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stylesloveclub · 7 months

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Prose (part 1)

In which y/n's taking way too many units, and Harry's the graduate assistant for her Literature class.

+++

It’s a gloomy autumn day, the sun nowhere to be found, the sky cloudy and gray. Y/n stands in front of Dr. Richmond’s door, nervously pulling back her hair and righting the state of her sweater.

The wind outside was not forgiving today, blowing harsh and cold and whipping her hair all over like she was caught in the middle of a god damn tornado. She tucks any stray pieces behind her ears and pats her wind-stung cheeks – oh gosh, she probably looks a mess.

She should’ve worn something more professional, she thinks to herself as she tugs her skirt down. Maybe trousers and a blazer– or at least a pair of jeans. Not this stupid little black skirt that keeps riding up, halfway hidden underneath her cream-colored knitted sweater. It keeps riding up, no matter how firmly she keeps tugging it down, and she’s got a horrible inkling that she might’ve accidentally flashed her bum at the workers in the street while she was walking to campus today.

She looks down at her shoes, a pair of black mary janes, paired with some lacy white socks to decorate her ankles. They looked super cute when she put them on this morning – but now she’s worried that she looks like a kindergartener. Is she too old to be wearing frilly socks? They’re just so darn cute… but she doubts the sixty-something year old professor that’s on the other side of the door would think the same thing.

Wiping her sweaty palms on her skirt, she takes a deep breath. It’s now or never. She lifts her hand up to the door, and nervously brings her knuckles down to knock.

It took all of her confidence to come to Dr. Richmond’s office today. She’s not a huge fan of talking to professors outside of class – drafting emails to them literally sends her into a spiral of stress, and she always feels like she’s gonna shit her pants when she goes to office hours– but she has no choice but to come and directly talk to Dr. Richmond today. She’d sent him two emails already (both of them had taken her over two hours to send because she actually despises writing emails and is always nervous that she’s gonna make a typo, or call the professor the wrong name, or accidentally attach her sex tape ((even though she doesn’t have a sex tape?)), but he hadn’t responded to either of those emails and she needs a response from him ASAP.

The door opens before her knuckles even make contact with wood, a short stout man walking out of the office with his briefcase in hand. He’s balding, with only a thin circle of gray hair lining the back perimeter of his head, and a pair of classes sit on his large, oily nose. Y/n stumbles, her eyes widening as she embarrassingly lowers her knuckles from the door and takes a startled step backwards.

“Oh– um, Dr. Richmond?” she stammers nervously, her voice at a much higher pitch than usual. She’d love to stick a pore strip on his nose and unclog all those blackheads.

“That’s me,” he grumbles, sighing heavily, not even looking at her. He’s the head of the English Language and Literature department, a busy man surely. Students probably pester him every hour of every day. Still, she wishes that maybe she could’ve gotten a more… enthusiastic response from him.

“Hi, sir,” she says, swallowing thickly. “I-I was having some issues with enrolling in your English 270 lecture and– um,” she’s starting to lose confidence as Dr. Richmond blatantly ignores her, rummaging through his briefcase for his keys. “I was… wondering if you had a second to, um, discuss it?” Her voice quietly fades towards the end, not sure if Dr. Richmond was even listening at that point– as he’d taken out his phone and started replying to a text while she had still been talking.

He takes a solid five seconds to type out and send his text before responding to y/n. “Take it up with Harry,” he mumbles, still not looking at her. “M’done for the day.”

“Harry?” she repeats, her voice confused and eyebrows pinching together. But Dr. Richmond’s already walking away from her, halfway down the hall. “Oh,” she mumbles to herself sadly, lips pouting. All that, for nothing. He literally just walked away from her.

She sighs heavily, ready to turn on her heel and walk back to her apartment from this failed mission – but then a voice sounds from inside the office. "In here!" it calls out.

She peaks her head inside timidly.

Behind the desk sits a boy, with chocolate brown curls swirled atop his head. “Hello,” he hums, putting the essay he’d been reading down on the desk and looking at her with all his attention. There’s a soft smile on his pretty pink lips, twisted to the side with a dimple poking at his cheek. His eyes are green and glimmer kindly, framed by a pair of dark tortoise shell glasses. “How can I help you?”

This man is much more attractive than grumpy old (and oily) Dr. Richmond.

Y/n struggles to find her voice. “Are you… um, are you Harry?” Her eyes flicker all over this attractive young man’s face, trying to figure out if this is a hallucination or if a boy that pretty actually exists in real life.

“Indeed I am,” he chirps, his chair squeaking as he leans forward. She briefly remembers seeing the name “Harry E. Styles” listed as the graduate teaching assistant, underneath Dr. Richmond’s name on the course website, and is finally connecting the dots. He’s dressed in a white button up, the top few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to reveal tattooed forearms and an anchor on his wrist. His fingers tap against the desk rhythmically, and she finds her eyes drawn to the glittery rings decorating them. Her mind goes blank.

It’s clear that he’s a few years older than herself – but not in a bad way. He just looks taller and broader and… smarter than most of the boys her own age. He has just the slightest bit of stubble on his upper lip, and his eyes just shine with wisdom and intellect.

“Did you have a question?” he asks, voice a little teasing as he jolts her out of her little trance. She tucks her hair behind her ear, embarrassed, and quickly averts her eyes from his hands.

“Yeah, um– Dr. Richmond said you’d be able to help me with my enrollment issues?”

“Sure,” he crosses one leg over the other (y/n definitely notices the way his meaty thighs bulge) and leans back in his seat, hands folded neatly on his knee, “What’s up?”

“Well, I wanted to enroll in English 270, the Romantic Literature and Society lecture–” Harry nods attentively, “ –but the class is restricted to students in the Department of English Literature… which I’m not.” His eyebrows furrow hesitatingly, and she’s quick to defend herself. “I’ve taken all the prerequisites, though! I did well in all of them, and I emailed the department coordinator and they said that it’s fine for me to enroll in this class. It would just be a manual enrollment instead of the standard enrollment but they’ve done it for me for all the other literature classes I’ve taken that were also major restricted. All I need is a permission code and the professor's approval!” She pauses, taking a breath after her big ramble. “Or your approval, I suppose,” she adds as an afterthought.

He’s silent for a bit, sitting there with furrowed brows and pursed lips, just staring at her. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, squirming under his intense gaze.

Finally he asks, “What do you study then? If not literature?”

“Um– I’m a psych major.”

“And… why would a psychology major need to take an upper division literature class?” he presses. Not trying to be rude, but just to understand.

“Oh. I just… really enjoy books,” she says shyly. “It’s not for any credit toward my major. But I promise that I’ll stay on top of the work and participate and all that!”

He leans his forearms on the desk. His eyes are thoughtful, and he takes his time before speaking. “Your name was…?” he trails off.

“Y/n,” she fills in quickly. He nods.

“Miss y/n,” he sits up straighter, and looks her in the eye, “How many other units are you taking this semester?”

“Um…” she counts them off in her head. “16?”

“So with this class you’d be at 20?” he confirms.

She nods, nervously chewing on the inside of her cheek. That is a lot of units. The last time she took 20 units she had a mental breakdown so intense that she spent an entire night just crying to her roommate (Iris), incapable of doing any work or studying because she was just so stressed out and overwhelmed. She had to skip classes just to catch up on the work that she’d fallen behind on for her other classes, and found her weekends swamped with essays and studying and missed assignments. She only just barely survived, and as soon as finals week was over, she literally collapsed with exhaustion, her body and brain so burnt out that she was sick for weeks. She’d promised herself that she’d never do it again… and yet here she is not even two semesters later.

She can already imagine how stressful this semester is going to be.

“You understand, miss y/n, that this is not an easy class?” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and somehow it’s attractive. “We have weekly readings and essays and discussions, and the final paper is not a matter to be taken lightly. You truly believe you can manage that on top of all your other classes?”

She gulps nervously, but timidly nods. He can tell that he’s laid it all on a bit harshly.

“I’m not trying to scare you,” he says softly. “I’m just trying to be… realistic. You seem to be a highly motivated student – and I admire that you’re pursuing topics that truly interest you – but I’d hate to see you burn yourself out.”

“I think I can handle it,” she says, quiet but confident. “It’s something I enjoy so it’s more like a hobby than a class. And I think it’ll be fun? I saw on the syllabus that we’d be analyzing Frankenstein, which is one of my favorites…”

His lips twist in a soft, endeared smile. He also loves Frankenstein.

“Very well then,” he murmurs, his eyes glimmering thoughtfully. “What was it you needed to get enrolled? A permission code? I think if you just give me your student ID number I can get that sorted out…”

+++

The weather today is better.

It’s still cloudy and gray outside, but the wind is much more forgiving, just a gentle breeze rustling through the trees. Orange and red leaves fall to the ground, crunching underneath y/n’s feet as she walks to class. They match the red sweater that she’s wearing today, soft and knitted with hidden tones of orange and brown woven between the threads. The colors of autumn, her favorite season.

A pair of wired headphones trail from her back pocket to her ears. She’s listening to her fall playlist, Lana Del Rey’s Season of the Witch setting the tempo of her walk to campus. In one hand she carries her book – The Secret History by Donna Tart – and in the other she carries her iced chai latte. Her fingers are freezing as she holds her iced drink, and a shiver crawls down her spine every time she takes a sip – but she doesn’t regret her drink order at all. She’ll have an iced chai in her hand no matter the weather.

Wanting to make a good impression on the first day of classes, she got up extra early today to get a head start. She washed her face so that she’d look extra bright and awake, ate a proper breakfast at her dining table instead of her usual banana-on-the-walk-to-class, and put on an outfit that she thought gave… studious. Her autumn sweater, dark blue denim jeans, and white sneakers. She even chose her book to match the academic vibe she was going for today (she was between The Secret History and Happy Place, and Happy Place just felt too summery for such a gloomy day… plus The Secret History has been on her TBR for way too long.).

She arrives at the lecture hall approximately… 20 minutes too early. But it was on purpose! She’s only taken a few classes in the literature building (most of her classes are in the social science buildings) and wanted to have enough time to find the room before class started. How horrible would it be for her to be late on the first day, when she’s desperate to make such a good impression on Harry? And Dr. Richmond, of course– but mostly Harry.

He was nice. And she wants him to like her. Ballad of a girl who craves academic validation.

The door to the lecture hall is locked, so y/n takes a seat on the floor right next to the door, and cracks her book open. She’s only 15 pages in, but she’s already enthralled. She can’t count how many times this novel has been recommended to her – always in those “best books to read in fall<3” tik toks, or the list of classics recommended by the New York Times – and she gets it. She zones in, her eyes flickering from one page to the next as her headphones softly play Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac. She’s not one to usually listen to music while she reads (she usually finds it to be too distracting), but she’s so engrossed in this world and these characters that she barely remembers that she’s still listening to music. The people walking past her in the hallway fade away, the fluorescent lights transform into the dark library her book characters are currently huddled in, and no sound passes through her wired headphones – not even the heeled boots clicking against the tile floors, getting closer and closer to her.

She only realizes that she’s not alone when those brown boots stop right in front of her, shining brightly in contrast to her worn out sneakers. She looks up suddenly, yanking her headphones out of her ears. Harry towers over her, key in hand, which he sticks into the lock. A soft smirk twists at his lips, and his green eyes flicker to where she’s looking up at him from the floor.

“Miss y/n,” he says with a pleasant nod, a hint of amusement in his voice, “You’re here early.”

She folds the corner of the page she’s on and stands up, gently shutting her book. “I didn’t want to be late,” she responds, fussing with her stubborn headphones, which refuse to tuck into her back pocket. “I don’t have many classes in this building… didn’t want to get lost or anything on the first day.”

He opens the door and lets y/n in first, following in closely behind her. “Punctuality is good.” He props the door open.

She looks around the lecture hall. It’s not nearly as big as the classrooms she usually sits in for her psychology classes – those classes are huge, usually filled with a bunch of freshmen from all sorts of majors trying to fulfill their lower division GE requirements and whatnot. Those lecture halls could fit up to 400 people. This one probably wouldn’t fit more than 60.

Not a problem though, considering that this class only had about 40 students enrolled (she checked last night).

She wonders where she should sit. Too far in the back and she’d make the wrong first impression… but too close to the front and she might be the annoying kid that asks too many questions. Third row is her best bet.

There’s still about 15 minutes before the class is scheduled to start, and she’s still the only one in the lecture hall apart from Harry. She feels a bit awkward, being the person in the sea of seats, but Harry pays no mind to her, shuffling through papers and logging onto the computer at the front podium. Though her book sits opened on her lap, she can’t help but stare at him.

He’s wearing brown trousers, well fitted around his legs and cutting off perfectly at his ankles as if they were custom tailored for him. Cream colored socks adorn his ankles and those shiny, brown leather boots click against the floor with his every step. Very professional, but also casual with the way his white button up is rolled up at the sleeves and unbuttoned at the top. He’s missing those cute glasses today, though.

She watches as he struggles to turn the projector on, his eyebrows furrowed as he presses all the buttons on the panel. The lights in the classroom turn on and off again, and the computer audio mutes and unmutes before he finally figures out how to get the screen to roll down and the projector to flicker on. Despite him being only a few years older, he looks like an old man toggling with the buttons and trying to get technology to work in his favor. She bites back a smile, and quickly looks down to her book when Harry’s eyes briefly flicker to hers. From her peripheral vision, she can see him laughing as well and shaking his head at himself.

She traces her fingers over the pages of the book, clearly well loved and worn out. She got it from the library just last week, after having been on the waitlist for the book for the past month. She can see why it’s so popular though, already so engrossed by the plot. The pages are old and yellow, the edges folded and ripped with years of use, and it has that old book smell that she just adores. How old is this book? It was published in the 90’s, wasn’t it?

Harry’s voice interrupts her thoughts. “Reading something good?”

She looks up at him with wide eyes. He’s managed to successfully display the course syllabus on the projector screen, and is now walking around the desk with a stack of papers in his hand. He stands in front of the very first row, leaning his weight onto one leg with a hand in his pocket.

“Oh, um–” she falters, “I actually just started it. I’ve heard it’s supposed to be really good.” She sits up straighter in her seat, “Have you heard of it? The Secret History?”

Harry purses his lips, “Sounds familiar… haven’t read it though. You’ll have to tell me if it’s worth reading, alright?”

She nods, smiling shyly. Call her delusional but… it feels like a bit of an honor for him to trust her with a book recommendation. That takes a lot of trust, doesn’t it? To trust that someone will recommend a good book to you?

She’s totally making a big deal out of nothing. She does that sometimes.

“How about you?” she asks, her voice embarrassingly quiet. She’s shy, and nervous, and she’s not that good at small talk, and Harry is looking at her with these intense, green eyes that make her feel like she’s saying the most important thing in the world. She clears her throat, forcing her voice to not come out scared and shaky, “Read anything good lately?”

He grins, and she can tell this is probably his favorite thing to talk about. “M’reading, like, five books at once,” he admits sheepishly. “Kafka on the Shore, if you’ve heard of it… Notes from Underground, by Dostoevsky for one of m’own classes…” he purses his lips in thought, “Started re-reading Paradise Lost as well. We’re analyzing it in one of the other classes im TA-ing, n’ it’s one of my favorites to teach,” he says with a shrug. His eyes are so thoughtful as he lists off the books that he’s reading, flickering green and gold. He’s just… beautiful.

“I haven’t read any of them,” y/n says regretfully, wishing that she could impress him with some sort of intellectual talk about one of these books. “I’ve had Kafka on the Shore on my list for a while, though.”

He smiles. “S’a good one.” There’s a dimple in his left cheek that pinches cutely, the glimmer in his eyes a sight to behold. His pretty pink lips purse thoughtfully, his heart shaped cupid's bow twitching as though he has more to say – but then another student walks in.

Harry’s head whips around. His jawline is sharp, and he nods politely at the new student. “Good morning,” he murmurs to the girl – that same welcoming voice that had made y/n’s heart flutter that first day that she met him.

He turns back to y/n, and hands her a paper from the stack in his hands. “The syllabus,” he says, his eyes kind and warm.

She swallows thickly as he walks away from her, enamored already.

+++

“Classes will be Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Dr. Richmond lectures from the front of the class. His voice is croaky and old, so he has a tiny microphone clipped to his shirt pocket to project his voice to the back of the class – despite the small size of the lecture hall. “Thursdays I’ll lead the class,” he drones on, “We’ll analyze the romantic era… how their literature was a reflection of their politics… how they set the foundation of modern day consumerism, capitalism, patriarchy, globalism, imperialism…” he waves his hand passively. “The works.”

He takes a long sip of water, and his swallow echoes through the class, amplified by his shirt microphone. Y/n cringes at the wet mouth sounds as he smacks his lips together.

“On Tuesday’s–” his voice booms through the microphone again, “you will come to a class discussion led by Harry. This means that you’ll have the entire weekend to do the readings…”

Nearly all the eyes in the room flicker to Harry, who’s been standing quietly in the corner with his hands folded behind his back while Dr. Richmond continues to lecture. He gives a small, almost bashful wave to the class at the mention of his name, his eyes scanning the room of unfamiliar faces. Their eyes meet, and his lips twist into a smile. This is the third time she’s caught his eye during the lecture.

He stares at her for a second, eyes glinting as if the two of them have a secret that they’re not sharing with the rest of the class. It makes her heart race in her chest, smiling back at him secretly.

She breaks their eye contact when Dr. Richmond croaks out with the last of his voice, “Any questions?”

He’s met with silence.

“No? Okay good, class dismissed. See you all on Thursday.”

The class bustles with life, backpacks zipping and pull out desks squeaking as everyone slowly trickles out of the room. A line forms in front of Dr. Richmond’s podium, with students eagerly introducing themselves and asking questions about the syllabus, only to be redirected to the back of the new line forming in front of Harry’s corner. Harry smiles kindly at every question and speaks with eloquence, strikingly different to Dr. Richmond’s grumbling and groaning.

It’s glaringly obvious that Harry is going to be a class favorite.

In the middle of answering a redheaded boy’s question, his gaze wanders over to y/n, watching her as she packs up her things, eyes following her to the door. She tucks her book under her arm and plugs her headphones into her ear, throwing her bag over her shoulder.

Her drink is finished, just a cup full of melting ice at this point, so she stops at the trash can right at the front of the door. As she throws it away, she manages one final glance back at Harry. He’s already looking at her. He grins when their eyes meet, and gives a small wave goodbye.

She bites back a smile, then hurries out of the classroom before he gets the chance to see her giddy eyes and heating cheeks.

+++

Y/n honestly doesn’t love going to office hours.

It’s hard, because on one hand, she knows that she should go to them and form a relationship with her professors so that they can write her letters of rec in the future… but on the other, they’re so crowded and awkward! Every other student is there for the same reason as her, going into office hours to ask their silly questions and try to butter up the professor. There are usually at least a dozen college students in there, waiting for their one second interaction with the professor before they all get kicked out at the end of the hour. It’s annoying and a waste of her time. Plus, she doubts Dr. Richmond is all that into getting buttered up

That’s why she chooses to go to TA office hours instead. Usually much more quiet and much more intimate. Not that many people like to go to TA office hours for some reason, which means she usually gets to have one-on-one help. And sometimes (if the TA is really cool) they’ll basically give her the answers to the homework – a good thing, right?

Well… not when the TA is this ridiculously attractive and charming boy with curly brown hair and pretty green eyes that she can’t help but have a teensy little crush on.

Like… can you blame her? He’s smart and handsome, and so incredibly kind and sweet. His eyes glimmer when he talks about his favorite books and his lips are always curled into a smile that makes her heart bubble. Always so polite and respectful, doing gentlemanly things while his boyish dimples pinch his cheeks. His voice is slow and sultry like smooth honey – and you can just tell that his mind is a beautiful place just from the way he talks.

He’s just… endearing. Straight out of some romance book– and y/n loves romance!!! She can’t help but have a little bit of a heart flutter when she sees him standing in the corner of the lecture hall, especially when their eyes meet and he smiles at her cutely.

He’s just being nice – she knows that, and she is well aware that she’s very delusional and that nothing is going to happen… but still, the prospect of going to his office hours and potentially having a one-on-one conversation with him makes her giddy and nervous at the same time.

She pulls herself together and shakes away all the silly thoughts clouding her brain. Hoisting her bag up her shoulder, she enters the small office, the gold plaque reading Styles, H. shining proudly as she walks through the door.

Harry doesn’t hear her walk in, his brows furrowed behind his tortoise shell glasses. A red pen is in his hand, brutally attacking a freshman essay. He looks up, a tad bit startled, when she knocks on the door timidly.

The furrow in his brow immediately softens and turns into that familiar, kind smile. “Miss y/n,” his eyes shine like the nighttime sky filled with stars, “My first student of the day.”

“Oh,” she checks the time. “I thought office hours started like, thirty minutes ago. Was I wrong? Am I early?” She intentionally wanted to show up a little late, not wanting to seem too eager.

“No, no – you were right,” he hums, putting his pen down. “Not many students tend to show up to our office hours, is all. Especially not during the first week.”

She bites on the inside of her lip and wonders if she should be embarrassed for being the only one to show up, but Harry is quick to continue,“I wish more people did come, though. Like– if nobody shows up, all I do is sit here and grade for an hour.” His lips purse out cutely, a thoughtful pout, “And I hate grading.”

“Oh– I’ll probably be here a lot,” y/n says mindlessly. “I always have questions. And Dr. Richmond kinda scares me.”

Harry sputters out a laugh, and y/n’s cheeks heat up. Maybe that was inappropriate to say. But then Harry leans in and whispers, “He scares me too, sometimes.”

It’s these charming little moments that make him so endearing. She tries not to get too distracted by his dimples and how his fingers tap delicately against his thigh, hugged deliciously by another pair of well fitting trousers.

“Um– if it’s not a bother, I was wondering if I could ask about the first assignment? I was kind of confused about what's expected from us for the free-write thing…”

“M’all yours,” Harry murmurs, gesturing to the seat across from his desk.

+++

Y/n’s fatal flaw is thinking that she can beat a rainstorm.

She actively knew there was an 80% chance of rain today. She saw the rainy streets. She heard the weather forecast. But did she bring an umbrella with herself to campus?

No.

Somehow she rationalized in her brain that she didn’t need it. It was barely sprinkling when she walked out of her apartment, and the walk to class was only like 15 minutes! She’d make it to campus and then she’d be indoors all day and by the time she needed to go home the rain would probably have died down, and everything would be fine.

Oh how wrong she was. Silly girl.

The rain is pounding down on her right now. Big fat raindrops soaking through her hoodie and turning her light wash denim jeans into a completely new color. She has many regrets. What had started off as a cute little walk in the rain has turned into her running through a fucking monsoon or something. The slight, gentle drizzle had escalated to pouring rain in a matter of seconds. She had left her apartment with her earbuds playing Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer, romanticizing her little stroll in the rain – but now her wire headphones are barely hanging on as half-speedwalks/ half-runs down the sidewalk with her head down.

When she gets stuck at a crosswalk on a busy street, she glances frantically to her left and right, trying to find a tree or a building to take shelter under. But the sky is wide and open, no roof or canopy for her to hide under. She stands helplessly, the rain pouring down on her. The only thing she can do is pull her hood up and grip it tightly so that the rain doesn’t get in her face.

The rain pierces through her clothes, and the wind feels extra cold against her wet jeans. Thank god she at least wore rainboots today, she thinks to herself as she stares down at the ground. This would suck even more if her socks were getting wet. She had thought far ahead enough to anticipate the possibility of puddles – and yet still didn’t imagine the need for an umbrella. The hems of her pants are soaked and feel horrible against her ankles, and she knows for a fact that she’s gonna have to let her hoodie air dry or something during Dr. Richmond’s lecture. Ugh. She hopes the lecture hall is warmer than it is out here.

She readjusts her headphones, pushing the earbuds further into her ear after they nearly fell out whilst she was running here. She likes this song, and it’s kind of romantic to be listening to it in the rain (it would be even more romantic if she wasn’t SOAKED TO THE CORE). If there’s anything y/n will do, it’s romanticize the shit out of any situation.

Cars are driving past quickly, but she can’t hear them, her music loud enough to drown out their annoying engines. She stares at a nearby puddle, looking at how it ripples as each drop of rain splatters into it. She wonders if mother nature has a personal vendetta against her – if Earth had personally planned to make it rain super hard the minute that she stepped out of her apartment. Why does she always do this? This isn’t the first time she’s caught herself soaked because she was too lazy to bring an umbrella with herself – and it probably isn’t the last time either. She crosses her arms across her chest and hides her hands in her sleeves, hugging herself tightly as a feeble defense against the biting rain. Why won’t the stupid crosswalk turn on? Her slightly damp hair falls into her eyes as she looks back down at her boots, letting out an annoyed huff.

The shadow of a new person tickles her peripheral vision. They brought an umbrella. She scolds herself once more.

It takes her a second to realize that, although she can still see the rain drizzling around her, splattering against the ground and splashing onto her boots… she actually doesn’t feel the gentle patter of raindrops against the top of her head anymore. She looks up.

Somehow, she is now under the umbrella. And the person holding said umbrella… is Harry.

He looks gorgeous as usual, dressed in a dark blue trench coat, black trousers, and some sleek black boots with gold buckles on them. Standing to her left, he holds his umbrella up between them in a way that shields both of them from the rain. He stares forward innocently, pretending like everything is normal – like he hadn't just snuck up next to her and shared his umbrella with her. She can see a slight smile tugging on his lips though, and when she stares at him long enough, he peeks over at her with a glint shimmering in his pupils. His pretty pink lips curl into that sideways smile, and he says nothing.

