “okay.”

“i’m glad you understand. i know we both care about him and we both want the best for him.”

he exits the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and your tears. the last words he spoke echoed in your mind. we both want what’s best for him.

you gathered enough composure and strength, wiping away your tears, and made your way downstairs. you attempted to slip away quietly, but soobin caught you at the door.

“you’re leaving?” the dim light from the porch illuminated his face, casting soft shadows across his features.

“yeah, it’s getting late.”

“are you okay?” he noticed the tremor in your voice.

“yeah, i’m just super tired.”

“oh, okay? what did my dad want to talk to you about?”

“oh, he just asked me to send him the videos and photos i took of you earlier.” the lie tasted bitter on your tongue, but you pushed it out regardless, hoping to shield soobin from the weight of his father’s words.

“are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, taking hold of your hands. “do you want me to walk you home?”

“no, yeah, i’m fine.” you pull him into a hug for what felt like an eternity. if he noticed anything wrong with you after that, he didn’t bring it up. “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

that night, you couldn’t fall asleep. the room seemed to close in around you suffocating in its emptiness. the echoes of the conversation with soobin’s father reverberated in your mind, haunting you.

you grappled with the weight of your fears and insecurities. what if he was right? what if you were holding soobin back? distracting him? the thought had always lingered at the back of your mind since you began dating. and now that he was actually starting at college, that unspoken fear threatened to consume you.

maybe his dad was right. you needed to give him the space that he needed to grow. and it’s not like you had to break up with him. you just needed to keep him at an arm’s length and this summer was a chance for you to learn how to do that with you working. so in the weeks that followed, you found yourself pulling away and creating that distance. the space between you stretched as you took more shifts at work and spent less time with your boyfriend.

“i might move into school a week early,” soobin told you one day when you were hanging out in your room.

you felt your heart sink.

you hadn’t spent that much time together and now you had even less time together. it felt like a cruel twist of fate. still, you masked your disappointment with forced encouragement. “that’s good.” you muttered. “get to know the area better.”

“you think i should go?”

“i mean, if you want to. it seems like a good idea.”

“okay,”

as the day arrived for soobin to leave for school, you felt a void open up within you. the weight of missed moments and unspoken words crushed your soul, suffocating in their intensity. you called out of work but stayed in bed all day, cocooned in the covers, crying about the fact that you couldn’t allow yourself to savor the little time you had with soobin.

when soobin facetimed you later that evening, your heart both leapt and sank at the sight of his face. “hey, let me see your face.”

“i look horrible,” you groaned, but still revealed your face that was covered by your blankets and pillows.

soobin’s brows furrowed when he saw your face with your eyes red and your nose puffy. “have you been crying?”

“no, i’m just sick.” you tried to hide it, to mask the pain, but the cracks in your facade were all too evident.

“please, y/n, don’t lie to me.”

the raw vulnerability in his voice cracked something open within you. “i just miss you and i wish I could have helped you move in.”

“maybe i can come home on the weekend after classes start?” you wanted to revel in the possibility of seeing him again so soon, however the question lingered heavy in the air.

“do you think i’m holding you back from getting the full college experience?”

“where did that come from?”

“what if there’s like… i don’t know, a really cool frat party that weekend? would you miss out on that for me?”

“i think i’d rather see my girlfriend than go to some hypothetical frat party.”

“i’m being serious.”

“do you not want me to come home?” his question hung in the air, like a delicate thread of vulnerability. the room seemed to pulse with unspoken tension. your fingers tightened around the edges of your blanket, grasping for comfort and grounding, as you thought over your answer. every second of the silence felt like a weight on your shoulders.

you sighed. “i do, but–”

“then what’s the problem, y/n?” soobin’s voice, slightly raised, tinged with frustration, cut through the hush. “it seems like ever since the summer started you’ve been pushing me away, and i don’t know if i did something wrong.”

“you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“so what’s up?”

“i just don’t want you to feel like you’re wasting your time focusing on your high school girlfriend when you have so much life ahead of you.”

“you’re not just my high school girlfriend.” his voice softened.

“that’s not what i meant.”

“you’re also my best friend. and i don’t ever feel like i’m wasting my time by being with you.”

you contemplate telling him what his dad said, but you ultimately decide against it.

“what are you thinking?” he asked after you didn't respond for a while.

“i don’t know.” you confessed, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

“i need you to be honest with me because i don’t know what you need or how much more i can reassure you that you’re it for me.”

“maybe we should take a break?” the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“what?” soobin’s eyes widened, disbelief and hurt dancing in their depths.

“just maybe for the semester.” you rushed to explain, “so you can get your footing in school and i can focus on college apps.”

“so, you want to break up?”

“not like a real breakup. we’ll still talk and everything, just with some space.” he looked away, his jaw clenched, like he was processing the idea.

“i can’t believe you’re suggesting this.” his voice cracks as he blinks back the tears welling up in his eyes.

“maybe it’s what we need right now. we’ll still talk.” you promised, mostly trying to convince yourself.

the call ended and the weight of your decision settled on your chest, like a heavy ache that echoed the emptiness you felt inside. in your head, you were making the right choice for both of you, but that didn’t make it any easier. and as hard as you tried to maintain your relationship with soobin, over the next few months, the calls and messages became less frequent. the space between you was growing wider and each interaction held a bittersweet tinge, a mix of familiarity and the painful reminder of what once was.

the next break from school came quicker than you had expected. you sat at your desk, catching up on homework as the late morning sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow across the room. the creak of your bedroom door announced your dad’s presence.

“how are you doing?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

a faint smile danced on your lips as you turned to face him. “i’m not going to kill myself dad,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood. “i’m just doing homework.”

“you’ve been in your room all break. i think i’m allowed to be worried.”

you bristled, the walls rising around you like a fortress. “well you shouldn’t be, okay? i’m fine.”

“okay so you don’t care to know that i saw soobin’s car pull up into the driveway?” he asked. you let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, your gaze shifted to the patch of sunlight dancing on the floor.

“are you going to see him?” he gently suggested.

“i don’t know if he wants to see me,” you admitted, your voice a hesitant whisper. the weight of uncertainty settled around you, and your dad’s brow furrowed in empathy. he approached you to comfort you. “i think i messed up,” you confessed, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

he paused to study your face, and then he spoke, his tone filled with reassurance. “i’m sure whatever you did isn’t that bad. who could ever not want to see you?”

a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips, grateful for his attempt to ease your worries. “you’re just saying that because you’re my dad.”

he reached out, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “you know that’s not true. and you know he wants to see you because he cares for you, and he knows you care for him too.”

“and what if that’s not enough?”

his gaze softened, “then you shouldn’t base your worth on what some guys thinks of you.”

“some guy? i thought you liked soobin.”

“yeah, but i like you more.” he pulled you into a warm embrace, the strength of his love wrapping around you like a shield. as he left the room, a sense of comfort lingered in the air. you sat there, the moment stretching, the decision before you felt like a bridge to cross, but you chose to not let fear dictate your actions.

with a determined exhale, you reached for your phone.

to soob: hey, i saw you just got home. whenever you get a chance, can you come over? i think we need to talk.

later that night, in the quiet stillness of your room, you receive a knock on your door. your heart quickened. you leaped out of bed, ready to face whatever awaited for you on the other side of the door.

“hey,” you breathed, the door swinging open to reveal soobin.

“hi,”

“please come in,” you invited him in. you held the door open, allowing him to step into your sanctuary. “how have you been?”

“good,” he replied, though there was a subtle hesitance in his tone.

“really?”

he left out a soft chuckle, a nervous habit that betrayed the calm facade he tried to maintain. “well, no, but i thought it was the appropriate thing to say.” his hand moved to rub the back of his neck. “how are you?”

“been better,” you confessed.

he settled onto the edge of your bed, and you joined him.

“so you wanted to talk?”

“i’m sorry,” the words tumbled from your lips.

“for?”

“everything?” the raw honesty of the moment threatened to engulf you. “asking for a break, not talking to you. i messed everything up.”

“you didn’t mess anything up,” he countered.

“but look at where we are,” you murmured, your gaze falling to the floor, unable to bear the weight of the truth in his eyes.

“and where is that?”

“here.” you took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. “i just want us to be good like before,” you said after a long pause.

soobin’s expression softened, “me too. i’ve missed you.”

“like crying and throwing up every night?” you teased.

“eh, something like that,” a hint of a smile played on his lips, the lamplight catching the warmth in his eyes.

“good to know,” you replied, a smile tugging at your own lips.

“i’ve said this before, but you’re really it for me.”

“is that so?”

“yeah, even though your dad was giving me a stank as i was coming upstairs.”

“he was?”

“yeah, and i thought your parents loved me.”

“they do!”

“that doesn’t sound convincing,” he joked, a genuine laugh filling the room, echoing off the walls.

“they do, they do.” you try to convince him. “they’re just really protective.”

“well, how can i get in their good graces again?”

“maybe by kissing me.” you suggest, teasingly.

“you think kissing their daughter is going to make them not hate me?”

“yeah, i think it might be a start.” you replied, your voice soft, but sure.

“okay.”

he cups your face, pulling you into a tender kiss. as your lips met his, a surge of warmth spread through you, grounding you in the present moment. your hands found their rightful place on the back of his neck, fingers intertwining with the soft strands of his hair. in that fleeting, stolen breath of moment, the world outside seemed to dissolve, leaving just the two of you suspended in this fragile, but powerful connection.

when you finally pulled away, the room took a breath with you. in that moment, everything felt right again. you were back to your version of normal, and it was perfect.

soobin sat cross legend on your bed waiting for you to bring up some snacks. it was the first weekend of your spring break and he decided to come down to surprise you. while waiting for you, his gaze fell upon a large envelope on your bedside table, its seal embossed with the emblem of the culinary school that you had told him about.

“okay, this is a new recipe that i’ve been working on.” you announce, walking into the room with a plate of cookies in your hand. “i want you to be honest with me. that being said, if you hate it, i’m going to cry.”

“why didn’t you tell me that you got in?” he asked as he inspected the envelope.

“because i’m not going.” you set the plate on your bed.

“why not?” concern was etched into the lines of his face.

“for starters,” your gaze drifted to the windows. “i got more money from other schools. besides, it’s on the other side of the country.”

“so?”

“so, that’s too far.”

“but you knew where it was when you applied,” he pressed. “and it’s your dream school.”

“that doesn’t matter, soobin.”

“well, why not?”

“because, you’re here.” you admitted.

“so, you’re staying for me?”

“you don’t want me to?”

“no,”

“oh,”

“y/n,” he leaned forward, reaching out to touch your hand. “i don’t want you to give up on your dreams because of me.” his thumb was tracing patterns on your hand. “why is it so easy for you to understand when it comes to me but not when it comes to you?”

“i’m not giving up on my dreams,” you argued, your eyes meeting the boy on your bed with determination. “i just want to be with you right now.”

his fingers tightened around yours, trying to grasp the gravity of your decision. “we can still be together.”

“with 2000 miles between us?” you questioned. “we could barely handle a hundred. we’re finally good again. i don’t want to go to school across the country and have that change.”

“nothing’s going to change.”

“you don’t know that.”

“you’re right, i don’t know that.” he began, “but i do know that we literally broke up six months ago, and now i’m sitting on your bed again.”

“it wasn’t a break up; it was a break,” you interjected, a small smile playing on your lips.

“okay,” he dragged out the last syllable. “but my point still stands. we’ve been through a lot and we always end up right beside each other.”

you get your laptop from your desk and log into the admissions portal. “are you going to accept it now?”

“no time like the present.”

five months later, you found yourself getting in a taxi to your dorm with your parents by your side. they insisted on driving you there, but you managed to convince them that a cross country road trip would cause more harm than good to your familial relationship.

as you settled into the backseat of the cab, the familiar scent of your mother’s perfume enveloped you. the engine hummed softly beneath you, and the rhythmic sound of tires on pavement created a comforting backdrop.

your mother’s eyes sparkled with a mixture of excitement and a touch of sadness. she reached over and gently squeezed your hand, her grip warm and reassuring. “are you excited, honey?” she asked.

your father, who sat in the front seat, spent the entire ride bombarding you with questions about pepper spray.

you managed to drown out your parents, looking out the window, watching the cityscape evolve as you approached your dorm. the towering skyscrapers seemed to reach for the sky, casting long shadows over the bustling streets. you felt a knot of nervous energy settle in your stomach.

at your dorm, your parents helped you carry your bags up to your room. the air tingled with the scent of freshly painted walls and the promise of new beginnings. your room was a blank canvas, waiting for you to imprint it with your personality.

as you unpacked, your mother offered suggestions for organizing your belongings, and your father, more practically, made a list of all the necessities you needed to get like extra blankets and a first aid kit.

yuna, whose school went back in session a few days earlier, texted you inviting you to hang out with her and her roommate. you walked your parents back to their hotel, eating takeout from a nearby chinese restaurant in their room.

as the meal came to an end, there was a bittersweet air, as you gathered your things and left their room. you met yuna in a park downtown, sitting with her roommate. you ran towards her, the anticipation and joy bubbling over. she enveloped you in a tight hug. “i’m so glad you’re finally here.”

as you walked through the park, the conversation flowed effortlessly. you felt a sense of peace settle over you. it was like the first taste of the home you were building for yourself in this new, unfamiliar place.

you arrived back at your dorm alone. your room greeted you with a sense of familiarity. your side was a collage of memories and personal touches – framed photos, trinkets from home, and the soft glow of fairy lights casting a warm, golden hue.

you sat on your bed, looking out the window, the skyscrapers now standing in line with you. the city’s pulsed thrummed faintly in the distance. gone were the nerves that accompanied you earlier. in their place, a newfound sense of determination settled within you. you knew you had to do what you needed to make this place your own. it was the beginning of a new chapter, and you were ready to embrace it with open arms.

and luckily for you, this new chapter did not come at the detriment of your relationship at first. for the first two months of the semester, you and soobin were still talking everyday and about everything – your classes, the new recipes you were working on, how one of your professors worked at one of the most famous restaurants in the world, and about your friends, how much yuna’s presence helped you settle in, how your roommate neither leaves the room nor says a word to you.

for the first time in this relationship, you could almost say that everything was fine.

but as time went on, you felt yourselves shifting into your old patterns of not talking to each other. in the back of your mind, you couldn’t shake off the feeling that soobin had lied. it seemed like everything was changing. or maybe he was right. maybe this was how it always was. there were never enough hours in the day for you guys to be together and you were coming to find that had always been a pattern throughout your relationship. it was just like eighth grade, or the summer before he left for college, or his first semester of college. the story was almost exactly the same – first it was missing texts because of conflicting class times and time zones. but then hours became days which became weeks and before you knew it, winter break was knocking on your door.

this was the first time you would see soobin in four months and the only thing that you wanted to do was melt into his arms. the familiar sights of your childhood neighborhood rushed past as your dad drove you home from the airport. every turn brought you closer to that one house on the street, the house that held so many memories, and now, the promise of reconnection.

as the car pulled into your driveway, you couldn’t contain your excitement. leaping out, you dashed inside your house, tossing your bags onto your bedroom floor with reckless abandon.

his mother greeted you at the door. “y/n, honey, you’re back!” she exclaimed, pulling you into a tight embrace.

growing up, you never spent much time outside of soobin’s bedroom in his home. his father’s relentless work schedule and his mother’s hesitancy to host guests left the rest of the house shrouded in a quiet unfamiliarity. as you walked through the hallways, you thought about how cold and gray the house looked the summer they moved in. it wasn’t much different now.

a deep breath steadied you as you approached soobin’s closed door.

some things didn’t change. the butterflies that swarmed around in your stomach were a constant companion that signaled you were exactly where you needed to be. but then you thought about how lonely you were without him this semester and you decided that maybe everything changing was for the best.

“y/n, you’re home?” his face betrayed him showing confusion. he never had the best poker face.

“yeah,” you affirmed softly, pushing open the door. there, before you, sat a girl at his desk.

or not.

“uh, this is my friend from school, arin. she couldn’t get a flight home for winter break, so she’s staying here.” soobin explained.