Y/n can’t help but give a dumbstruck little laugh. Of course it would be Harry.

He winks at her, ever so charming and mischievous, then turns back to face the road. The crosswalk switches from Stop to Go, and Harry takes a step forward. Y/n follows in his stride.

They say nothing, and walk to their lecture shoulder to shoulder.

+++

“So,” Harry says with a clap, his voice loud and strong, “I hope you all got the chance to do the first chapter of our reading.” Unlike Dr. Richmond, Harry doesn’t need a microphone to project his voice to the back of the class. All eyes are staring at him, ears listening intently. And all the girls are staring at his pretty pink lips, and how they curl over each word (y/n included).

“I know life gets in the way, so if y’ever don’t get the chance to finish the assigned reading… tha’s okay,” he says with a quirk of his lips. “M’not gonna be mad. I just ask that you don’t let it turn into a habit, and y’don’t pretend like you read it. M’gonna know if you’re bullshitting me… so just don’t even try.” The entire class laughs, and Harry’s dimple pokes his cheek.

“So– be honest– how many of you guys read the first chapter?”

All the students raise their hands, and Harry nods approvingly, “Nice… very nice.” He’s a natural at the front of the classroom, entertaining and intellectual at the same time – confident and eloquent. His words are thoughtful and slow, but not one student seems to be bored by his slow drawl. No – instead everyone hangs onto his every word, dripping soft and thick like golden honey. He answers questions easily and plays off of student responses like a pro, and everyone seems keen on impressing him with fancy literature talk.

“You might have seen on our course page that I posted a series of discussion questions… I’ll try to have these up at least a week in advance so that you can have them in the back of your mind whilst you’re reading. I always find it to be particularly stimulating to be reading a novel with a question in mind… dunno, makes me feel sharper while I read. Does anyone else feel that way?” He talks to the class as if they’re all friends, mildly flirtatious in the natural, charming way that he is.

The group of undergraduates nod back at him, enthralled by his smile and his wit and just everything about him. God, his smile is just so charming. “Okay... how about we get started with the first one? Wait– actually, before that… I’m just wondering, have any of you already read Frankenstein before?”

Two students out of the forty raise their hands – a boy wearing a Bob Dylan t-shirt, and y/n.

Harry’s eyes meet y/n’s for the first time since they entered the classroom together. They’d walked across campus together in comfortable silence, past the campus Starbucks and the Social Science buildings, and when they got to the Literature department building Harry had held the door open for her, while shaking off the rain droplets from his umbrella. They walked through the halls side by side as well, Harry’s shiny boots clicking in time with the squeak of y/n’s wet sneakers against the tile floors. All he had said to her during the entirety of their walk was “After you,” when he’d opened the door for her.

Now he looks at her for the first time in what feels like ages, and gives her an approving nod. He already knew that, from that very first day when she’d come to his office, asking for permission codes and what not. She feels her heart fluttering excitedly, just from that single nod.

“Interesting… so it’s a first read for most of you. Brilliant! We’ll have a good time reading it together, I promise,” he says, his green eyes gleaming. “I love this book – it’s sometimes called the first science fiction book, written at a time where technology was first being introduced, and it’s regarded as one of the most famous novels of the Romantic era. Mary Shelly, the author, was a prominent Romantic era writer who shared the common Romantic appreciation for the natural world and how art can evoke emotions, which we can clearly see in her novel. We’ll take a few different approaches while analyzing it. Most prominently through a Romantic lens – but we’ll also do a feminist reading and religious reading, as well as a biographical approach… which brings us to the first discussion question – ‘Frankenstein is ultimately a novel about creation– a new and terrifying exploration of bringing life into the world. Based on what you read in the introduction, how can we see Mary Shelly’s personal experiences with life, birth, and death in the themes explored in Frankenstein?’” He looks up from the sheet of paper that he just read the question aloud from with bright eyes, “Anyone want to start us off?”

The class is silent, the crowd of students suddenly much quieter compared to when they’d been going back and forth with playful banter to Harry’s jokes. Everyone’s a little too nervous to be the first one to say anything, and nobody wants to say the wrong thing. Harry holds his breath, and searches for a hand to save them from this awkward bit of silence. This kind of shyness is normal for the first day of classes – in fact, he’d expected it – but it still doesn’t mean it’s any less awkward. His eyes flicker from one side of the class to the other, from the front row to the back.

He almost misses y/n’s hand, timidly raising from her set spot in the third row. Harry’s eyes light up. “Miss y/n,” he murmurs, “go ahead.”

“Well, in the introduction we learn that Mary Shelly had a few failed pregnancies before writing her novel, and that her own mother had passed during childbirth complications. Shelly goes on to depict the cycle of life as destructive… Frankenstein’s monster is this disfigured creature that the creator is running from, which we see right at the beginning. The introduction implies that this “horrifying” birth and the death of the creator at the hands of what it created, might be symbolic of her own experiences.”

“Excellent. That’s exactly right,” his smiles meet his eyes, and they twinkle, impressed. “The reason we have this as the first discussion question,” Harry turns back to the rest of the class, “is because I want you guys to keep it in mind while reading. Look for the ways Shelly describes birth – take note of the strained relationship she creates between the creator and his creation. Also, recall how Shelly herself proclaimed this book to be her “hideous progeny” – to use such intense language whilst also calling it her “progeny” holds a lot of implications of what Shelly’s view on Creation is – whether is biologically or creatively. This is something that we’ll discuss further in depth when we get farther into the novel, so I want you all to start thinking about it now.”

All the students in the room nod intently, writing down what Harry said word for word.

“Furthermore, has anyone noticed that we’ve already seen a lot of references to fire? Pretty obvious symbolism, right?” The class nods. “Does anyone know why she chose fire, specifically?”

It’s silent again. Y/n looks around herself to see if anyone else might have the answer, but everyone stares up at Harry blankly.

“Don’t be shy on me now, guys. Promise m’not mean,” Harry smiles, “Just wanna get the discussion flowing.”

Y/n shyly raises her hand again. “It’s a reference to Prometheus, who stole fire from the gods – she even alternatively calls her story The Modern Prometheus.”

His eyes glimmer, a shine behind his irises that doesn’t show up when he looks at his other students – just y/n. As hard as he tries not to pick favorites… he can’t help but harbor a little bit of favoritism towards her. “Very good, Miss y/n,” he praises with a soft smile.

Y/n’s cheeks turn hot and she ducks her head down, unable to stop the reciprocating smile from spreading on her face.

+++

“Miss y/n,” Harry calls out to her as the students file out of the classroom. “A word, please.”

Y/n hoists her bag over her shoulder and makes her way to the podium where he stands. He’s packing up his own things, his own beat up copy of Frankenstein being placed delicately in his bag, along with a stack of other papers and things that he has to grade. A few other students have approached him, asking questions that they were too shy to ask during class, but with a sly smile he tells them to ask their questions at his office hours (Thursdays at 5 – but y/n already knew that!). Her fingers twist nervously behind her back as she stands awkwardly by his side as the rest of the students ask their questions and trickle out.

He waits until all the students have left, and it’s just him and y/n standing by the podium, before he says anything to her.

“You were making some excellent points today in class,” he looks up at her briefly with a smirk, “I appreciate your participation. Class is always more difficult to lead when students don’t participate.”

“Oh,” she blinks. She’s never been thanked for participating in class. “Erm– yeah. I-I’m happy to participate.” She readjusts her bag, tugging it higher up her shoulders, “S’just kinda like a big book club if y’really think about it.”

“It is, isn’t it?” he agrees with a quirk of his lips. He zips up his bag, and pulls it over his own shoulder, “How are you planning on getting home?”

A strange follow up question, she thinks to herself. But she responds, nonetheless, “Oh, I was just gonna walk.” Harry peers out of the window, then looks back at y/n, his eyebrows raised. She follows his gaze, and realizes that it is still raining like crazy outside.

A heavy sigh escapes her lips without her permission. Of course. “I guess I’ll just wait it out,” she shrugs, walking towards the door alongside Harry.

He locks the door behind them, with her lingering closely by, waiting for him. “Do you live far?”

“No, not really. Just a 15 minute walk.” They walk towards the building exit, and Harry pulls out his umbrella. “Not too bad, as long as there isn’t a monsoon going on outside,” she finishes with a petulant grumble.

Harry chuckles lowly, his dimples shining brightly. “I was just going to offer… y’know, since it’s still raining and you’re umbrella-less…” his eyes twinkle teasingly, “I could drive you home? Wouldn’t want you to get soaked again when you’ve only just dried off.”

“Oh!” she bubbles, looking at him with wide eyes. “Really? You would do that?” He nods, but she presses, “Are you sure that wouldn’t be a hassle? I mean– like, really I could just stay here and read until the rain dies down–”

“S’not a hassle,” he reassures. “Y’don’t even know when the rain will be gone– could be all night. It’ll be cold, n’dark… it’d make me feel better knowing you got home safe, yeah?”

“Gosh that’s… that’s really nice of you,” she says, almost pouting.

He just smiles, pushing the door open and opening his umbrella for the two of them to huddle under. His car is parked in the graduate student parking lot, so it’s not too far of a walk (although they’re doing more of a brisk speedwalk, trying to get out of the rain and wind as fast as possible). The rain patters harshly on top of his umbrella, but they manage to stay dry, shoulders brushing together and their warm bodies radiating heat onto each other.

He unlocks his car and opens the passenger's seat for her, making sure that she’s covered from the rain as she slides into her seat. He then runs over to his own side, quickly shutting his umbrella and throwing it into the backseat. His fingers are numb as he turns the car on, and he immediately blasts the heat for the two of them, putting his frozen fingers in front of the warm air. “God, not even three minutes out there n’ I’m already freezing m’bits off,” he mumbles to himself. He turns to her, and smiles when he sees her copying his actions, “Isn’t this so much better that walking home?”

All she can give is a nod, wriggling her fingers in front of his heaters. Her teeth are chattering as she barely manages to chatter out, “S’freezing.”

“Wind would’ve blown you away before you even made it home, I reckon.” He plays with the windshield wipers until they’re on the highest setting, but even then his windshield is blurry from the rain. He makes sure to drive extra slow and cautiously, reversing out at the speed of a snail and turning his high beams on.

It’s only when she’s sitting in the front seat of his car that a somewhat important thought floats to the forefront of her mind – “is this allowed?”

“Is what allowed?” He's half paying attention, half checking both sides of the road before turning left onto the street.

“Like– I mean you’re sort of my professor, I guess,” she stumbles over her words, “Is it… would you get in trouble? For like… giving me a ride?”

Harry’s eyebrows pinch thoughtfully, “Well, first of all– Dr. Richmond’s your professor, not me. Secondly– I don’t see why it would be against the rules. S’just a car ride,” he shrugs.

She relaxes in her seat, nodding. She supposes he’s right. It’s just a car ride.

“But– if anything,” he adds on with, turning to her momentarily with a mischievous glint in his eye, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Y/n’s lips curl. “Okay,” she giggles.

It’ll be their little secret.

+++

HOPE U GUYS LOVED IT!!!!!! part 2 is up on my patreon already, and will come to tumblr next saturday (oct 14) pleeeeaaaase lmk what u rhink and give her a rb and a comment i love u guys so so much!!! more tarry to come!

Prose (part 2) is already posted on patreon! : In which not many students attend Harry's office hours, and y/n's kind of burnt out

Prose Masterlist

#harry smut #harry fic #harry styles smut #harry #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry fanfic

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littlecrittereli · 2 months

Text

Random WK Headcanon dump

Here's a silly list of headcanons I have about team Wild Kratts, in no particular order other than what comes into my head first:

Heights:

Martin and Chris are based off their real heights and I filled everyone else in based off how they look standing next to each other. I exaggerated Aviva and Koki's height a little bit, just for some variety.

Koki is the tallest at 6' (182.9 cm)

Martin is 5'10 (177.8 cm)

Jimmy is 5'9 (175.3 cm)

Chris is 5'8 (172.7 cm)

and Aviva is the shortest at 5'3 (160 cm)

Reference:

Ages:

Martin is definitely the oldest at 25

Aviva is 24

Jimmy and Koki are both 23, Jimmy being a few months older

And Chris is runner up at 21

The reason for the small age gap is because Martin was ultimately the person that put together the Tortuga team when he graduated college, and he picked students that were also close to graduation at the time. Chris would have just been starting college, but would join them upon graduation because of his connection through Martin. Other freshmen at the time would not have qualified for the research grant.

Birthdays!!!

Martin: Dec 23rd (he's a capricorn)

Aviva: Nov 4th (She's a scorpio)

Jimmy: April 20th (He's a taurus)

Koki: August 27th (She's a virgo)

Chris: July 19th (He's a cancer)

Identities:

(Disclaimer this is referring to the fictional Wild Kratts animated characters ONLY. Not the actual people they are based on.)

Martin: he/him, bisexual. But his preference is women.

He's probably had a handful of girlfriends and a couple of boyfriends throughout high school and college, but unfortunately had too big of ambitions to settle down with anyone.

Aviva: she/her, bisexual. She doesn't have a preference.

She has probably been on like... 2 dates max. She has always been much more focused on her education and bettering her inventions than dating. Her only standard for a partnership is someone who can keep up with her intelligence. Or at least someone she can learn from and grow with.

Jimmy: he/him, straight.

He literally does not care, but he would probably kiss a man if the opportunity arose. Had a girlfriend in kindergarten and they spoke twice, but since she moved schools and they never officially broke up, he's still technically off the market.

Koki: she/they lesbian. SHE LIKES WOMEN

tried to date a man. regretted it. Has probably been in a couple semi-serious relationships, but didn't work out for various reasons. She's content to focus on her career for now but someday would love to be a mom.

Chris: he/they aroace

only proclaimed to have a crush on a girl in high school because everyone else was talking about crushes and he didn't want to feel left out. Doesn't really like to be touched in general. Would rather cut off his hand than be forced to hold someone else's in a non platonic way. When someone has a crush on him, he does not know how to respond so he literally just ignores them.

Silly Stuff:

-As a zoologist, Martin knows more about animal behaviors, classification, and identification. Meanwhile, Chris as a biologist knows more about the anatomy and general science of animals. For example, Martin would be able to explain the reasoning behind a firefly's glow while Chris would be able to explain the chemical reaction that makes the glow possible. And they are constantly sharing and learning from each other as well.

-Chris has glasses, he just doesn't really use them very often. They would get in the way of creature adventuring so he only wears them if he's reading or something. They aren't super crucial, it just helps with small words.

-Game nights are VERY serious on the Tortuga. Jimmy is suspiciously good at card/board games. He pretty much always wins. It's to the point where everyone else is on a team against him. Sometimes he lets them win and it has sent the entire team into a fight. Sorry has been banned in the Tortuga because of this.

-Koki's a huge theatre nerd. She participated in plays recreationally throughout high school, and will often hum or sing while she's doing a task.

-Martin plays the guitar and has a mediocre singing voice. It's nothing spectacular but he can carry a tune. Sometimes when the Tortuga is parked somewhere remote for the night, they will make a campfire and sing a few songs.

-Aviva has roller skates built into her shoes (SIDE NOTE: This is something we see very often in season 1 but they seemed to have forgotten about it??? or retconned it??? BUT I HATE IT BECAUSE THEY WERE SO COOL PLEASE BRING BACK THE ROLLER SKATES)

-Martin is a terrible driver. (The oldest sibling curse) He knows he's a terrible driver, but pretends he's not. Chris will usually try to take the driver's seat to prevent Martin from driving, but sometimes Martin beats him there. Will deflect any evidence of him being a bad driver. "That curb shouldn't have been there" Someone please revoke his license, he's a danger to society.

-Jimmy is definitely the best cook out of all of them. He makes food for the team most of the time, unless they are on a longer flight and he has to pilot. Koki and Chris are pretty competent chefs "Just read the recipe it's not that hard". Martin's basically limited to ramen noodles and microwave mac and cheese. Aviva, try as she might, can NOT cook. She will BURN water. (she always overcomplicates the recipes by trying to utilize an invention or something)

-Koki likes to crochet. She likes to keep her hands busy so whenever she's doing a rather boring task, like monitoring for bad weather/villains while the bros are out, she crochets.

-Jimmy gets insane jet lag, and since they are bouncing from different time zones all the time, he can never really catch up. Not to mention he has to stay up for irregular hours to fly the Tortuga. This is why he's always napping, and why the others usually leave him alone to sleep unless it's important.

#wild kratts #chris kratt #martin kratt #aviva corcovado #wild kratts koki #jimmy z #wild kratts headcanon #littlecrittereli #These are so random but they are just thoughts that have been stuck in my head for a while #also its just for fun and how I personally view their dynamic :)#found family Tortuga Team

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babygorewhore · 3 months

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Unrequited Love

You’ve been best friends with Rafe Cameron since childhood and you have deep feelings for him you can’t control. But when you tell him, it goes horribly wrong.

So I was in a car accident today and this idea hit me. Warnings! Angst! Hurtcomfort! Car crash! Injury and violence! W.C over 2k

Rafe Cameron only had a soft spot for one person. And that was you. Unfortunately, he only saw you as a friend. His best friend at that. You had known him since you were in kindergarten and grown up together. You were in college now while he ran the Cameron empire. So he didn't have as much time for you. But before then, you were always at his house. At his parties. At the beach.

And you were madly in love with him.

You loved his personality as insane as he was, his charm and his protectiveness. You felt like you were the only one he liked. His ray of sunshine. Or figuratively sometimes.

But he never seemed to meet your emotions. The times where he had stayed over, he slept on the floor or the couch. Or vice Versa when you pretended you wanted a sleepover with Sarah, he left you to your own devices.

He was hot and cold. Sometimes he was affectionate. Slinging an arm over your shoulder. A hand on your back as he moved past. Or right now. At this party. He wasn’t paying any attention as he entertained a girl feet away from you. She swayed her hips as she threw her head back in a laugh. Everyone was having a good time. Drinking. Snorting something in the corner while you were standing alone watching him be with someone else.

You had dressed up in his favorite colored dress and heels. Your hair was down and makeup accentuated your eyes that you hoped one day he noticed. But he didn’t.

You gathered your purse, deciding to go home and you ignored the ache in your chest and turned. But you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Rafe stood in his shorts and black and white shirt. His hair was mused and you noticed lipstick staining his lips. “Hey, are you leaving already? What’s going on?”

You didn’t know what overcame you but tears pricked your eyes and you cleared your throat. “Yes. I’m going home.”

“What? Why? Are you sick?”

“No, rafe. I’m not sick.” You gritted out. A slew of emotions hitting you. Anger. Jealousy as you watched the girl impatiently look at you both from the corner.

“Then-“

His hand went to touch you when you moved away. You remembered all the times you comforted him while he talked about his father and the weight of being the eldest. The times where he felt burdened and where he would sometimes sweep you into his arms whenever the roles were reversed. Even as a Pogue, he still treated you fairly.

The necklace you wore, it was a small gem of your birthstone that he got you as a high school graduate present and you actually accepted the expensive token. You subconsciously touched it and moved away from him. “Rafe, I can’t pretend anymore.”

Rafe eyebrows moved together as you cleared your throat.

“I can’t pretend that it doesn’t bother me that you’re with her. When I’m always here. And you ignore me sometimes. It hurts my feelings. I mean you’re my best friend. We’ve always been around each other-“

“Whoa, why are you being so clingy? It’s not like you’re my girlfriend. This isn’t anything more than that. You know I don’t date.” Rafe’s words cut you like a knife as you clutched at your stomach.

“That can’t be true. You can’t tell me it’s never crossed your mind. Rafe, come on. Please at least hear me out-“

“I can’t fucking do this right now. It’s a party for god's sake. Why are you being so dramatic? So what? It’s a crush. You don’t need to do all of this.” Rafe snapped and started to turn. “Now I’m gonna go back and let you clear your head.”

“It’s not a fucking crush, I love you!” You yelled at him before clapping a hand over your mouth with wide eyes.

“Then you’re an idiot.” Rafe realized too late what he said as people faced your direction with pity in their eyes before a few snickered at your expense.

Your chin trembled but you refused to cry in front of all these Kooks. “Fuck you.” You said slowly and turned.

You ran out to your car after kicking off your shoes and he didn’t even bother calling out to you as you reached your car. You slammed the door and immediately felt hot tears staining your cheeks. You set your phone down and started playing music as you drove through the incoming storm. You started crying harder as a favorite song of yours came on. That perfectly describes your feelings for Rafe and the time he saw a guy messing with you.

He saw him grab your ass. Rafe had beat the shit out of him telling him to stay away from you. He was always doing that. Telling you to stop being around men who were beneath you. And now you completely humiliated yourself with his harsh words. Of course he didn’t love you back. He never said that.

As you drove through a green light, you saw another car speeding through a red one through the intersection. You froze knowing that he wasn’t going to stop and you felt the crash first, slamming against your car as you felt yourself slam against the door, hitting your head. You saw stars as you slid across the road, your entire body on fire as your seatbelt snapped and the strap cut against your skin. The passenger window shattered and you felt glass hit your body as you were pushed against a tree.

Your vision went dark briefly as another car came to a stop. You could barely move. You didn’t know if anything was broken as blood dripped from your head and nose from your face hitting the steering wheel airbag.

“Ma’am! Oh Jesus! I’m calling the police right now!” A female voice was by your window and you lucidly looked at her.

“I’m in-im hurt.” You managed and glanced at your shattered phone. Rafes contact was ringing but you couldn’t move your arm to reach.

The pain hit you as the other car sped off, leaving you in a heap as you waited.

“Yes. She’s a young woman. It was a hit and run. Yes. She’s hurt. Badly. I don’t think she can move. Please hurry! Should I get her out?”

The woman’s voice faded as you passed out.

“Get the fuck out of my way!” You snapped awake at the sound of a booming voice. “Of course I know her. She’s-she’s my best friend. She doesn’t have any family here!”

It was Rafe.

You were in the hospital bed, a cast on your arm and a gown. You had a few bandages on your face as you blinked. You had dozed on and off as the police came and took your statement and insurance information.

They gave you a few mild pain killers for the broken bones as they tried to find you a ride home. The sweet older woman who had called stayed with you. Her name was Julie as she rushed into your room, pulling the curtain back.

“There’s a man demanding to see you. Says his name is Rafe Cameron.”

You tensed and shook your head. Tears streaming down your face from the horrors of your accident and heartbreak. “No. Tell him to go away.”

“Go away?” He came in then, moving past Julie and he looked horrible. His eyes were a blaze of rage and fear as he took in your state. His clothes got wet from the rain.

“Oh my god, he could have fucking killed you.” He rushed to your side as you looked at him with cold eyes.

“And why are you here?” You snapped. He pulled back.

“You were in an accident. Of course I’m here. She answered the phone for you when they pulled you out. And I’m-“

“Get out!” You yelled at him, sitting up despite the pain. “I’ve heard enough from you today. I don’t have time to get my heart broken again.”

“Wait-“ Rafe held his hands up.

“NO! I’ve waited already. I’ve waited for years for you to admit you felt the same way when you embarrassed me. You completely hurt me when you said I was being clingy. If anything, you are. I have been by your side for years. Always putting you first. Because I love you. And that’s why I did everything. Why I put up with your bullshit. Your fighting. The way you’ve treated people. I can’t deal with it. I could have died rafe and I would rather sit here alone in pain than be near you.”

Rafe’s own eyes welled with tears. “Please. I’m so sorry-“

“I don’t care.” You whispered icily. “Get. Out.”

And he did.

He left.

“Oh sweetheart…” Julie said. After being silent during the entire exchange. “I’m sorry, my dear.”

Hours went by as you wept into your pillow. Hating yourself for telling him off but you had to have self respect. You had to stay strong. You couldn’t let him think it was okay to speak to you that way. Even if you loved him.

What you didn’t expect was the man you loved to come back in, it was well past visiting hours but you didn’t doubt he probably paid someone off. Rafe held a pair of clothes, one was his shirt and your pair of pants. He had been in your apartment. He set them gently on the chair. He had changed and he interrupted you from fully losing your temper.

“Listen. I am so sorry for what I did. There’s no excuse for that. But I can’t leave you. Not again. I’m gonna fight for you just like you’ve always done for me. When my shit dad hurt me and you threatened him. The way you slapped rose in the face. You’ve alway been there for me. And-“ Rafe moved slowly over to you.

“I never said because I felt like I didn’t deserve you. I’ve never had someone love me and I was selfish. I never said how much you meant to me because I was afraid I would always end up losing you. It’s not an excuse but-I love you too.”

You sniffled as you processed what he said. Your heart was still broken as you laid in the hospital bed. Broken arm but something about him made you resist screaming at him again. But you couldn’t let him off the hook so easily.

“What did you do when you left?”

“I found that motherfucker and had him arrested.” Rafe said unapologetically. “I also beat the shit out of him.”

“Rafe!” You cried out and he held a finger to his lips.

“He deserved more, baby. For hurting you. I’d never let anyone get away from that. Even myself.” He sank to his knees on your side of the bed. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I swear to god, I’ll never do that again. I promise.”

He was fully crying now, something he never did in front of anyone. But you were still so tired. Tired of getting your hopes up.

“Rafe-you know I love you. But I’m scared you don’t mean it.” You said thickly as you tried to reel in emotions as he took your uninjured hand.

“I do mean it. I know I fucked up. But I won’t ever do that again, baby girl. I love you. And I’m so glad you’re okay. I was so scared you were going to, I can’t even say the words.” Rafe pleaded with you.

Finally, you nodded. “It’ll take some time but I do forgive you.” Because you always would. He was everything to you.

He breathed a sigh of relief and leaned forward. He pressed a gentle kiss to your head a few times.