“oh,” you responded with a mix of emotions swirling beneath the surface.

arin extended her hand to you. “hi, it’s so nice to meet you. you must be soobin’s neighbor.”

“and his girlfriend,” you added, declaring your place in the room.

awkward tension hung in the air, a palpable shift in dynamics. as the evening unfolded, you settled into a corner of the room, watching the two converse. your gaze shifted between them, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. you marveled at the ease with which they fell into conversation, recounting stories, laughing. a truly unsettling sight. a pang of envy tugged at your heart.

as the night wore on, their voices became a distant hum to you. you felt like a silent observer, a piece of scenery, fading into the background. you did not plan on watching your boyfriend giggle at someone else’s stories for three hours. you longed for his attention, but that seemed like an impossible request.

soobin, engrossed in his conversation, was too oblivious to your discomfort. it wasn’t that he didn’t care, but rather he was just caught up.

you watched them with a mixture of longing and resignation, trying to convince yourself that this was just a temporary moment of disconnect and that soobin would turn his attention back to you soon. but with each passing minute, that hope waned.

gathering resolve, you got up. “i think i’m going to head home.” you announced.

soobin and arin turned their attention to you, momentarily pulling away from their conversation.

“are you sure?” soobin asked you.

you nodded. “yeah, it’s been a long day. i’ll see you later, soobin. it was nice to meet you, arin.” you turned back to your boyfriend, waiting for his response.

“i’ll walk you home,” he offered.

leaving the room, you couldn’t help but steal a glance back at arin, who was now engrossed in something on her phone. the ache in your chest grew.

the two of you stood in front of your house, the chill of the evening air settling around you. the soft glow from the porch light illuminated the path that led to your front door.

“so, she’s staying the entirety of winter break?” you asked.

“yup,” soobin replied, his words punctuated by a casual pop of the ‘p’. “is there something wrong?”

you hesitated for a moment. “no,” you finally shook your head, a small, rueful smile gracing your lips. “i just wanted to spend time with you alone.”

“we can still spend time together,” he assured. “i feel like you two would get along. she’s a lot like you.”

the reassurance didn’t offer the comfort you sought. instead, it settled uneasily in your stomach. you offered a distracted response, your gaze drifting from the quiet street to your front door.

“yeah, maybe.”

“are you okay?” soobin asked, pulling you back to the present moment.

you forced a smile, masking the swirl of conflicting emotions beneath the surface. “yeah, just tired.”

“okay, goodnight, i’ll see you tomorrow.” he said, leaning down to kiss you. the touch of his lips felt foreign, like a puzzle piece that no longer fit quite right. it was an odd sensation, leaving you with a lingering sense of disconnection. like you were slipping away from each other. you didn’t want to think too much about it, but deep down you knew that no matter how tightly you tried to hold on, it would be no use.

“goodnight,” you whispered, stepping back and slipping into the warmth of your house.

the days that followed were a dance of awkwardness and unspoken tension. you yearned for soobin’s attention, for the familiar touch of his hand, but it just seemed so out of reach.

one chilly afternoon, you all gathered at a small diner on the corner of town. the warm scent of comfort food wrapped around you as you settled into the vinyl booth opposite arin. your boyfriend trailed behind you, hesitating for a moment before sliding into the booth beside you, a subtle shift that did not go unnoticed. it was a tiny pang, but it was there.

you smiled and tried to shake off the unease, focusing on the menu in front of you. as you chatted about school and plans for the break, you couldn’t help but notice soobin’s gaze flickering between the two of you. it was as if he was trying to find balance in a delicate equation.

another time, the three of you planned to visit the ice skating rink. when you arrived at soobin’s house, you were met with the unfamiliar sight of arin in the front seat of the car. you hesitated for a moment, unsure of where to sit. the glance you exchanged with arin held a silent question, but before you could say anything, soobin assured you it wasn’t a big deal.

as the car pulled away, the hum of their conversation and the pulse of the music filled the space, leaving you feeling like a distant observer.

you invited soobin over for a movie night, so imagine your surprise when you opened your front door to see both of them. you smiled dropped as you welcomed them into your house. this was supposed to bring back a flicker of normalcy. you were supposed to nestle into your boyfriend’s side. but even as the movie played, there was a subtle shift in the air. every moment spent with arin was a reminder of the growing distance, like a river slowly widening between you and the person you held closest.

then came that one precious weekend, a rare convergence of circumstances. both of you found your parents out of town at the same time. you invited soobin over and unfortunately, arin was working on a project for school so she couldn’t join. you had to stifle a surge of joy that threatened to bubble over.

“i’m so happy that we’re finally spending time together,” you exclaimed, gently closing your bedroom door behind you. soobin sat on your bed, with your computer resting on his lap. “alone.” you emphasized, a smile playing on your lips.

with purposeful steps, you crossed the room. you carefully lifted the laptop from his lap, placing it on your bedside table. then, with a graceful movement, you straddled his lap, feeling the warmth and familiarity of his presence beneath you.

“i really missed you,” you murmured, your breath mingling with his. leaning in, you captured his lips in a tender kiss.

the room pulsed with newfound energy as the kiss deepened. soobin’s touch was gentle as his hands found their place on the small of your back, holding you close, grounding you in the moment.

as passion ignited between you, a fire that had been smoldering for far too long, you hands moved with purpose, fingers deftly working to remove the barrier that separated you from him.

but then, he pulled away, his breaths coming in measured, uneven intervals. “w-what are you doing?”

“i’m ready,” you replied, your own voice barely above a whisper. the air crackled with tension, every beat of your heart echoing in the silence that followed.

he sat up straighter, his gaze locked with yours. “are you sure?”

“yes, soobin, i’m sure,” you asserted, mustering more confidence. “i want this.”

he took a moment, his breath steadying, before he spoke. “alright,” he said softly.

he gently guided you back onto the bed. “it might be more comfortable if i’m on top,” he suggested. he removed his shirt, casually tossing it to a corner of your room. “please tell me if you want me to stop.”

you nodded in understanding.

“i’m serious, y/n. i need you to tell me if you’re uncomfortable.”

“okay, i will.”

your heart raced as you laid there, your senses heightened. nervous energy tingled through your veins as his hands caressed your sides. his fingers traced the curves of your hips and thighs slowly. every inch of your body lit with flames as he touched you ever so lightly.

slowly, you mirrored his movements, your hands reached for the hem of your t-shirt. with a deep breath, you took off the old t-shirt to match him, laying eagerly in your pretty pink bra.

he stopped to look at you. “wow.” he breathed out. a rush of warmth flooded your cheeks, and you instinctively buried your face in your hands. he pulled your hands down. “don’t hide your face from me, baby.” he murmured with tender eyes. “you’re just so pretty.”

you pulled him down to kiss him. “i need you,” you moaned into the kiss.

soobin’s mouth never left your body as he fumbled with his pants. he licked and sucked on your neck, taking his time with his gray sweatpants. soft moans and sighs kept slipping from your lips as he marked your skin.

“wait,” he stopped. “do you have a condom?”

“top drawer,” you breathed out.

soobin reached into the drawer by the bed, his fingers deftly finding the box nestled amidst an array of trinkets.

“open up for me.” you did as he said, and spread your legs a little wider. he could tell you were nervous as he pulled down your shorts. “do you trust me?” he asked, to which you nodded. “it might hurt for a second, but i promise you, it will only be a tiny amount of pain.” you wrapped your legs around his waist and he slowly rocked his hips against you.

you felt him position his hips so that they were perfectly in line with yours, his tip edging your entrance. he began to work his way into you inch by inch, before steadily pushing in until you were filled with his entire length. he threw his head back in pleasure as he bottomed out in you. your hands still on the back of his neck, you nudged him closer to you. “i know it hurts, baby. i’m sorry. just tell me what you need.”

the pain and discomfort was quickly replaced with pleasure. you gasped quietly, and soobin took it as a sign to finally begin moving. he fell into a rhythm of deep slow thrusts just sent you spiraling. he leaned his face down to your neck for a moment, pressing kisses along your flesh and nipping at your shoulder.