“Ouch.” You giggled and he gasped.

“Sorry. I got a little too excited.” You leaned up and kissed him on the lips gingerly.

“Come here.” You made room and he laid next to you as best as his large body could. You ignored the discomfort as you felt him lightly as he possibly could stroke your hair.

It wasn’t perfect. And he would have to prove it.

But you did believe him.

@xxbutdaddyilovehimxx @xxhellfirebunnyxx @drewstarkeyslut @slvt4jamesmarch @marchsfreakshow @lesservillain @take-everything-you-can @emsgoodthinkin @redhead1180 @imyourdaninow

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sunmoonjune · 2 years

Text

in their loving hands

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru (poly!)

warnings: minors dni!! blood, death, gore, cursing, possible sexual scenarios (no actual smut), mafia, fluff, minor angst and hurt/comfort, slowburn, mentions of cheating (reader is afraid of being a home wrecker), probably ooc gojo an geto tbh, insecurity, mentions of being followed/chased, reader is nearly attacked on more than one occasion

summary: mafia! single fathers/kindergarten teacher! au (this fic has so many tropes in it haha!!) found family!au for mother’s day anyone? You’re the sweet teacher to Nanako and Mimiko, the twin daughters of the two strongest mafia leaders in Japan. What happens when they set their sights on you?

word count: 18.8k

a/n: if this crashes on Tumblr, it’s also on my ao3! my username is the same as this one! listen... satosugu own my heart and I can’t handle their canon relationship so this is what happens - I write fluff to cope :( anyway this fic is basically just me self-inserting myself into satosugu with an extra side of found family with nanako and mimiko (they deserved better). lol enjoy! also ik gojo wasn’t really one of the girl’s father figures in canon, but shut up I love found family dynamics okay

ao3 link

It’s a cold, winter evening when you decide you need to move apartments.

The heat went out three nights ago, and you swear you’ve begun losing feeling in your toes. Curled into a tight ball under a mountain of blankets, you attempt to maintain as much body heat as possible. Your tiny, decrepit apartment isn’t in the nicest area of town, so the technicians won’t come to fix the heater for a few more days.

It’s practically falling apart at the seams - your place. The wallpaper is nearly peeling, the lights flicker when turned on and there’s always a wet smell lingering, no matter how many candles you light. In fact, you insist there’s mold in your run-down bathroom, but your landlord thinks you’re crazy.

You’d love to move.

In fact, you’d give anything for a nice apartment - no, even a decent apartment would do. Just one with working plumbing and working door locks would do. You could only imagine how nice it would be to not have to worry about a drunk neighbor accidentally barging through your front door in the early hours of the morning.

Sadly, you can only dream.

For now anyway.

A new apartment costs more than you can afford. The only reason you stay in this dingy apartment building is that it’s all you can sustain on a teacher’s salary. The price of rent in Japan is high, especially in the heart of Tokyo. As is, you’re lucky to be able to pay for your current apartment without a roommate or two.

Being a kindergarten teacher wasn’t the original plan, but it’s the one you fell in love with. You had gone to university under an engineering degree - outrageous, right? Somewhere along the line, you ended up working at a daycare on the weekends to help pay for classes.

It’s there that you fall in love with teaching. The kids all clambered over each other when you came in to work, crying out in excitement when their favorite caretaker finally arrived. They called out your name with wide smiles, holding up their arms in the hopes of being picked up.

During story time, there was often a struggle between the children to decide who got to sit in your lap. In fact, you’d often have to switch every few minutes to avoid the children's teary eyes.

You started looking forward to the weekends; waiting in anticipation for the gooey smiles and youthful, bright eyes of your group of children. It quickly became the favorite part of your week. Getting to see the wonder in their eyes whenever you showed them something new never ceased to bring a grin to your cheeks.

By the time you graduated, you had decided to return to school to get your teaching degree. Your parents had been furious. Why would you throw away a well paid career in engineering for a teaching job?

It was hard to explain.

When you first went into university, you’d picked your major based on what your parents had wanted. In high school, you were an amazing chemistry student. You enjoyed the science, and your parents encouraged this. A career in STEM would have made them proud, so you chose chemical engineering in the hopes of continuing their happiness. Besides, your brother had been an engineer. Everything you chose to do had to at least match his achievements, or else you'd just be falling short of his success.

Only after graduating, were you able to finally pursue something you were happy to do.

And being a kindergarten teacher truly did make you happy. Sure, it didn’t pay as well as an engineering job, but at least you were pursuing a career that you enjoyed. It was better than being stuck in a job you hated for the rest of your life.

Besides, the wide, bright smiles of your small group of students was usually worth the pain. Seeing the overjoyed grins and hearing their happy giggles as they worked together on an art project made your heart swell. Especially the elated laughter that came from a certain pink-haired boy.

Said child was currently seated in your lap, with a yellow crayon clutched in his fist as he drew on a piece of paper seated on the table before you. Yuuji had won the battle of rock, paper, scissors between him and Nobara, who had pouted fiercely after losing. Though before you could soothe the girl, Yuuji had squeezed her tight in a hug and promised to let her cuddle after he finished his drawing. Nobara faked a gag, pushing Yuuji away with a complaint of ‘cooties!’

Your heart squeezed at Yuuji’s generosity. Of course, you weren’t surprised - Yuuji was a bright kid with a father who raised him right.

Nanami Kento was a good friend of yours. The two of you grew up side by side, drawing in the dirt under the playground’s slide when the other kids didn’t want to play with you. You had always told Nanami he should play with the others, but he insisted on staying by your side. None of the other children wanted to play with the ‘weird, foreign kid’ who barely spoke Japanese. However, Nanami always stayed. He sat by your side and listened to your softly uttered stories of fantasy adventures you read in your books.

It was you who helped raise Yuuji alongside Nanami, after his wife passed away a few years back. Nanami had been devastated. Yuuji was too young to remember, but his mother had been sick for a long time. She’d never fully recovered after giving birth to him, and eventually passed away less than a year after.

Since Nanami worked a full time job to help provide for his son, you helped take care of Yuuji when you weren’t on campus for grad school. You spent most nights falling asleep with a children’s cartoon on the television, and a pink-haired toddler in your grasp. Nanami would come home to the two of you asleep on the couch. He’d pry his son away from your protective grasp, laying the boy to sleep in his own bed before gently waking you.

Most nights, you’d fall asleep in his spare bedroom after he insisted that you stay the night rather than walk back to your dorm in the dark.

It was no secret that Yuuji was one of your favorites. Though you kept it well hidden from the other children, Nanami could tell your honey-filled smiles were always a tad brighter for his son.

Though, there were two other students that were slowly climbing the ranks to become your favorite.

And their unreasonably attractive fathers had nothing to do with it, you swear.

Nanako and Mimiko were two sweet young girls who’d been introduced to your kindergarten class a few weeks late. They’d been nervous at first, clutching each other’s hands and hiding behind the legs of their long-haired father. You'd tried desperately not to stare at the gorgeous man before you, but his silky, dark hair and soft smile had immediately caught your eye. He was so tall, with wide shoulders and strong biceps wrapped under a tight, black dress shirt. You could have sworn you almost started drooling. The hint of ink under the sleeves had you aching to pull the shirt away from his skin, but you suppressed those provocative thoughts.

It was hardly appropriate to think those things in front of children, after all. Even so, he was a father of two of your students - probably in a relationship at that!

Shaking off the haze, you approached the man with Yuuji still in your arms. The boy had his arms wrapped around your neck as you sat propped up on your hip. He was starting to get too big to be held like this, but Yuuji insisted every time.

Setting Yuuji on the floor, you nudged him in the direction of Megumi, one of Yuuji’s closest friends. You smiled as you watched him race toward the darker haired boy, and let out a giggle as Megumi’s blank stare turned toward his friend. Despite the lack of emotion on his face, Megumi couldn’t stand to be away from his friend for long.

The man before you watched you gaze at your students. The fond smile on your lips had him allowing a soft one of his own to raise the corners of his lips.

When you turned back to the Adonis of a man before you, you greeted him softly. “Hello! Are you the father of the two new students?”

He stepped forward a little, difficult with the small, chubby fists grasping onto his pant legs. A little chuckle left his lips at their shy demeanor before he replied.

“I am.” Dear god, his voice nearly made you shiver. It was deep and coated in sugar. You wanted to drown in it, if that was even possible.

“Sorry for registering the girls late, by the way,” He continued. “They weren’t quite ready to take that step yet.”

You shake your head. “It’s alright! All children have different learning curves - I wouldn’t want to push them before they were ready.”

Geto’s eyes seem to soften even further.

“I’m Geto,” he provides, “Suguru Geto, and these are my girls: Nanako and Mimiko.”

He attempts to usher the girl’s out from behind his legs, but they stubbornly cling on. You smile, used to the cautious demeanor of some of the other students. Crouching down, you rest your weight on your toes and make yourself a bit smaller so as not to scare the new faces.

“Hello,” you softly utter. Your voice is hushed, just above a whisper but it’s filled with a sweetness Geto can’t quite describe. You introduce yourself to the two girls, softly uttering your name so both they, and Suguru, can hear.

“I’m going to be your teacher this year,” you happily provide. “I hope we’ll get along well!” The two young girls poke a head out from behind their father, and you almost giggle when a face appears from either side of his legs. It’s almost comical how in tune they are with each other.

“Twins?” You look up to Geto, who nods gently. You respond with a gentle hum, before shifting your attention back to the girls. They study you warily, with their small fists still clutching on to their father’s dress pants. The dark haired girl clutches a plush between the fingers of her other hand. Eyeing the plush, you shift tactics.

“Ah, Kuromi,” you gently motion to the plush. “I have one too!” You pull a keychain from your pocket, where you keep the keys for your classroom alongside those for your apartment. Attached to the keychain is a little My Melody plush, her pink character matching the black of the Kuromi plush between the girl’s fingers.

The girl’s eyes dart to the plush keychain, before they look back at her own. Her eyes are still a little worried, but your wide smile and gentle eyes coax her to move. She looks between her father and her sister once, before she shyly toddles on her feet. Slowly, she leans out from behind her father and drags her twin with her. The light-haired girl clutches her sister’s hand, eyes wide as they approach.

The dark-haired twin is the first to approach you. She reaches out when she stops at your feet. At your crouched height, you’re still taller than her, but she comes close to passing over your head. She gently grasps the keychain between her fingers, and you let her.

“We match!” You happily giggle. “See?”

You hold the keychain next to her plush, letting the characters bump together. “Two pieces of a puzzle!”

The girl lets out a soft giggle as you wiggle the plushies in your hands. It’s hesitant, but you can tell she’s warming up to you. Your heart squeezes at the notion.

“What's your name, Angel?”

She rocks on her heels, still a little shy but opens her mouth to respond anyway. “Mimiko,” she utters gently. Her tiny voice almost has you audibly cooing, but you settle for another warm smile instead.

Her twin sister wobbles next to Mimiko, so you turn your attention to her. She appears a little less shy, with bangs falling into her curious eyes and a shirt filled with bright red strawberries.

“And what about you, Pumpkin?” You address her. “What’s your name?”

“Nanako,” she quietly provides.

“Those are beautiful names!” You softly cheer. “I think you’ll fit right in with the others! I’ve been looking for two strong girls to help me out with the plushie closet. Do you think you can help me take care of them?”

Their eyes light up. With furious nods, they take another step forward. Quick agreements fall from their lips and you smile in victory. Standing from your crouched position, you hold your hands out for the girls to grab on to. Despite their previous hesitance, both girls reach to grab a hand and clutch a few of your fingers between theirs.

When you turn to face Geto again, you’re nearly taken aback by the sweet look on his face. He’s utterly smitten with how you treat his daughters. So gentle and kind, taking initiative to bring up their interests in order to help break them out of their shell. Geto swears he’s already falling. Not to mention, you were so breathtakingly beautiful. Suguru knows that Satoru is going to have a field day when he meets you.

Letting a shy smile of your own overtake your face, heat rises to your cheeks as you remember their gorgeous father.

“Thank you,” Geto utters earnestly. Not everyone would be so delicate with his girl’s shy demeanor. He can’t thank you enough.

“It’s nothing,” you answer. “They deserve to progress at their own pace. I’d never make them do something they don't want.” Geto can tell you mean it, sincerity filling your eyes with a stubbornness lingering behind them.

He nods before returning his attention to his daughters. He crouches this time, matching his daughter’s gazes as he muses, “Daddy’ll be back in a few hours, alright? Can you be good for your Sensei while m’gone?”

His voice is filled with sugar. The two girls nod strongly, letting go of your hands to rush forward to throw themselves into their fathers arms. His wide, strong arms come up to wrap around their little bodies. Pulling them into his chest, a grin on his lips, he presses a kiss to each of their cheeks before he stands. The girls return to your side, each taking a hand once more. You smile sweetly back down at them with a coo on your lips.

“Two o’clock, yeah?” Geto asks.

“Two o’clock,” you confirm the pick-up time.

“My partner might be the one picking them up, is that alright?”

Your heart sinks in your chest for a moment - of course he’s taken. A beautiful man like him - how could he be single? It was wishful thinking on your part anyway.

Shuddering off the lingering disappointment, you shake your head. “Not at all! What’s their name? I’d like to confirm they’re leaving with the proper person, of course.”

Geto hums, a throaty sound that rushes through your skin despite trying to hold it back. “Satoru Gojo. You can’t miss him - white hair, bright blue eyes. You’ll know him when you see him.”

He laughs as he finishes, which prompts you to let out a giggle at the description.

“Alright, I’ll let the other teachers know. Thank you for telling me!”

Geto nods in response. He sends a last look to the girls before he turns and heads back to his car - his nice car. The solid black Jaguar sits at the curb, the sunlight hitting the paint. Oh god, the thought of him driving that car does horrible things to your mind.

Shaking your head again, you curse yourself for thinking about a taken man like that.

Looking down at the girls, you giggle again at their wide eyes looking up at you.

“Okay! Who wants to watch a Disney movie while we start our next art project?”Their delightful squeals of agreement fill your ears as you head back towards the classroom with their hands clutching yours.

You think God must be trying to spite you.

First, they send one of the most attractive men you've ever seen to your classroom, stealing the breath straight from your lungs. Only to then reveal, that he was taken.

Then, this.

If Suguru Geto was an Adonis in human form, then this man had to be created by Aphrodite herself.

He stands leaned against another unreasonably attractive car. His white BMW is parked on the curb, his body leaned against it with a pair of round, black sunglasses covering his eyes. He’s here early, so he waits for a few minutes to pass before he heads up the walkway towards the school.

The voices of excited children reach his ears as he nears the courtyard. When he peeks around the corner, he’s met with the sight of you. You’re crouched in the center of a pile of toddlers, their bodies leaned over each other in an effort to get closer. There’s a grin on your lips as you animate the different voices from a children’s book in your grasp. Gojo is surprised to see that Nanako is sitting in your lap, her body turned outward so she can see the book you’re reading from. Her back is pressed against your chest, and your hands are wrapped around her waist so she doesn’t fall when she shifts. You’re holding onto the book in her lap, occasionally spinning it around to show pictures to the other students.

Nanako swings her feet as she listens, a habit Gojo knows she picked up from him. Instead of interrupting like he usually would to announce his presence, Gojo holds back - choosing to instead watch the scene before him a moment longer.

Geto had mentioned the pretty kindergarten teacher that had gone out of her way to make their daughters feel welcome, but Gojo had no idea he’d be this taken aback. The sunlight hits your features in a way that makes Gojo think you look like an angel, gracing the world with your light and kindness.

He lingers outside the courtyard, waiting for your story to finish before he enters. While he waits, Gojo recognizes a familiar face approaching the same school.

“Oi, oi - Nanami, Nanami!” Gojo cheers at the sight of his old friend. Nanami surpasses a roll of his eyes, used to his friend’s antics. He had forgotten he’d recommended your school to Gojo a few weeks back, when his elder had mentioned enrolling the girls in kindergarten.

At the commotion, you raise your head from the book. When you meet the gaze - well, glasses - of the tall, silver-haired at the gate, you’re once again stricken.

Seriously, where do these gorgeous men keep coming from? It feels like you’ve ripped a page from one of the romance mangas you read, and dropped yourself in as the main character.

He’s tall, is your first thought, probably taller than Geto. He's less broad, yet still incredibly toned. You can’t help running your eyes from head to toe, taking him in. Gojo isn’t impervious to the look, letting a barely concealed smirk rest on his features.

Sucking in a short gasp, you realize this must be Satoru Gojo as Geto had mentioned. God really must hate you - throwing these beautiful men at your feet, but not giving you a chance with any of them. Not that you were secure enough in your looks to approach them anyway.

Yuuji leaps to his feet from his position at your side, racing towards the gate with a cry of “Otousan!”

"Careful!” You call as Yuuji races towards his father. Nanami crouches in his suit, allowing the pink ball of energy to crash into him. A fond smile covers Nanami’s features, one that often isn’t seen by many.

You stand from the small chair you’ve been seated on, setting down the book and assuring the kids you’ll be back. Gathering Nanako and Mimiko’s hands, you help guide them towards the gate Yuuji had opened.

The girls follow wordlessly, already at ease in your presence; a feat that doesn’t go unnoticed by Gojo.

When you reach the gate, you smile as Yuuji has turned to address the white haired man with a cry of “Gojo-sensei!”

When Gojo replies with an equally excited “Yuuji-kun!” you start connecting dots. Nanami had mentioned his son taking jujutsu lessons from an old friend. After watching the last Olympics, Yuuji had taken an interest in the sport and Gojo had offered to show the kid the basics. Nanami was reluctant, but ultimately trusted Gojo to take care of his son.

You hadn’t realized Nanami was close to Gojo nor Geto, and you wonder why he hadn't mentioned them before.

When you reach the gate with the girls, Gojo shifts his attention from chatting excitedly with Yuuji. You can't see his eyes from behind his glasses, but even so, his gaze has your breath caught in your throat.

Talking to pretty people is hard.

“Ahh, you must be my Mochis’ pretty sensei,” Gojo sweetly hums. “Suguru mentioned you.”

At the thought of either man finding you attractive, heat rises to your cheeks and you awkwardly shift your gaze away.

“So you must be Gojo, then?” You question with hot skin and now sweaty palms. You hope the girls don’t notice.

A pleased hum leaves the tall man. “I am indeed.”

Nanami’s eyes shift from your form to Gojo’s. They narrow and scrutinize Gojo’s lax form and your wobbly knees. A heavy sigh leaves his lips as he shifts Yuuji onto his hip.

“Geto-san mentioned you might be here to pick up the girls.”

At their mention, the girls release your hands, shifting to move to their father’s side. Gojo audibly coos as he crouches to bring his toddlers into his arms. They each curl into one of his sides, and Nanako emits a “Yuck!” as Gojo presses a wet kiss to each of their cheeks.

You almost chuckle at the interaction. When Gojo stands, he has each girl on a hip, supporting their weight with a single hand each. You're mesmerized by his muscles, wondering how he could easily lift and carry two toddlers with no struggle.

Nanami’s cough interrupts your thoughts and you have to blink harshly to break your focus on Gojo’s pecs.

“Kento-kun,” you address your friend, “You didn’t tell me you know Gojo-san or Geto-san.”

A hum is heard from the blonde’s chest. “I wasn’t aware they would be enrolling the girls in your class,” he replies easily.

“Still,” you bump his empty hip with yours, “any friend of yours, is a friend of mine, Kento.”

Gojo watches your interaction with careful eyes, trying to understand your relationship with his former kouhai. Shifting his daughters’ weight on his hips, Gojo leans forward a bit.

“Yeah, Kento-kun~” Gojo mimics, “You didn’t tell me you had such cute friends.”

Nanami isn’t able to resist a roll of his eyes this time. A giggle is heard from you, and Gojo grins at his success.

“Don’t you have to get back to work, Gojo?” Nanami huffs, eager to end the conversation.

With a childish pout that causes Nanako and Mimiko to giggle, Gojo whines at Nanami’s rejection. Mimiko reaches out to press her finger against her father’s puffed cheeks, squealing when Gojo turns to nip at it. Nuzzling his nose into Mimiko’s, your heart fills with warmth as you watch father and daughter interact.

Nanako, clearly jealous, whines and pushes her hands against her father’s cheeks. She pulls Gojo away, rubbing her own forehead against his larger one. Gojo coos at her jealousy, leaving butterfly kisses on his other daughter.

After a moment, you manage to interrupt once their interaction is finished. “It was nice to meet you, Gojo-san! Thank you for trusting me with your daughters.” You incline your body into a small bow, which Gojo smiles at. You’re so soft and polite; he can see why Suguru has already taken interest.

“You too, Sweets!” Gojo replies, “Thank you for taking care of them!”

You incline your head again as Gojo turns to leave. Before he gets too far, Nanako and Mimiko lean over his shoulders, looking over at you.

“Bye, Sensei!” They call, waving their hands as they retreat. “See you tomorrow!”

You wave as they disappear into Gojo’s car, giggling at their behavior. Who would have thought the shy girls from that morning would open up so quickly?

When Gojo finally ducks into the car and it starts pulling away from the curb, Nanami turns to you. His features are completely neutral when he speaks.

“You want to fuck him, don’t you?”

“Nanami!”

You quickly cover Yuuji’s ears to shield them from his father’s vulgar language. “Not in front of the kids, Kento!” Yuuji’s confused eyes shift between your lips and his father’s, trying to decipher your words.

“You were eyeing him like a piece of meat.” Nanami says plainly.

“I was not!” You defend, hands still covering Yuuji’s ears. You stroke the boy’s hair in an effort to appear nonchalant, but you can’t believe Nanami caught you.

“I can only imagine how you eye-fucked Geto-san, if that’s how you were looking at Satoru.”

“Nanami - please!” You beg, eyes pleading for your friend to end your misery.

“Alright, alright.” He relents. “We’re not done with this conversation, though.”

“Oh, yes we are.”

A grunt is all that’s heard from your friend as you finally take your hands off Yuuji’s ears. The boy’s eyes are curious as they travel from his father to you and back. You can practically see the gears turning in his head as you run your fingers across your scalp in an agitated manner.

A beat of silence passes before Yuuji speaks.

“Otousan, what does ‘fuck’ mean?”

Over the next few weeks, you grow closer to both Gojo and Geto. Some days, only one of them is able to drop off and pick up their girls. Others, one picks up and one drops them off. On very rare days, the both of them are waiting at the gate of the courtyard.

These days are the hardest.

Not in a bad way, of course. No - they would never be bad. Instead, you find yourself having an incredibly difficult time making eye contact with either of them as they tower over you with gentle smirks. Well - Gojo’s face sported a smirk, while Geto’s eyes crinkled into half moons with a rare, genuine smile.

They should have been intimidating. In all manners of the word, they should be. Wearing black suits with luxury logos and driving fancy sports cars; Geto’s tattoos are often poking out of the edges of his clothing, and you’re sure Gojo is hiding a few as well. If you had been strangers, just their height would be enough to daunt you. But now that you’d gotten to know them, their towing figures only made obscene thoughts of other uses of such staggering height, race through your head.

More than once, you’ve caught yourself shaking the thoughts away. It was definitely not appropriate for a teacher to be thinking this of their students’ fathers. Especially fathers who were already in a relationship.

A relationship that’s quite obvious, you’ve discovered.

Gojo is not shy with his affection, often draping himself over Geto’s body when the two of them arrive at pick up times. You knew he never hid his affection for their daughters: pressing wet kisses to their cheeks and blowing raspberries on their bellies. But watching Gojo with Geto is different. Gojo’s silly side is still glaringly obvious, with the way he loudly boasts and tugs at Geto’s arms. It's in the softer moments - ones where the two don’t think anyone is watching - Gojo shows a softer side.

It’s in the glances the two share with each other as they watch the girls parade towards them, with stories about their day and their latest art project in their fists. Gojo is uncharacteristically soft for Geto.

It’s so hard to tell, going unnoticed by most, but Gojo’s muscles are relaxed around his partner. His actions are so much softer and his movements are easy-going. Genuine smiles seem to fall too easily from his lips when he watches Geto crouch to hoist his girls onto his hips.

Geto is no different. His shoulders are lax, when you often see them tense on their own. The darker, cold look that often covers his features when he’s alone, is replaced with a gentle, barely-there smile as he watches Gojo and their daughters. You don’t know of the similar look the two share when both their gazes settle on you, but there’s still plenty of time to share.

Their relationship is one you crave.

Not necessarily between them - though you’d give an arm and a leg to be between them. It’s their domesticity you long for. Relationships are hard, and you hate ‘the talking stage.’ You want to jump to a well-worn, practiced relationship, and skip the slow conversations and hesitance.

Though you can’t see his eyes, you know Gojo looks at Geto and their daughters like they’re his world. And you know they are.

God, what you’d give for a relationship like that.

Geto is always the first to bend to meet the girls, letting their little bodies crash into his wide chest. He lets out a hearty, genuine laugh as they squirm and rant about the activities they completed during class. Gojo always lets his partner go first, a fond smile on his face as he watches their interaction. When Geto stands, the girls turn to their other father, vibrant smiles transferring to him.

Gojo coos and squeezes their cheeks, pressing wet kisses on them as the girls squeal out protests. Geto’s soft eyes follow him, a look on his face you long to be the focus of.

On days like today, when the clouds are gray and rain is falling overhead, you escort the girls to their fathers with an umbrella guarding the three of you. Gojo and Geto are waiting by the car, a similar umbrella shielding the two of them. They’ve taken Geto’s car today, the black material blending in with the gloomy weather.

When you’re close enough, the two approach. Gojo holds the umbrella out so Geto can bend to grab Nanako and Mimiko. They’re the last to be picked up today, something that has become routine. Geto mentioned having to leave work to grab them from class, so you had offered to stay back and take care of them so the two men could finish work. You weren't sure where either of them worked, as they always played off the question when asked.

Most days, when class finished, you helped the other students to their parents. You give Yuuji a final tight hug and promise to see him in the morning, before you turn back to the twins. You often turn on a Disney movie, and sing and dance as you wait for their fathers to finish work. By the time the movie ends, it’s usually around their scheduled pick up time.

Today, you’ve planned to hang back at the classroom and finish up some paperwork before you head back to your own apartment. In a bad break of procrastination, you’d let assignments and projects pile up, and now you had a mountain of papers to file through.

You’re drawn from your misery to the sound of Geto’s deep voice.

“Are you headed home soon, Pretty? We can drop you off, if you’d like?”

Heat rose to your cheeks at the nickname. Geto had taken to calling you ‘Pretty,’ after Gojo had spilled that Geto had referred to you as such on the day you first met. You don’t think it means as much to him as it does you, but you relish in the sweetness of the nickname for as long as you can.

Shaking your head softly, you shift on your slowly damping sneakers. “No, S’alright. I’ve got some more work to finish up before I can head back.”

“We haven’t kept you have we?” Geto questions, worriedly. He’s standing now, a girl on each hip just as Gojo carries them. You’re once again stunned at their strength, watching the muscles in his forearms contract as he shifts Nanako around when she wiggles.

Rapidly shaking your head, you huff out a denial. “Even if you had, I love spending extra time with these troublemakers.”

You finish your exclamation with a gentle pinch of Mimiko’s cheek, stepping closer to Geto’s warm body to do so. The dark haired girl giggles, swatting at your hand with the one which isn’t clutched to her Kuromi plush. You pull away with a giggle of your own, playfully grabbing for Mimiko’s hand. Nanako, feeling jealous, lets out a squeal of her own and leans forward in Geto’s arms.

Geto moves to prevent her from falling, but you’ve already moved to grab the brunette girl. His heart thuds for a moment as he thinks his daughter may tip over. Your body slides in front of hers, letting Nanako’s weight rest against your chest when she finally falls forward. You brush your hand against Geto’s arms as you slide your hand underneath her thighs. Taking Nanako into your arms, with her body clinging to yours, you send a soft glance to Geto. ‘Sorry...’ your eyes apologize. You didn't think she’d pitch herself from her father’s arms to reach you. You shift her weight to rest against you, so you can hold her on your side while your other hand covers both of you with the umbrella.

Gojo continues to watch the interaction with a soft smile, eyes shifting from his daughters to the silent communication passed between his partner and you. His heart skips a beat at the interaction. The three of you already know each other so well in the span of only a month or two.

“Nanako-chan,” you hum. “You have to be more careful, I don’t want you to get hurt!”

You press the girl closer to your chest with the gentle scolding, swaying back and forth on your feet like a mother would. Gojo shares a long glance with Suguru at the motion. There’s something in their eyes you can’t quite decipher, but you know the two of them are sharing an intimate, wordless conversation.

From your arms, Nanako sticks her tongue out at her twin and giggles when Mimiko whines.

“Otousan!” Mimiko whines, “I want a hug from Pretty-Sensei too!” You assume the twins picked up the nickname from their long-haired father.

Another laugh falls from your lips, tossing your head back when Mimiko gently tugs on the loose hair from her father’s half bun. You shift your hip towards Gojo offering the brunette twin to her father, before opening your arms for Mimiko. She yelps in delight, swinging her arms around your neck as she moves into your arms. There’s a warmth slowly filling your heart as she squeezes you tight. It seeps into all the cracks and crevices that you hadn't known were there, and slowly starts pulling at the stitches. Tightening the strings and pulling pieces back together, the love the twins have for you will never be replaced by another.

Geto leans into Gojo’s side, humming when Gojo presses a kiss to his temple. They watch as you rub your nose against Mimiko’s with a grin. Whispering amongst yourselves, Geto watches Mimiko squeeze her eyes shut into little half moons and pat your cheeks with her hands as she giggles. He deposits Nanako in Gojo’s arms with a fond sigh and brushes Gojo’s hair away from his eyes.

When the two of you finish giggling, Gojo calls out to his dark-haired daughter, “Alright, Mochi - your sensei has work to finish, so we have to leave now.”

Mimiko frowns, huffing out a sigh as she turns to her fathers. “It’s alright, Mimiko-chan! We’ll have plenty of fun together tomorrow, remember?”

The girl nods firmly as her eyes sparkle. She nuzzles into your chest once more, causing another bout of warmth to sweep over you. Then, she wiggles until you set her down onto the concrete beneath you. Mimiko runs on her chubby legs towards Geto, who swoops down once more to pick her up.

“You’re sure you don’t want a ride, Pretty?” Geto muses as he turns to you once more.

Gojo hums in agreement. “It can be dangerous walking around here, ‘specially at night. Y’gonna be okay getting home on your own later, Sweets?”

Another wave of heat rises to your ears and a shiver runs down your spine as both men lower their gazes to you. You almost forget you’re standing in front of your classroom for a moment.

“S’alright!” You grin. “I’ll probably take a train home in an hour or two, so you don't have to worry.” You’re more than flattered that they worry about you at all.

Gojo and Geto share a knowing look, an agreement passing between themselves. They know about the kinds of people that roam this area at night. It might be a grade school by day, but all sorts of unsavory people stalk the streets after dusk.

Geto huffs out a sigh, not so different from his daughter. “Fine - but you have to promise to text one of us when you make it back safe, okay?”

Gojo nods firmly in agreement, another lazy grin on his cheeks. It’s one that you see often, but it never fails to make you smile along with him. The three of you had exchanged numbers a few weeks ago, after you agreed to take care of the girls after hours. Gojo had immediately added you to a group chat that both men periodically spammed you in. You didn’t mind though. It was the first time you’d had close friends since you and Nanami met over twenty years ago.

Well, you guess your friendship with Nanami is filled with far less tension than the one you have with the boys. You’re sure the tension is one-sided, as Geto and Gojo are already in a committed relationship. Besides, you can’t imagine yourself being the one who breaks them apart. You’re many things - but a home-wrecker is not one of them.

The attraction and longing you have for either man should remain buried, you had decided. Neither of them needed to know. You’ll move on eventually, you decide.

Nodding, you agree to text the group chat when you arrive home. With a final firm look from Geto, he turns to head back to the car parked by the curb. It’s still pouring, so you clutch your umbrella tight between your cold fingers. Gojo nudges your side with his hip, the one that’s unoccupied by Nanako.

“You better text us,” Gojo warns. You chuckle, already used to his light-hearted threats. The first time he’d dropped one, you’d been a little perturbed, but soon after you’d realized he only uses them when he’s concerned for you or the girls.

“I promise!” You mumble softly, nudging him back with your hip. You only manage to bump his thigh, as his legs are much longer than yours, but the sentiment is the same.

Gojo shakes his head fondly and hums in agreement. He shifts Nanako higher on his hip and clutches his umbrella in his other hand. Leaning in to look at you over the brim of his sunglasses, you breath catches at the slightest sight of his bright blue eyes. He hasn’t taken them off since the first moment you’ve met, but each glance of his eyes sends a shiver down your spine. You haven’t asked, but you understand it must be more complicated than he’s willing to share.

“And you’ll text us or Kento-chan if it gets too late?”

“’Course, Gojo-san,” you agree, huffing playfully as he parents you.

“I told you already, Sweets.” He playfully remarks. “Call me Satoru.”

You sigh happily, looking into the dark lenses of his glasses as your heart stutters.

“Get out of here before Nanako-chan freezes,” you mutter with heat in your cheeks. Gosh, do they love to make you flustered.

“Alright, alright,” Gojo laughs. He shifts away and begins to follow Geto to their car. His long legs look fantastic in the dark pants that cover his legs, and you find your eyes lingering on his back in the tight dress shirt he wears.

“We’ll be expecting your text, Sweets!” Gojo calls over his shoulder, throwing you a final glance before he disappears into the dark of Geto’s car.

Shaking your head with another light chuckle, you bring a hand up to wave them off. In a burst of found confidence, you manage to call out after him before he shuts the door.

“See you later, Satoru!”

Suguru’s eyes crinkle into a wide grin as he watches a starry-eyed look fall onto Satoru’s face when he shuts the door. He knows it will take days before Satoru gets over the sound of your sweet voice calling his name.

When Satoru settles into the passenger seat, Suguru nearly lets out a giggle at the wide-eyed, lovestruck look on his face. A bubbly feeling vibrates through the white-haired man’s form, filling him with incandescent happiness.

“She called me Satoru,” Gojo mumbles with awe in his voice. At the reminder, Geto does let out a chuckle, rubbing his knuckles against the blushing cheeks of his lover.

“Yeah, she did.” Geto confirms, a fond smile on his lips. His own heart throbs with a sense of longing. Geto wants to hear his name fall from your honeyed lips too.

Gojo starts, wonder still in his eyes, but determination in his voice: “She’s going to tear us apart, Suguru.”

“Oh, absolutely -” Suguru responds. “But you and I both know we’d let her.”

It’s hours later when you finally finish work. After the sun has disappeared from the sky and the moon shines brightly overhead, you huff a sigh of relief.

Placing all the work into their marked places, you stretch your back and groan when your spine cracks. It’s begun to ache, from your hunched position over your desk, but you know it would be worse if you’d done this work at home. You’d likely be too drawn to the comfort of your bed, which would only worsen your hunched position as you shuffle through student’s artwork and piles of paperwork.

When you inspect the front window, you grimace at the darkness that covers the courtyard. The clock at your right states that it’s almost midnight, and you wince in realization. You definitely had not planned to stay this late.

There's no more trains running at this hour, and you know Kento has long since put both himself and Yuuji to bed. He has to wake up early to drop off Yuuji and make it to work.

It shouldn’t be a problem, you muse hopefully. Your apartment isn’t that far from campus, anyway. You’ll text the boys when you get back, there’s no need to wake them this late.

It’s twenty minutes later, you realize just how wrong you’d been.

You’ve made it about six blocks from the campus when you hear footsteps behind you. They’re still decently far behind, at least thirty yards, but they’re still close enough to hear the sounds of boots meeting concrete. A chill makes its way down your spine, and you clutch your umbrella a little tighter. It’s still raining, so the sounds of the figure are hard to make out under the downpour of the rain.

It’s three blocks later, you realize they’re following you. When you increase speeds, so do the other set of steps; when you slow, they follow. So you take a few extra turns, hoping you’re just imagining the figure.

Your heart rate is elevated, the pulse thrumming in both your chest and your head. You can almost hear the beating in your ears. Thoughts are racing as you attempt to string together a plan to get away. Your fingers are numbing from the cold and rain, and they’re beginning to stiffen.

Throwing a quick glance over your shoulder, you nearly whimper at the size of the man trailing behind you. He’s massive - nearly a foot taller than you and definitely out measures you in strength too. His form is draped in a black hoodie, with the head drawn over to cover his features, and heavy boots cover his feet.

You suck in a breath and try to quicken your pace again. Legs shaking, you shift to turn down another street, hoping to lose him. Rain falls over the umbrella in downpours, drowning out the sounds of the surrounding environment. You grit your teeth with a clenched jaw and hurry your steps.

It’s a mistake.

Taking six steps, your eyes fall on the dead end of the alley facing you. Chest sinking, you can feel your heart in your throat. It’s a thick lump you can’t swallow.

You shake as you turn in an attempt to dash for the alley’s entrance, feet nearly sliding in the slick of the rain.

It’s too late.

The man is already standing at the entrance, form tall and sinister as he covers the light of the moon. You can’t make out any of his features, but you can nearly see the huff of his breaths against the night air. Your entire being trembles with a sinking fear, and your knees weaken. A sob is about to break from your chest, but you push it down with a heavy gulp.

Hands trembling, you reach for your bag. Fingers cold and shaking, you pull the strap from your shoulder.

“I don’t know what you want from me, but you can have whatever’s in the bag,” you shakily cry. Despite trying desperately to hold them back, there’s tears already falling from your eyes. “There’s money in there, just please let me go.”

The man takes a step towards you, and you shrink back. You stumble a bit, like a scared child, before righting yourself. You kick a crushed beer can as you back step. The sound clatters through the alley and you wince.

Fuck, you should have texted Gojo and Geto before you’d left. Your dead cell phone sits in your back pocket, the cold metal weighing on both your form and your consciousness.

You had never imagined things would go this way. Sure, your apartment wasn't in a super friendly area of Tokyo, but you’d never had problems before. The city lights were always too bright and there were always plenty of people meandering the streets. You guess the rain has sheltered the rest of the world for one, terrible moment.

The man chuckles - a menacing sound that churns your stomach and presses acid against your throat. Sharp lines cross his features, looking like stitches pressed across his pale skin. You can’t place the marks, but you’re certain you’ve seen them before.

“I don’t want the money, Girlie,” he grunts. You didn’t think your heart could sink any further.

“What do you think the Six-Eyes would do?” he muses, “when he finds their precious ‘Sweets,’ dead from their carelessness?” He moves, pulling a silver knife from the pocket of his jacket. It glints against the light of the moon, and you take another fearful step back.

A beat of recognition passes through your mind at the name, but there’s far too much adrenaline coursing through your body to make any connection. Your eyes haven’t left the knife, scenarios filtering through your conscious mind.

There’s so few options in which you leave this alley alive. He outweighs you in both strength and size, so you know a fight isn’t an option. Your only chance is to get around him and outrun him. You can only hope you make it to a corner store, where someone could help.

When he takes a step further, gross breath nearly touching your skin now, you tighten your grip on your bag. The knife is about to press into your skin, and you suppress a sob.

Then, in a quick burst of panic, you manage to swing the bag with all your strength. The man, having expected the fight, moves to block the ambush. However, you’re already moving. With all your weight, you crush the heel of your foot into the man’s pelvis before he can stop you.

He grunts, body curling inward for a moment, but you don’t stick around to find out his next move. You’re already running, slipping once against the slick concrete, before you’re sprinting as fast as you can.

The cold, night air hurts your lungs. You can’t remember the last time you’d run like this, and the ache in your legs says it’s been too long. No matter how harsh the pain in your calves, or the stinging in your chest, you keep pushing. Footsteps slap against the wet pavement as you race down the block.

You’ve long since ditched the umbrella. Instead the rain slaps against your skin in painful droplets. It soaks your hair and your clothes and settles uncomfortably on your skin. It’s cold and wet, and the tears soaking your cheeks blur your vision almost as much as the heavy rain.

Coughing down a sob, you push yourself a little further as the sounds of a shout and another set of footsteps sound somewhere behind you. You don’t turn to check, but you’re sure the man has given chase.

Sucking in another breath, you wince at the cramp already forming. You don’t slow down. With your heart in your throat, and a combination of rain and tears staining your cheeks, you keep running. There’s a light ahead, maybe a convenience store is still open at this late hour.

You can only hope.

“I’m stepping out, ‘Toru” Suguru mutters.

It’s too loud, and the flashing lights are giving him a headache. It’s one of their clubs. They’d dropped by on a routine check, showing face and collecting old debts. Eyes are constantly on his form as he and Satoru sift through the crowd. Though neither of them have enjoyed the club scene since having the twins, they both know they have to appear at least once a month to keep an eye on some of the higher ups. They can’t have people thinking they’re slacking off.

Satoru usually basks in the looks of awe and fear as he and Suguru part the crowd to make their way to the bar. They stand tall above the crowd and exude an aura of power. The flocks of people can’t meet his eyes - or well, the fabric covering them - as he smirks down at them. Satoru only wears the blindfold on mafia business. The glasses he keeps for simpler times; he enjoys using them to tease you. The heat in your cheeks and your inability to meet his barely-there glance brings a surge of pride to Satoru’s chest. He can feel the swell of butterflies fluttering in his stomach, so similar to the ones he gets when Suguru gives him a similar look - the bashfulness is, of course, harder to spot in his features though.

With tattoos on full display, the Six-Eyes clan mark is apparent on both men. The two powerful mafia leaders have been at the bar for nearly an hour now, and Suguru can’t shake the lingering feeling of anxiety from his head. Anxiously, Suguru rubs the end of the dragon tattoo climbing down his forearm. It stretches up his arm and descends down his shoulder and side, and Suguru can’t help but trace the tail end of the beast. The dark tattoo ends at his wrist, where he thumbs the ink.

There’s been something nagging at him since he and Satoru picked up the twins earlier that day.

It’s been hours since he’d tucked the girls in, swaddling their little bodies in blankets and pressing kisses to each of their foreheads. Both men had uttered soft ‘goodnights,’ before getting ready to head out on proper mafia business. Anxiousness settled in both their stomachs as they disappeared out the front door.

You hadn’t texted them.

A part of Suguru hopes that you were just too exhausted from work; you’d passed out as soon as you arrived home, so you’d forgotten to text. But he knows he’s wrong. You’d never forgotten to text before - always making a point to wish them goodnight and asking them to hug the twins for you. It’s a notion that usually brings warmth to Suguru’s chest, as he and Satoru share a meaningful smile and a soft kiss.

When the clock strikes midnight, Suguru decides he’s had enough.

He mutters to Satoru that he has to step out, before he’s shoving through the crowd of sweaty bodies to reach the door. It’s not difficult, the crowd parts to let him through, too fearful to get in his way.

Suguru could care less, all that’s on his mind is you.

Satoru knows his partner is concerned - he knows Suguru too well to miss the signs. Geto’s shoulders are too tense, even more so than they would be when dealing with mafia business. A frown is set on his lips and there’s a subtle crease in his eyebrows from where they’re furrowed.

There’s a similar weight on his chest too. Satoru has always been much better at hiding his emotions, the eccentric, playboy facade is sometimes all too easy to flash. The grim feelings welling in his chest are covered by an easygoing facade. Satoru prides himself on this ability, it’s fitting for his workplace. Suguru defaults to a cold expression that only Satoru can decipher.

Satoru lets his partner go, watching his back as he maneuvers through the throngs of people. He doesn’t follow - not yet. It’d be suspicious for them both to disappear suddenly. Satoru promises himself ten more minutes before he follows Suguru. The tightness in his chest won’t allow him any longer.

When Suguru emerges from the club’s exit, the cold of the night air meets his skin. He’s under an overhang, the building shielding him from the rain, but the freezing cold wind still causes goosebumps to settle under his skin. When the wind whips, a few droplets of rain splatter against his body, but he doesn’t mind.

Suguru has already pulled out his phone, dialing your number for the third time that night. He’d tried twice already, both when he’d left the house a few hours ago. He clutches the phone in his hand, grunting in frustration when he’s immediately sent to voicemail.

Pulling the phone from his ear, Suguru glares at the screen before hanging up. He tries once more, only to meet the same results before he tugs at his hair in frustration.

He yanks his hair from the sleek top knot it was pulled into, Suguru allows the strands to cover his face as he squeezes his eyes shut in frustration. Leaning back against the wall, his head falls back and presses against the hard bricks of the building.

The inside of Suguru’s mind is a mess. There’s too many scenarios racing from the far corners of his mind, some much darker than others. His heart beat picks up a notch, and Suguru can’t remember the last time he’s felt this panic. Sighing deeply through his nose, he takes a few heavy breaths to calm his frantic thoughts.

He decides he'll wait a few moments for Satoru before he starts looking for you. It can’t be hard to find your place, not with the kinds of information they have access to. They’ll be able to decide their next move once they confirm if you’re at your place.

Suguru is almost too lost in his thoughts to hear the first shout.

The rain is deafening, and his mind is far too loud to hear the sound. However, he’s shaken from the fog when the sound of feet slapping against the wet pavement start to get closer. He almost startles, grunting roughly in frustration. He doesn’t have time to deal with some crook coming after his title.

When he tunes into the sound of approaching footsteps, Suguru confirms two people are approaching. From the panicked, quick steps of the first, Suguru can tell the person is running from something. The second set of steps suggest that the first is being chased. Suguru confirms that the people haven’t seen him yet, before he steps out into the rain.

In the dark of the midnight hour, Suguru can’t make out any shapes from down the street. He stands under the downpour, letting the shine from a streetlight illuminate his form. Suguru isn’t quite sure why he’s stepped out, he usually wouldn’t interfere in trivial manners such as this. However, he’s in the mood to release some stress, and some lowlife scumbag chasing after a random citizen is a good excuse to rough someone up.

As the cold of the rain soaks his clothes, Suguru sets his shoulders back. The sound of footsteps gets closer, and he can make out the form of the first person. They’re panicked, Suguru can tell - they’re struggling to continue sprinting.

When they get a bit closer, Suguru can just barely see the soaked hair of the person’s form. It’s slicked against their forehead, dripping into their eyes and mixing with the tears that are leaking from their eyes. There’s a sob shaking from their lips. It’s shaky and anxious, stuttered through their heaving breaths.

There’s a moment of stillness for Suguru. The world goes quiet for just a single moment when the person’s form is revealed to his eyes. Their sobbing features and quivering lips strike a chord in Suguru’s heavy chest. Usually soft, gentle features have been distorted into those of panic and fear. The sweet sound of a usually happy voice is twisted into sobs.

When the moment passes, and the strength of the wind and rain is once again pushing against his skin, Suguru startles.

The face of the person he’s been aching for is revealed before him. His heart beats against his chest, and Suguru swears he can feel it in his throat. Hands ache to reach out for your form - to soothe the sobs exhaling from your lips and brush the tears away from your skin. Suguru’s whole being throbs at the sight of your face expressing such fear.

Before Suguru can make a move, your body is crashing into his form. In such panic, under the heavy storm of rain and blur of tears, you hadn’t seen his form under the street light. Your single track mind only wished to put as much space between you and your attacker. Lungs heaving and legs trembling, you collide with the form of the man in front of you.

There’s a hesitance, part of you wondering if your attacker had back up waiting. When your body rebounds from the stoic muscle of the form in front of you, you blubber. Tears still spilling over your cheeks and panting, there’s a moment where you don’t recognize him. Your brain is mush - only focused on escaping and surviving.

You sob louder, choking on a whimper when hands reach for your form. Shaking your head rapidly, you flinch from the arms outstretched before you, convinced it's another of the attacker’s friends. Suguru’s chest aches. He never wants to see that look again.

“M’sorry- M’so sorry,” you rapidly mumble. The words barely make sense as they’re rushed from your lips but you can’t slow down.

“Hey, hey-” a soothing voice rumbles. It’s familiar, the tone and deep gravel of the voice, but in your panic, there’s not enough working memory for your brain to recognize it.

“S’alright, Pretty Girl” the man continues, hands still outstretched and aching to soothe you. “Hey, s’me - it’s Suguru. Look at me, Pretty”

Suguru’s voice barely conceals a shake as your fearful body trembles. He's aching to comfort you - to take you into his arms and take on your burdens for his own. He’s only ever ached like this for one other, but it feels the same. An anxious bubble swells in his stomach, and he fears you won’t recognize him in your panic.

At the humming of his voice, you’re slowly brought from the haze. The more conscious part of your brain emerges from an anxious fog as it begins to remember the man before you. Shakily bringing your eyes upwards, you’re barely able to make out the sleek black hair that could only belong to one person. His mouth is set in a frown, but it’s twisted in something that looks like anguish.

It’s a look you haven’t seen on Suguru Geto.

“That’s it- look at me, Pretty Girl. You’re doing so good.”

Clutching your arms across your chest and body tucked inward to protect itself, you choke out a few syllables, “Su- Suguru?”

Geto’s heart throbs.

The first time you said his first name shouldn’t have been like this. Not when it’s filled with fear, your form drenched in rain and tears and clothes askew. He longs for a different setting, something warm and soft. Suguru longs to hear the sound of his name falling from your lips in that honeyed manner in which you speak to your friends.

“Yeah, s’me - it’s Suguru,” he hums. “What’s happened, Darling? You alright?”

There’s not enough time to stumble through an explanation. The sound of rapid approaching footsteps is enough to startle you; your attacker is finally catching up. You knew a kick to the groin wouldn’t keep him down for long, but you’d certainly hoped to put more distance between yourselves.

Acting purely on instinct, you immediately begin to move. The fear is still a sickening lump in your throat and it’s far too large to swallow. Ducking behind Suguru’s large form, you bury yourself in his back. His broad shoulders and muscular frame cover you almost completely. Your hands clutch the soaked material of his shirt, burying your face in his back in an attempt to hide yourself from the oncoming attacker. Even in the onslaught of rain, he still smells like Suguru - like warmth and comfort.

You squeeze your eyes as tightly as possible and grip Geto’s shirt in your fists until your knuckles begin to lose blood flow. Still shaking, you press yourself as close to Geto’s form - to safety - as you can. Your heart thunders in your chest, but Geto’s presence seems to soothe it, if only a fraction.

Suguru isn’t sure he can take much more of this.

With your frame completely pressed against his, Suguru’s heart jumps into his throat. God, does he wish more than anything to savor the press of your skin against his. Even under the rain and through the panic, Suguru’s mind is filled with thoughts of your body pressed against his and Satoru’s in hundreds of other scenarios.

However, he doesn’t have time for such thoughts.

Not with the approaching set of footsteps rapidly nearing your position.

Suguru squares his shoulders, setting them back to straighten his form and cover your form as best he can. One of his hands swings back, resting against your hip to press you against him. It’s a protective gesture - one that clearly shows he’s guarding you.

When the third form settles at the scene, there’s a snarl on his lips. He’s not panting as heavily as you had been, but it’s clear he’s sprinted to catch up. The man is still clutching his knife. It’s pressed tightly between his fingers, ready to strike.

“Geto Suguru,” the man growls.