“f-fuck, you feel so good.”

he raised his face again, your noses inches apart. your face was contorted in pleasure and he couldn’t help but groan, thrusting into your harder.

“soobin?” you moaned out.

“yeah, baby? i’m right here.”

“i love you.”

he leaned back down to kiss you, his lips trailing down your jawline to your neck.

every kiss, every thrust progressively getting faster was sending you over the edge, making you pant and moan underneath him. the sounds coming from you were making his head spin and he could feel himself getting closer to his orgasm.

he was hitting you in the right spot, causing a knot to form in your lower stomach as you approached your breaking point. the knot in your stomach tightened and snapped. your walls spasmed and clenched around him as you released all over his cock. your body was shaking from the intensity, as you cried his name out. fueling his organs. his hips stuttered and he joined you in climax.

his movements ceased to slow rolls of his hips before eventually stopping.

soft pants and deep breaths invaded the space and filled the room around you. you stayed like that for a moment, catching your breath. he then carefully pulled out. he held your body close to his chest, his eyes softening as he looked down at your exhausted face.

you nuzzled your head into soobin’s neck, kissing along his jawline. “that was so good.” you said between kisses. soobin responded with a contented hum, his fingers gently rubbing against your arm. the soft rustle of the sheets provided a soothing backdrop to the intimacy you had just shared, cocooning you in a bubble of fleeting bliss

but as the minutes passed, a subtle shift began to settle between you, like a distant tremor foreshadowing an impending quake. soobin’s touch, once tender and reassuring, began to falter. his breath, once steady and calming, now held an undertone of uncertainty.

“i should probably go back home,” soobin said, his arm slowly retreating from around your shoulder. “arin is alone.”

“seriously?” you turned to face him, a mixture of confusion and anger plastered on your face.

“what? she’s a guest.”

“you’re leaving?” you hold onto his arm, desperate to keep him close. “i thought you were going to spend the night.”

“i can’t leave her alone.”

“soobin, i just lost my virginity to you…” your voice trailed off, tears forming in your eyes. your hands dropped to your lap. the room seemed to close in around you, suffocating in its silence.

“y/n–” you could feel your blood boiling.

“don’t.” you shifted away from him on the bed. “i just lost my virginity to you and you want to spend the night with some other girl.”

“i’m not spending the night with her.”

“what’s so special about her?”

“what?”

“why have you chosen to spend every moment of this break with her instead of me?”

“we spend time together.”

“yeah, with her always there.”

the room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of your words settling into the air.

“she’s my friend and i care about her.”

“you care about her?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, every word laced with a pain that cut through the silence.

“yes i do. she couldn’t go home for winter break. I just want to make sure she doesn’t feel alone.”

“well what about me?”

“y/n, come on.”

“i told you i loved you.”

“y/n, i–” you could almost hear your heart break. he couldn’t even say it back to you.

you quickly sobered up, your walls rising like a fortress around you. “i think you should leave.”

“hey,” he reached out to hold you, but you swatted his hand away, the touch too little, too late. his fingers hung in the air for a moment before dropping, defeated.

“no. i don’t want you here anymore. you should go home.”

soobin stood up and got dressed. his movements were deliberate and slow as he gathered his scattered clothes. he dressed in silence, every gesture laden with a sense of finality. as he stood by the door, fully dressed, soobin turned to look at you. his eyes held a mixture of regret and longing, a silent plea for understanding that hung in the space between you. you met his gaze, your heart aching with a complex blend of emotions – love, betrayal, and a yearning for something that now felt impossibly distant.

the door creaked open and closed softly, the sound echoing in the hollow space left behind.

putting on a robe, you sat by your window, watching him go into his house, praying, hoping that he would turn around, see you sitting by your window, come back to you. but he just walked into his house, the door closing with a finality that sent a shiver down your spine. your room felt emptier than ever before.

you laid in your bed and let the tears fall freely, each drop a painful release. the weight of reality settled on your chest. a heavy ache seeped into your bones.

the days that followed felt like a slow-motion train wreck. it was as if the color had drained from the world, leaving only shades of gray. every passing moment that you didn’t hear from soobin was a jagged piece of glass, cutting into your soul. each night seemed longer than the last, filled with the silent echo of his absence.

you didn’t even know what hurt more — the raw vulnerability of giving him everything, only to have him leave, or the deafening silence that followed. the unanswered questions swirled like a storm in your mind. why hadn’t he reached out? was he feeling the same heartache that clung to your every breath?

his parents even visited for dinner and you had to paint a smile on your face throughout to hide the storm that raged within. when his mom inquired about your absence, you concocted a tale, your voice steady even though your heart felt like it might shatter.

other than your parents, the only person you spoke to was yuna, who became your lifeline even though she was on vacation with her parents. she was a voice of reason and a source of much-needed laughter. “honestly, fuck him. and fuck her too,” she declared.

“she didn’t even do anything,” you murmured in arin’s defense.

“who the fuck sits in the front seat of someone else’s boyfriend’s car?” yuna fired back, making you chuckle.

"i wish you were here. it's so miserable. i can't even leave my house because i'm scared i'm going to see him," you confessed, your voice a whisper edged with pain.

"if i was there, he'd probably have to file a restraining order against me."

returning to campus was like stepping onto a battlefield, but yuna was determined to wage war against the memories that threatened to engulf you and make you forget about a certain dark haired boy whose name you were no longer allowed to say. “you know what they say: in order to get over someone, you need to get under someone else.” she proclaimed from your closet, picking out something for you to wear tonight.

“i don’t know if i’m ready to get under someone else,” you admitted, fixing your mascara in your bathroom mirror, dressed in your robe.

“doesn’t matter if you actually do. you just need to get your mind off of him.” she hands you a black dress. “wear this. it always looks good on you.”

and so, you allowed yourself to be swept up in a night of bar hopping. the pulsing music and laughter washed over you like a healing balm. for a few precious hours, you were just another college student, drowning your sorrows in neon lights and thumping bass.

between the nights out, you threw yourself completely into your studies, the pursuit of a summer internship becoming your north star. you came to school to do something, and you weren’t going to let your heartache consume you.

spring was always a happy time for you. the air was warm, carrying with it the promise of renewal. it had been months since you had thought about soobin, and even longer since you had seen him. for the first time since that unfortunate night, you felt like you were completely over him. or at least getting there.

as you strolled back to your dorm from class, the world hummed with a quiet energy. the sun hung low in the sky and the air was soft and warm against your skin. but then you saw a familiar silhouette leaning against your dorm building. time seemed to stretch in that moment, the world around you fading into a blur. your heart quickened its pace, a staccato beat echoing in your chest.

"y/n," he breathed, his voice a soft plea that hung in the air. his presence was a sudden gust of wind, stirring the carefully constructed walls around your heart.

your guard was up, a fortress of steel around your heart. you wouldn't let him waltz back into your life just to tear you apart again. "what are you doing here?" you demanded, your voice steady despite the turmoil within.

"i wanted to talk to you."

"how did you find my address?"

"your mom gave it to my mom, who gave it to me."

you let him into your building, signing him in with the security guards in the front. the familiar surroundings now felt foreign with him there. in the confines of your dorm room, he looked around, his gaze grazing over the familiar details that now seemed foreign.

“you said you wanted to talk. so talk.” you said to him sitting down. you were so grateful that your roommate had gone to class. you really didn’t need her to be in the room with you now.

he glanced around, his face marked with uncertainty. “i don’t know where to start.”

you met his gaze without a word.

“i guess… i could start with sorry.” he offered with a nervous chuckle.

“i think that’s too little, too late, soobin.” you asserted, matter of factly.

“i miss you.”

“you can’t keep saying that.” your shoulders sunk. looking at him now, you could feel all the emotions bubbling back up — the anger, the hurt, the tears, they were all coming back to you.

“i know, but it’s true.” he rushed to add. “that’s why i came here. i wanted to see you. i know we didn’t leave things the right way.”

“soobin, you were the first person i ever had sex with and you left me right after.” you tried to keep your cool and maintain your composure, but it was getting increasingly harder.

“i-i know. i’m sorry,” he stammered, remorse filling his eyes.

“is that all you came here to say? sorry?” he looked at you apologetically, offering no further words. “you hurt me so much and you couldn’t even say anything to me afterwards. i waited every day for months to see if you would ever call me and you didn’t. it was like i meant nothing to you. it was just so easy for you to forget that i existed.” as the words flowed, you felt a strange mixture of relief and sadness wash over you. the wounds were still fresh, but there was a catharsis in finally addressing the unspoken.

“i’m s—” he stopped himself. “i know i hurt you. i don’t know what i can do to make it right.”

“i don’t think there’s anything you can do to make it right.” you said, wiping the slow tears from your face. you sat up, meeting his gaze squarely. “i spent our entire relationship fighting for you to pay attention to me. i can’t do that anymore. i don’t want to beg someone to care about me.”

“i care about you. you know that.”

“do i?”

“i didn’t think this conversation would go like this if i’m being completely honest.”

“i’m not angry at you anymore. at least i’m trying not to be.” you tell him. “and i don’t hate you, if you thought i did. i don’t think i could ever hate you.”

“i don’t think i can’t not have you in my life.”

“i’m still your neighbor.” you joked.

“it’s not the same.” he admitted quietly, sitting beside you. “y/n, i love you.”

“soobin–” you turned to face him, searching his eyes for any sign that he understood the depth of your pain.

“i know, it’s too late. i just wanted you to know.” his gaze fixed on his hands, fingers tracing invisible patterns on his jeans. “i can’t erase the past. but i want to try to make amends, to find a way back to some semblance of… of friendship, maybe.”

friendship. the word hung in the air, a fragile bridge between your shared history and the uncertain future.

“i don’t know if we can be friends. not right now, at least. maybe not ever.”

he looked up, pain etched in the frown lines across his face. “i understand,” he murmured, voice heavy with regret.

silence enveloped, broken only by the distant sounds of life outside. after what felt like an eternity, you finally spoke, your voice softer now. “i think i need time. to you know, figure out my shit.”

he nodded. “i want you to know that i’m sorry. truly.”

“i know.”

with a heavy heart, you walked him to the door. as he left, you closed the door behind him, leaning against it for support. alone in the quiet of your dorm, you let the tears come. finally you had a release of all the emotions long held in check. you had tried your hardest to bury them, but now it was time for them to finally come out. the pain was still there, but with each tear that fell, you felt a small measure of healing begin.

in the days that followed, you took each moment as it came, allowing yourself to grieve for what was lost and to slowly rediscover the strength within you. spring continued to dance outside, and you vowed to find your own renewal.

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bangaveragewhitewine · 8 months

Text

I'm yours, all yours

Eddie Munson x Reader (bouncer x bartender, established relationship)

October 1991

It’s been over two months since you kissed Eddie Munson in the back alley of the dive bar you both work in. You had barely stopped kissing him ever since.

An autumn afternoon together shows you a little bit more of the man you’re falling in love with.

Word Count: 6.2K

Content / Warnings: Contains the main food groups - fluff, smut & hurt+comfort. Reader has some self doubt / anxious thoughts. This is 18+ - if you are not 18+ hit the back button and read something else. Oral (m receiving, minor f receiving), p-in-v sex. Feeeeelings. Eddie & Reader are mid twenties. Reader written as AFAB using fem pronouns.

This is best enjoyed after reading their origin story crazy-mad for you (part of the Happy Hours series)

Author’s note: I’m planning to follow CMFY with some one-shots from throughout Eddie & Bartender’s relationship. I have some loose ideas but this one came from a deleted scene I couldn’t squeeze into the main fic so reworked it! Beta’ed by @specialagentmonkey (theee best) Thank you for the love on CMFY! Reading your replies and reblogs and tags made my shitty wee brighter. Hope you enjoy this cosy peek and have a gorgeous day 🖤

It’s been over two months since you kissed Eddie Munson in the back alley of the dive bar you both work in. You had barely stopped kissing him ever since. Every moment your lips aren’t on each other is like a thousand paper-cuts to Eddie’s heart (so soft inside the facade of Mean Metalhead he has curated for himself). He makes you want to write his name next to yours in pink gel pen, framed with sparkly little hearts.

Two months and counting with Eddie and you learn something new about him every day; he loves tattoos but needles make his stomach twist, he meets his friend Steve once a month for a dude-date breakfast (but sees as much as he can of him and his other friends when their schedules line up), he sings with his band but needs at least five drinks before karaoke.

When you ask questions, when you're curious, he tells his long and meandering stories with wandering tangents which tell you so much about the man you’re falling in love with. He opens up to you, tells you things very few people know - about his mom, how he ended up with his Uncle Wayne. It hasn’t been long, but you already can’t wait to meet him.

Two whole months (closer to three really) and you’re sure you don’t want to ever have a single day without Eddie in your life, and your bed. And yet you still haven’t asked the question that has been on your mind since before you two ever got together.

It’s October now; Autumn is here and the city has turned chilly. Sweltering summer nights are no longer and you and Eddie have been spending afternoons and late nights when you’re not working watching your favourite horror films. When he had told you how much he loved Halloween - just as much as you, if not a wee bit more - you knew Eddie Munson was the one.

It’s Friday, late afternoon and you had reluctantly spent the night in your own apartment. The shame radiating from the mountain of laundry in the corner of your room had become too powerful to ignore and so you had forgone a night of being held and loved-on to tackle it and the other life-admin you had been ignoring. Eddie had suggested staying at your place, but you knew he would distract you too much with his kisses and touches (which he doled out generously whenever you were near).

You had missed your boyfriend terribly, almost like a missing limb or a gorgeous big parasite (affectionate) that you had grown more than fond of. Eddie had the night off work but still drove you to and from the bar, even stayed for a drink until Frank shooed him away for trying to distract you. You had missed him so much that you had kept him on the phone to talk a little longer when he got home before saying goodnight and promising you would see him before your shift together tomorrow. You had spent nights apart before, days and nights when you or Eddie had clashing schedules but you felt his absence more than ever today.

Your laundry and errands had never been completed with such efficiency as when you had the motivation of seeing Eddie as soon as they were ticked off your to-do list.

You arrived at his door and buzzed the intercom for his apartment, laden down with an overnight bag (over-weekend really) and Tupperware containers full of homemade soup and lasagna for before your shift at Jackie’s. Your cheeks are warm and you can feel heat prickling under your arms alongside the swelling of anticipation in your chest. Eddie buzzes you in and comes to meet you, a big grin on his face for his girl.

His hair is up in a messy bun, held in place by a black velvet scrunchie you insisted was his now. He looks cosy in sweats, a tank top and his red and black flannel which you know to be softer than soft. Eddie hadn’t even bothered with shoes, braving the stairs in his socks so that he could see you sooner. You match his smile when you catch sight of him; cosy Eddie is far from the leather-jacketed bouncer you had got to know.

When he sees how many bags you’re carrying, he rushes to lighten your load (doesn’t even skid on the tiles).

“You walked here with all that?! I could’a picked you up!” he said, shouldering your overnight bag before blessing you with a kiss.

“It’s like two blocks, not a marathon.” You roll your eyes at him but pout for another kiss anyway as he rings for the elevator.

Eddie will never refuse you a kiss. He pecks little smooches to your smile as it grows wider. “I missed you last night.”

“I missed you too.” You nudge his cheek with your nose, pecking at it like a little bird as the lift arrives; you step in ahead of him, pressing the button for the third floor with your now free hand.

He asks if you slept okay (not as well without him, but you don’t say that) and tells you about the bag of free bagels he scored as a thank you from the man who ran the deli a few doors down. The guy’s hand-truck had lost a wheel while he was taking in a delivery that morning and Eddie helped him out, fixed the wheel too. He knew how much you loved the bagels from there and it felt fateful that his reward was a bag of your favourite everything bagels.

“Neighbourhood hero,” you sing, following him into his one-bedroom flat. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Trigonometry. French. Um… skateboarding!” he lists, as he drops your bag inside his bedroom door. “I fucking suck at skateboarding.”

The thought of Eddie on a skateboard makes you smile - definitely a little meanly, what a dork - but you store that one for later.