Suguru doesn’t move.

His hand is still at your waist, but his form is tight and ready to pounce. At the slightest movement, Suguru is ready to lunge forward and rid you both of the attacker.

“You know me?” It’s less of a question than a statement. Most people know of Geto Suguru and Gojo Satoru. Well - those who are aware of the mafia, anyway. The two crime lords are the strongest mafia leaders in Japan: the Sorcerer and the Six Eyes.

“Of course I know you,” the man spits. “But it’s not you I want.”

He gestures roughly with his knife to the form pressed against Geto’s body. You shudder, and press down another sob with great difficulty.

“Bossman wants the girl.”

“He can’t have her.” Geto is quick to answer. His voice is sharp and firm. There is no room for debate. Suguru’s eyes drift over the markings on the man’s barely visible skin and presses you closer. He identifies the assailant’s affiliation

“Tell Mahito that this girl is clan property now - no one goes near her, unless they want to deal with me-”

“Or me.”

The normally cooing voice of Satoru Gojo is now laden with anger and coated with ice. It’s sharp, uncharacteristic of Gojo. You can’t bring yourself to move from your stiff position at Geto’s back, but since your mind has begun to clear, it recognizes the voice of your white haired friend.

Satoru lets the door to the club fall shut behind him with a heavy slam. Stepping out into the rain, Satoru’s form radiates power. Even the rain seems to be apprehensive, barely touching his body as he strides to stand beside his partner. He stands tall, shoulder to shoulder with Suguru as the two glare down at the man who’d hunted you.

Gojo doesn’t allow the twinge of his heart to show on his features as he takes in your petrified form. He can see the white-knuckled grip you have on Geto’s shirt and the rapid rising and falling of your chest. The tears muddled on your cheeks blend with the rain, and Gojo almost wants to grab you to hide you in his own chest. Though, he knows you’re safe in Suguru’s hands. Geto would never let anything happen to you, Satoru knows. It’s the same way he knows he himself would never let anything touch you.

Satoru presses close to Suguru, allowing his form to overlap yours and cover the rest of your body from the prying eyes that attempt to pierce your skin. You can only shift a hand to clutch Satoru’s shirt in your other hand in thanks. You haven’t calmed from the oncoming panic attack, but knowing you’re safe buried behind the two brings you some comfort.

The man before you has to suppress a shudder at the sight of both clan heads. He barely stood a chance against just one, but now understands there’s little to no chance of his survival. Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto are fiercely protective of the ones they love. While your relationship may not be defined, it’s clear the two care for you beyond words.

The attacker shifts on his feet, ready to make a break for it, in the hopes of avoiding the oncoming fight. His cowardice is glaringly evident, even after his earlier threats.

“Satoru,” Geto mumbles, eyes hard and no emotion flickering behind them. “What happens when you disregard orders from the Six Eyes?”

His question may be addressed to Satoru, but they’re clearly directed to the now nervous form of the man in front of them. He shifts again, getting ready to lunge, but Satoru is quicker.

He’s faster than lightning, already at the man’s side and pressing his arm behind his back to incapacitate the attacker. You didn’t even feel him move, let alone pry your grip from his clothing. Satoru is nothing but gentle with you.

The man cries out in pain as Satoru muscles him to his knees.

“Why don’t you show this thug the strength of the Gojo clan?”

“With pleasure.”

A sinister smirk drags a corner of Satoru’s lips upwards, but you can’t see it. At the first grunt of pain from your pursuer, Geto has shifted. He turns his body so that you’re pressed into his chest rather than his back. You barely notice the change, too focused on controlling your breaths. You count the seconds on each inhale, hold the breath, then count again as you exhale. Hyper-focusing on your breathing brings a sense of calm to your otherwise panicked mind.

Geto moves the hand that grasps your waist to surround your body at the hips. He tugs softly, pressing you tightly to his chest. His other hand rests at the back of your head, gently rubbing against your hair. It's incredibly soothing. Swaying back and forth slightly, Geto keeps you pressed against him so that you have no choice but to focus on him rather than Satoru - who is dragging away the form of your attacker. Suguru softly hums, the sound reverberating in his chest and surrounding your senses. It drowns out the muffled cries from behind him.

Satoru spares a glance over his shoulder, allowing his eyes to soften slightly at the sight of the two of you pressed together. He longs to take care of this quickly so he can wrap his arms around the two of you. Turning quickly, Satoru continues to drag the struggling form of Mahito’s henchmen towards a dark alley.

“Let’s finish this quickly,” Satoru spits. “I have business to take care of.”

The next few moments don't really register in your head. Suguru had tried to lead you away from the scene, but your legs had quickly given out beneath you. Tired from escaping and adrenaline quickly fading, you finally allowed exhaustion to catch up. Geto had been quick to slip an arm under your knees and hoist you up. Shoulders flexing, Suguru clearly had enough muscle mass to carry anyone he wanted.

In his arms, Suguru helped you practice breathing until the pattern was more controlled.

He mumbled soft reassurances against your ear as he carried you towards his car. He and Satoru had driven to the club, knowing neither of them would drink that evening.

Before he could set you in the backseat, you vaguely recall protesting. Not wanting to ruin the interior of his car with your soaked form, you had shaken your head and stammered soft objections. Geto had chuckled under his breath, and fished out a towel from the trunk after setting you on your feet to rest against the car. His hands were kind and gentle as they helped you dry to the best of your abilities.

When he’d tried to place you in the backseat, you shook your head rapidly once more and clutched him tighter to your form. The fear from running for your life had yet to wear off, and the thought of Suguru leaving you left you more panicked than before.

Suguru gently shushed you as he rocked the two of you back and forth again. Your face was buried in his chest again, and Suguru longed to see your pretty eyes.

“S’okay, I’ve got you.”

The phrase is mumbled over and over again with Suguru’s lips pressed against your forehead. They’re soft and warm, and you wish you were in a clearer state of mind so you could savor the feeling.

“Nobody can hurt you with us here,” Suguru sighs. “Promise.”

With adrenaline quickly fading, you’re on the verge of passing out. However, you continue to pry your eyelids back open each time they drift shut. You’re waiting for Satoru to return. Your heavy head won’t let you rest until you know he's safe too.

Seconds later, your eyes finally fall shut as a second set of hands gently rub the skin of your arm. You almost flinch, but you know Geto wouldn’t have let just anyone touch you.

Gojo’s hands are surprisingly softer than Geto’s. His long fingers press softly to the bare skin of your forearms, where your clothes have gone askew in your flight. Gojo gently readjusts them, though you’re far past the point of caring.

Muttering is heard above your head, though the sounds are muffled to your slowly weakening form.

“-Wouldn’t rest until you came back-” is heard, followed by “-doesn’t want to be by herself.”

Gojo nods softly. Geto fixes him with a look before he begins to shift you into Satoru’s arms. You whine in vague protest, and Gojo is the one to hush you this time. His leaner body presses against your skin and his warmth seeps into your cold skin. When you nuzzle closer with a mumble, Satoru’s heart clenches.

“Come on, Sweetheart - in we go.”

Gojo shuffles you into the backseat of Geto’s car before following after you. When you’re buckled into the middle seat with Satoru still pressed against you, you finally allow yourself to pass out in exhaustion.

Satoru clutches your body to his, shifting to allow your head to press into his neck rather than his shoulder. He finally unwraps the blindfold from his eyes, allowing the bright blue irises to sweep over your body without the hindrance of the mask. Scanning for injuries, Satoru huffs a sigh of relief when he confirms you have no physical wounds.

Nodding to Suguru, the key is slid into the ignition and the car finally pulls out of its parking spot. He skillfully maneuvers the car in the dark of the night, with one hand grasping the steering wheel and the other pressed against his forehead. He rubs his temple, gently pushing away the ache that rang in his skull.

Suguru hasn’t been this stressed in a while.

Locking eyes with Satoru’s ocean blue one’s in the rearview mirror, Suguru gives him a knowing look.

“We should take her back to our place.” It’s spoken quietly, uncharacteristic of Satoru when not in the presence of his lover. “Kento says she lives in a shit-hole apartment up North - she won’t be safe there tonight.”

Suguru agrees. He’d already been heading in that direction anyway. He takes a smooth left towards the direction of their house, hands sliding against the leather of the steering wheel. There’s a long beat of silence in the interior of the car. Suguru can almost hear the faint sound of your breaths escaping your lips. He’s thankful that they’ve slowed to a reasonable pace.

At a stoplight, Suguru twists in his seat. Looking over his shoulder, Suguru is met with the sight of Satoru’s soft eyes locked on your form. The white-haired man is delicately stroking the hair back from your eyes, his other hand grasped tightly in yours. You’d fallen asleep pressed into his chest, body slanted sideways in the seat. Satoru’s eyes shine with worry, but they don’t leave your face.

He’s too busy scanning each of your features, memorizing the innocent, gentle that overtakes your face in your sleep. Satoru gently rubs the tear tracks from your cheeks, feeling the softness of the skin against his fingertips. He sighs, and looks up to meet his lover’s eyes.

“I don’t ever want to see that look again.” Suguru mumbles. He’s referencing the scared, panicked look you'd given him when you’d bumped into him. Suguru thinks his heart may have stopped beating when he’d heard the sobs choke from your lungs.

Satoru nods. His sky blue eyes drop back to your face. Satoru can’t lie - he too, had been anxious at the sight of your panic. He promises himself, in that moment, to never let that same look befall your features.

“S’alright, Suguru.” Satoru mutters back, lifting a hand to gently thumb the wrinkle between Suguru’s brows. His fingers slide from his partner’s forehead down his cheek, where Satoru softly runs the same thumb over Suguru’s lips.

“We’ve got her now,” Satoru clutches you tighter to his chest, watching the rise and fall of your chest. “Never gonna’ let anyone hurt her again.”

Suguru’s still damp hair falls into his eyes as he nods. Pressing a kiss to Satoru’s thumb, Suguru runs his fingers over your cheek and turns back to face the dashboard. He shifts the car back into gear, and continues driving the three of you back to their place.

Satoru’s right, Suguru decides. There’s nothing in this world or the next that could stop the two clan heads from protecting their family. Suguru gently huffs and shakes his head - Family, huh? They certainly hoped you would be soon.

When you wake the next morning, it’s in soft silken sheets and the scent of waffles and fresh coffee in the air. You vaguely recall a memory of Satoru gently hushing you as he lifted your body from Suguru’s car. He'd carried you into their expensive, but surprisingly, small home. Despite their wealth, the two had agreed that they didn't need an extravagant mansion to raise their daughters - it wouldn’t feel like a home.

The house the two men resided in was a quaint, two-story cottage style house. The girls had fallen in love with it the first time the real estate agent had shown them the property. They'd run around the yard, pointing out flowers and various insects to their fathers. Mimiko giggled as her sister pressed a daisy behind her ear, mumbling about how pretty her Nee-san was. Suguru had nearly handed over the downpayment that day.

Shuffling up the stairs, the two men were quiet so they wouldn't wake the twins. Suguru had closed his eyes and changed your wet clothes. He couldn’t, in good consciousness, let you sleep in the sopping wet material. When he’d finished, Satoru had picked you back up and delicately placed you in the guest bed. It was next door to their room, but both men still cast a longing glance over their shoulder as they left the room.

It felt wrong to leave your side after such an event. Suguru craved to remain by your side, to press his body into yours and tuck his hands into Satoru’s hair. He wanted you pressed between them - in capacity, shape or form. Just hearing the beat of your heart would comfort him enough to allow him to sleep.

Satoru had gently tugged Suguru away. Though he felt the same, he knew your relationship wasn’t quite there yet. They could properly ask you soon.

In the early hours of the morning, you awoke to the sounds of birds chirping and the beams of sun drifting in from the window. It’d taken a moment to register your surroundings, not used to the sounds of nature outside your apartment. It was usually the sounds of shouts from your upstairs neighbors that woke you in the morning, so the change of pace was nice.

Drifting your attention from the soft spring breeze filtering in from the window, your eyes landed on the door. From just outside, there was the sound of rustling, and then three voices quietly mumbling. The voices are familiar, and you’re not worried.

Everything about the room you’re in feels comforting. The scent of both Satoru and Suguru are in the air. You’re swaddled in a shirt a size too big, but you can’t decide whose it is. It smells vaguely like them both, so it very well could be a shared shirt between the two. The sheets are smooth under your skin, and the sun is warm on your cheeks.

Despite the events from the night before, you don’t think you’ve ever slept so soundly.

The sound of voices is heard again, and it sounds like excitement from two, before there’s a gentle command of “No, wait!”

Then, your door is being pried open.

The gentle pitter-patter sounds of two sets of feet scurry across the hardwood floors before two bodies are throwing themselves onto your bed.

“Sensei!”

The two girls squeal in happiness, launching their little bodies into your arms. You can't help the bright grin that lifts your cheeks. Their wide-eyed, toothy smiles are too much for your heart, and you lift your arms to scoop their bodies into your chest. You squeeze them tight, refilling your chest with a warmth that had been missing after last night.

Mimiko giggles and nuzzles herself closer, her sister following suit. They burrow themselves into the sheets, clinging tightly to your form and smelling of fresh strawberries and pastries. Your eyes are shut as you chuckle alongside the girls and hug their little bodies to you.

“I’m so sorry!” It’s Satoru who apologizes. His voice sounds worried, but there's still an underlying hint of joy. “Suguru and I couldn’t hold them back after they heard you spent the night.”

You sigh, but it’s a happy sound. A breath of fresh air fills your lungs and you giggle again. Nanako tucks herself under your chin, her tiny arms wrapped around your chest. Mimiko lays on your other side in a much similar position.

“It’s alright, Satoru.”

The words are spoken in a breathy laugh. You haven't looked up to face him yet, too busy situating yourself and the girls into a more comfortable position.

“Papa made us wait an hour!” Nanako nearly whines. She wiggles a bit alongside her words, and you tickle her sides to hear her giggle again.

“Did he? How cruel of him,” you play along.

Satoru huffs an exaggerated sigh, and you turn your gaze up to meet him, ready to playfully argue for the girls.

The words die on your lips as you take him in.

Satoru isn’t wearing his sunglasses. An ocean of clear blue and turquoise meets your eyes, and you find yourself losing your train of thought. The swirling depths of Satoru’s eyes are unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. They glimmer with mischief, but it’s easily overlooked. The crystal clear and vibrant cyan blends gorgeously with his white hair, and you find yourself stuttering.

“I- you-” you try to form the words on the tip of your tongue.

“You’re beautiful.”

It’s not the words you had intended to speak, and the cacophony of giggles that fall from the twin’s mouth causes heat to rise to your face. You turn away, trying to hide your embarrassment by burying your forehead into Mimiko's hair.

Satoru can’t lie - his heart did skip a beat at the exclamation. He hadn’t been expecting the compliment, and the genuine awe in your voice makes his stomach twist with butterflies. A warmth fills his chest and Satoru nearly keens at the praise.

“Sensei thinks Papa is pretty,” Nanako giggles. Her cheeks are pink from laughter, and she pokes your cheek. Mimiko’s laugh blends with her sister, and she looks back at her father, who is barely concealing his own pink cheeks. You delicately pinch the girl’s side, but it only causes another peel of laughter to escape.

Grinning, Satoru locks eyes with you again when you manage to pull them from where they're buried. He wiggles his eyebrows, a move you’ve seen him pull before.

You roll your eyes, flopping your head back against the fluff of the pillows. Shifting the girls in your arms, you sit up against the headboard of the bed. From behind Satoru, Suguru peeks into the room. He has an apron over his sweats, and his hair is pulled back into a bun with a few strands framing his face. The combination of both men in their comfort clothes and smiles on their cheeks nearly causes your skin to warm again.

“What’s going on in here?” Suguru questions. A grin is on his lips as he sets his chin on Satoru’s shoulder, arms wrapping around his partner's waist. He watches his daughters cling onto you, a warmth in his chest.

“Sensei called Papa beautiful!” Mimiko chimes helpfully, mimicking her sister’s earlier words. She lifts her head from your neck to sing the words, matter-of-factly.

“Oh, did she?” The words are teasing. Suguru’s dark eyes are now locked on you. You try to avoid his gaze, embarrassment rushing through your form and a nervous excitement in your gut. Choosing instead to look at the scenery outside the window, you grab a silk pillow from behind you. Without looking you toss it in the vague direction of the men, huffing a laugh when an indignant ‘Hey!’ follows.

Despite your embarrassment, Suguru can tell you’re feeling better. Last night had been incredibly stressful, but he's glad the twins are able to melt some of the stress away. The knowledge of his daughters bringing you genuine happiness causes his grip to tighten on Satoru’s waist. The white-haired man turns his head, pressing a soft kiss to Suguru’s forehead.

Both men share an understanding. The emotions swirling between them are similar and shared between the two. They watch with warm eyes and happy grins as you tickle MImiko and blow raspberries to Nanako’s cheeks as they squeal.

Satoru rests his hands over Satoru’s and sighs happily. They could get used to this.

And get used to it, they do.

Satoru and Suguru manage to pull the girls from you, and they lead the three of you down to breakfast. They explain that they hadn’t felt comfortable leaving you alone, and had brought you back to their place for the night. Satoru expresses that they want you to stay until you felt safe enough to return to your own apartment. Suguru agrees with his partner with a firm nod of his head. Feeling thankful, you agree, under the condition that you return to your place to grab clothes and other necessities.

Both men nod, and later that afternoon, you’re picking up a week’s worth of clothes and other necessities from your run-down apartment. Suguru doesn’t allow you to carry your bags, shifting them to his own arms as Satoru leads you back to their car.

A week passes. Suguru drops you and the twins off at the school in the mornings and Satoru picks the three of you up in the evenings. You help them prepare meals, setting the table and chopping veggies. Satoru presses his chest against your back when you have Mimiko set on your hip. The girl giggles at her father, and pushes his face away when he asks for a kiss. She whines when he blows a raspberry in her neck, and you have to hide your reddening ears from the white-haired man when his cheek brushes yours.

Then another week passes too. The twins have begun asking you to read their bedtime story on most nights, and Gojo and Geto press against each other in the doorway to watch. There’s love in their eyes as you mimic different characters’ voices and animate sounds from their storybooks.

Soon, nearly a month has gone by, and you have yet to return to your apartment. It’s not as though you hadn’t thought about it. You had asked Suguru a week back, but he'd simply given you a warm look and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

He murmured a gentle, “Don’t worry about it, Pretty.” Then, he nudged your hip in the direction of the twins, who awaited your presence at their tea party.

The more time passed, the more their house began to feel like a home of your own.

Of course, Satoru had explained the ‘intricacies’ of their workplace a few weeks back. You’d suspected something similar, with the way your attacker had shrunk back against their figures. Their very existence nearly exuded an aura of something darker and a little dangerous.

However, despite the revelation, you couldn't find it within yourself to be scared.

Neither Satoru, nor Suguru, had ever made a motion to hurt you. Their gazes were always filled with warmth and their touches were nothing but gentle. All the time you'd spent alongside either man and their daughters felt like an eternity of sunshine and cloudless skies.

Besides, there was something about the way that Suguru had hid your form behind his own. He'd held your body behind his shoulders, hand grasping your waist protectively. The way that Satoru had joined his partner’s side, standing shoulder to shoulder with him to hide your form, lingered in your mind. Suguru’s hushed words of comfort and praise still touched the edges of your subconscious. The reminder of feeling their hands on your skin as they rocked you back and forth, made goosebumps raise the hairs of your skin.

Nothing about either man had ever sparked fear in your mind. They’d only ever treated you with care and protectiveness. It was a reminder that made you so, incandescently happy.

By the end of the next week, the five of you had established a routine around the house. Part of you hoped that the dreamlike situation never ended. It had begun with a feeling of fear, but you found yourself thanking the moment for what followed after.

Geto had dropped the three of you off at the school courtyard that morning, pressing kisses to each of his daughter’s cheeks. They’d giggled, before grasping each other’s hands and taking off towards the classroom. Turning to you, Suguru pressed a delicate kiss to your forehead as well, a motion that both he and Satoru had been repeating lately.

The motion is not missed by Nanami, who sends you a look. We’ll talk about this later, it says. You roll your eyes and wave him away with a smile. Nanami huffs and nearly rolls his own eyes as he sets Yuuji down next to Megumi. Toji is just turning around to walk back to his car, sending you a two-fingered wave on his way. You’re used to his laid-back demeanor, so you simply wave him off with a smile.

Suguru clutches your waist a little tighter, but it goes unnoticed by you. Both he and Satoru have been touchy lately, and you had no problem indulging in their soft caresses and gestures. Though you felt a little guilty, seeing as they were in a committed relationship, neither man seemed upset with his partner’s affection. You allowed them to continue, after ensuring it was alright with both men.

“I’ll be back before three,” he whispers into your hairline. You hum, bumping Suguru with your hip to motion him back towards the car.

“See you, Sugar!” The nickname causes a huffed laugh to exhale against your head. The word had slipped from your mouth by accident when you’d been baking with the girls two weeks ago. You’d meant to ask him for the sugar, but instead his name and the ingredient had both come out in a tangled mess. The twins had giggled endlessly, and the nickname had somehow stuck.

Suguru leaves your side with a final squeeze of your hip, heading back to his car. He’s not excited for the hours of meetings he and Satoru have to sit through, but the thought of your new little family allows him to push through the stress.

The two men had decided they would finally ask you to join their family that evening. Over hushed whispers passed between the two in the early hours of the morning, Satoru had decided that it was finally time. You got along so well with their daughters, never treating them poorly and consistently providing equal attention and love. Despite not being yours, you treated the girls like your own. Both Satoru and Suguru don’t think they’ll ever be able to find a person like you ever again.

It was time to ask you to be theirs.

The thought makes Suguru’s stomach twist with anxious excitement. As he pulls out of his parking space, all that’s on his mind is the thought of you and his little family.

Satoru and Suguru have sat through five hours of meeting when the phone call comes. The mindless droning of clan members and shipment info pass through the room, boring both men. When a break is finally called, Satoru pulls out his phone, only to be met with the sight of six missed calls from your phone.

Satoru sucks in a breath, heart racing. It’s half past two, so the other students will have already left the school, but you shouldn’t be expecting them until closer to three. His phone had been on silent, not wanting to be interrupted or distracted during their meetings. The six calls had all occurred within the last fifteen minutes, and Satoru is partially relieved it hasn't been too long.

Mind racing with possibilities, Satoru tilts the phone so Suguru can see the screen. His long-haired lover furrows his brow, chest seizing at the notifications. The two make eye-contact - well, a semblance of it due to Satoru’s blindfold.

Before either can speak, the phone begins to ring again. Suguru is immediately standing, excusing both himself and Satoru. They make their way out into the hall as Satoru answers the call.

“Hey, Sweetheart,” Satoru starts. “You alright? What’s goin’ on?”

The phone is set to speaker, allowing Suguru to listen. For a moment, there’s no answer. Only silence is heard from the other side of the line. Then, a tiny sob is heard.

Mimiko.

Suguru nearly crumpled at the sound of his daughter’s cry. Knees weak, he leans into Satoru, who rests his own weight against his partner. Both men have nearly racing pulses, eyes wide and frantic as they look from each other back to the phone.

“Mochi?” Satoru murmurs.

Another beat of silence passes.

Then, a tiny voice is heard. “Papa?”

Nanako is the one who speaks. It’s dreadfully quiet, the word nearly whined through a suppressed sob.

“Baby, S’going on?” Suguru rushes, clutching Satoru’s arm. His mind is racing at the possibility of his daughters being hurt. The dark-haired man wonders where you are, his breath catching at the thought of any of you in danger.

The sounds of tiny sobs erupt from both girls, only worsening their fathers’ worry. The phone muffles the sound, but shouts are heard in the background. Suguru tenses, fist clenching as he and Satoru look at each other. There’s only a second passing between them before they're both moving.

Satoru is immediately moving, taking long strides as he and Suguru push through the halls towards the parking garage. Both men are panting, chests tight with worry as they make their way to the car. It feels neither of them can move fast enough as they pull open the doors to Satoru’s car. He’s the faster of the two drivers, capable of maneuvering them through tight races and escapes.

Satoru passes the phone to Suguru as a sharp cry is heard from one of their daughters.

Chest seizing in fear, Suguru calls out. “Nanako? Mimiko? Are you alright? What’s happening?”

The next words to fall from Nanako’s mouth have Satoru pressing the gas pedal to the floor. Suguru’s chest feels as though it will collapse as he clutches the phone tight between his fingers.

“S’Mama! The bad men are trying to hurt Mama!”

At half past two, you see them.

Three men in dark suits began approaching the classroom after you waved the last student goodbye. Satoru had wanted you of the danger that came with being around them, but at the time, you’d fixed him with a look.

“I don’t care, Toru,” you’d smiled. “Nothing could tear me away from this family now.”

Satoru had grinned, pulling you into his chest and giddily murmuring happy phrases that had you pinching his sides. He'd pressed a kiss to your head, laughing when the twins called for attention too.

You had suspected they’d return, though you never thought they’d come to your workplace. Especially not with Mimiko and Nanako still around.

With a tense exhalation of air, you quickly pivoted on your feet. Heading for the twins, you shut and locked the door behind you in a rush. Pressing a chair under the knob of the door, you pulled down the curtains to all the windows in the room. The twins looked up from the television that was playing a superhero movie.

Turning to them, you quickly ushered them both under your desk in the corner of the room. It was small but they could both fit. From this area, neither of their little bodies could be seen since the desk was pressed between a shelf and the wall, surrounded by all but one side. They’d be well hidden here.

“What’s going on?” Nanako wondered as you ushered the two into the small space. Their eyes were worried, little hands clutching each other and yours. Hushing them gently, you pressed your unlocked phone into their little hands. Gently brushing the hair away from their cheeks, you gently coaxed them under the desk.

“It’s alright, honey. There’s some bad men here that Sensei has to send away. I need you to stay under here and call your fathers, can you do that for me?”

The girls had exchanged an already teary-eyed look. “But what about Mommy?” Mimiko whimpered.

The title sent a pang through your chest, one that you didn't have time to address. You were running out of time and you could not - would not - let the twins get hurt.

“Mommy’s gonna’ be fine - okay, Angel? Trust Mommy.”

The little girls had shakily nodded their heads, crawling to the back of the depths with a press of a kiss to both their little foreheads. They clung to each other as you maneuvered the chair to hide their bodies further from sight.

“Call Papa, okay? Daddy can fix everything, just make sure to keep quiet, alright?”

You sent the girls a final worried look, trying to hide the fear with courage. You didn't want the twins to think you were scared. It would only further their panic. You could only rely on Satoru and Suguru to pick up the phone, and hope that they could make it here soon. The three tall men have already made it to the door, and the lock won't hold for much longer based on the sounds of them wailing on the handle.

Whatever happens now, you only know you have to keep the twins safe. They'd called you Mom, after all.

Satoru thinks he's broken twelve different laws by the time the car screeches to a stop outside the school courtyard.

They're the furthest thing from his mind. Suguru has already slammed the door to the car, feet carrying him across the courtyard in long strides. Satoru follows quickly after. Chests tight and anxiety spinning in their stomachs, Suguru feels as though he'd lied before. When he thought he’d never been more scared to see the fear on your face - he’d been wrong.

It’s this moment, the one where he bursts through the door to three men hovering over you. There's blood on your cheek and a dark bruise is already forming on your cheek. The sounds of his daughters sobbing can be heard from behind the desk, but your body blocks his view. Despite the men’s torment, your figure is leaned over the tiny entryway to the desk, blocking them from getting any closer to the twins.

Your hands are over your head, protecting your face from being struck again. Curled protectively over the desk, Suguru knows you’re protecting his daughters, even despite the peril it puts your own safety in.

It’s at this moment, thatSuguru’s breath leaves his lungs. The anxiety in his stomach swells further into panic and he feels as though he may vomit. Chest heaving, Suguru kicks a desk out of his way,

“Get the fuck away from my family!”

It’s spit with a venom that even Satoru has seldom heard.

The white-haired man was not far behind Suguru. He rushes into the doorway not long after his lover, eyes taking in the sight even with the blindfold. His mouth is dry and his legs nearly shake. Your frail, trembling form fills his vision and the sounds of the sobs of his daughters fill his ears. An overwhelming anger fills his body, but Satoru can't tear his eyes from your figure.

Hunched over the desk, body beat, you still stand in the way. Refusing to budge, even despite the taunts and strikes, you shield the twins from the sight of the men. Satoru is filled with a protective rage he's sure is similar to your own. The urge to protect both you and his daughters has Satoru moving before Suguru has even finished spitting the command.

Pushing a desk out of his way, Satoru immediately reaches for the goon closest to him. Pulling the man away, Gojo kicks his form with clenched teeth. He strikes the man with enough force to send him flying back into the other desks, crashing into the wood with a grunt.

Satoru has already moved to grab the second man before the attackers can even think. He isn’t blessed with the Six Eyes for nothing.

“How dare you,” he growls as he pushes the man to the floor beneath him. Pushing the man’s skull to the ground with his foot, Satoru nearly sounds like a feral animal.

“How dare you go after them? Our lover? Our daughters?” He presses the man harder into the floor, not concerned by the third goon, who’s already being forced to the floor by an angry Suguru.

Tossing the man towards the first, Suguru quickly turns back to you. His expression quickly changes to one of concern, of guilt and love and all kinds of unexpressed feelings. With a softened expression, Suguru quickly and gently grasps your hands, pulling them over your ears, motioning for his daughters to do the same.

“Keep your ears covered, Pretty.” He fixes the girls with the same, soft command. “Even when the sounds stop, keep them covered, alright? Satoru and I will come get you when it's over.”

Then, he's softly pushing you under the desk with the twins and turning back to help a fuming Satoru drag the three men out of the classroom. His expression immediately drops back into one of fury.

The two strongest clan leaders in Japan have rats to exterminate.

When your aching body drops to the floor in front of the girls, they immediately bury themselves in your sides. Snot rubs into your shirt, but you could hardly care since your own tears had already stained the material. Clutching your ears tight, you curl over the girls, unable to protect them any other way.

“Mommy!” The muffled cry falls from the lips of both girls. They sob into your chest, little bodies trembling in fear. Little hushes fall from your lips as you do your best to soothe them despite their covered ears.

“S’alright, Mommy’s here now. I won’t let them hurt you.” The words are muffled to your own ears, and you hope Nanako and Mimiko can hear them. “S’gonna be fine, Angels. Daddies’ are here now - we’re gonna be just fine.”

You aren't quite sure how long you sit there, with your hands pressed over your ears and body curled protectively over the twins. Time no longer seems to exist. You can’t count your racing breaths anymore as you fight to keep your heart in control as is. All you can do is repeat the same gentle phrases to the girls, hoping to comfort them as best you can.

When Satoru and Suguru finally finish disposing of the ‘rats’, Suguru pulls out his phone to call one of the other loyal clan members. It’s a quick and rushed phone call. Suguru is too desperate to go back to your shaking form and his crying daughters. He barely manages to spit out the address and a vague explanation, before he’s hanging up and racing back in after Satoru.

The white-haired man is already at your side, gently prying your form away from the girls. He’s whispering gentle reassurances, eyes welling with tears at your beaten form and rustled hair. There’s tears in your eyes and on your cheeks, but you're still clutching to the girls protectively. Suguru’s chest fills with relief and warmth and he strides over.

Satoru has already pulled you against his chest, after gently reassuring you it was just him.

“Oh, thank god.” He exhales in a sob of his own. He’s pressing kiss after kiss to your forehead, to your cheek - to every inch of skin he can reach. They're soft and careful of the bruise on your cheek, but Satoru mumbles his worries into your skin.

Suguru is pulling the girls into his chest, crying into their little bodies as they call out for him. His heart is still racing, but the relief of seeing his daughters and you safe, is slowly beginning to calm to the rapid pulse.

“Was s’worried,” Suguru cries. It’s raw, choked out through tears, and when you turn to see his expression, you’re brought to more tears of your own. His face is twisted into pain, tears falling down from his dark eyes. Both hands and pressing his sobbing daughters into his chest, but he pulls one hand away to reach out for you.

Satoru pushes you gently into his lover’s embrace, following quickly after. You press to the twins’ backs, Satoru pressed to your own in a sandwich of swirling emotions. Suguru’s hand holds your cheek gently, pressing a kiss of his own to your forehead. Tears drip onto your skin, but there’s so many salty tear tracks on your skin from you, the girls and Satoru that they don't phase you.

“My babies-” Satoru mumbles in a voice uncharacteristically weak. He’s got you pushed against the girls, his hands clutching your body and Suguru, so the five of you are all pressed together.

“Papa!” Nanako cries. Mimiko copies her, a wail of her own following. “We were so scared, Papa!”

Satoru shushes them both with a soft hum, pressing kisses to them both and brushing tears away from their eyes when they look up at him. The little girls snuggle closer to the both of you, little hands clutching clothing in tight fists.

“I thought the bad men were going to hurt Mama!” Nanako whimpers, burying her teary face into your neck. You clutch her closer with a still racing heart, so happy to be safe with the four of them.

“S’alright now,” Suguru mumbles. “Papa and I will never let anything happen to you - ever again.”

He brushes a stand of ruffled hair away from your face, eyes filling with the utmost love as he looks into your own. Satoru presses his nose to your scalp, inhaling your scent and clutching you tight in his other hand.

“We’re gonna keep you and Mama safe,” Satoru whispers, sending his lover another aching look. Suguru returns it with equal love resonating behind his eyes.

“I promise,” he finishes.

Suguru shifts his eyes to yours, an unreadable look of gratitude and love in the irises. There's emotion in them you can’t quite decipher, but you don't need to.

Because Suguru has already lunged forward and is capturing your lips with his own.

The kiss is wet with both your tears, salt on both your lips, but it’s undeniably the best kiss you've ever had. Suguru expresses his fears, his worries, his love and a thousand other emotions in the gentle press of his lips against yours. You gasp out a short exhale of surprise, before you return the kiss tenfold. It's rushed, but the both of you are too worried and filled with too much relief to care.

When Suguru pulls away, Satoru is pulling your head to the side and capturing your lips with his own. His kiss is equally as fervent, expressing his love and gratitude for your safety with the push and pull of his soft lips against your own. He's pulled off his blindfold, and his hands are pressed against your cheeks, softly stroking the skin beneath his fingers. Satoru’s kiss is equally as breathtaking as Suguru’s.

After you separate, Suguru is grasping Satoru and kissing him the same. They share a kiss of overwhelming passion and love, grateful to have made it in time to save their family.

A disgusted voice breaks the silence.

“Ew, Papa. No! That’s gross, stop kissing each other!”

The three of you exhale gentle chuckles of relief, turning to face Nanako and Mimiko who are both looking up at you. Then, the three of you are scattering the girls’ cheeks in kisses, pressing their little bodies against yours. Their little squeals fill the room, and both Satoru and Suguru have never been more grateful for Nanami’s kindergarten recommendation.

Weeks later, you wake in silken sheets again, pressed between Satoru and Suguru’s chests. They’re shirtless, as are you. Suguru’s tattoos stand out against the softness of his skin, and you find yourself tracing the ink down the muscles of his chest. The first time you’d done so, Satoru had made a suggestive comment and pressed your form between their chests. The electricity under your skin zinged at their touch, heating the space between your thighs and scrambling your brain.

You marvel at the strength that lies under his skin, and press a soft kiss to the tattoo just above his heart. A lone constellation sits in the empty space on his left pectoral muscle.

Cassiopeia.

Five bright stars intertwining with each other for eternity. Just the five of them together, lingering next to one another in the vast emptiness of space. Five stars to match five people. The constellation was chosen by Satoru, who sports the same tattoo over the skin of his heart as well.

Pressed to your back, the white haired man groans at the feeling of waking too early in the morning. He presses his shirtless form to yours, the heat of his skin melding with yours. The reminder of the less-than-appropriate events of the previous night sent heat to your cheeks and a dizzy haze to linger in your thoughts.

Being pressed between Satoru and Suguru is just as extraordinary as you’d thought.

Satoru’s lips leave a gentle kiss at the nape of your neck. His hands clutch your hips tighter, drawing you back into his chest to spoon you tighter. From in front of you, Suguru shuffles closer; his muscular chest pressing against the soft skin of your own bare chest. If he were awake, the motion would grant you a racy smirk.

In his sleep, Suguru hums. Lips plump, you press a kiss to his mouth before snuggling back under his chin. At the touch, Suguru furrows his brows.

“Go back t’sleep, Pretty. S’too early.”

You hum in agreement, soothing the wrinkle of his brows and accepting the delicate kiss he places on your lips before Suguru is asleep again.

Pulling your phone from where it was buried between the three of you, you pull back open your messaging app. There’s a single text waiting unread. It’s from Kento, and you nearly choke as you read over the few words.

“I knew you wanted to fuck them.”

bonus:

thug: do you have any last words?

reader: hold on, let me ask my partners

thug: ...

thug: that isn’t how this works - I’m going to kill you

reader, on the phone: suguru and satoru said no

a/n: wowowow this fic is a monster! I’m so excited I finally got it finished though! It’s not super proofread, but I was just too excited to release it hehe :3 I hope y’all enjoyed it!

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bomberqueen17 · 2 months

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*vibrating slightly in place*

So ok. When I was in kindergarten, my classroom was arranged so that four desks were linked together, so we were in little groups. I used to regularly vibrate my desk and the three it was attached to, with three other children in them, across several feet of floor space, until the linked desks ran into the teacher's desk, which was larger and did not move with the force of my vibrations. I was a good student, but hard to control, and markedly uneven in my ability to like. Do anything. "Well," my mom said once, upon beholding my entire spectrum of a report card, "we'd just hate to be bored."

When I graduated with my bachelor's degree, seventeen years later, my mom said "I never thought you could do it," and when I, shocked, said "what?" she said "well what with your ADHD and all," and I said "my what?" and she said "well, i never wanted to shake your confidence, and I thought once they put a label on you it'd be over, but you super have like, turbo ADHD. Why, what do you think your deal is?" She said it nicely and not in those words at all, but it was the first time I'd ever really realized that I wasn't just mildly eccentric, I did seem to actually have something wrong with me.

I've been trying to get a diagnosis ever since. I've never been able to. I had no health insurance at all for a huge chunk of my twenties, which put a damper on things. One doctor told me "you'd know if you had that" and when I was like "I... do" she was like "no i mean. you'd already be being treated." Which shows a wild and totally unwarranted optimism in our medical system, but she was a resident. The doctor overseeing her care of me suggested I try taking fish oil capsules. To "rebuild my brain tissue".

I did. It didn't help. I still buy them but mostly I use them now to get my cat to take pills.

Eventually in my 30s my doctors started sort of believing me maybe, or at least realizing they couldn't really brush me off (I have gotten... less easily-cowed as I've aged) but they were all like "oh, I can't evaluate that. You'll have to research and find a place that can do a neuropsych eval for you. Insurance doesn't cover those. So good luck. Have some antidepressants in the meantime."

I slid into my 40s, still undiagnosed. I read as many self-help books on the topic as I could find, did all the checklists I found. They all said "girl you super have like turbo ADHD." I tried meditation. I tried divination. I tried bullet journaling, which was hilarious. I tried yoga.

I actually damaged myself doing yoga and am banned from yoga, but at least I'm in physical therapy now. (Word to the wise: if you have really really flexible hip joints, don't fucking do yoga. "Usually I don't have to tell people not to get into that position," said my bemused physical therapist. "Oh," I said, blissfully bepretzeled. "It feels super good." "Mm," she said, "you've torn your labrum. Stop doing that." Now I do really, really boring stretches that don't feel nearly as good, but I also can walk without limping, so. Like. We take the good with the bad I guess.)

Anyway. My PCP in January was like "wait you didn't follow my super vague directions to go see 'the guys downstairs' and see if they can squeeze you into their eleven-month waiting period to get an evaluation that i cannot mention without saying it's several thousand dollars and your insurance surely won't cover it? you must not want this diagnosis very badly!" (At no point has anyone ever given me a phone number for 'the guys downstairs'. I still don't know what she meant by any of those directions. This PCP and I technically speak the same language but I've never understood a single thing she has told me and I don't think she understands a word I say in return, everything I tell her seems to be such a shock to her. You blame antidepressants for your weight gain? I've never heard of that. Ma'am please look up what the incredibly common side effects of antidepressants are.)

I called around but noplace both took my insurance and was accepting new patients. Finally I gave up. Then my Dude went on our insurance company's website and took over the search. He found that there's some kind of concierge service thing, which the insurance company normally charges $450/mo for but our plan includes it, because it's pretty well-hidden on the website and most people aren't ever going to find it anyway. So he said, you know what, I am going to instigate a query on this.

They took two weeks but eventually came back with a list of 13 places, most of them not remotely local. Ten of them were red X's, disqualified for varying reasons-- one because the phone number didn't work, another because it's a seven-hour drive away and doesn't do telehealth. One was in New Jersey. None of them were the local places I had already called.

Two of them were valid, but the insurance wouldn't cover the evaluation for various reasons.

One of them was fully covered, the insurance company said. So I went there.

Their website said "no you're not we can't see you". But Dude was like, call them on the phone. Surely, surely, the concierge service couldn't have lied??? Bet, I said, and called them and left a message, and said to him, if they call me back I will eat a hat.

But they did. They called me back. "Our insurance checker widget is down," they said. "But we do take your insurance! We can see you. We just don't know how much it will cost."

Ominous.

But. They could see me later in the week, via a telehealth appointment.

So I signed up.

The appointment was this morning. I turned up. Their insurance checker thingy still wasn't working so they couldn't be sure how much the appointment would cost me. I at this point don't care, and gave them my HSA credit card, and said do what you will.

I waited 45 minutes and then texted the number they'd texted me from with the confirmation, and a moment later the guy showed up. "Whoops," he said, "that system isn't working quite right either!"

He talked to me for like. Three minutes, and was like "yeah that sounds. Pretty textbook. I'm going to prescribe you stimulants." He then proceeded to take a very basic medical history, and I recognized all the questions because I have researched stimulant medication for ADHD so much. And he was like "We're going to start with Adderall, check at your pharmacy in like an hour." And then he gave me extremely useful and detailed instructions on how to take it, when to take it, what side effects to worry about, what to expect, what to note down in case it might mean a problem, and how to be safe about it. (He asked me three times if I'd ever been suicidal, and it had also been in the online pre-screening. I am aware that can be a rare but very serious side effect of stimulants!)

And then I went to Rite-Aid and I now have 16 pills in my possession, and i am going to wait until tomorrow morning to start taking them, and I am already scheduled for my follow-up in 15 days.

I have absolutely no idea how much any of that is going to cost, but for the record the pills were eleven dollars.

So. I don't know why the last decade of my life has been spent being told that a comprehensive and unattainably expensive neuropsychological evaluation was my only option. Maybe this place is a disreputable pill mill or whatever. But. I am going to get to try to medicate this disorder that has warped my entire life to this point, and I am going to try to see if I can't have some more control over my life, and if it doesn't work then at least I will know, instead of on my deathbed being like "i wonder if i'd ever tried amphetamines maybe I'd have been able to finish a project ever in my life, guess we'll never know".

Which was what I was starting to genuinely think was going to happen.

Literally though why can't a primary care doctor just refer you to a psychiatrist who can then decide whether you need an assessment or whether your condition is likely to respond well to a basic diagnosis?? I get needing the whole nine yards if you're not sure what's wrong with this kid and you don't want to give them the wrong thing-- like I know misdiagnosing a bipolar sufferer with depression can give you really bad outcomes, for example-- but-- I don't know? I don't know.

I just want to be able to start and finish projects. What I'd really love is to be able to make to-do lists meaningfully, as that is an ability I did used to have and now absolutely don't. I legit cannot make a to-do list in any meaningful or useful way.

So we'll see. I'm going to keep a journal and the real test of whether the pills work is to see whether I can actually keep the journal.

But I need to find some kind of edible hat, at some point, just to keep my word.

#about the author #actually adhd

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fallingintoyourlilaceyes · 5 months

Text

Our love is god (modern!Heathers JD type!Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

synopsis: High school is hell. Truly. However, the one person you think will finally make it better, only makes it so much more worse.

warnings: angst, making out, death, murder, faked suicide, sexual abuse, physical violence, gun violence, afab reader

word count: 6.4k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall, @urmomsgirlfriend1

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom/series or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

King´s Landing high school. Your own personal hell as you liked to call it in your journal. You really thought joining forces with the devils that ran it would help you get through it, but all it did was make things harder. You left your real friends and unpopularity behind for a seat at the same table as the Baratheon sisters, only to help them bully the rest of the school and focus on your looks and parties more than anything else. You dreaded seeing them every day. Floris wasn´t as bad you had to admit, she was nice. A cheerleader, but in the end she still participated in her sisters doings. Cassandra was a more devout follower. The year book committee and the boob job that mommy paid for made her think she was more than she actually was, but even she couldn´t reach the tyranny of their sister Maris. She truly was a mythic bitch. Drowning in your thoughts, one makes its reoccurring return. College will be paradise if you´re not dead by graduation.

From the side you could feel an elbow get rammed into your ribs painfully.

“Ow. What´s your damage, Maris?” You spit out the words while rubbing the sore spot on your side.

“Stop whining. You are going to go to the big frat party with me this weekend. You should be thankful.” Just hearing her tone made you want to punch her in the boob or something. Gods, you couldn´t even think straight.

“Yay, great.” You can barely hide the sarcasm in your faked excitement.

However Maris doesn´t get the chance to say anything about it as right in that moment a commotion breaks out in the back of the cafeteria. With your old friends you would have been able to just ignore it, but with the Baratheons? No chance. The four of you turn around to see Cregan Stark and Qyle Martell harassing a student you think you have never seen before, which is highly unlikely as literally everyone here had been to kindergarten, elementary school and middle school together. Despite not recognizing him, you feel an immediate yet inexplainable attraction towards him. The whole ethereal beauty that he had going on was really working for him. So much so, that when the bickering stops and a gasp rolls through the cafeteria as the stranger pulls out a gun, you aren´t even that deterred. In fact you think it´s kinda funny how the two jocks pee their pants at being shot with blanks. They deserve some push back to their constant bullying.

But even that little moment can´t lift your mood long enough to get you over the party. When Maris picks you up in her dad´s way too expensive car you already feel like sending her away again. On the other hand you might as well end your own social life then. No.

“And don´t forget the corn nuts!” Maris yells after you as you walk towards the convenience store on your way to that stupid frat party.

“Plain or bbq?” You yell back.

“Bbq!” You get your answer in the middle of the door.

Rolling your eyes so she doesn´t see it you make your way through the store grabbing the snacks and looking around until you almost run into someone.

“Oh, sorry I didn´t look where I was going.” You take a step back feeling your cheeks heat in embarrassment as you recognize the stranger from school.

“It´s okay… You know, I´m not the biggest fan of your friend either.” He says as he grabs some snacks himself.

“What?” His statement catches you off guard quite a bit.

“I watched you… Today during lunch and how you rolled your eyes at her.” He explains as if it is nothing.

“You´ve been watching me?” You ask surprised, but with a smile on your face. “Should I be flattered or scared?”

"A little bit of both maybe?" He leans against one of the shelves. Putting on a half smile himself. A very handsome one at that. For the first time you really study him. The way his silver hair flows past his shoulders. The intense look of his right eye and the scar above his left one. The sharpness of his cheekbones, nose and chin. Until your eyes stick to his lips. Those perfect, pink lips with the sharp cupids bow.

"I can do that..." You whisper more to yourself than the lean person in front of you.

That's when the penetrating sound of a car horn and Maris screaming your name pulls the two of you back to reality.

"Better run quick. Your friend is waiting." He teases as you make your way to the Cash register. Your name rolling of his tongue in the most promising manner. Promising what? That is what you wanted to find out.

“I should.” You sigh. “But before I go… Since you know my name, it´s kind of only fair to tell me yours, don´t you think?”

“Aemond. Aemond Targaryen.” He finally introduces himself and upon hearing his last name you remember him distantly. You had talked to his sister Helaena once or twice a few years ago.

“Well, it was nice meeting you Aemond Targaryen, but I have to go appease the will of a high school tyrant now…” You shoot him a wink and get back to the car as quickly as possible.

The party, much like you thought, is a total bust. The music is complete shit, the alcohol is cheap and Maris leaves you alone to do god knows what with some frat bro almost immediately. Leaving you alone to be harassed by his friend. It all together gives you a major headache and so you leave at the first chance. Walking home still is a better option than having to bear this any longer.

You arrive there late, but the fresh air helps the headache. To your further luck, your parents are already asleep so you can go to your room directly. Writing out all your frustrations in your journal.

While you do so there is a tap on the window. Jolting out of your seat, you see Aemond standing there.

“Greetings and salutations.” He says as you open up for him to come inside. An invitation he takes instantly. “So how was the party?”

“About as good as one would think…” You scoff, closing your journal as you turn towards him.

“Ah… I bet your presence was missed greatly.” He says, the words dripping with sarcasm and making you laugh. I was nice to really laugh for the first time in a while. The two of you talk some more and somehow end the night cuddled up naked under the blankets. Remnants of both of your juices sticking to your thighs as you talk about gods know what. You honestly can´t pay much attention. Yet even post nut clarity couldn´t give you the realization that he just found out where you lived and came in through your gods damn window. Probably because his kisses kept your mind far away enough from reality.

“Maris Baratheon is one bitch that deserves to die.” He sighs.

“Killing her won´t solve anything. I say we just grow up be adults and then die.” You reply in a quiet tone. Your faces so close to each other that there is barely even an inch between you. Perfect to pull him in once more. Locking your lips in a deep, passionate kiss.

The two of you fall asleep soon after. A tangle of limbs and your head tucked under his chin, on his chest. However when you open your eyes again you are alone. The only sign of Aemonds company the previous night being your own nakedness and a few marks he had left on you that would be easily covered up.

The real shock comes when you get back to school on monday. Meeting up with the Baratheon sisters as every morning, you are surprised to see only Cassandra and Floris. Who look tired. Well, Floris looks tired and quite sad. Cas looks as unbothered as ever, if not a bit happy.

“Where did you leave Maris?” You ask coming to a stop in front of them.

“Didn´t you hear? She killed herself two days ago…” Floris reveals with a quiet voice. Your heart sets out for a beat at the news.

“Yeah, where have you been all weekend?” Cas adds.

“I- I don´t know… I´m sorry for what happened with your sister. You put your sunglasses back on and leave them to find Aemond.

“Hey.” You great him with a small peck.

“What is going on? You look like someone just died.” He remarks, pulling you close to him and placing another peck to your cheek.

“My best friend just killed herself.” You murmur.

“Don´t you mean your worst enemy?” He replies with a small grin.

“Same difference.” Still bewildered by the happenings of this morning, you shake your head and then go to class with Aemond.

Only to learn then that you would all get a half day off. A half day seemed to be fairly less for a student just committing suicide in your opinion, especially one as influential as Maris, but then again she also enjoyed more fame than during her life. So at least she couldn´t complain. You felt a bit bad for entertaining that thought. Then again with how many lifes she had ruined...