The bag of Tupperware barely makes it to the kitchen counter before Eddie’s arms are around you, pulling you back against his chest. His nose presses into the base of your neck, huffing hot breaths against your sweet-smelling skin before kissing up his well-worn path.

“I really missed you,” he murmurs, hips nudging forward against your jean-clad behind for emphasis.

“Missed me or missed getting your dick sucked?” you ask, turning your head to look at him.

“Both. Mainly you.” His grin is impish as you turn to loop your arms around his neck, backed right up to the wiped-clean Formica. You let him lift you onto the counter so that he can stand between your spread knees.

“I missed you and your dick, so we’re even. And we have the whole weekend together to get reacquainted, huh?” You twist a loose curl around your finger, tugging to watch it spring and coil.

Eddie feels like a swooning maiden when he’s the centre of your attention like this, being flirted with. He loves it and he knows he’s in love with you. He had fallen first, long before you had even realised your banter at work was more than just that.

His fingers creep up your thighs, the silver glinting at you as you place your focus on making up for a night apart as you make out in his little kitchen.

Eddie smells shower-fresh, clean with a hint of spice, and the curls at the base of his neck are still a little damp. He shivers, giggling against your mouth when you run your finger down his spine. “Your nails are tickly,” he says with a pretend scowl.

You know he loves your nails on his back; when they’re digging in like claws to leave him littered with red scratches, and when they’re tickling up and down in soothing strokes as he’s falling asleep.

He takes your hand and brings it around to see the fresh coat of deep red on your nails. “You painted them!” he says, his nose scrunches cutely when you poke it.

“I did. The black was getting chipped and gross.” You brought the black polish anyway in case he wanted to try it out again, thrown somewhere in your make-up bag.

Eddie rests his chin on your chest; your breasts have become his favourite place to lay his head, closely followed by the squishy pillow of your thigh (there’s a third-place tie between your tummy and your butt). You dot kisses to his forehead beneath the shaggy bangs, trailing up into his hair when he presses his face against your soft sweater.

“Eddie?” “Hmm.” His voice is muffled. “You hungry?”

His head turns so you can hear him more clearly, “Hungry for you.”

Hopeful mischief twinkles in his hot-chocolate eyes when he peers up at you.

“Horndog.” “Yes?” “Gross boy.” “Unh, yes. Say more dirty things to me, baby.”

He has a look of hammed-up ecstasy on his face, scrunched brow and bitten lip. Even though you know he’s pretending, it makes the horny cavewoman part of your brain think about his face when he is actually deep inside you or desperate for your touch - it makes your tummy feel like lava. One night apart makes you realise just how bad you’ve got it for him. You shove at his head and Eddie leans back with a throaty giggle before squeezing your hips again.

To balance out your playful push and satiate the need building in your gut, you pull him in for a kiss - open-mouthed with the dirty slide of tongue that sounds loud in your ears. Your legs wrap around him, arms tighten.

“Carry me?” “Bed?” “Sofa, bed. Wherever.” “Potato, tomato.” “Eddie.”

He sweeps you off the counter - you’re still surprised and impressed at his strength until you remember him lifting the barrels and kegs at work. You reward him with distracting kisses as he carries you to the soft brown couch and smile up at him when he lays you down gently. He forgets about gentle as he removes his shirt and pounces on you, resuming your dirty kisses from the kitchen.

Merlot-red nails push the hem of Eddie’s tank top up his pale back, slipping beneath to pull him tighter to you between your thighs. You can already feel him growing hard; you nip at his lower lip and kiss away the sting.

“Sit up for a sec.” You tap his side but Eddie needs to kiss you just a little bit more before he can pull himself away.

“Where you goin’?” he asks, a little breathless. Blown-black pupils eat up the brown warmth with his voracious want; he watches as you sit up on your knees and pull your cosy sweater off, then the white vest beneath, leaving you in your creamy silk bra and blue jeans.

“Pretty,” Eddie whispers, his fingers brushing the little bow between your breasts. He was in awe of your little collection of bras, the matching underwear too. He even loved you in the cotton comfy pants that hugged just right when your cramps ached.

“Sit back against that end. And take your pants off, handsome.” You smile when he stares at you, “Do you need help?”

Eddie barely shakes his head as he wriggles out of his sweatpants and sits where you told him to. You balance each other out, taking turns to take the lead. You’re still learning, and despite Eddie’s non-academic tendencies, he’s studious and dedicated to learning what you like, where and how to touch you. You’re his favourite subject and he’s yours too.

You smile and knee-walk across the chasm between you, situating yourself between his legs to take his face in your hands and kiss him. He makes a small joyful noise when you begin to kiss down to his jaw and nuzzle at the dusting of stubble.

“Smell good,” you murmur, teasing delicate skin with your teeth before bestowing him sucking a wet kiss, enough to leave just a hint of a bruise there. It makes Eddie groan quietly, a desperate little noise at the back of his throat. He’s louder when you slip your fingers down his chest and into the waistband of his black boxers - they have little skulls on them.

“Cute,” you run your thumb over the elastic at the top as your knuckles brush his cock. Almost an echo of Eddie’s assessment of your bra moments ago.

Hips push up, almost like an electric shock. There’s a tiny noise that you just about hear, deep back in his throat, a quiet grunt as Eddie covers your hand and shows you what he needs. His pretty lashes flutter as you look at each other, sparking fire in your gut again. You smile and move your hand away, halting his protest by pulling the black cotton down his thighs to drop them on the floor.

You can feel saliva pooling under your tongue when you see him - you really did miss him, all of him, while you were apart. He’s thick and a few centimetres over average length; a nice dick (rare and wonderful) and he knows what to do with it to leave you brainless and whimpering. Eddie gets one more kiss before you make yourself comfy, lying on your tummy between his legs. Little kisses are peppered on his hairy thighs, over the black and shadow of ink, before you take him in your hand, then your mouth.

Eddie is in awe of how pretty you look like this, how your lashes kiss your cheekbones and the stretch of your lips (he goes a little crazy if you’re wearing lipstick too, really gets him going). His breath comes hard through his nose as you tongue the head of him, press against the thick vein before taking as much as you can into your mouth.

“Shit,” he growls, feeling your nails on his thigh as you begin to bob your head steadily. His hips and thighs tense and spread a little wider, needy, as he keeps himself in check. Your other hand holds the base of him, what you haven’t yet tried to fit into that pretty mouth.

“Look at my girl, so gorgeous,” he murmurs, smiling when your lashes flutter. His girl. “So pretty.”

You hum affirmative, taking more in when his head tips back to show off his pale throat and the little mark you left behind. His jaw tenses, twitches and you begin the slow bob of your head again. You look up past your lashes, watching his brow crease when you take him all the way.

“Shit shit shit,” his voice is a breathy growl that bleeds into a louder moan when he sees you looking up at him - his devil woman. “You’re going to kill me someday with that mouth, huh?” he says. The shake in his voice betrays him as he tries to act a little smooth, a little more together as you’re taking him apart.

You bob your head, imitating a nod, and bring your hand down to squeeze and roll his neglected balls for good measure. That makes him howl and he covers his face with his arm while you let that playful hand take over so you can catch your breath.

“Y’okay?” you ask, resting your cheek against his thigh as you move your hand a little faster.

“Mhmm, peachy,” he replies, eyes a little wild. You love the pink blush on his usually pale cheeks, love knowing that he’s like this because of you.

Eddie strokes your cheek as you take the head of him back between your lips, a tender little caress of his thumb that makes you close your eyes and lean in. You feel hot and slick between your legs, push your hips to the sofa cushion just a little to temper the ache.

He catches the little motion and his jaw drops a little - it clears his head just a little, zeroing in on you through his haze of arousal. “Oh my girl feelin’ needy too?” he asks, thumb pushing gently against your cheek.

You move your mouth off of him and nod, turning your head to kiss his palm. “Told’ju I missed you.”

Eddie’s grin can’t be contained. “C’mere then.” His hands run over your back, coaxing you into his lap.

Once you have rid yourself of your jeans and underwear you take up your throne on Eddie’s thighs. Your appetite for each other meant that he had started storing condoms in practically every room - there's a fresh box on the coffee table, bought that morning after he saw how low the reserves were.