Going to school after that was even worse for weeks. Everyone was romanticizing Maris´ reign of terror, Cassandra silently took over what her sister had started, or at least tried to and you? Well, you only ever got away from it all when you spent time away from it with Aemond, who seemed surprisingly chill, if not smug about the bully being out of the way. The two of you get closer quick during that time. He is the most understanding boyfriend you could have ever wished for. Even his few quirks are cute. Yet he keeps his darker sides safely tucked away from you. At least for now, he vows himself. Who would have known it could get even worse.

When you enter the school building the next day, everyone is staring at you, talking to their friends in hushed whispers. At first you assume it was the usual whispers, but when Cas comes up to you, you quickly get taught better.

“You little bitch. I never knew you were that kind of person.” She says with a wide complacent grin firm on her face.

“What are you even talking about, Cas? What the hell is going on here? What is everyone talking about?” You hiss. Gripping Aemond´s hand slightly, who seemed just as confused as you were. Though he was more successful in concealing his feelings.

“Shouldn´t you know what you did? “ your supposed friend feigns innocence. It really makes you want to slap the holier than thou look off her face.

“Just. Tell. Me.” You make sure to put emphasis on every single word.

“Qyle and Cregan are going around telling everyone you blew them.” She holds her hand in front of her mouth to hide her giggle.

Without another word, you stomp past her. Running around the next corner, where Aemond stops you.

“Hey. Hey! Angel, where are you going?” He questions. Holding you by the shoulders.

“To those stupid… fucking…” You let out an undefinable sound of frustration. “They may get away with harassing the all the girls of this entire school, but not me.”

“You have to take a breath and calm down.” He says in a low voice as to not attract any more attention.

“Don’t tell me to calm down.” You seethe, but at least you stop marching through the mass of other students.

“Calm down.” He reiterates. “I already have a plan.”

Right in that moment however the bell rings signaling the start of first period. And it is pure horror. The whispers all around you echo in your head even when it is entirely silent. Teachers drone on and on about topics that you couldn´t get less of a shit about. Cassandra and Floris arent´t any help with any of it either of course. With how nice Floris tended to be it was easy to forget who they were sometimes. Time stretches endlessly until you reach home. Sitting down on your bed, you wait for the telltale sign of Aemond coming over. By now the knocking on the window doesn´t even startle you anymore. The opposite is the case. Whenever you hear it, your heart instinctively skips a beat. Just like it does now. You open the window and watch Aemond hop inside. Greeting him with one, two, three little pecks to the lips you pull him to the bed with you by the lapels of his leather jacket. Barely separating from him as you do so, you grin against his lips at the way his large hands grab your hips to pull your body close to his.

“I missed you so much.” He hums against your mouth between kisses.

“We haven´t seen each other for two hours.” You giggle. Running a gentle hand over his chest as the fingernails of the other massage his neck.

“I know and it felt like an eternity.” Aemond all but growls against your neck. Biting it lightly, before sucking a mark into the supple flesh.

You let out a trembling whine at the tingling feeling his lips chase down your spine. The needy sound followed by an amused chuckle from him.

“So, your still out for revenge?” He growls against your neck.

“Yes.” You answer just a bit more breathless than before.

“Good.” Aemond pulls away from you and throws two guns beside you on the bed. Startled by them, you jump back. Looking at the blond, who returns it with a smug expression.

“Aem, I want to pay them back not murder them!” You shriek, settling down a good bit away from the weapons. He on the other hand is eerily calm.

“Do you take german?” He asks as he sits down and takes your hands.

“French.” You answer still on edge.

“These are `Ich lüge´ bullets. My grandpa stole a shitload of them in WW2, they´re like tranquilizers. Only they break the surface of the skin enough to cause a little blood.” Aemond explains as he dumps a handful of bullets between the guns.

“So… It looks like the person has been shot, but really they are just unconscious and bleeding?” You ask just to be sure. The sight of the weapons made you feel all kinds of bad.

He nods. “We shoot Cregan and Kyle, it looks like they shot each other and by the time they regain consciousness, they´ll be the laughing stock of the whole school.”

“And what is that for?” You point to the folded paper that lies between the bullets.

“That is the cherry on top. A fake suicide note. Painting the whole thing as them killing themselves, because they knew they would never be accepted for being a gay couple.” Aemond snickers and you have to admit that the plan in all it´s simplicity sounds pretty good.

Taking your phone you send a text to Cregan. Luring him and Qyle into the woods behind the school under the guise of wanting to have a threesome with the two of them. Knowing full well it would get them where you wanted. Throwing your phone to the bed with a nervous giggle, you feel Aemond crawl on top of you. The weight of his taller frame pushing you into the mattress as his lips find yours again.

When you enter the woods and Aemond kisses you one last time, before you hide your gun and he goes to hide in the trees, your whole body trembles with uncertainty.

“Hey, Dollface.” Cregan greets you.

The two guys come to a stand about five feet away from you. “So, how are we gonna start this?” Qyle adds to his friend. Wasting no time as always.

“I thought you two could start by undressing for me.” You flutter your lashes at them, voice like honey in their ears.

“Okay.” The two of them say in unison. Nodding before they all but tearing the clothes of their body, stripping down to their boxers. The three of you count to three and right as they want to rip off the last piece of fabric down too your plan sets in action. Aemond jumps out from behind a nearby tree, the pair of you whip out the guns and aim for the half naked and afraid boys. Aemond hits Qyle right in the chest and he drops to the ground right where he stood. You are less lucky, missing Cregan by only an inch. He turns to see his friend lie on the ground, in a growing puddle of his own blood and makes a run for it. Your heart starts pounding in your chest even harder than before, if that even is possible. Threatening to break out of your ribcage as you watch Aemond´s face contorts into a grimace of anger.

“Shit! You stay here, I´m getting him.” He barks, chasing after a screaming Cregan.

It´s silent where you remain alone. Making you wonder what is going on. In the same breath your eyes fall down to Qyle´s body. The blood still pools underneath his body, prompting your thoughts run off the rails with crazy theories.

It isn´t until Aemond chases Cregan back to you, where he finally shoots him as well. The burly body flopping to the ground like a sack of potatoes. With horror you see your worst theory come true. They are both dead. Aemond killed them. And you helped him. A scream leaves your lips and you throw the weapon in your hand away on instinct. Clasping your hands over your mouth as the shock seeps in.

“No. No, no, no, no.” You mumble more to yourself than anyone else really. You are frozen to the spot you are standing in and if it were up to you, you would fall to your knees then and there. But Aemond takes your hand and pulls you away from the crime scene.

You don´t come to until you are in his car, in front of your house. You feel empty, detached from reality. Your body functions on autopilot. Putting a cigarette into your mouth to even somehow try to cope with the stress of what you had just become witness to. However when you lift up the lighter, the flame licks at the skin of your palm instead. You let out an agonizing scream and tears immediately shoot into your eyes at the white, hot pain.

The funeral a week later is a rough one. Even rougher than Maris´. The way the Septon plays up the gay martyr part is unbelievable. Aemond´s presence by your side doesn´t give you any comfort any more either. You can barely look at him anymore. Over the course of the past days your mind had started to come back from what lead you there, but it also distanced itself from him. Only able to see that side of him that he had hidden so well. All you want to do is hide under your blanket for the rest of your life, instead you have to sit in that gods forsaken sept, feeling sorry for Floris and Sarah, Cregan´s half-sister and your ex best friend, who seem to be taking this the hardest. You knew that Floris and Cregan, despite him being a total goon, had been kind of on and off for a while. The two of them didn´t deserve this. Fuck, the bad conscience was eating away at you, making you nauseaus. Of course, Aemond is entirely calm. Not letting a single soul see behind the carefully strung up curtain. Even though you imagine to see the same small smug smirk in his face again that he had expressed while explaining his plan to you all those days back.

Repressing the urge to run out of the sept, you pick at the skin around your fingernails until they bleed.

Once the service is over, you get onto Aemond´s motorcycle and let him drive you home. No matter how hard it is to keep holding on to him and not dissociate the whole ride. Your mind makes up then and there, that this has to end. You have to end this.

That night when he comes over, you sit him down.

“We um… We need to talk.” You mumble. Still not meeting his eye. He had already noticed your inability to do so since that day, but until now he thought you would catch yourself again after an initial shock. A mistake he noted mentally to never do again.

“What do you want to talk about?” He feigns ignorance, though he full well has a perfect idea of what you want to talk about.

“I… We… I can´t do this anymore, Aemond.” You stammer out, your leg trembling under his hand that rests on your thigh.

“Cannot do what anymore, Angel?” His one seeing eye rests on you as intensely as ever.

“This. Us. I thought I could cope with what we have done, but I can´t. I can´t look at you like before anymore. The sight of their… bodies… still haunts me in my dreams.” You try to find the right words to express your feelings and still it feels like the severity of them doesn´t come out right.

“You can´t be serious about that.” He faltered. Despite having a feeling about what you were gonna say, he still feels floored by it. His heart hurting at your words.

“I am. I never wanted this. “ Your voice hardens as you get more confident about your decision.

“You wanted this too. You said you wanted revenge.” Aemond insists.

“Yes, I wanted revenge. I did not ask for this. Two people are dead!” You try to get through to him. To no avail.

“You didn´t seem to mind much when Maris died.” He blurts out. It´s entirely in the heat of the moment. And he regrets revealing it to you like that, but it is out nonetheless.

“What?” You shriek in response. “I thought Maris killed herse…”

The thought of the fakes suicide note for Cregan and Qyle enters your mind and you hide your face in your hands, fighting back the tears that sting in your eyes.

“Please just leave…” Your voice comes muffled from behind your hands. Opting to leave your face buried in them as you speak the defeated words.

“Angel, I am not just going to leave you. We can talk about this.” He takes your wrists in his hands and pulls them down to your lap.

“What is there to talk about? You killed three people!” You pulled your arms away from him, but his grip was too strong.

“Yes, but I did it for you.” He argues.

“How was any of that for me?” Your voice drips with disbelieve.

Aemond comes closer to you until he whispers against your lips. “They hurt you. I will never let anyone hurt you.”

Then he presses his lips to yours roughly. His tongue pushes into your mouth forcefully, stunning you into an overpowering inability to act, as he pushes you against the headboard. The way his lips move against yours is aggressive, making you cry out in search for help or to get him to stop. Just something, anything to make him stop. It takes several more moments for your brain to return to the situation, but once it does you start struggling with all your might. Biting his lip and kicking him away from you, finally sets you free from his assault.

“I want you to go. Now.” You say quietly but with as much certainty as you can put into your voice. He turns around and leaves. Surprisingly without another word. Yet your body stays on edge until long after he is gone.

Your arms wrapped tightly around your middle, you shiver from your nerves processing everything that had been revealed and happened. Unable to really cope with it yet. Despite not having really liked them your friends where dead and only the gods knew what Aemond would do next.

That night you get haunted by him in your dreams.

You find yourself in the Baratheon´s dark kitchen. Aemond in front of you, looking for a knife. For some reason you know Cassandra is going to be his next victim. Yet, no matter how hard you try to speak and keep him from going through with his fucked up plan, you can´t. Not a single sound comes from your lungs. With panic you watch as he grabs a dirty knife from the dishwasher and goes into Cas´ room. In the complete dark you can´t see exactly what he does, you can only see the world go dark around you seconds later, feeling like you are falling into a bottomless pit, you wake up with a gasp. Sweat soaking your pillow and your chest heaving with short heavy bursts of breath while your heart threatens to break out if it. You know you have to stop him, before what the dream is foreboding becomes reality. He is incalculable, dangerous and whatever he does end up doing next, can´t happen under any circumstances. You spend the whole day trying to make out a plan, not paying attention to any of your teachers or Floris and Cassandra. Not a single idea your brain comes up with is good enough to work. Luckily it also makes you ignore the weird looks your friends are giving you over your unresponsiveness.

Saying goodbye to them when they drop you of in the afternoon, you plan to head to your room immediately. A plan that is thwarted by your parents, who await you in the living room, worried expressions on both of their faces.

“Darling! We need to talk to you for a moment.” Your mother speaks up first. Seemingly relieved to see you alive and well.

“Sure, what´s going on?” Your mind is still half busy with Aemond when you put down your bag in front of you.

“Aemond just dropped by. Saying all these things about how we should look out for you, that he was worried for you…” Your mom´s voice is shaky as she recalls on the memories of what had happened so shortly before you arrived.

“Did he say something else?” You say passively. Inside you are boiling already. Who does he think he is?

“He said you confessed some rather alarming urges to him. That you shouldn´t be left alone with sharp objects or… or that kind of stuff.” Your father holds your mother a little tighter to calm her down again. You truly feel sorry for them. How could they know that what they have been told was as wrong as it possibly could have been.

“I´m sorry… But I´m not… That´s not true. You know I´d talk to you if there was anything going on.” You assure them.

You try to spend more time with them, but once your parents start to believe you, you make your way back to your room. Your mind is finally made up on what to do. If talking to him wouldn´t help to get him to stop killing, maybe you could shock him into it. Hopefully. He did used say, that the extreme always makes an impression. Taking your bedsheets you tie them around your body in a way that allows you to make it look like you had hung yourself. For once it would come in handy that he had never stopped texting you. Hurrying to get done before you hear that accursed knock. Tipping over the chair you use in your preparations mere seconds before he lets himself in. No matter how much you want to move or even at least open your eyes, you force yourself to stay calm. No matter how unfamiliar the air under your forcefully relaxed feet feels and your lungs hurt from the flat breaths you can allow yourself at most to take. Blissfully unaware to the gun hidden in the back of his pants, with which he planned gods know what. While he doesn´t move or breath or speak for a short moment. Frozen in a shock not deep enough to hold him for long.

It seems you have underestimated his crazy. Mentally you curse yourself out aggressively so that you almost miss him beginning to speak to you.

I can´t believe you did it.” He says in a breathy tone and you can hear his hands slap against his thighs as if he had raised them in defeat beforehand. “I loved you. Sure I was coming in here ready to kill you, but… I at least would´ve wanted to tell you about this petition the whole school signed first. Of course they don´t know what they really signed up for, but that won´t be any of their concern anymore soon. Oh Angel, it´s a shame you don´t get to see this play out anymore. I have the perfect plan. During pep rally on Friday the whole school is gonna come down and everyone in there with it. Listen to this. We, the students of King´s Landing high, will die. Our bodies will be the ultimate protest against you. A society that churns out slaves and blanks. Fuck you all.”

He was even further gone than you would´ve thought or hoped. “It´s not very subtle, but a school blowing up, that´s big. The kind of big that infects a generation. The only place Baratheons and Snows can get along is in heaven. We could´ve united them together, you and I… you left me no choice. So I will do it alone if I must.”

By now he is breathless from the passion that is no doubt not only in his voice but also his heart. The clicking of a lighter registers over the ringing of sheer panic in your ears, followed by the faint footsteps and mumbling of your mother. Aemond is quick to sneak back out the window and you are just about to open your eyes back up and take a deep breath, when the door opens behind you and your poor mothers scream can be heard throughout the entire house.

Hurrying, you untie the bedsheets with shaky hands, hurting your knees in the process of falling to the ground, but you don´t care. All you care about is getting to your mom. Hugging her weak, sobbing form to your body as tightly as you can. Soothing her as best as possible, but the damage has been done you guess and you really can´t blame her. If you would have been in her place you wouldn´t have reacted or felt any other way.

“It´s okay, mom. I´m okay, I´m still here. It wasn´t real.” It´s safe to say, that after all of that you don´t sleep well. Or at all really. How could you after Aemond has told you what would happen next. You want to stop him, feel like you have to stop him, even more so now that your plan has failed so miserably. If anything you´re under the impression of having worsened the state his soul is in.

For two whole days you have to watch school go by without anything out of the ordinary happening. Which just makes the bad feelings in your gut swirl even more intensely. Yet, at the same time, there is a strange calm inside your mind. There certainly, realistically, is very little you can do to keep Aemond from doing what he wants to do. But at least if, or rather when, you go down on Friday, you don´t go down by being by Aemond´s side, watching the smoke pour out the doors. Making s´mores over the burning remains of your dead school mates. This was sick. A whole parade of red flags. A perverted power fantasy, that you can´t believe you didn´t notice before. In those days you have more people than you are willing to count come after you, questioning how you are still alive. How did the stupid rumors always spread the fastest and furthest?

The poor guidance counselor is who almost suffers from you losing your nerves over it, on the day of. You are quick to apologize as well though.

“I am so sorry, I´d be glad to talk about this another day, now I really have something more important to do.” You let the man behind, that still opens and closes his mouth like a fish on land.

Marching through the masses of students on their way to the gym. Scared shitless, but still determined to put an end to this if you can. It was high time you pulled your shit together anyway. Finding Aemond in the boiler room, he is already busy setting up multiple explosives.

“Hey!” You pull his attention away from the dynamite.

“Greetings and salutations. Come to change your mind?” He inquired.

“No. Never! Gods, how delusional are you to think that anyone would join you in this madness! You are no better than your mother.” You take another step closer to him. The venom in your tone gets him to stay silent for once. However he still doesn´t stop fiddling with the bombs.

“Put that down, slowly and then put your hands behind your head.” You put your hand in the pocket of your cardigan to grab your fathers hunting knife in case you´d need it. Pulling it out you earn a genuinely amused chuckle, then everything goes too fast for you to react properly. Aemond kicks the weapon out of your hand, letting it slide out of your reach, and knocks you out with a few , for him very simple, movements. Sinking to the ground you barely stay conscious long enough to see him walk further into the basement of the building. Fuck. The already quiet sounds of the pep rally become even more quiet over the dull thudding in your head and then darkness claims you.

You don´t know how long you have been out once your eyes open again. Thankful for the low light of the rooms you are in, you tumble towards the direction you saw Aemond leave in. Holding on tightly to the wall or anything you can find to keep the dizziness from knocking you off your feet again. Too busy to hear your scuffling steps, you can grab the gun he had brought and laid down beside himself.

“I said put it down… and hands behind your head…” The sentence is broken up by your heavy breathing.

One of his hands shoots to the side to check for the missing gun. Raising them over his head almost immediately and turning around to you slowly.

“Angel, come on. You know you can´t shoot me so why don´t you just put down the gun and join me? I´m giving you one last chance.” His tone is still smug, but you can hear a hint of fear shine through the overconfidence.

Scoffing, you shake your head at his inability to even now be real with his feelings. “Just turn off the bombs.”

Behind his eye you can see his brain mulling over every possible outcome to this situation. Surprising you, by complying to with you have just said. Putting his hands behind his head, the feeling of the imminent danger of the situation subsides from your system and you finally hear the voices from upstairs again. Having had enough of talking you wave for him to go outside with the gun, which you hold safely in both hands. Due to everyone being still in the gym and none the wiser as to what was going on not too far away from them. In front of you Aemond pushes the big front doors open for both of you to step outside.

Standing still, he turns to you again. Eye half closed and so close to you that if either of you were to move, your lips would most definitely touch.

“You know what you need to do now.” He murmurs. The way his breath fans over your face so warm and for a moment you feel set back to the beginning of your relationship. When everything was still okay or at least as okay as it could be.

“I don´t want to have to do it.” You whisper back.

“There is no other way to end this anymore now. I am far too damaged, but you are not beyond repair. Please… Stand back now. You know it had to end this way. No matter how much you wished it didn´t.” Aemond takes a step back himself and stretches his arms out to the side.

You take a deep breath and as you take a step away from him remind yourself of everything he had done and wanted to do. Looking up at him you ask him in a voice void of emotion.

“Any last words?”

“I worship you. So much. I´ll trade my life for yours.”

With a heart heavier than it should be, you point the gun back at the man who you had thought was the only one to ever truly understand you. Then, before your brain can have the chance to think twice about it your actions, you pull the trigger.

The shot rings in your ears long after it is over. The sight of Aemond falling to the ground like a sack of potatoes, filling you with a great void of nothingness. Still you stay there for a few more minutes. Lighting yourself a cigarette and waiting for that atrocious ringing to stop. A part of you still hopes to wake up and have all of this be a nightmare, but you never wake up and the cigarette is entirely done. So you throw the damned thing away, drop the gun on Aemond´s lifeless body and get back inside where everyone is flooding the hallways.

Ignoring Cassandra´s comments and protest, you march past her, taking Floris by the hand and walk over to Sarah who is sitting alone on the stairs.

“Ladies, there is a new sheriff in town. And the way I see it, all three of us are still free tonight. So, I propose we buy snacks and watch movies at my place all night.” You say with a conciliatory smile.

The two girls look happy about the suggestion. About as happy as they can look under the given circumstances and together the three of you decide to cut the school day a bit shorter and go now.

#aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x you #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fic #house of the dragon fic #hotd x reader #hotd x you #modern aemond #hotd modern au #modern hotd #modern house of the dragon au

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cowboybeepboop · 1 year

Text

Through the window

“Fuck you”

“Baby thats what youre gonna do”

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x fem!reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 2214

Summary: Late night self pleasure turns into more than self pleasure.

Warnings: p in v, mainly porn with some plot, disgusting words for clit cause it got a little awkward at 1 am, use of vibrator, age gap (like three years), major daddy issues, kinda some Voyeurism, roughness from Bradley but with sweetness, praise kink, hair pulling, getting caught.

A/N: Literally just me writing this while sobbing to Shawn Mendes songs, also I wrote most of it while sitting out in front of my school 💪😩💪 I’m a fucking vibe. I don't know if there's like a big fandom on here anymore considering Top Gun Mav has been out for a while now but yk who cares. Also lowkey have been binging Harry Potter and the last of us so maybe I’ll write some of that later. Not proof read like ever

Bradley has been your built-in best friend, being Mavericks daughter means that you spent the majority of your childhood eating dinners with Carole, having Carole brush your hair and tuck you into bed. Carole Bradshaw became your adoptive mom, she taught you to cook, bake, sew, she helped you with your homework and made sure you knew your worth.

Mav was hardly ever around, he put his heart and soul into being a better person so that Goose wouldn’t be disappointed in him, this being said he forgot about the responsibility of actually taking care of his child. But you never blamed him for it, maybe it’s because when he was there with you all he ever wanted to do was cuddle on the couch watching your favorite films. Sometimes he would come home and lay his head on your lap and you would brush and braid his hair.

So, because of your sometimes absentee father, Bradley filled in. He was there with Mav for every milestone, kindergarten graduation, elementary school choir concerts, he even took time from his busy schedule to come to your highschool graduation.

Which makes your sexual attraction to him all the more disgusting, he basically was your stand in father, even though he was only 3 years older than you. But when Maverick finally realized he had a responsibility to spend more time with you, Brad stopped being like a father figure and more like an older friend who you had the hots for.

Bradley hasn’t been home for months-or longer, you totally haven’t been counting, and it totally hasn’t been exactly 8 months 3 weeks and 5 days. He isn’t planning on coming back any time soon, at least if he is he hasn’t told you, which is why you’re stuck pouting with your face between your hands as a few people purchase drinks from the bar.

You work at Penny’s bar, The Hard Deck, which is lowkey awkward considering your dad used to date her. But nonetheless she treats you like her own daughter. The only thing you dislike about working with her is the fact that she scolds you when you flirt while working, it's understandable but makes you want to roll your eyes.

Maverick walks in with a small smile on his face, sitting down at the bar in front of you, “How’s your day Y/N?”.

“It’s pretty good Mav, Penny might want to talk to you though,” winking at him you walk away, heading in the direction of the dart board.

“Hey boys, need a refill?” you smile sweetly, tapping your heel against the wooden floor softly.

“Thank you, baby girl,” Hangman smirks as he hands you the empty bottles, “you know which tab to add it to right?” he nods toward Coyote.

You give a small nod and head back to the bar to grab two more beer bottles, you add the total to Coyote’s tab. He lost in darts, even after covering Jake’s eyes, one more night and you don’t think you’ll be able to withstand his charm any longer.

“Y/N it’s time for you to clock out, if you want to beat the rush and get to your date on time,” your eyes light up.

“Thank you Pen!” you smile gathering your things before clocking out. “See you tomorrow evening.” Penny nods at you, smiling at you softly as you rush out of the door.

__________

Hours have passed along with another failed attempt at online dating. Both things have led to you lying in your bed holding your breath as you imagine what it'd be like if Bradley came home and surprised you.

It started off innocent, him holding your waist close to him, the heat radiating from his chest as you sucked in a deep breath. Basking in his mahogany, sandalwood and vanilla musky scent, it made your knees weak, your eyes roll into the back of your head.

Your body felt hot, like you were boiling from the insides out. Squeezing your legs tightly together to keep your panties from soaking your bedsheets.

While biting your lip you carefully open the shoebox hidden underneath your bed, grabbing your bright pink bullet vibrator. If your dad came home, you’d know, so locking the door wasn’t a big priority.

Sucking in a deep breath you relax against your plush mattress. Licking your lips you spread your legs being gentle while unbuttoning your shirt, being slow with each button to build up the tension.

Once you finally peel off your blouse, you throw it to the side of the room before leisurely unzipping your skirt. You’re starting to become impatient, every part of your body is aching to be touched by Bradley’s calloused hands.

“For fucks sake,” a soft whine escapes your parted lips, squeezing your eyes shut you begin roaming your hands all over your body. You squeeze the soft part of your body, moaning Bradley’s name as you do so.

Spreading your legs, you pull down your panties, running a finger through your soaked lips. Once you find the bundle of nerves you start rubbing soft and steady circles into it, this causes your hips to jerk a little while your eyes roll back.