Your arms wind around his neck, pressing yourself against Eddie as he kisses you again. Fingers drift between your legs, feeling just how slick you are for him - a combination of missing him and seeing the effect of your mouth on his face. You feel his smile against your mouth as you seek a deeper dirtier kiss, sucking that plump lower lip between your own.

One guitar-string scarred finger is joined by a second, rubbing slow firm circles that make you moan into his mouth. They press inside and his thumb takes up that slow wet rub, pulling more little needy noises from your lips as you take him back into your hand.

Hands and wrists cramp easily at this angle and you take a moment to pull back, biting your kiss-bruised lip before turning around on your hands and knees to present yourself to Eddie. Peeking over your shoulder with a cheeky smile, you see how his eyes blaze before grabbing for the box of Durex. You hide your grin against your arm when you hear him swearing at the plastic wrapping, calling the box ‘a fuckin’ shitbag’ when his nails struggled for purchase against it. There’s a tiny ‘yes!’ when he finally breaks in and you laugh quietly at you listen to the familiar tear-open of foil.

On his knees, he bends to kiss the rounds of your ass, then dips lower to taste you just once. “Fuckin’ so sweet,” he murmurs, wishing he had the willpower to not follow his dick that afternoon and dive into you instead - but there’s always later.

You gasp-giggle at the feeling of his tongue and rock back when you see him line himself up. “Please?” Your lips push into a playful pout, “Show me how much you missed me?” You love winding him up like this.

One side of his mouth curves up as he holds your hip, rubs the head against you to play you at your own game before pushing all the way in. Your jaw drops open, feeling full as Eddie rocks his hips minutely. You can feel him pushed right up against you inside and out, his thighs against the back of yours before he begins a deep dragging thrust.

“Shit, you feel good,” he murmurs, stroking your hip lovingly. “That’s it, baby. Let me take care of you.”

You nod, hating that you can’t see him despite how good this angle is for you both. “Eddie,” you whimper, feeling yourself flutter around him.

“Yeah, that’s who’s making you feel good, sweet thing. I’ve got you.” He squeezes your hip, the silver of his rings biting into the doughy softness as he watches his length disappear inside you over and over as he begins to get quicker and harder with his thrusts.

Your eyes nearly roll back as he pounds into you, fingers gripping the arm of the couch - it’s about the only thing keeping you up as Eddie fucks you and runs his mouth. It feels so good you can barely speak.

“That’s my girl. Going all cock-dumb on me?” he asks, squeezing the meat of your ass a little harder, watching it jiggle and bounce with his thrusts. “I’ll make you feel good like this every day if you let me. S’what you deserve, getting fucked like you need, huh?”

Your answering moan is spurred on not only by his words but the graze of his length on your g-spot. “Eddie, god! Yes, right there,” your voice is a babble, the words running into each other ‘yesrigh’there’ as it becomes the only thing you can say.

The pulsing gush around him, hot wet heat, makes Eddie moan with you. “I know, baby. I know.” His back teeth press together as he holds on, the cord of pleasure pulled tight in his pelvis. The slapping pounding sound fills the room but he can only hear you, almost crying with pleasure.

“Close,” you murmur, slumped forward a little more. The angle arches your back, pulls Eddie deeper. Your groan is shaky, broken with want.

“Me too, baby. Got me so wound up,” he murmurs. “Can you touch yourself for me?” He watches your hand move back between your legs, feels the graze of your fingers as you bring yourself closer, small tight circles that sync up with his punishingly good pace.

“Fuck! Eddie,” you whimper, feeling the inferno in your belly burn bright and hot as you see stars, tears springing as you come hard.

“Shit shit, that’s my girl. Oh yeah, fuck,” he grinds out, continuing his thrusts as your body shakes with pleasure. Eddie folds over you, wrapping his arms around you to bring you back into his lap like a rag doll. He can’t bear to not be as close to you as humanly possible as he nears his own orgasm, mouth pressed to your neck to kiss and pant against it as he hammers into you.

His fingers trail down, finding a quick rhythm that brings you to a shock of a second climax, shorter but no less intense than the first. You feel boneless, yet manage to pull his hand away when it becomes too much, holding his arm around your middle as the other curls up and loops around his neck. Your lips find their way to Eddie’s jaw, pressing wet kisses there. Your eyes are heavy, and yet you see the moment he falls apart.

His eyes close, face creasing in beautiful blissful agony as he comes holding you in his lap, your name on his tongue.

Your chest feels heavy, breath synced up as your fingers stroke up against his scalp, past the flyaways. He kisses you messily, so slow and without the same hurry he had mere moments ago.

Your noses brush against each other’s warm cheeks, lazy smiles pressing kisses as hands smooth and caress wherever is in reach. You feel fuzzy around the edges, warm all over with Eddie plastered to your back. You would both gladly overheat to stay like this a bit longer. Eddie’s lean arms are the only thing holding you together right now, grounded syrupy-sweet kisses that bond the broken bits back into place.

“Wanna see my girl,” he murmurs after a few moments mouthing at your shoulder, “Easy, babe.” Eddie’s hands on your waist help you to move from his lap, unsheathing him from your body. He wraps the condom in a tissue before lying back, inviting you into his arms with grabby hands.

You bring the blanket from the back of the sofa with you when you lie against his chest, sharing love-drunk kisses as you bask in the glow of each other.

It’s bright-cold outside the steamed-up windows; the afternoon sun lights the room. His neighbours will surely hate you, but when Eddie strokes his tongue against yours you forget to care.

You brush his sweaty bangs away and press a kiss to the centre of his forehead before resting your head against his chest, tucked under his chin as his hand finds yours. He kisses your knuckles and smiles down at you.

“Y’okay?” he checks, rosy-cheeked bright-eyed and deliriously happy. Sometimes he feels the need to pinch himself when he realises the woman he had been pining for is now his girlfriend. One time you had been lying together smoking and watching a rerun of Twin Peaks and he had actually asked you to pinch him - his nipple had ached for the rest of the night but at least he knew it was all real. And you had kissed it better.

Now you smile lazily up at him, real and cosy in his arms. “Never better,” you promise. Your nose scrunches when he kisses it and calls you his little bunny to make you laugh.

Eddie lights a cigarette and holds it to your lips when you’re too comfy to move. It brings you both back to the real world, back from the plain of absolute bliss. It’s quiet, neither feeling the need to fill the comfortable silence until your curiosity gets the better of you.

“Where’d you get them?” you ask, lifting your joined hands to finally speak the question you have been meaning to ask. Your fingers slot between Eddie’s, palm to palm, as you admire the silver.

“Been kinda building a little collection since school. Thrift shops mainly.” Eddie shrugs one shoulder; he’s careful not to jostle you too much as you lie against his chest. He pauses to catch a fallen eyelash on your cheek, holding it out to you to blow away. You smile a little and lift your head to wish for a thousand more afternoons like this.

“I have two nice ones; my friends pooled together for a graduation present for me, and the other one, this one,” Eddie shows you his right middle finger, a harmless flip-off to show you the black enamel heart with wings that he always wears. It’s smaller, less outrightly demonic than the others. The rest of his rings are swapped out, usually a lucky dip into a little dish on his bedside table, but this one stays on. “Bought this one for myself when the band went on tour. Something to remember, y’know?”

You had heard about Corroded Coffin’s big opportunity last year, playing a few dates as an opening act for a bigger metal band. Your thumb runs over the warm metal as he begins to speak again.

“It was the last day of tour and I was so fuckin’ tired. We were kinda convinced that we were going to be discovered or something, and the crowds really liked us but… it didn’t happen how we had planned.”

You expect to hear sadness in his voice but there is none. Maybe a hint of resignation that their dream hadn’t become reality.

“Me and Gareth had a fight on the last morning, both of us were hungover as fuck and antsy because it was all going to be over in a few hours. So I stormed off to get breakfast and clear my head, or get more fucked up.” Eddie’s little smile doesn’t meet his eyes; they look a little bit more glossy than usual. “It was my Mom’s birthday and I felt like shit. I would say I found this little jeweller-silversmith place but I think it found me.”

You squeeze Eddie tighter, feeling like he’s letting you see a whole new part of him. A beautiful little sentimental part that houses and holds dear the other woman he loved and the little boy he was when he lost her.

“It was way more money than I should have spent on something so small, but it felt right I couldn’t leave it behind y’know? I went in and it was right there.” His eyes sparkle as he remembers that feeling of all-over calm he felt that day in the little shop. “Went back and apologised to Gare and we played the last show, definitely our best one.”

You lean up and press a soft kiss to his mouth, “That’s a sweet story, Ed. Thank you for telling me.” Your voice is a whisper against his pillowy lips; you kiss those lips again and feel the silver against your cheek as Eddie kisses you back. Your chest feels like it could burst and there’s an annoying pressure at the back of your eyes.

“You’re gonna laugh at me but..” Eddie rolls his eyes and leans his head back against the arm of the sofa. He figures out his words before speaking again. “It’s like, everything happened for a reason - we didn’t get a big break but we’re all happy. Gareth got into art school, Jeff moved out of his Mom’s place and… I met you.”

Silence.

His honesty winds you, it hits you so hard in the chest that you can barely fathom the flurry of feelings like wings battering your chest from the inside. Your lower lip wobbles. Eddie is dead serious too; you know he’s not saying it to be playful. He has so much love in his battered heart and it oozes from him.

Eddie was expecting you to scoff or roll your eyes, call him ‘soft boy’ or something. Maybe a very small part of him thought you might brush him off (he didn’t let himself dwell on that bit). He certainly wasn’t expecting the teary look in your eyes.

“Shit, baby.” He thumbs your cheek and pouts back at you, pressing the sweetest kiss to your lips; so sweet and slow like the maple syrup you have been adding to your coffees now that it’s Fall. “I mean it. If things went differently, if I didn’t come back, I wouldn’t have met the sexy new bartender, huh?”

You smile, laugh a little wetly and try to blame the post-sex rush for being weepy. “I guess I’m a little bit glad you came back to be annoying. Super selfish of me.”

You can’t help but think that there might be some parallel universe where you’re still shaking cocktails in Jackie’s but Eddie’s on stage opening for Metallica, Corroded Coffin at the top of the charts. With that thought comes a deep-sinking feeling that maybe someday you might not be enough and he will want that rockstar life; groupies, supermodels, a pretty blonde actress on his arm.... Not you.

Eddie kisses you again and pulls you close, cocooning the pair of you in the blanket. You find his hand to kiss the black enamel heart before resting your head, cheek to chest.

You have never felt so in love, nor have you felt so scared. Eddie feels lighter now that he has said out loud the thought about fate that has been rattling around his skull for too long. He feels your arms wrapping tighter around him, like he might disappear.

He presses his smiling lips fiercely to the crown of your head. “What’s goin’ on in here, huh? I can hear that big brain thinkin’ up a storm.” He thinks over everything he said; was he coming on too strong?

“I just really really like you, Ed,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. Telling him that felt so easy; maybe if you weren’t being sucked into an internal doom spiral you could play it up and roll your eyes, pretend it was icky to like him.

“Yeah? I really really like you too.” Your admission makes his heart sing; Eddie tries to temper his smile but can’t. He won’t pretend he’s not head over heels for you, he’d give you a vital organ if you needed it - hell, his heart was already yours.

He cups your cheek again, coaxing you to look at him. “What else? You’re like… a scared little bunny right now.” He concentrates all his love into how he’s holding you as if it could be transferred like magic from his fingertips.

“I just...”

He doesn’t force you to go on when you hide your face in his chest, feeling so stupid for being emotional. Your eyes burn, and he wishes he could be whatever you need right now. He’s not used to seeing his bossy flirty girl so unsure of herself; it makes him love you a little more. He looks up at the ceiling and squeezes your body gently.

“Hey. You don’t have to say anything, just listen okay? I’m serious about you, about... Everything I feel for you.” His voice shakes minutely but he takes a moment, stroking your back to centre himself. “I’m not going to up and leave someday to be a rockstar without you. I need you. Okay? You’re my girl. Best thing that’s happened to me in so so long.” Eddie presses a fiercely loving kiss to your head. “I’m yours, all yours.”

A tiny shaky sob escapes your throat, leaving you embarrassed. “I’m your girl,” you nod, looking up to see Eddie’s sentimental smile, his wet brown eyes. Your voice is thin and wobbly, like a broken pencil. “I’m so fuckin’ happy with you, Eddie.”

Neither of you says it, but ‘I love you’ is woven into your confessions, binding you together as you share that moment on Eddie’s squishy, comfy sofa.

You tilt your head to exchange teary-wet kisses, wobbly smiles on your lips as you begin to feel calmer.

“My baby,” he murmurs. “Don’t bottle shit up, okay? Doesn’t help.” He cups your face, wiping the last stray tears from your cheeks and presses kisses there as a balm.

“I know. I feel stupid for getting upset, it’s like so early for us..” You look down at his chest, trace the black ink you can reach before looking at his pretty face. You know it’s so early, so why get ahead of yourself when Eddie’s already made you a promise? You take a breath, close your eyes and focus on what you really want, “When can I come to see Corroded Coffin play?”

Eddie grins, laughs a little throaty. They had taken a little break after tour, played a few bars in the Spring to make sure they didn’t rust up. With Gareth settled back in college, they were ready to get back into it.

“We’re trying to get a gig for the end of the month. Andy knows a guy putting on a night close to Halloween. Jeff’s the organised one though, I’ll check with him tonight.” He kisses your head and smiles. “I gotta get you a shirt, huh?”

“Mhm, yes please. I heard the lead singer is so hot,” you say, smiling a little when he makes a happy noise deep in his throat. “Might throw my bra on stage if he’s as good as they say…” The thought of seeing your man on stage - your man - makes your tummy flutter.

“Yeah? Shit, lucky guy.”

You look up at Eddie and move yourself to rest your forehead against his. “The luckiest. I’m the luckiest girl though.” You mean it too, sealing it with a kiss.

Eddie cups the back of your head, pressing the loveliest kisses to your mouth. “Lucky fuckers,” he murmurs. You trade kisses back and forth, chasing lazy happy smiles for ‘just one more?’ until you need to move.

“Can I shower? Feel sweaty.” Your time together before work is already ticking away, though you’ve made excellent use of it so far.

“Can I come watch? I mean wash your back?” he asks, walking his fingers down your spine with a coy little smile.

“You just want to see soapy boobs,” you tut, looping your arms around his neck as he sits up, taking you with him.

“What guy doesn’t want to see soapy boobs?” he asks, incredulous at the thought.

You kiss the corner of his mouth, humming in agreement, “You still got that disposable camera?”

Eddie’s eyes go wide - you half expect his heart to beat out of his chest, eyes on stalks like a babbling cartoon. “Yes ma’am.”

He dumps you off his lap onto the sofa to root for the camera in his room. The sound of his sweary search carry down the hall as you laugh up at the ceiling.

You love him. You absolutely love Eddie Munson. He’s very easy to love.

Later, when you’re showered clean (a process which required getting just a little bit dirty again with Eddie worshipping you on his knees in the shower) and full-bellied after the dinner you had brought, you and Eddie get ready for work side-by-side in his room.

You’re putting mascara on in his mirror, humming to Queen despite Eddie’s protests, when you hear him call your name.

“Mhm?”

Eddie’s dressed in a black Henley and some jeans - his leather boots and jacket to go on next. You see the glint of silver around his neck as he nods for you to join him on the bed.

“Help me pick what rings to wear?” he asks, voice soft and tentative.

Your heart skips and you nod, crossing the gap to perch on his lap as you pick three more for him to wear - an upside-down cross, a very mean-looking skull, a silver signet ring with ‘EM’ engraved (the gift from his friends for graduation).

He lets you choose where they go and watches as you slip them onto his long fingers. “Perfect,” he murmurs, linking your hands together.

“Pretty damn perfect,” you agree, kissing the back of his hand so he will show you that bright and beaming grin.

You love him, you love him, you love him. And Eddie? He already can’t wait to put a ring on your finger.

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️

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