You wrap a hand around your neck putting a comfortable amount of pressure on it, soft moans spill from your lips as you push your hips up begging for more friction. You press the smooth button, listening to the faint hum, you press down two more times. The soft hum from before has become more intense and slightly louder.

Let’s be honest, masturbation is nothing compared to sex. Especially the sex you’ve been dreaming and lusting over since age 16.

A soft smile forms on your lips as you press the rough tip against the hood of your clit, your muscles all tense up while your breathing stops for just a second. It sounded like a rock or something else small had hit your window, after waiting for a few seconds you decide it's probably nothing and press the vibrator against your nub.

You bite down on your lip harshly, squeezing your neck roughly. Sadly, you have a shitty toy because desperate times call for desperate measures so there isn’t much more it can give. Removing the hand from your neck, pushing two fingers into your pulsating hole.

Unbeknownst to yourself, there was now a visitor in your room, one who snuck in from your open window. Hiding in the dark corner next to your window, a hand clasped against his mouth as he absorbed the sight of you desperate and needy begging for more.

“Bradley harder!” you moan loudly, as you pick up the pace of your fingers,your back arching. Cum spills from your pussy, you sink back into the mattress, sighing discontentedly.

“Oh, Sweetheart.” the familiar voice rings through the now silent room. You instantly throw your hands over your chest and squeeze your legs together tightly. “If you needed some help you could have just asked for it.” Bradley walks out into the middle of your room, staring down at you with darkened eyes.

“B-bradley, when did you get in here?” you try to play it cool but sweat is forming on your forehead as you rapidly cover up with a blanket, eyes shifting to the window.

“Do you mean, how much did I see? Or rather how much I heard?” He raises his eyebrows with a smirk, you nod as your cheeks turn a deep red. “Not much, just you pleading for me to be rougher, is that really how you like it princess?”.

“Bradley! Shut up,” you cover your face with your hands while trying to figure out the best thing for you to do now. “Look, I didn’t know you were stopping by. I’m sorry that you, uhm, that you saw what you saw.” Your voice cracks while you barely take a breath, his shoes clack against the floor as he makes his way to you.

The dip in the bed being the sign that he’s next to you. “Y/N, I really don’t care.” He pries your hands off your face. “I know you didn’t know I was coming into town, because it was a surprise.” He sucks in a deep breath, “I just didn’t know I was the one who would be surprised.”

The room fills with silence, just your accelerated breathing and the ticking of your alarm clock. “Hey Brad… Can you please leave?” you push your face into your knees.

Bradley licks his lips, “I think I have a better idea,” he runs a finger down your spine while pressing kisses into your shoulder. Your body relaxes into him as you sigh quietly, he pulls your face from your legs “Look at me, my pretty girl,” you slowly open your eyes while avoiding making eye contact,

“Darlin’ I want you to look in my eyes,” biting your lower lip you look up at him innocently, his hands move to cup your cheeks and pull you into his face. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” he grips your neck and leans into kiss you.

You move onto his lap while tangling your fingers in his hair, he groans into your mouth before pulling back. Bradley pulls away from your lips and moves to kiss your neck, using his body to push your back against your bed. You gasp as he explores your body with his mouth, calloused fingers pinching your nipples.

Arching into him you moan loudly as he pushes a finger into your throbbing pussy. “You like that?” his voice low and seductive, using his thumb he presses your nub softly. Bradley presses kisses all over your stomach, groaning at the sight of you so needy under him, pre cum leaks from his tip as he grinds against the bed.

“I need you right now, please,” you grab Bradley by his face and pull him up. Kissing his lips passionately while grinding down on his fingers.

“Oh what a needy little slut you are, huh?” He pushes two more fingers into you, “is this what you needed? Or is this a little more up your alley.” He smirks while wrapping a hand around your throat, applying ample pressure.

“Fuck you,” you groan, lips parting as your chest heaves, gasps pouring from your mouth.

“Baby, that's what you’re gonna do,” he taunts, Bradshaw has had enough. He finally lays down and pulls you onto his stomach, his hands massage your thighs as he lifts your hips up.

“Bradley wait,” your hands rest on his chest, “ condom, left middle drawer”. He leans over grabbing the small golden wrapper, ripping it open with his teeth, fumbling with the latex as he squeezes it over his tip.

“Thanks for reminding me princess,” he tucks your hair behind your ear, “now ride me babe,”.

Lining your hole up with his tip you begin to lower yourself down on him, moans leave your parted lips. He furrows his eyebrows, hands moving up to cup your breasts, you sink down on his length, wincing at the uncomfortable stretch.

“Fuck, good girl,” bradley groans, his shakey breathing fills your senses. You lift your hips slowly bouncing on his dick, he grabs your ass squeezing roughly. Your hands explore his abs as you use his body to steady your own.

Your eyes squeeze tight, body tightening up around him. Twirling your fingers into your hair you grasp the strands pulling at his roots.

Bradley flips the pair of you over, his eyes dark and dominant as he hovers over you, his hips thrust into yours at a steady pace. He lowers his head to suck on your erect nipple, one hand wraps around your neck squeezing just enough to slow your breathing.

Your arms wrap around his neck as you pull him to you, kissing his lips passionately, your nails dig into his back. Bradley presses his middle finger into your clit, rubbing rough circles into it, while trying to hold back moans you bury your face in his nape.

His thrusts become sloppy, bradleys hand tightens around your neck causing you to arch into him, he leans down sucking dark hickeys into your neck. “Darling, I’m so close,” the sound of skin slapping fills the room as you nod in response.

“Me too Bradley,” you whine quietly. Bradley uses his middle and pointer finger to rub sloppy circles into your sensitive nub, causing your body to jerk forward and your eyes to flutter shut, soft moans fill his ears.

He runs his hand through your hair pulling your head back. Bradley throws his head back in pleasure, you begin to tighten up around him drawing out a long groan. “Rooster,” you chant his name, “more, please I need more,”, he complies with your desires and angles your bodies so he hits even deeper.

Hugging your body close to his, he thrusts a couple more times before you cum around him, Bradley slows down as he cums. His body jerks softly, “Thats the best welcome home present ive ever gotten love,” he whispers into your ear.

Your bedroom door opens, revealing Maverick, “Get your clothes on and meet me in the living room,” his stern voice shakes you to the core.

Well shit

#top gun #top gun fandom #top gun x reader #top gun maverick #top gun smut #top gun rooster #rooster x reader #rooster x you #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x female reader #top gun imagine #top gun maverick smut #top gun fic #miles teller #miles teller imagine #miles teller x reader #phoenix top gun #bob top gun #fanboy top gun

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imagineteamfreewill · 8 months

Text

An Imagined Life

Title: An Imagined Life

Pairing: Author!Dean x Interior Decorator!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Fluff

Summary: Y/N and Dean have been best friends since childhood, and though they’re both adults with busy lives, they still manage to keep up their weekly traditions.

A/N: Wow! It's been SO long since I posted on here. Hey everyone! This kinda came out of nowhere, but nonetheless, it was fun to write. Thank you to everyone who supports me here, on Patreon, and on ao3. Thank you for reading, and enjoy! Dividers are by @firefly-graphics

There’s no response when you knock on Dean’s front door, and you smile to yourself as you crouch down to pull the spare key out from behind the loose siding at the base of the house. He’s never quite gotten around to finding a new place to put it, even after his dad found the hiding spot and trashed the place while the two of you were out of town, but it really doesn’t matter anyway. Very few people actually know who Dean is. You’re fairly certain most of his neighbors think that he’s a hermit, rather than a bestselling author.

Once you’ve wrangled the door open, you set the key on his entryway table and shift the plate of hot pancakes so you can carry it with both hands.

“Dean!” you call, peering up the stairs. There are no lights on in the hallway. His living room’s a mess, and you have to step over several piles of books as you cross through to get to the kitchen. “Dean, I brought pancakes!”

He still doesn’t answer and you sigh, shedding your jacket and tossing it on the island before heading back through the living room and up the stairs to his room. He’s probably still in bed. There’s no doubt that he’d been up late writing again, considering the various pages spread across the couch cushions. His laptop sits nearby, too.

The couch is his second favorite place to write—with the back porch being his first—despite the fact that in the beginning, he’d been adamant against your choice in seating. The two of you had argued about it for over an hour. He hadn’t liked the legs. You’d insisted that he’d needed it, and in the end, he’d relented. After all, he’d hired you to decorate his new house, and he trusted you to do a good job. Even though you’d played pranks on him ever since you were little, you wouldn’t dream of screwing up a client’s house, even if it was Dean.

You and Dean have been best friends since kindergarten. During your very first week of school, he’d stood up for you when another kid had tried to take your beloved coloring book during a rainy day recess. The two of you have been like velcro ever since. You’d gone to all the same schools, even for college, and you’d both moved across the country to pursue your dreams after graduation. He’d moved into a modest fixer upper on the outskirts of the city and you’d moved into an apartment nearby the studio where you’d started your career, but the commute hasn’t stopped either of you from continuing your tradition of Sunday morning breakfasts, or in this case, Sunday afternoon breakfasts.

Knocking on his bedroom door, you carefully push it open and poke your head into the room. Sure enough, Dean is sprawled out across his bed, the blankets covering one bare leg and his upper half. The only thing visible at the top of the comforter is a tuft of brown hair. Smiling to yourself, you open the door the rest of the way and cross the room to open the curtains. You slide the plate of pancakes onto the only clear spot on his dresser as you pass.

“Rise and shine!” you cheer, and Dean answers you with a singular, sleepy grunt. Chuckling, you leap onto his bed, making him bounce on the mattress. He groans again and pulls the covers closer around him from the inside.

“Come on, Dean! I brought pancakes this week!”

Silence answers you, and just as you’re opening your mouth to try and coerce him for the third time, Dean grumbles,

“Remind me to hide the spare key.”

You grin and yank his pillow out from under his head, then lean down so you can speak directly into his ear. “You and I both know you’ll never do that.”

He groans again, and you briefly wonder how he ever managed to start a career when his vocabulary is so limited in the morning. When you tell him as much, Dean reaches his hands out from under the blankets, pulls his pillow from your grasp, and flips the blankets off his head before shoving the pillow back under him where it belongs. He turns onto his back and rests his head back on the pillow as he squints up at the ceiling, his eyes adjusting to the midday sun streaming in through the tall bedroom windows.

“Did you really have to open the curtains?” he asks as he rubs his eyes with the back of one hand. His voice is thick from sleep, making it gravelly and just a little deeper than normal. It makes you smile. You love Dean in the morning, even if he is a grump.

“Probably not,” you reply. Flopping down beside him, you stare up at the ceiling fan in silence, letting him wake up the rest of the way on his own. You’ve done your job spectacularly.

Finally, Dean sighs heavily and sits up, letting the blankets slide halfway onto the floor as he shifts his legs over the side of the bed. You turn onto your side and prop your head up with one elbow, watching him. He’d gone to bed in just his black boxers again, leaving his back exposed to you. The sunlight turns his skin golden.

He’s been out in the sun, you think. His freckles stand out more than usual, and as he stretches, your mind wanders. The two of you have never dated, which is strange. You enjoy spending time with him, and it’s not like you think he was ugly. In reality, Dean is one of the most attractive people you know. He could convince you to do anything if he smiled while he asked. If he asked you to date him, you’d say yes. Hell, if he asked you to marry him, you’d say yes.

“You just gonna stare at me or are we gonna eat?” Dean asks, and you grin, pushing away your thoughts as you quickly try to make up for your long silence.

“Eating sounds good, but I can’t say I’m opposed to staring at your back for the rest of the day. It’s a nice back,” you tease.

“Shut up.” Dean turns and grabs his pillow, tossing it at your head.

You laugh and move your hand from where it’s supporting your head, effectively blocking the hit. Dean smiles down at you, despite his initial grumpiness after being jarred awake, and you grin even wider when his expression softens.

"You have a good week?" he asks, and you nod.

"You? Looks like you got a lot of writing done."

Dean nods slightly and stands, stretching his arms above his head with a groan. You force yourself to look away.

Why am I suddenly thinking about dating Dean?

Silently, you scold yourself and sit up on the other side of the mattress. Your back is to him, which gives you a moment to compose yourself. It’s too early for crazy thoughts about going out with your best friend. That’s more of a 3:00 AM thought.

You don’t want to mess with a good thing, you remind yourself. It’s the reason you avidly avoid the topic of dating when anyone brings it up, especially at holidays. For the longest time, your mom and Mary Winchester have been conspiring to get the two of you together. Back when you were younger, you fielded their questions with ease by telling them that you only thought of Dean as a friend and that you were more focused on your career, but you can practically picture their expressions if they ever heard your private thoughts about Dean’s back. These thoughts will have to be something you take to your grave.

You clear your throat and get up, grabbing the plate and rounding the end of the bed. “Ready?” you ask.

Dean grabs a t-shirt from the laundry basket on top of his dresser, then pulls it over his head. He glances at himself in the mirror before running a hand through his hair and heading out into the hallway. You follow him down the stairs and to the kitchen, plate in hand.

He starts pulling down plates, cups, and silverware for the two of you while you stick the plate in the microwave.

“There’s syrup in the fridge,” he tells you, pointing just behind you. “Can you get the creamer, too?”

You hum in acknowledgement and turn around to do just that, and he starts the coffee maker. Dean knows exactly how you like your coffee. The thought that he does makes you smile as you hunt through the contents of his fridge.

“So what’s the plan for today?” he asks.

Glancing over your shoulder, you grab the syrup from the door before closing it and taking a few steps to the island so you can dump the bottle of creamer there, too. You settle on one of the bar stools and watch him from the side as he makes your coffee. Last year, you’d convinced him to buy a fancier coffee maker, and though he’d been reluctant to change and get rid of the faithful machine that had helped him through his first bestseller, Dean eventually agreed that the newer model was better. Plus, it meant that he could make you some truly great breakfast drinks, not just plain coffee with creamer like he normally has.

“Besides pancakes? I have to run to IKEA and look at some decor options for a client. Do you want to come with?”

His nose crinkles enough that you can see it from your seat. “Shopping?”

You lean forward over the island, propping your chin on your hand as you give him the biggest puppy eyes you can muster. “Please, Dean?” you whine. “Please spend time with your oldest, prettiest, and most talented friend so I don’t perish of loneliness before I can settle down like a good, upstanding citizen. I need someone with me to ward off all the suitors that might harass me while I do my weekly throw pillow shopping.”

Dean snorts. “You’re insane.”

“Am I?” You drop your hand down and push yourself up on the counter, just enough that your reach is long enough to reach the cup of coffee he’s brought over for you. You pull it closer and lift it to your nose so you can breathe in the rich aroma, then take a sip. As predicted, it’s perfect. With a sigh, you plop back onto the stool.

“Yes, you are,” he laughs.

The microwave beeps and Dean abandons his mug to get the pancakes, and you busy yourself by arranging your plate and silverware in front of you. You don’t have to ask Dean to heap your portion onto your plate. He does it automatically, piling pancakes in front of you until you give him a satisfied nod. As he plates his own food, you start dishing up your toppings.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to get out of the house a little today,” Dean says after the two of you have had a chance to tuck into your food.

You look up at him, eyebrows raised in surprise and a loaded fork held halfway to your mouth. “Really? You actually want to go shopping with me?”

He shrugs and takes another bite.

“Okay, then I’m going to finish these pancakes so we can get going before you change your mind,” you tell him, and you start to shovel your food into your mouth more earnestly. He smiles a little before doing the same.

After you and Dean clean up from your late breakfast, you pile into the Impala. He has to stop for gas, so you spend that time searching through your inspiration photos and the screenshots of items you’d looked at on the website. It’s nice to not have to drive, and it gives you a better chance to focus your thoughts on what the most important items will be. As much as he loathes shopping, Dean likes to wander, which means you can’t get distracted from what you really need for the houses, rather than what you’ve walked past four times.

“All good?” you ask, glancing up from your phone when he climbs back into the driver’s seat. Dean hums in agreement and turns the key in the ignition again, then cranks the music as he pulls out of the gas station. You laugh a little when he punches the accelerator once you’re on an open stretch of highway, and you lock your phone, leaning back in your seat.

It’s a nice enough day that you can have the windows down. The wind in your face reminds you of the long road trips you’d taken together in college, and the drive you’d made to move from college to your current home. Those are some of your happiest adult memories with Dean. Some of the moments you replay over and over again in your head each night are from those trips.

“So what exactly are we getting here?” Dean asks as he turns into the massive store lot. “Throw pillows? Vases with fake grass? Giant, framed, sepia-toned pictures of cows?”

You roll your eyes at the design cliches he always teases you about. “A couch and a coffee table,” you shoot back. “Although, you seem to know a lot about those cow pictures. Have you been researching one for your own house?”

He sends you a scathing look, but it’s quickly replaced by a small smile when you laugh at his reaction.

Climbing out of the car, you pull out your phone again. “I haven’t picked out a coffee table, but the couch…” You scroll through the pictures until you find the one you want, then hold it out for him to see. “Here, this is what I’m looking for. I just hope they have it here—they don’t ship this one and I don’t want to drive four hours to the next IKEA.”

Dean glances over at the Impala, and his smile is gone. “That’s not going to fit, Y/N. If I’d known you were getting furniture—”

“I’m just reserving it.” You shake your head. “I’ll have one of the interns pick it up tomorrow morning.”

He nods back and his shoulders relax slightly as you head into the store. Thankfully, it’s less crowded than you’d anticipated, which lets you keep a lazy pace as you walk. You’re not quite wandering, but you’re not worried about people trying to get past whenever you and Dean stop to look at one of the room displays.

“This one’s nice,” Dean says. He nods at a metal coffee table in one of the fake living rooms.

You crinkle your nose, feeling a little bad that you can’t agree. “It’s okay. Not quite what I’m looking for, though. It’s not really the vibe of the family.”

“Yeah?” He glances over at you as you hum and pick a pillow to inspect the design closer. “What’s the vibe?”

You set the pillow back in the giant metal basket and think about it for a second. “They’re more natural, like a… spa commercial. Lots of light natural woods, white linens, birdsong in the background, that kinda thing.” You gesture vaguely with one hand.

“Ah, so the daughter’s name is Serenity and the mother does weekly yoga with the other women from the neighborhood,” Dean replies.

“Exactly.”

“Dad’s probably a workaholic, and he goes along with whatever the mom wants because he knows it’ll keep her off his back. He doesn’t mind all the organic stuff, but he’s not above getting McDonald’s for lunch. He pays with cash, though, because his wife keeps careful track of their money,” Dean continues.

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re really fleshing this one out, aren’t you?”

He shrugs with a little satisfied smile, then pushes the cart forward to the next display room.

“Okay, so what about this one?” you ask. You wave your hand toward the half-dining room, half-living room display that’s been set up. It’s clearly meant to mimic a small apartment, because almost everything doubles as storage. The decor reminds you of your own apartment when you’d first moved out of college. You’d been broke after the cross-country move, and most of your things had been leftover from your dorm. You didn’t get “real” furniture until almost two years later. Dean had offered to help pay for the basics, but you’d turned him down. He’d already had his hands full with fixer-upper he’d bought with the advance from his first book.

Dean considers the faux apartment, letting his eyes sweep over each item with care before he finally answers, “They just moved cross-country. He’s planning on proposing to her, but he doesn’t have a ring yet because they spent all their money on the new apartment. It’s barely big enough for them, let alone the stuff they have from college and from their parents’ basements, but she loves it anyway. She likes to decorate with things she finds at thrift stores and the flea market, and he’s secretly been saving every penny he can to buy her the ring he thinks she deserves. If everything goes his way, he’s hoping to ask her next summer, and he’s going to string up the living room with lights because she always mentions how much she misses the fields of fireflies from where they grew up together.”

You smile to yourself, imagining the couple as Dean weaves his story around you. The aisles in this area of the store are empty, and his voice draws you into the picture he’s creating on a whim. It’s warm and homey, and it reminds you a little of your own life, just enough that you can imagine it clearly.

“I like that,” you finally say, after several moments have gone by. “What about that one?” You point a little farther down the aisle.

“The kitchen?” Dean asks. You nod in response. “Well, our couple’s gotten older, but he still hasn’t proposed. They still live together, and they’ve got a better place now that they both have better jobs, but every time he sees a ring or thinks it’s the right time to pop the question, he starts second-guessing himself. So, since they have a backyard now, he gets her a dog, instead.”

“What kind of dog?”

He looks over at you. “What kind of dog do you want it to be?”

You nudge him with your elbow, smiling. “Come on, Dean. You know me. I’m always gonna answer that they need a golden retriever. Every cheesy romance novel and movie has a golden retriever.”

He laughs a little and looks back at the empty kitchen. “A golden retriever it is, then. He’s a rescue, so he’s already three, but she spends every extra minute she has training him. She’s worked hard to make their house a home, you know, so she has to make sure to keep his muddy paws off the couch.”

“Of course,” you agree.

Dean pushes the cart forward again, and the two of you walk a little further, passing by countless closets, more living rooms, a plant display, and another kitchen. Finally, you reach a children’s bedroom, and you pause just for a moment. It’s long enough that Dean notices, however, so he stops and looks over at you.

“Did you find something you like?” he asks. “I didn’t see that couch you wanted earlier when we passed through the sofa section.”

Something about the first story Dean had come up with today stuck with you, and as you peer at the display, you can’t help but picture yourself crouching down beside the ladybug-themed bed. You imagine yourself brushing hair back off a child’s forehead, and you chuckle at the idea of a golden retriever who would hop up by the kid’s feet though it’s too big for the bed.

“What about this?” you ask, quietly, almost so quiet that the music covers it up.

Dean’s silence for a second. “We have a kid now, and he’s everything we’ve ever dreamed.”

You don’t fail to notice that Dean’s changed his story—it’s no longer “them” and “the couple”. It’s we. He keeps his eyes focused on the bed as he talks, but you look over at him. His eyes are a little glossy, and his expression is far away as he continues,

“We still live in the same house, and I’ve got a ring stashed away in a box of rough edits. You haven’t found it yet, but every time I go out, I’m worried that you’ll try to tidy up my office and find it.”

You swallow thickly and stare at him, wide-eyed. Careful not to disturb him too much, you move your hand a little. Your fingers bump against his, and Dean lets you maneuver his hand so it’s wrapped around yours, but he still doesn’t look away from the display bedroom. People are walking past you. Their voices and the music playing overhead feel far away, like they’re in a totally different universe. You’re so focused on Dean that you can’t see, feel, or hear anything outside of your little bubble.

“You’ve totally taken over everything,” Dean continues, chuckling. His lips turn up in a smile. He speaks without hesitation, and with enough passion in every word that you know he means everything he says. This isn’t just pretending anymore.

“The house is amazing, and you’ve gotten into gardening. Everything you touch seems to thrive, including me. I’ve got two more books on the bestsellers list, and it’s enough money that I don’t have to worry about how we’re going to make it. I know that we’ll be okay, no matter what happens. Your business is doing great, too. You stepped back since Robert was born, but you’ve got a partner and enough employees and interns that you can relax.

“You’re up here, right now,” he says. He lifts your joined hands to point towards the bed. “Tucking Robert in.”

“I am?” you prompt.

He nods. “When you’re back downstairs, I’m going to propose.”

“How are you going to ask me?” you murmur, almost afraid to ask.

Dean looks away from the display. His eyes meet yours, and you inhale sharply when he reaches behind himself to push the cart further away. He sinks to one knee and takes your other hand as you gape down at him.

“Dean…”

“I have loved you since the moment I saw you, Y/N,” he says.

You can sense people watching you, and to your left you can see someone holding up their phone to take a picture or to record you, but you can’t tear your eyes away from him. Tears are welling up, making your vision blurry, and you blink them away. They roll down your cheeks. In any other circumstance, you’d be embarrassed to cry in public, but it’s Dean. He chases all your fears away, and his hands in yours pull you into a moment you never thought you’d see.

“I have thought about proposing to you since we moved here,” Dean continues. “I think about it every day. Every morning, I wake up, Y/N, and I wonder why I haven’t asked you yet. Sometimes it feels like if I go another minute without being engaged to you, I’ll die. I don’t even have a ring; I haven’t been able to find the perfect one, but I want to marry you. I want to spend the rest of our lives together. I want to reach our goals and make new dreams together. I know this is sudden, and it’s a lot, and you can say no—I know that you weren’t expecting this—but I can’t let another day go by without asking.”

You’re at a loss for words. He’s right— you weren’t expecting this. You and Dean aren’t even dating, but the idea of spending your life with him doesn’t feel wrong or far-fetched. It feels perfect. You may be blindsided, but you’re not afraid of admitting when something is right.

Dean rubs his thumb over the side of your hand, and it draws you back down to him. “So what do you say, sweetheart? Will you marry me?”

After a second, you find yourself nodding. You throw yourself down into Dean’s arms. “Yes,” you say into his ear. You sniffle and press your face into his shoulder, and though your voice is muffled by his shirt, you know he’ll understand. “Yes, Dean. I love you so much.”

There’s scattered applause from all around you. Slowly, you sniffle and pull away, wiping your eyes with a smile and a laugh. Dean helps you stand again, and you brush the dust off your knees as shoppers crowd in to congratulate you. You nod along and thank them, a little embarrassed at all the attention, but soon you’re following Dean out of the store. An employee stops you at the door to give you a gift card from management, which you pocket in a daze.

Neither one of you has bought anything, and you’ve totally forgotten to reserve the couch and coffee table you’d come for, but Dean leads you out to the Impala anyway. Then, once you’re away from prying eyes and the warmth of the sun is on your skin, he kisses you. His hands find your hips as he presses you back against the passenger side door, and you wrap your arms around his neck. Dean’s kiss is sweet and slow, and you know that it’s going to be something you remember for the rest of your life.

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